Pokémon What the Gods Gave Me

[tomatorade]

What the Gods Gave Me

When a common raven gains the form of a god, he seems to be the only one not particularly concerned about that. And he's not the only one the universe has chosen. In their change, they will be forced to find the new meaning of their existence.​

Spoiler: Author's note

Figured I'd finally post something from the backlog, especially as that backlog continues to stretch and gets sadder the longer I take to throw it into the internet. And this is something I'm actually quite excited about, if somewhat meandering and unplanned. Feel free to criticize anything you'd like.

Spoiler: Content Warning

General CW for existentialism, near-death experiences, some gore and violence and swearing, self-esteem issues, general mental anxieties and general adult themes. If I'm missing anything, feel free to message me.

One:
Aeimlou

In a violent wave of new memories, a fickle little idea sang at him, passing by in a repeated blur as he stared at tangled strands of grass stuck with flecks of dirt.

A name. He should have one, for whatever reason. Aeimlou. He liked the sounds it made in his mind. The importance of this exercise blew past him like the passing of trees beneath his wings, but he’d never distrusted his gut before. It had let him survive many winters, beyond the weaker chicks and unlucky flocks.

A sudden coldness seeped over him at the image. He did not understand it.

Then his thoughts consumed him with the strangeness of his body. He had not been this thing the day earlier. And he did not comprehend the stream of information pouring through his mind

His talons had migrated to his chest, now clumsy and thin and instinctively tucked in. He had rounded and lengthened and grown to a size that would not lend itself well to perching on branches—he certainly could not imagine building a nest to his size. He had no legs and he mourned his wings. He kept his feathers, now black and white spread across a pointed snout rather than a beak. But his wings had been replaced by useless fins jutting straight from his back, those which former members of his flock perched on as he lay immobile on his stomach. His former flock made an awful racket, cawing and screeching at this new intruder.

He craned his neck to stare at the gathering. He had to tell them. He understood the message, a warning, a defending of territory. But they would not understand his meanings anymore. His mind supplied that to him as well, this sense of superiority to the ravens as a former brother darted into his vision and twisted its head with a detached curiosity that beaded also in his dark eyes.

The sounds he used to make would not come, his throat too odd and long. Something heavy in his chest sounded instead and the raven escaped in a burst of feathers.

Once again, something cold settled over him. Liquid pooled in his eyes.

He did not understand.

He did not understand.

~0_0~​

Eventually, these pleadings dried into a trickle. He could think about things with the clarity of a still pond. His flock had left.

His flock had abandoned him.

They had realised he posed no threat and had grown tired of pecking him and fled into the trees, black flickering into green. They left him with a great rustling, a chorus of caws fading into the distance as the stinging of their pecks faded from his skin.

Aeimlou sighed. Instinctively. Then stopped to puzzle over the sound. He repeated it, coming to no conclusions except that his stomach ached in hunger.

Spending an atrociously long time trying to flap imaginary wings highlighted his predicament, however. And forced him to reach out with his new claws, digging them into the roots carpeting the forest floor and pulling himself along. His belly ached, feathers shedding as he grunted and dragged himself along. His fins, too, sent bolts of pain down their length every time they bumped up against a trunk. They were more sensitive than he expected.

Through all the grunting and moaning, eventually he rounded a shady grove and lucked upon a berry bush—with the small blue ones. He practically threw himself into it, shoving clawfulls of berries and leaves alike into his muzzle until he slumped into the grass, sticky and out of breath.

He preferred meat. Occasionally, the armoured orange creatures threw themselves from the river, flopping and gasping, offering themselves to his flock as a feast. Those gelatinous eyes were especially his favourite.

Berries were not meat, but they were food. And he enjoyed that these ones looked like eyes. They filled him, too. Their juices coated his face, a sickly sweet scent that also stuck to the grass and glued it to his mouth as he tried to raise his head. They made him warm and tired and longing for more. It gave him an appreciation for the new length of his neck, at least. He could stretch up to reach for more berries without moving from the forest floor, picking them between his teeth and grinding them into paste.

Another binge and that satisfying warmth overtook him, dampened his aching chest, and he slept in the bush.

He continued all through the next day.

Even with all these new thoughts, he failed to understand his next steps. Flight had left him grounded, but unlike other creatures, he had no legs to stand on.

His second night he spent watching stars in a gap through the trees, the darkness of fliers blotting them out on occasion. Unlike the plentiful stars, his bush had no more berries to give. The food no longer satisfied him, either. Instead, the stars crushed him. Another new feeling. One of uncertainty. The end of things and his helplessness to stop them.

He found himself breathing heavily, gasping like those dim orange creatures flopping on the banks.

Did they feel this, too, in the precious pink curls that spooled from their stomachs and into the beaks of his brothers?

~0_0~​

Aeimlou did not feel inclined to leave the bush. He hungered. And thirsted—mouth so dry he struggled to peel his tongue from the roof as he opened it to whine.

All motive had left him. He did not know what to do, what he could do. Once, he might’ve ruffled his feathers and kicked up a fuss, but that nature no longer appealed to him. And he could not stop thinking about his flock. It served no purpose anymore; it should leave his mind as they left him to die on the forest floor, but that never happened. He could not forget.

He let the water pour from his eyes until he had no more to give, growing weaker each sunset. He watched creatures pass: some old rivals like the jays, and the predators. He had no name for them except predators. Back in his flock they tore through the forest with foreign powers, launching strikes at each other and ruining all the good perching spots. They either ate the weaker creatures or ignored them.

And now they avoided him, freezing at the edge of his vision with wide-eyed stares, shrinking and muttering lowly noises to themselves and turning back to where they came.

Even in his weakness, Aeimlou found a certain warmth in that. He must look intimidating. Certainly, he must be the largest creature in the forest now. He would die happy knowing this would be his territory. Regardless of whether he had the chance to defend it.

But, ah, that did not remain true for long.

The one who found him would be a… what would he call it? The ravens rarely concerned themselves with much, but the biped creatures with fleshy skin and furry heads were an exception. Certainly, they dominated the landscape. In their cube nests. But not nests. But nests: Aeimlou had no other words for them. They controlled the empowered creatures, too, with stiff hands to draw elements from them.

Unlike their empowered charges, they had a mixture of concern for the flock. Sometimes they chased them off and sometimes, in the green spaces between their nests, they palmed seeds and fruits for them to eat.

This one in particular had flowing white cascading from its shoulders, a large swirl of brown fur on its head and softer features than some Aeimlou had previously seen.

Aeimlou would have been concerned; he would have raised himself up, but he barely possessed the strength to slip his claws beneath his stomach. He settled for a shaky growl as it paused under the bow of a string tree. Green drew lines across its expression, though Aeimlou would’ve had difficulty interpreting the wide eyes and open mouth into a readable emotion anyway.

It murmured to itself. Something Aeimlou would not have appreciated before. The sounds startled him so much it took a moment to focus and realise he understood them.

“--Incredible! But so far from Hoenn? Goodness, it must have been a long flight, do I— can I come a bit closer?”

He understood them? He understood them. Though he did not understand the meaning. The creature’s voice had a pleasant lilt to it. Like the whistling through the trees, but with power behind it. A chorus, perhaps. It could be the novelty, but he would be happy to listen to that noise until he died.

In wondering, Aeimlou held unblinking eye contact for a very long time until he realised it had addressed him.

“Sorry, was I not loud enough? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable; may I approach you?”

Staring. More staring. It began to shuffle in place. Only then did he realise what he was missing.

Ah. He had to respond.

Aeimlou tried to imitate the sound, but his odd, dry mouth filtered it into something like a wheeze. It broke into coughs soon after.

“You seem to be struggling. Let me help.” It approached anyways, without answer—hands raised to the sky. This must be its territory for how bold it was. If true, Aeimlou supposed he must oblige. The best he could do was lay his head back on the grass, moaning as hunger flared in his stomach again.

“Alright, let’s get you untangled from these bushes.”

It spoke to itself as it worked, peeling thin branches away from Aeimlou’s bulky form. Truthfully, he wouldn’t have had an issue extracting himself, if not for the weakness.

“Odd colouration,” it mumbled, patting Aeimlou’s neck. Strange to feel the pressure and warmth press into his feathers. “Not consistent with other sightings in Hoenn. We’ve always thought there was only one of you, but this pokes holes in that theory, huh?”

Yes? These thoughts it shared were so complicated that Aeimlou could not tell how to respond. He tried not to break eye contact—difficult when it began circling him. He craned his neck backwards, but unfortunately could not fold himself in half.

It hissed once finished, showing teeth. Aeimlou blinked. Curious sound. That one he could imitate, pressing his teeth together and forcing his breath out through them.

It jumped back, both hands held out before it.

“Oh, sorry did I hurt you? I didn't mean that.”

How fun. He did it again. And again, watching its face harden. The creases around its brow deepened.

“Something’s wrong?” it asked. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can you move?”

Yes, yes, yes, no. He would like not to be here anymore. He would like to live.

Still, he had no way to express these things. So they sat. In their individual bubbles, watching across a boundary drawn in roots and long grass. It tilted its head, face scrunching up in what Aeimlou assumed was sickness.

“Nod your head for yes and shake for no. Do you understand that?”

Ah. Brilliant. He could do that. He repeated sluggishly, a wave of dizziness cresting over him as his chin skimmed the grass.

“Great. Good job. Now, hungry?”

Nod.

“Thirsty?”

Nod.

“Can you move?”

Shake.

Questions finished, it settled. The worry in its face did not.

But none of that mattered; Aeimlou had done it. He spoke! He warbled in delight, tired voice cracking. A warmth bloomed in his chest. One unlike hunger and the pain of dragging himself across the roots. The creature did not share that, instead making a low sound. Shaking its head.

Which, as he’d learned, means no.

“I don’t have anything for you out here, can I… hold on one second,” it said. It looked around, limbs drawn into its sides, one hand vanishing in its white. After a moment, it sighed and drew an object out from inside, holding it out in front of Aeimlou’s nose. Red on top, white on the bottom Some sort of orb, so perfect in its shape, in the separation of its colours, it could only have been made by the creatures.

The orb being in their possession was also compelling evidence to that fact, true. But it did not hurt to be thorough.

“I know you probably don’t like it but it’s the only way to get you out of the woods and back to Nuvema.”

The creature must have taken his stillness as permission because it shuffled forward until Aeimlou could see his own reflection spread in the polish.

And that became so much more fascinating than the object itself.

Aeimlou watched his new face, awed by this complete understanding. He twisted back and forth, the black arrow of his snout stretching and distorting as he moved. This was the fault of the orb, though. And he understood that. The world existed in so much more clarity than before.

He cooed happily as he continued, widening and narrowing his eyes, flexing the new muscles on his face. He opened his mouth and inspected the inside, all those sharp teeth like cliff stones. A much longer tongue now, too.

Then he discovered how wide his face could get as he moved closer.

Ignoring how much strain it put on his neck, he happily slid back and forth into his reflection, getting closer and closer until finally his nose met the cold hard metal and it sent a shiver down his body.

Which was not as shocking as when it cracked open at his touch.

He did not have the chance to wonder if he broke it before a violent flash of red overtook his vision. Then, nothing.

 

[tomatorade]

Two:
Welcome

Aeimlou was excited to discover how much he bored Juniper.

That was the human’s name—something she (because she was a she) explained in great detail to him as he sat on a soft bed in her nest. Along with assorted other details, most of which he did not understand and promptly filed away in his mind.

He had not died, as he first thought when that odd sphere vaporised him. No, he had simply been transported to some artificial world and taken with Juniper. It could also have been a dream, but either way clearly artificial. It housed fewer colours than outside. And no food nor life. He felt nothing inside.

Fascinating in its own right, if eventually dull.

Aiemlou preferred when he bored others. Like Juniper.

He’d been released in a white, white, place, with blinding lights from the ceiling and holes to outside that calmed the rising panic he felt at being so confined. Mostly, the nest housed boxes. Lots of boxes: those that sat on the floor for other boxes to lie on, those that pressed against the wall and held rows of snug colours, those that shined and blinked with unknown lights in the corner.

He got to lie on his own box, long and squishy and covered in soft bedding materials.

It warmed him. And he happily wrapped himself in it—struggling a moment with those jutting fins on his back—leaving a bare opening just for his snout and eyes. He cooed at the warmth. Juniper took an ecstatic interest in asking questions once he had settled.

But this is where the boredom set in. For as many questions as she asked, she had only given him the language to say yes or no. He had nothing more complicated so for many (nearly all) questions, Aeimlou simply sat there, blinking. She slowed the longer they went on, brows furrowed and lips drawn down. The face of dullness, he presumed.

Other things took her interest after that.

Once again, Aeimlou had no way to apologise for being so dull.

And then she began talking to herself. And to another box—black and sleek and reflecting the light off her skin as she held it to her ear.

“Hello. Yes, thank you for picking up, I know you’re busy and— no. Not exactly. That’s, well—” She paused to shift something from one ear to the other, keeping it pressed there between her shoulder and head. “Do you have time to stop by? I have a… another big problem if you understand what I’m saying, and I think you could help me a lot.”

She paused at the far end of the nest, turned on her heel, and headed behind a wall. Aimlou couldn’t see her, but could still hear her voice drift slowly around the corner.

“Yes, you. I’m serious. He’s not here and— sorry, Undella? This time of year? No, of course. I’m sorry to hear that. I understand.”

She reappeared from the other side of the wall, using both free hands to tie up the long, brown hair on her head.

“So you’ll do it? That’s great! It will be nice to see you again. Agreed. Goodbye.”

Perhaps she’d recovered some interest, because she headed for Aeimlou after. She crouched before him, level enough for eye contact. Aeimlou cooed in his warm little world and waited for the inevitable question.

She traced the line of her mouth with a finger, pursing her lips as they stared at each other. Her gaze had this odd spark of intelligence that Aeimlou had never understood before. He revelled in it.

“So, you do understand me?”

It was the most important question. One she’d asked many times before. He’d answered the same way every time, but it never stopped. He could only wonder why: did she not believe him? Not trust him? Or maybe it was she who couldn’t understand him. He saw no reason to repeat the question so often.

It grew frustrating.

Instead of nodding, this time he shook his head. Just for fun.

Those piercing, intelligent eyes narrowed.

“Are you messing with me?”

He shook his head.

She paused. Perhaps to think about it for a second. A great sigh broke from her mouth and she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Alright, I can take a hint. You’re just strange, is all. I expected something different from a legendary.”

Aeimlou perked up at that, long neck tenting the soft nest over his back.

Legendary? Is that what he was now? He suspected she meant something more proper than the definition his mind supplied, but he liked to think he was also remarkable. Perhaps this is why she had been so bored with him. If he was remarkable, why, then, had he done nothing but sit around and eat food and drink water and answer questions? He imagined plenty of other creatures that could also do that.

But he had nothing remarkable to show her. He just watched as she fretted about her nest—interacting with objects he had no name or purpose for, occasionally sending glances his way. He acknowledged each one with a sharp chirp. It did nothing to lift her expression.

He would have to come up with something. For now, he lay his chin back down to rest.

Time’s passing changed little. Aeimlou relaxed, watching light lengthen across the floor as the sun blew streaks of orange across the treetops. The wind ushered the pleasant forest in and he hoped Juniper would also relax, but she seemed as flighty as he used to, scampering from invisible enemies inside her nest. For a brief period, she escaped outside, returning with food—an exotic smell Aeimlou picked up on from where he lay. She ate across from him, stabbing into her container with white utensils and lifting piles to her mouth.

Aeimlou watched, equal parts confused and intrigued. The whole process seemed unnecessarily sophisticated when she could have dug in with her hands or face, but he also appreciated it. It left no mess. And it conveyed a subtle sense of superiority. She did not have to use her hands as other creatures did, she had constructed tools to be her hands.

Aeimlou decided he’d like to try some day. He wiggled his claws, unseen beneath his body, and wondered if they were good enough.

“Are you hungry again?” Juniper asked, shoving the remains into the flighty white bag it came from. Aeimlou shook his head. “I have a friend coming soon that should be able to help you. She should be here any moment.”

Alright. He was not certain what he needed help with, but boredom also crept up on him and friendly company sounded interesting. He would like to see other creatures.

And true to her word, they did not have to wait long. A loud knock sounded from somewhere behind and while Aeimlou flinched and shrunk under his bedding, Juniper got up to take care of it. A creaking sounded behind him, cool draft following.

“Always punctual, Hilda,” Juniper said. Another voice, echoey and high mumbled something back. It laughed. Juniper laughed. A harsh slam and the subtle breeze cut off. The sounds of ruffling fabric, casual chatter and footsteps followed them back around. Then, quiet.

And more quiet.

Only then did Aeimlou chance a peek.

He burrowed his nose through layers of bedding. Blinked in the harsh light of the nest. His vision focused, the thin nose and tan flesh of the so-called Hilda appearing close enough to reach out and grab. A wild forest of brown fur tumbled from the white crest on her head, framing two eyes grey enough to fly through. They had an intensity Juniper’s did not, sharpening around the edges as they met his.

He tried for a greeting. Something whistley and light.

She snorted. “I thought Latios was blue. Dyejob?”

“Sounds like a prank my father would pull.”

“True,” Hilda answered. She stepped back and took a seat beside Juniper. “So uh… though I’d be dealing with a rampaging emboar or something. I’m not exactly a peacetime, let's-be-friends kind of call.” She leaned back and lifted one leg over the other. Unlike the narrow, pointed foot of Juniper, Hilda's was chunky and black, the overhead light casting deep shadows in the valleys on her sole. Aeimlou furrowed his brow at the sight, he could not imagine walking on those.

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short. You’ve always been a great help to me. And anyone else I called would’ve had a greatly different reaction.”

“Is that another way to tell me I’m boring?” She asked. Juniper tried to stutter out a response, but Hilda waved it off. “ Anyway, let’s get into it. What’s his problem? Just point the way and I’ll handle it.”

Juniper got that concerning, wrinkly look on her face again. It softened as Aeimlou nodded at her. He did not have much to agree with, he only wanted to be part of the conversation. She sighed.

“Well, Steven tells me Latios has been spotted recently in Sootopolis, so this is… another one. As impossible as that should be. The issue is, he’s struggling to communicate. I’m hoping he isn’t injured or sick, but he let himself be captured freely and hasn’t attempted to fly once, among other odd behaviours. Probably nothing, but you know what they say about birds who won’t fly. And I will not be the professor that let a legendary die in her lab.”

“So what can I do?”

“Could you bring out Atlas? Hopefully that will let us set up a direct line of communication.”

“Knew it. You only talk to me for my pokemon.”

“Hilda—”

She held up both palms. “I’m joking. Sure, I’ll bring him out.”

Hilda reached to her hip, fumbling with something a moment before bringing out an orb and holding it out on her palm. It took Aiemlou a second to recognize it as the one that had taken him to Juniper’s nest. She pressed the button.

To Aeimlou, it was fascinating to watch the bright lance of red light shoot from the capsule’s open mouth and strike the floor. At first it existed only as energy, yet that coalesced into a formless blob. In milliiseconds, the blob became a creature, floating at Hilda’s side with practised ease, the jiggle of green gel obscuring segmented limbs and a chubby, white body. He could not recognise the creature, but it emanated something powerful. Aeimlou drew back at the feeling, shaking his head as if to shake water out of his feathers.

The creature turned to their summoner, as if to have a conversation. But whatever they shared, they did in silence. It turned around equally as confident, but Aeimlou could not imagine much had been conveyed with those static, unblinking eyes.

At least, until he heard it.

It started as a subtle knock on the back of his mind. In the form of something forgotten, of the knowledge that poured into his mind when he changed, which had ascended him. He let it in.

Good evening. A voice echoed in his skull. It sounded wet. Pleasant, with a slight bubble to it. I am Atlas. It is my pleasure to facilitate our psychic connection today. Briefly, the echo dulled, some layers stripped from it. In secret, allow me to express a hint of admiration. It is not often mortal pokemon meet one like you, This voice rang louder, instinctively personal and bright. Aiemlou swelled at the power of it.

These were words. But also not words, layered with so much feeling as to drown in it. Aeimlou felt immediately overwhelmed, sharing in a sense of sincere awe that he intellectually knew wasn’t his. But he knew also of his revealing—Atlas must sense him just as strongly.

Outside his head, he watched Atlas turn back to Juniper and Hilda. Then all eyes drew to him.

Ah. They were waiting. He tried to copy it.

Good evening, he said back, good evening, good evening, good evening. You are Atlas? I am Aeimlou.

Perfect. We shall not waste time. We suppose our first question is about your health.

Aeimlou tried to send out a warm thought, the thought of eating berries and napping in the sun. I have no issues. I am content and warm and greater than I had been days ago. I miss many things, but these are not my health.

Why have you not flown?

I have no wings to fly with. Aeimlou wriggled under his bedding, tugging at it with his claws until it piled over his neck and revealed those jutting black monoliths his wings had become. Only these useless fins.

Is your psychic damaged, then?

His what? The word meant nothing to him. He blanked and, although he did not want to, the thought rattled through their connection. In turn, something harsh and white rattled back. From all points.

“You what?” asked Juniper. She leaned forward, bringing her seat closer.

The unexpected outpour of emotion made Aeimlou shrink back, ducking back into his fort. It subsided shortly after, an intimate warmth taking over, but that shock still lingered.

We apologize. Nobody intends to judge you here. We are simply confused, Atlas thought, Hilda wonders about your age.

I am of age for a partner.

A new warmth appeared. But this was sharp. Prodding. Not sunlight warm. In some sense, Aeimlou found it more exciting than their happiness or concern—his cozy bed supplied the former quite readily. He’d like to feel the sharpness again.

Could you place that in years?

Years. What an interesting concept. He had a vague clue what that meant, but little idea of his own. Or the purpose of keeping track. He’d never bothered to count his days. Perhaps it was a competition: who could live to the longest number. In that case he’d oblige with a fun new number he’d discovered.

One billion.

Much to his pleasure, that spiky emotion came through again.

You could just say you don’t know.

I apologize. I was under the impression you wanted an answer.

Neither Atlas nor Juniper seemed impressed. Hilda, however, let out a dry snort and a chuckle.

“Sarcastic little shit, isn’t he?”

Ah. He had impressed her. He did not know how, but he saw the wide arch of her mouth and mirrored it. He attempted to mimic it.

Please, ignore her. Where have you come from?

From where I was taken.

Truly? Nobody has seen you here before.

I used to be smaller.

And again. Spiky. Though without as much joy. Perhaps the novelty had begun to wear off. Hilda laughed again, louder this time.

Perhaps this may take a while.

 

[Negrek]

Well, now. This is certainly an interesting premise. There's plenty of humans turning into pokémon out there, but I don't think I've ever seen a mundane animal getting turned into a pokémon, much less a legendary!

I do enjoy when authors lean into the xeno perspective, and I think you do a good job of it here, making Aeimlou's perception of the world clearly different than our own without making what's going on completely incomprehensible. I'm very curious what inspired both you (as the author) and whatever pokémon turned Aeimlou into a latios to decide to give this raven a new take on life, lol. I'm guessing pokémon based on Aeimlou saying he recognized the feeling of the reuniclus' psychic powers from the time when he was turned into a legendary. So, psychic legendary, perhaps? Jirachi granting a desire Aeimlou can no longer remember or articulate? Maybe this is just how latis naturally come about and a latias/latios decided to make a new one for some reason? The summary implies that it is indeed some legendary or other, and intentional, but I'm amused by thinking about the potential for it to be a mistake, a raven flying into the middle of a solemn ritual or just happening to get hit by a psychic blast or whatever. One way or another, I'm definitely interested in learning more about the circumstances around Aeimlou's ascension, and what he might decide to do with his new form. And I'm excited to meet some of the other ascended animals referenced in the summary!

I also appreciate that Aeimlou's developing a bit of a personality already; xeno perspectives can sometimes come off as rather detached, especially in cases like this where the narrator is just constantly bewildered by their circumstances, but Aeimlou has clear likes and dislikes and isn't averse to just staring if he gets bored or confused. That feels well in line with how an actual animal would behave, and I enjoy that the humans interpret him as having a bit of a sarcastic streak, when he's mostly just not interested in answering some of their questions or has no idea and makes something up. It feels like a realistic way that wires could get crossed when a former raven attempts to communicate with humans. I look forward to seeing Aeimlou interact more with other pokémon in the future, too; it'll be interesting to see how he may view the world differently than pokémon who have always had powers and can live pretty differently than wild animals.

Incidentally, Aeimlou's name appears to be spelled differently on your threadmark than it is in the text.

At this point there isn't much indication of where the story's going--there's the obvious open question of why/how the hell Aeimlou got turned into a latios to keep the reader engaged, but whether it's going to turn out that there was some Dire Need for a latios that kicks off an epic quest or whether this is a more quiet story focused on exploring the pokémon world a bit isn't entirely clear yet. (Though I would guess the latter at this point.) I don't think that's a big deal at this point, but I am expecting that the story will start to make its intentions clear in the next couple chapters as Aeimlou starts to get his feet under him, figuratively speaking.

Wherever you decide to take things, I'm sure it will be fun to explore Unova through the eyes of a legend who used to be a bird. I'm sure nothing can go wrong when you give a raven psychic powers and abilities outstripping most pokémon, once he figures out how to use them! There are a lot of fun directions this story could go, and I'm excited to see which one you decide on.

One thing to watch is the difference between "lie" and "lay." "Lay" always takes an object--you lay something atop another thing, or lay something down. On the other hand, there's no object when you use "lie"--you lie on something, you don't lie a thing on another thing. So in "Lots of boxes: those that sat on the floor for other boxes to lay on," it should actually be "lie" on, and in "He got to lay on his own box, long and squishy and covered in soft bedding materials" it should likewise by "lie on." "The best he could do was lay his head back on the grass" is correct, on the other hand.

It's also always tricky, I think, to strike a good balance in terms of the concepts an alien narrator like this understands vs the ones they don't. Overall I thought you did a good job of this, and in truth the various ideas that it would be possible for a raven-turned-latios to grasp intuitively vs those they would struggle with are likely to be very different than what we as humans would expect. Nevertheless there were some things where I kind of headtilted at Aeimlou knowing what they were, such as "hands," for example (as opposed to talons or perhaps paws?) or "fabric," when he's talking about humans having fur on their heads and such and a hat is a "crest."

All in all definitely an intriguing start! Glad you decided to post this, and I look forward to following along. Can't say we have any other stories quite like this around, but if you're interested in more xenofic, some favorites of mine are Communication by Sike Saner and "Basic Mineral Components" by Wildboots.

 

[tomatorade]

Three:
Leaning, Learning

They’re deciding what to do with you, Atlas said.

It had been a couple days and, according to him, whatever it was Juniper and Hilda wanted had not shown. They wanted him to fly—and he could not. They spoke of psychic abilities, but he had no concept of those no matter how often they were explained to him.

This all made sense once he realised that they did not, either. Though that begged why they would attempt to explain something they did not know to him. Atlas said it was a human thing. The reuniclus (which was a very fun thing Atlas called himself) had taken on the mantle of teacher because of of his partners’ frustration.

On the second day, someone had decided Aeimlou deserved some fresh air. They took him out, redundantly laid a soft fabric over soft grass in the shade of forest at the back of their nest, and ate of the berries and meats they brought. The humans sat on their own, chattering in the background.

Hilda also brought five new creatures. None stayed beside Atlas. They gave a slit-eyed glance, a huff of steam, a shake of the leaves spooling from their spine, a dry hiss, a clip of the blades, a dip of whiskers. Then they fled to do their own thing in the forest, leaving Aeimlou open-mouthed and blinking as he dragged himself around the grass.

They’re quite independent, Atlas’s sound echoed in Aeimlou’s mind, As am I. It’s as if Hilda went out of her way to seek us, specifically, from our homes.

Atlas attempted to mime something, the mass of his gel shifting into odd shapes as he floated around Aeimlou’s head. His massive arms gestured, but to what nobody could be certain. If he wanted a response, he did not wait.

Then the lesson started. It did not stop starting for a good while—long enough to watch the shadows stretch and the humans grow silent.

So, supposedly, his psychic was a physical force accessed metaphysically, which connected to his mind which was in his skull and enabled by the precise assemblage of biology and abstracts unique to his species, yet also shared by every other psychic species. With this thing that was real but not real, he could fly. And communicate. And levitate objects. And perform illusions.

Truly complete nonsense.

I do not understand, Aeimlou expressed after ages of frustrating back-and-forth. He moved on to glaring into the distance, at the wildflowers growing from the roots of Juniper’s nest and the deep pink wrinkles under the flower petals. Their connection had been somewhat tainted: strained to the point where each thought sent it vibrating, the noise squealing and burying their talk.

Meanwhile, Juniper and Hilda had taken to watching their mood flatten. Hilda, in particular with a sly grin on her face.

You could at least express it differently, Atlas said, patience plainly turning to threads as Aeimlou used to turn bits of refuse to threads with tugs of his beak, Perhaps: ‘could you repeat that?’ or ‘give me some time to think on this’ would add some variety to this nightmare.

I am trying to be clear. I would like to learn this quickly, and I would not like you to repeat it, rather to repeat it better.

Atlas bubbled. You’re frustrating. He tilted himself to catch some encouragement from Hilda. Then took great effort to settle his bubble into a simmer. This connection we share is psychic in nature, so describe to me what you think it is.

An interesting question. Novel, too, thankfully. For him, it felt like a very direct line of communication. While he couldn’t actually speak the way humans did, and by Atlas’ explanation the reuniclus had no means of speaking at all, they had something very intimate here.

Is it an expression of intent? Of motive or emotion?

Atlas attempted to clap his hands together, but they sank into each other with an unsatisfying gurgle. He sent something warm and smooth, soothing after ages of friction. Aeimlou cooed, revelling in it also.

Excellent! I’d call that progress. Intent is a concise way to facilitate your psychic.

So I simply intent to fly and I will fly?

Not precisely.

And back to the frustration.

They did not stop as food was brought to them, nor as clouds hid the sun, nor as Atlas’ friends returned, the humans attempted to usher them inside and were roundly ignored. Although talk of psychic became tired in the way it ground them against each other.

They moved on to each other.

Aeimlou enjoyed this. More than anything in his life, perhaps even more than the scavenging—finding something dead and stripping it to its skeleton with the help of his flock. This felt like so much more. Every sentence felt complex and layered and Atlas quickly revealed himself to be quite interesting beyond appearance and species name.

He had, for instance, a truly bizarre relation to Hilda. Partners, yet not. It had alarming shades close to the previous conversation. Still, the puzzle here had a lifetime of stories behind it. And Aeimlou gladly listened.

I do not think I have been to Nimbasa, Aeimlou said after hearing of Atlas’ birth and life in the forest outside Nimbasa. Division, he called it. He had a fascinating lineage of memory—foggy ideas he’d taken from the parent he split from. He’d lived communally, which Aeimlou found solace in.

If you follow the river from the sea, it’s directly beyond the desert.

Aeimlou hummed, imagining the path, the streaks of water below him, gleaming gray towers piercing from the ground and spiralling through the clouds. He passed them, passed beyond a beige landscape he’d rarely stopped at for want of food. Landed in a forest. Remembered creatures similar to Alas—small and round and clustered together between the branches like berries ripe for plucking. If only they weren’t larger than him.

Perhaps we have seen each other. I remember flying through there.

Flying? I thought you couldn’t.

This body is new to me. I could, once.

Aiemlou looked out. Ravens lived everywhere, so it was not surprising to find some perched not far away, teetering on the fence cutting them off from the front. The birds always kept them in sight. Strange to think he had been among them.

You’re serious? Atlas asked, seeing how he focused on the birds. A raven?

Yes. Is that odd?

A mess of emotions came through, forceful as a slap. Aeimlou could only shake his head and try to reorient himself against them.

It explains a lot, I suppose, Atlas said.

Aeimlou looked up, trying to meet him at the eyes as he floated above. That face held nothing. One thing he’d learned about the reuniclus was his own stasis—unable to match the form of expression inherent in others, at least in a physical sense. That knowledge travelled with something tired and flat.

I apologise.

It’s not your fault. You must have done something incredible to be chosen like that.

He blinked. He had not even considered his ascension a result of action. He knew it had nothing to do with growth as he’d seen others in his flock age and die, but he’d imagined it as something more random. Another disease or attack.

And if he had done something incredible, he did not remember. He did not understand.

But Atlas had grown tired of hearing that.

I suppose, he said

Atlas accepted that with a warm pulse of energy.

And helped him inside after.

~0_0~

Aeimlou watched plans come and go, distantly. Juniper talked. Mostly to Hilda, but to anyone else who would talk, too, even Aeimlou, despite him having no thoughts on the future.

He had known that spiky feeling for a while, migrating from the others to him to a degree he had difficulty expressing. Only then did he find a name for it:

Annoyance.

He missed flying. It seemed petty, but he found himself thinking about small things in between larger thoughts—he did not appear to be made for prolonged grounding. His belly itched as he lay on the floor for another hour. Not even the softer bedding helped, and he could not lie on his back with fins like his. He missed the wind, cloistered as he was in Juniper’s nest, and the free range and watching the stronger creatures shrink until they could not reach him. He missed preening, his feathers already matted in oil and dirt, skewed out awkwardly and itching also. But he could not reach them. Not until he had his psychic. Juniper, especially, tried to help, but her knowledge did not extend that far and he did not let her after one clumsy attempt.

Atlas tried, too. Without much success, but his gel fingers were cool and pleasant and drew light coos from Eimlou as they fumbled over his back. They lay outside, then—out in the grass and beating sun. Atlas also spared some power to levitate him in some approximation of flight at his own suggestion.

He held some guilt at irritating the others, because it did not feel good. Their conversations drifted around him, and their time wore away and their eyebrows sank as he asked for further explanations. They found reasons to leave him alone more often.

Atlas had no such qualms. Even through discomfort.

They sat on the lab’s open upstairs one day, overlooking the human children and pokemon children meeting each other for the first time. A starter ceremony, according to Juniper. She’d allowed him to watch. The children also watched him as they came in, arms curled up to their chests, wide eyes open and sparkling.

She snapped her fingers at them as their attention wavered, but he did not mind. In fact, she began snapping her fingers at him once he started chirping and whistling to draw their attention while she bored them.

So the human children become mothers? He asked, after a while of watching

Atlas shook, fully. Aeimlou had allowed him to perch between his fins, so he felt the motion even though he could not see.

I would not describe them like that.

But they rear the chicks.

Their connection dipped. A coldness crept in—as it did when Juniper left the lab window open one night. They train them. They are too young to be mothers.

Perhaps I do not understand the difference. Where are the mothers, then? Would they not be a better option?

They breed them, giving them up to humans for the children to train.

That is not an answer.

The coldness only intensified, frost lurking between thoughts. Two gelatinous fists gripped his fins tighter until they sent cold shocks down his spine. Aiemlou let out a dull whine and got an apology in return.

Yes. They would.

Aiemlou allowed some silence after that, not trusting the connection. He watched young creatures scamper and scrap below, weak bursts of elements meeting each other, skipping across the gleaming white floors.

He did not understand how the children were not mothers. Not as they held a soft blue head close to their own, or wrangled stray vines and expressed so much purpose as if to glow.

But Atlas got warmer not long after. He sank onto Aeimou’s back with a deep gurgle and tried, once again, to sort out his feathers. Not successfully. Again. But Aeimlou ducked his head and closed his eyes and let him.

They try their best, I suppose.

Atlas would not say who they were.

~0_0~

Atlas had an unexpected physicality to him. He liked to be close, liked to touch more and more as the days passed by. Aiemlou could not say what exactly had changed, but the reuniclus slept across from him now, out of his ball, on another spare bed pushed up against the wall. He glowed green in dim light and their connection thrummed in sleep also, beating with waves from the other’s dream.

Aiemlou did not sleep those nights. He watched the ebb and flow of an unconscious body, hearing an ocean reflected in his mind.

~0_0~

The humans had come to some sort of decision by morning. Their reserved chatter died down and they instead orbited around each other in the lab, though whether in satisfaction or disappointment Aiemlou could not tell.

According to Atlas, Hilda could not stay much longer. They would be leaving later. The thought of Atlas departing put Aiemlou in a strange sort of mood—starved, almost, picking through the underbrush for scraps and longing for something greater.

Thankfully, Aeimlou came to a solution of his own.

Constant practise with Atlas had not borne fruit as easily as he wished, but he had grown the capability to prod. From across a space, a room, a field, even through walls, Aeimlou could turn his burgeoning psychic into something blunt and use it to touch others.

They found it annoying, mostly. Especially on initial discovery, when he abused it, focused it hundreds of times and watched Hilda itch at an invisible sensation while she twirled a fork over her breakfast. She found out quickly. And stomped over to him with a sour pout. And threatened to tape his muzzle shut if he didn’t stop. Not that it could stop him. Which she found out not soon after.

Well, Juniper rescued him eventually, hands full of clippers and a few choice words for Hilda. Atlas found it amusing, at least.

Previous experience helped in executing a plan. It only took one prod for Hilda to sigh, pick up a roll of tape and march back over, crouching to stare him directly in the eyes and tilting her head in a way that was decidedly not playful.

“Well?” she said, “Don’t make me do it again.”

Aeimlou chirped, snapping his claws together the same way he’d seen her do when someone else had been talking to her. She squinted, then her mouth widened.

“What, you need to talk?”

He nodded.

“Atlas is outside for a sec. I guess I’ll just… hang around. Play the waiting game on your new best friend.”

Aeimlou blinked. He was not sure how to treat Hilda in the best of times. But she seemed to take his confusion some other way, waggling a stray finger over his snout. “Eh, c’mon. The only person he talks to that much is me, and I took two years to get that far.”

Oh. Well, that made him feel quite special. He smiled at her and let out a light coo.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Don’t feel too bad or anything.”

Lucky Hilda didn’t seem to have much to do, because the waiting led on for quite a while, watching Juniper pass through occasionally and shoot them stray glances. She brought food, at least, a tray of vegetables for them to share. And sat silently for a while sharing unseen words with Hilda. Aiemlou had no concern for them. He simply watched the door until Atlas’ telltale green mass floated through and he met the reuniclus with a quick chirp. The other was eager to connect, and it only took light prodding to bring Hilda into the fold. Juniper, too—simply for her presence, he supposed.

“So whatcha need?”

Do you remember those children who picked up their starters?

“Do I remember something that happened yesterday? I dunno…”

Well, in case you need a reminder—

A quick sharpness cut him off. Irritation. Yes. And a brief scan of his companions’ faces convinced him he would not have to elaborate.

Alright. In any case, I would like to be Atlas’ starter.

Perhaps he should have kept the conversation more insulated, because the wave of conflicting thought that hit him sent him reeling. Outside his head, the reactions were not much more reassuring.

Juniper blinked. “Excuse me?”

And Atlas sank noticeably in the air, his distinct signature vibrating between a chaotic buzz and a touching warmth.

That’s absurd, he whispered.

“What the fuck?” Hilda coughed around a carrot she’d been chewing, thumping her chest. “Yeah. Absurd. I don’t even know—Juniper set you up to this didn’t she?”

Now Juniper was blinking at her, instead.

And Atlas felt very prickly for some reason.

“No, believe it or not I didn’t tell a grounded legendary to be your pokemon’s starter pokemon.”

“Well who the fuck else could’ve given him that idea? He’s—” she gestured to him, palms out. “Y’know.”

That prickliness sharpened itself on her words.

I think it’s a fine idea. I see no problems with it, Atlas shot back, voice echoing with a certain airiness. He floated over the table—giving Hilda a long stare before plopping himself down beside Aeimlou, one arm draped over his back. He could learn much from me. He already has.

“You’re only saying that to be difficult!”

Perhaps. And there’s no reason why not.

And as Hilda spluttered and Juniper leaned in with open palms, Aeimlou suspected the conversation had quickly left his territory. Perhaps he would simply set his chin down and watch.

They seemed happy enough to ignore him, besides.

“Oh, come on! There has to be some league shit that prevents it.”

Everyone turned to Juniper, who rubbed the bridge of her nose with a tired sigh.

“They reserve the right to remove trainer status from anyone for any reason, but there are no pokemon-specific regulations regarding training or trainer privileges.” She tried to set a hand on HIlda’s but it was quickly brushed off. “I don’t see why you’re so opposed to this, he’d essentially be de-facto your pokemon.”

“Oh, yeah. No problem, then!”

“Hilda—”

“Nah. No, we’re not doing this. What have I been saying for years. To both of you idiots. I’m done with it—if I never have to train a pokemon from zero to hero again, I’ll be happy. This is at least a couple steps beyond that.”

The silence that followed meant nothing to Aeimlou. It had an air of finality to it, but searching between people or trailing stray bits of dust floating around the room revealed nothing. He let it sit for a while, all the while wondering if he should interject.

Finally, Juniper sighed and touched a hand to her head and tucked wild strands of fur behind her ear.

“I haven’t put anyone up to anything. You’re right, I would have asked anyways, but that’s because I trust you.”

“I guess I can’t refuse, then.”

“Of course not—you can always say no.”

But Hilda had this odd twist to her expression as she sharpened her teeth on another carrot. She seemed cornered, knees drawing to her chest in the folds of the couch. Atlas’s hand grew unsteady over Aiemlou’s back, wobbling in a way he couldn’t ascertain.

Hilda, he said, please. It’s alright.

But she did not have much for him except a glare.

Juniper cleared her throat. “It’s a lot of responsibility, I know. It’s not like I expect you to take him for free. I’ll fund it.”

“Oh, well, what excuse do I have?”

“Hilda—”

“I don't know what to tell you, Juniper.” She scowled, raising an angry finger. “It doesn’t piss me off that you asked, but I hate you pretending there was ever a chance I’d say no. You know me.”

Juniper bit her lip, nodding distantly.

“And you know I’m just gonna do it.”

She nodded again, slower this time.

And with that, the room was hers, buried under an unspoken purpose. It struck an interesting figure over their connection, partly because of how outside Aeimlou was from it. He had no connection to these stories so he allowed himself to sit back, to watch and feel while Atlas and Juniper sent out things that hesitated, bouncing back halfway between them, or shuddering and wilting like fall grasses.

“You’ve got me in a ranting mood.” Hilda stood, brushed crumbs off her legs and looked down on them. “ All this taking advantage; It fucks me up that whenever I take a job, everyone acts so surprised that they need to pay me; like I should be rich by birthright, like saving their asses got me anything.” She sniped, arguing with some invisible creature. “But it’s not like they paid me, or helped, or did anything—they just sat on the couch and waited for someone to clean up their shit.”

She paused, took a breath, a fire lit in her eyes that Aeimlou only then realised had been there the whole time.

“Sometimes I wish I would’ve let team plasma win, just to see the look on their fiucking faces. Life stops kissing their boots, handing them shit and they probably curl up and die.”

Juniper did not react, but Aeimlou could feel the tension. “You don't mean that,” she said.

And allowed the moment to sit. Although whether Hilda relented because she truly meant it, or because Juniper looked up at her with sad eyes, Aeimlou could not tell.

“No. You’re right,” she said. A sigh broke her facade. “I would’ve given up fucking everything and been turned into some dumbass statue that kids take field trips to for bothering. So congratulations, everybody. You’re getting your way. At my expense. The fuck else is new?”

And although the others wilted further, Aeimlou felt quite pleased. He let out a quiet chirp and bobbed his head soldily. Just for himself. For a moment, Hilda stared and seemed as if she would break out the tape again, but she only sighed and put her attention on Atlas, who had recovered enough to lean into Aeimlou again.

I won’t apologise for expressing my opinion.

“Didn’t expect you to. Won’t let you trip up, though, you’re in charge of him. Just don’t be a hypocrite, Atlas.”

She ended with a quirk of the brow. He ended with a simmer, a faint hint of disappointment that Aeimlou felt through the cold touch of his gel. He felt that coldness also as Hilda turned to him with a snap of the fingers.

“And you. You little shit, I know your type.”

Psychic, as I have been told.

“Very funny. I’m not letting you poke the ursaring and run away. If you start pushing me, there will be consequences, understand?”

For a moment, Aeimlou considered testing the order, sending another prod her way and watching the ensuing punishment. But Atlas seemed to sense those intentions not long after they sprouted. Don’t, he warned. So Aeimlou did not. He simply nodded instead.

And although Hilda nodded back, she did not smile.

“Great. Welcome to the team. Well, Atlas’ team, I guess, since he’s offering to take care of you. And I’m holding him to it. Good luck, idiots.”

Off she went, not sparing a glance behind her as she stomped out the door. She only returned at nightfall. Hours after they were supposed to leave.

Instead, they left the next morning.

 

[tomatorade]

Four:
A Great View

Up above, hundreds of metres in the sky, Hoenn shone. The waters, mostly, which flowed in the gaps between land, almost seeming to crawl up the beaches and through the rivers to mainland mountains and lakes. The blue felt so solid and still from this height, but Latios had good memories of dipping down at speed, dragging a claw through the whitecaps and crashing through the larger waves with hardly a flinch except the cool shiver of seawater running through his feathers.

The land, too, seemed so green. In between routes carved through the land and all those new, human structures that shone also as if to compete with the sea.

Latios held a breath deep in his chest as he hovered amidst a mess of currents trying to drag him every which way.

This was the ideal place to view Hoenn, he believed, from so far above as to take in every aspect. Though he could not see the wingull diving, nor the gyarados thrashing, nor the lesser creatures cowering, he felt them intimately. A psychic hook in his chest that tried tugging him down amongst them, but hadn’t yet realised he’d been the fisherman this whole time.

He allowed himself the slightest of grins beneath a faint show of lips.

That warmth also spoke to him of a great ambition—he could tell other creatures did not know the world as he did. Not even the other legends. He’d ascended so long ago; then, he had been awed. Now, he knew them.

Speaking of, he’d felt a great psychic pulse of teleportation nearby. A signature very familiar to him, spry despite the way it increased gravity around him. One that always predicated a childish giggle. It was why he’d stopped flying in the first place. He knew nothing would come of trying to avoid her. She had time enough to find his nest, to wait weeks for him to extricate himself from the company of Rayquaza or Latias and find himself alone.

And there she was. Mew. Drifting along through the winds as if they were a stream carrying her on a raft of leaves. As she passed below him, she opened her eyes. Regarded him with a childish curiosity, and once he saw his own reflection in them (scowling, always scowling in reflections) her tail flicked. She drew her paws from behind her head and she pretended to paddle through air until she hovered beside him.

Well, off they go.

“I’ve got some very interesting news for you,” she sing-songed.

Unfortunate that her mood was bright. Though she rarely had a bad day, the good ones meant lots of conversation of the most roundabout sort. Of course, she outstripped him in almost every way so he could only sigh and bear it.

“Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“That’s no fun.”

“News is never fun.”

She twirled around to his muzzle, eyes wide in fake shock. She tried tapping him on the nose, but he drew back and she tumbled forward instead, righting herself as if she meant to.

“You lack perspective.”

“Perspective?” he snorted. Did he not have the ideal perspective? He looked down once more, knowing that few others could look at Hoenn this way. “Don’t talk to me about perspective. You will never change my mind about anything, just tell me this news you think is so important.”

“And isn’t that tragic?” she said, with no room for elaboration. “Meh. Whatever. We’ve got some new ascensions going around and I promised I’d tell you last time.”

Latios tilted his head up, drifting around to hide the thoughtful wrinkles striking his face. This was interesting news; she certainly didn’t lie about that. Of course, she knew his ambitions. She knew from his own ascension, from the first look in his eyes and the first catty smile she shared with him in some forgotten forest somewhere.

But he would not worry about her either way. This could be his moment. He whirled around, holding out his claws for her.

“Where is this creature?”

She only batted his offering away with her tail

“Oh, so eager,” she giggled, “what’s someone like you gonna do once I tell you, huh? Get yourself a playdate?”

He scowled. Playdate. How does one of the originals so fully miss the point?

“Don’t condescend to me. You have no idea who you’re talking to. My motives—my abilities; this creature could hold so much potential for me.”

He regarded her. Begged her to understand the poignancy of the situation she gave him. Hoped that she felt how his psychic whirled around him, cutting through the wind with expectation.

What he did not miss was the way her tail stilled.

“Oh, I know you.”

“You don’t.”

“Is there irony in desperately reaching for the tippy-top of the pecking order while still wishing to stay invisible?”

“I’m above pecking orders already.”

“But you consider yourself a god.”

“You know what I mean. I will not play semantics with you.”

She shrugged, floating closed until she left his vision. He refused to compromise his dignity by stretching his neck to follow her, but that didn’t seem to matter once he felt the soft brush of her fur against his back as she decided to sit on him.

He grumbled, seething internally.

“Who’s the king of dust in the land of dust? Is that you?”

Oh, save him, here come the riddles.

“I will not play riddles with you, either.”

“I’m just sayin’.” She straddled him now, her tail looping around a fin. “All the ants and primitive creatures operate on instinct so much that their suffering is different from yours. They will never feel this existential pain you do. So if you become the new rayquaza, I hope you can look back and laugh.”

Really. Existential pain? Rayquaza?! Interesting. He felt no such thing, of course. He’d grown beyond that, too, since he’d ascended. And he intended to grow beyond Rayquaza, as well. All this proved was how little Mew had known him. It’s odd for a single line to put into question an entire relationship, but that did it for him. And he could fire back with a new lightness he hadn’t felt since she’d ambushed him.

“I’d always hoped to replace you, actually.”

But she did not even tremble from her place on his back.

“Shows what I know, I guess.”

“Indeed.”

Still, a bristle of something hot fired between them.

“I do know you, Midas.”

He fired back just as strongly, throwing her from his neck. She spun through the air, recovering feet away with a warning pout.

“Don’t,” he snapped, “call me that. Perhaps you should have gone to Rayquaza with this information, if only to spare me.”

She tilted her head. Bit her tongue so it barely poked from her muzzle.

“Meh. He wouldn’t hear me like you would.”

“You can’t harass him like you do me, you mean.”

“You have potential.”

“You don’t know me.”

She flicked her tail at him, waggling a paw.

“I know you’re gonna go back to rayquaza once I tell you. You’re not even gonna tell him we had a chat, just dump all that context and all the other cool stuff we talk about and pretend like you figured it out on your own, because the protege potential—hah! Alliteration!--means more to you than icky things like ethics or morals or honesty and you’ll never even admit how much fun you had with me.”

He grit his teeth and turned back to Hoenn. Moments like these were the most frustrating ones with Mew. This baffling amount of insight set him on edge already, but she couldn’t help acting like a child, as if aching to prove her own incompetence. Even as the world seemed to still in her presence; it warped around her despite her own power. If that stunning psychic force that trailed behind her like a hurricane vanished, he was convinced that nature would bend regardless.

And he wanted that. Anyone would.

“Just tell me where it is.”

“You won’t like what you find. I don’t think you’ll have very much fun at all.”

As if he was looking for fun.

“Why even bring it up, then?”

“I think you could learn something.”

He scoffed.

“I have nothing left to learn.”

She giggled.

“So arrogant. That settles it, I guess. They’re moving right now, buuuuuut…” She paused, brow furrowed, searching against the line of the horizon. Then she blinked, eyes widening. “Oh, wow! Another one! Cresselia’s already on that, too!”

He craned his neck sharply, trying to follow her gaze.

“Competition?”

“Who? Cresselia? Nope. If he’s who I think he is, she’ll be happy for the lack of competition. Probably take him on a beach vacation or somethin’. Good for her.”

“I don’t care. Where are they?”

“Ah… Undella bay, I think. All of them, too. What a coincidence! It’s funny how these things work out, isn’t it?”

He cursed. Undella bay? He had no clue what that was. He knew only some of the towns in Hoenn, but judging on her direction this place existed far outside.

“And where is that?”

“You big baby. Go find a map or something.”
“And if I can't read?”

“Then learn. Enrich yourself. You’ve got time.”

Oh, how he wanted to throw her off into space. But just as he felt his psychic tighten in response to his rage, Mew gave him a wink and blinked off. Her own power shredded through his with simple activation, sending it limping through the winds.

Which left him alone once more. To the sound of his breathing and the creeping chill of night.

Hoenn shone beneath him.

So, so far away.

 

[tomatorade]

Chapter Five
Isaac

Isaac didn’t remember when he was born, but the events were told to him many times over with the sort of airs they got at service, one basking in nature, taking in all Mew had to offer with wide grins and open arms.

“He’s got the fire inside him,” the priest, supposedly, said, holding a chunky, wailing baby that would one day grow lanky and awkward. “A blazing passion burning like the sun. For the love of pokemon. Thank Mew for imparting this miracle.” And he smiled and it glowed like the sun as well, blowing through his earthen robes and tinting them red.

Supposedly.

At the beach house Isaac’s mother, Alma, had a designated armchair no one could touch. She sat at it on rainy days when stories like these were told. And she, as she often did, had some complaints. If Isaac were to list the general complaints she had about anything, he would never stop. The extended family often avoided her if they wanted to speak without being interrupted every thirty seconds.

Her important clarification was about the priest’s newness. This amateur had forgotten the important bit. What he’d been specifically told to say.

Alma would grumble it from her chair, interrupting his father as he told the story:

“I can sense greatness inside him.”

And she held it there and looked at Isaac as if waiting for a stormcloud to form above him.

It seemed redundant. Yet, as Mew created every living creature with great purpose and intent, so did every accident become purposeful. The priest hadn’t actually forgotten anything; it served something else’s plan.

Isaac wasn't sure he believed, but he still thought about that often.

~0_0~

As he grew, he grew alongside trained pokemon. And these were trained. Winners in every sense of the word. They did not play. They did not laze about. His mother’s krookodile, especially, seemed more like a statue than a living creature. It stood beside her at all times, towering over everyone in the room. The family got used to it, but when guests came over they suffered through long silent spells, just staring it in those dark marblelike eyes while a fork dangled between their mouth and plate. Alma, of course, would spit and sneer at the idea that someone couldn’t handle a simple conversation without rudely breaking eye contact and the relationship would be ruined before it started.

Anyway, Isaac first got to observe them fighting from a distance. Hunkering in the forest on his little scuffed knees and watching them tear up the training plateau with sharp blasts of energy, swipes and stomps that threw up head-sized chunks of rock and rubble. And sent them through the trees and into the ocean with great splashes.

They got calls after. The ringing of phones underscored a lot of Isaac’s life. Especially watching from above, legs dangling through the upstairs railing, watching Alma rant down below, slam the headset back on the hook and stomp off only to return for another call seconds later.

One day, her team was gone. Alma could not keep them anymore and she made sure everyone knew it by the many choice words she tongue-stuffed into the speaker of her phone, more vicious than ever. Isaac would not get to watch them anymore.

By the time he was eight he transitioned instead to league coverage. If not being kicked out of his room and locked out of the house for the day, Alma watching sternly behind a sliding glass door, Isaac spent all day on matches. Old recordings of pre-Alder Unova, tapes from back in Johto’s heyday, that one great match between Cynthia and Steven that lasted nearly an hour—fall season, two thousand fifteen. Over and over, until the TV blanked out and reflected his wide-eyed, slack jawed wonder, looking for all the world like a beached magikarp. Later, he watched it on a new flat-screen all his own.

At fourteen he volunteered at the arena, redrawing the lines with a roller that rattled and sprayed chalky dust over the hard clay ground. He sneezed a lot that year. And the itchy dust got in his eyes and scratched them. Lucky, then, that he also volunteered at the pokemon centre when they lived at the beach house in Undella. He got some eyedrops there and when they didn’t work his parents got a light scolding and he got to see all the foreign pokemon and brought them water and food and snuck pictures when he thought nobody saw.

At sixteen, he finally got the opportunity to do it himself. To climb the cliffs around Undella, look out over the shining sea and the flocks of squabbling wingull and tell himself…

Maybe he wasn’t ready.

Those whitecaps looked sharp and the wingull screamed too loud and the sun blazed bright and stung his damaged eye and his legs ached just from climbing the staircase up (because he’d never quite made it up the cliff face).

But sixteen was a natural state for self-doubt. So said his father and his teachers and the guidance counsellor and the therapist. Alma, though; she must have heard his thought. Her hawlike vigil turned sharp in this period. And she always had that same tilt of the mouth that she did when someone got a story wrong.

It did not seem to surprise her when he moved back in at eighteen. He got no words. she‘d never given anyone comfort, but she seemed happy to let him drift in and out of the house, now. On her chair, with the demeanour of a starving liepard.

His father, Natan, knocked on the door as he spent another day locked in his room. Ducking under the covers and refusing to face him made his face burn, but he’d been questioning his maturity for years anyways. So he could only hear Natan’s soft sigh and the way the bed sank as he sat at the other end.

“You can always try again. Rookies don’t often make it all the way first go.” he said, voice soft. Maybe he sensed the way Isaac’s heart sank, because he cut back in quickly. “And if that doesn’t work out, there’s… a lot more out there, y’know.”

Isaac sat there in his sweat, insulated by his clothes and the thick layer of blanket. He breathed in the humidity and curled in on himself as Natan’s hand landed softly on his shoulder. Then, a shake. Another sigh. Natan’s weight left the bed. Isaac counted to ten and chanced a peek only to find him waiting in the doorframe, tired eyes obscured by thick-rimmed glasses.

“You have a purpose, Isaac. Maybe it’s not training, but that… it could be anything. Believe that.”

Isaac watched him scratch a cheek, half-shuffle out the room and hesitate a couple times before finally letting the door clamp shut.

He thought very deeply about those words, too, but only felt the emptiness of them.

~0_0~

Isaac remembered the summer. Stood out on the Undella beachside, reffing for the trainers that shouted commands over the surf. The sand itched as it got in his socks and the sun burned as it poured over his arms and the sea smelled awful through the morning rot of yesterday’s seaweed washup. He could not complain about these things, though he often did on his own. And bit his tongue in the company of family, who stared at him over the dinner table, baffled blinding stares reduced in the overhead light of the beachhouse’s chandelier.

Did summer vacations used to be fun? He liked Anville town more. It’s not that much changed, replace the sound of the sea with the trains, and the smell of smoke, and they registered about the same--but he could be alone there. He knew the forests around, and if he wanted to vanish for a couple days he could. Where could he go in Undella? The pokemon center? On rainy days the nightmare stretched on forever as everyone fought over the same board games. They were so overused that every unfolding threatened to split them in half. The family would do about the same.

But these things were growing less important.

All he could do now was watch the ceiling. Don’t twitch. Don’t speak. Don’t remind yourself of what the nightmare’s done to you. Hope that this all turned out to be a dream and wait for a prayer to come that proved it.

Temptation crept in.

He could not help but lift a hand up to the flickering of his bedroom light.

As he woke up from the nightmare, he knew it had warped him. Sometimes he twitched a finger and the warm touch of fingers against palms instead felt chill and sharp. He’d once narrowly evaded the cold spike of a night slash against his leg—close enough to cut through his pant leg, stain his ankle black and leave a lingering chill for weeks.

He would never forget the feeling.

Or the jagged black sillhouette floating between him and the light.

~0_0~

An ice blue eye stared back at him in the mirror, shaking, pupil small as a pinprick.

He fixated, Trying to breathe so softly the image wouldn’t move. But a flicker of the ceiling light caught him. He tensed. Then shivered as he saw it reflect, breaking the image like ripples in a pond. The form seemed to ripple, too, body something not quite solid. Even those legs—which were more like briefly-tangible stilts that brought no sensation at all as they walked him across the floor. Until they vanished. And he nearly slammed his head on the dresser counter trying to catch himself on the way down. He could float if he kept his concentration, though it felt like an infinite fall.

Everything else felt so alien—the white wisp blowing from his head like smoke; a red crest jutting in front of his face, letting him hide behind it. It looked like some monster’s dislocated jaw and a trace of the claw showed it felt uncomfortably like flesh—spongy, but solid, tensing as he pressed it. And the yelp and alarming spike of pain as a claw sank in.

He spent a good while, claws raised at the mirror. Waiting. For the reflection to make a move, maybe. Obviously it never happened; much as he wanted to smash it, the trembling shadow monster in the mirror robbed him of any fire. Here, it had weak arms, a backlight that cut through its body like sun through mist, a terrified eye and all the posturing of a newborn girafarig. Behind it, the beachouse bedroom’s glass wall let in a quaint early-spring Undella landscape, with all the gentle waves and bright sand and pokemon playing in the surf.

In the nightmare, it struck something in him. It loomed over him. Those claws cut into his hand as he took them and his lungs shrank until he wilted like a deflating balloon.

Out here, it was pathetic. Some scared, wild thing he’d stumbled into traipsing through the brush.

“Hello?” he said. Not in his own voice, but the heavy bass and scratchiness reminded him less of a monster and more of himself at fifteen going through puberty. He tore away from the mirror, shrinking in on himself before he remembered those claws and extracted them again.

He spent the rest of the morning sitting on the bedside and pretending not to exist. Sometimes pokemon passed on the beach or boardwalk below, alone. He hardly saw another—well, a human for hours. When he did—one of the white-dressed nurses from the pokemon centre—he wasn’t sure whether to duck behind the bed or give a shy wave. But it didn’t matter. She hurried by, swaddled in her own scrubs, face against the wind, head drawn down too low to spot him. It seemed cold outside, but his last memories were of summer.

He must’ve slept a long time.

~0_0~

Big, blocky letters spun on screen, slamming forward with impact as if they’d actually ran into the glass. Unovan International. UI. On a screen that nearly swallowed the whole wall, the sound of it rattled through the surround sound into his bones.

His bones. Did he even have bones anymore?

The letters spun off again, revealing four men, all clean cut with too-small suits riding up on their shoulders and showing mismatched socks under polished shoes that dangled beneath the presenter’s desk. They talked, smiling politely the whole time. Every minute or so they’d cut to a new clip. None of which Isaac recognised. He tried to squint at the faces of trainers on either side of the arena, find something there. Nothing. Some later ones were against Iris—always of a braviary or stoutland or something ducking beneath dark lasers unleashed from the mouths of her hydreigon. He settled there, on some new blonde-haired Unovan stepping out onto the field and facing Iris with a smile.

Championship fights had already started. He almost lifted a hand to rub his eyes, but flinched away from it as the black claws entered his vision.

He’d been out for months. It’s strange that he’d be more disappointed for having missed most of training season and the off season, but…

Well, he struggled to feel anything. Like being dragged under, the weight of water keeping him down, chilling him.

He shimmied further into the couch’s embrace as the graphic came back. Then faded out to models sprinting across the beach in shiny new tracksuits. NEWSTEP slapped onto screen with just as much force. As the commercial faded to black again, he caught his reflection for a second and almost had a heart attack.

He blinked away his fear, coughed awkwardly and looked around the living room as if anyone was there to see. Maybe he wasn’t as settled as he’d like to be. Maybe he should do the smart thing and learn something about his new body instead of sitting around. But then he looked down at his claws again.

Fuck that. He’d rather watch TV. Even as pricks of panic dug into his shoulders and threatened to choke him. And shockingly, hours later, when his vision turned bleary and the long moments when he had to shut his eyes forced his nightmare to rip across the back of his eyelids, it was not the panic that interrupted him.

A knock sounded at the door.

Isaac froze. He dug his fist into the pleather couch cushion and winced as it tore. The thought that someone had come to open the beach house struck him. Then he realised they wouldn’t knock if they had. His second thought was to say nobody’s home. He would’ve meant it seriously and it would’ve been humiliating, so thank Mew he hadn’t, but that still left him staring helplessly at the door.

Another knock sounded. Heavy, like some gothic door knocker that they certainly didn’t have. It did not sound human.

Still, he found himself clambering up the side of the couch, shredding up the sides as he tried to hover and kept failing.

He did make it to the foyer. Eventually. It must have taken a half hour and had him drag himself across the tile floor as he exhausted himself trying to hover. The knocking never stopped. Evenly, every minute or so it rang through the house again.

There, he dragged himself onto the empty shoe shelf. He had a blurry view out the frosted window stretching from the door’s side—floor to ceiling, and to another chandelier dangling above him. Darkness stretched on outside. Even if he could make out the shapes beyond the window, it would remain a silhouette against the dull blue glow of the television still streaming across the house.

He huffed, slumped against the wall, out of breath, and wasted even more time thinking of what to say. But the knocking came louder right next to the door and his patience wore to threads.

Fuck it. If they wanted to kill him, why bother knocking?

Stretching over with a shaky claw and a groan, he barely flipped the lock and leaned against the handle when the door flung open and forced him back against the wall.

In a harsh slam and stomping footsteps that shook Isaac more than they did the furniture, a bisharp entered. And entered might be a soft word: really, it strode through as if the door weren’t there a second ago, those thick, clawlike feet cutting deep lines in solid tile. It paused, towering at least a couple feet over Isaac as he sat, flashing a glance from over its shoulder. Down, over the gleaming silver claws and blades that reflected harsh moonlight and Isaac forced himself deeper in the wall and felt the sick bubble of anxiety in his gut as death stared him down. Sharp mandibles cut against each other in its mouth and dark, human eyes narrowed once Isaac locked onto them.

But quickly as it came, the bisharp brushed him off, carried on into the house. The harsh clanking of metal followed in its wake and left it surveying the area—to the open kitchen island, and living room all bathed in the TV’s light; to the lobby and staircase beside, climbing up to a glimpse of the hallway and the bedrooms beyond. But it seemed almost instantly bored. It shook its head, the axelike blade flashing wet like blood in the light, then turned back to Isaac.

“I felt your size,” it said, in a voice Isaac felt he shouldn’t understand—all clicking and shearing, almost industrial and grating.

Isaac still understood, though. And nodded dumbly for no particular reason.

Which elicited little more than twitch, somehow conveying such intense displeasure that Isaac itched.

“So?” it asked, sharply.

“Uhm… hello.” Isaac said. He could not pretend to be comfortable, but without threat of death, the danger trickled away and he relaxed enough to talk. “Why are you in my house?”

“To challenge you.”

Isaac blinked. He looked around the room, for whichever invisible person the bisharp might be speaking to. Then deeper in the house when that failed—to the games chest, with a chessboard carved into the top.

“To chess? Ah… what? I mean…” The bisharp seemed so human standing there in the lobby, with such an intelligence in its eyes that Isaac forgot how pokemon usually challenged each other. He held up his claws, then. “I can’t fight. Uh… sorry.”

They kept eye contact for an uncomfortable time. Isaac wanted to slam his head into the floor. Sorry. That’s what you say to someone who broke into your house to fight you. Right.

“Come here,” it said.

Despite himself. Or, more likely, because of all the prominent blades, Isaac found it an easy command to obey.

In theory.

In practice, he trembled too much trying to right himself. Anything less than complete concentration would not let him float or materialise anything to walk with, so he managed to clamber up the wall and take a single step before crumpling back to the floor, a jarring slam that left him face up to the lofty ceilings.

The bisharp filled his vision moments later, those heavy, pillar-like legs leading up through a maze of knives and an unimpressed stare.

“It seems my journey was pointless. I’ve won.”

But its voice kept flat. Even as it drew up a foot and dug it into Isaac’s chest until he wheezed, the bisharp’s claws drooped at its side.

“What—” Isaac started, then wheezed again as the bisharp withdrew, “do you want?”

“To challenge you. To defeat you. I hardly had to try, you seem weakened.”

“You don’t know me. I’m not, like, a threat. Or anything. I’m just some guy.”

“I felt your size,” it repeated.

“I don’t know what that means.”

But the bisharp didn’t seem interested in explaining. It wandered off, stepping into the kitchen and leaving Isaac to draw up on his elbows, the shadowy mass of his body whipping about of its own accord.

“Excuse me?” he continued.

Not that it got much response. The bisharp had already thrown open the fridge door, bathing the kitchen in a white glow and letting a chill breeze creep along the floor. The fridge was empty, of course, so it grunted and shut it shortly after. Then it set its sights on the TV, drifting into the living room, planting its claws on its hips and tracing the battle playing out on screen.

Isaac just sat there, blinking.

“Hey,” he said. He meant to shout, but hesitated and overthought it and the word sort of limped out quietly. The bisharp still heard it, though, judging by a flippant wave of the claw. “Can you… leave? I mean, if you're finished. Please.”

“You have no way to challenge me.”

“I just— I was asking. I don’t have anything for you.”

“I will not leave unless you force me.”

“Oh,” Isaac muttered.

Which left him on the floor, watching the bisharp linger beside the couch like it owned the place. The TV roared, shoutcasters punching through the tension with their usual rounds of cheers. Strobe graphics and canned cheers played over the fallen form of Iris’ hydreigon.

Even despite finding some brief elation, he sniffed and idly traced the bisharp’s form in dust on the ground.

The situation hadn’t quite struck him yet. Though maybe that wouldn’t change much; he always got looks for what he thought was important. Yes, he cried more when Hilda dropped from the championship than when Nana died. Sometimes he cried, sometimes he just thought. And back then, he thought it was not sad that she died. She was old. He knew what happened when people got old.

The audience cheered again, as if to agree. Or to urge him.

Time to move, they shouted. With the waving of flags and blaring of vuvuzelas.

So he made a lot of noise trying, but with a while to calm down and the endless support of the TV, he crawled himself up the wall and managed to float again. And with minimal scratches on the pristine white walls. And with a limp self-pat on the shoulder.

The bisharp, of course, watched the whole thing solidly, not bothering to lend a hand, let alone a word. It also watched a wobbly Isaac hover into its space and plop down on the couch again with a quiet sigh, snuggling into the warm corner he’d left.

And now what? It still wasn’t leaving.

“How long are you staying?”

“Until I get the fight I wanted.”

“You’re staying forever?”

It raised up a claw and clacked it. Isaac got the impression of a betrayal, holding on to his rope, dashed against the side of a cliff by rain and wind, only to look up and see the bisharp with his lifeline between its claws.

That claw dropped like a dead fish. “Until I die. There are no other chances like this. I will let you heal, first.”

Isaac blinked. The vision morphed back into boring, mundane reality. Only, what the fuck was he talking about? Boring, mundane, reality. Okay. He still had no clue what was happening.

“Okay,” he repeated. To himself.

The bisharp nodded.

He nodded

Thay sat and watched TV…

A bird’s-eye of the arena faded into shakycam in the lockers, rows of flushed faces straining to fight past each other and make it into focus. But the camera had its sights only on the winner, and followed him out.

…and kept watching…

It was the blonde kid. Den Mercer, who smiled with all the confidence in the world and wore a coating of dust and sweat as battlescars from commanding the field. He had a belt of basic red-and-white pokeballs and department store track pants and teeth with a slight hint of yellow and years without braces.

…until focusing stung and tears started to pool and roll down Isaac’s cheeks.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fight you.”

“Then I will die.”

“Don’t… do that. That’s— that’s not great.”

But the bisharp had some unreadable expression beneath all those moving mandibles. It—

Hold on.

“Sorry, what gender are you?” Isaac asked.

It blinked.

“I mean—” Isaac shifted uncomfortably, sniffling and rubbing his eyes until they stopped stinging, suddenly hoping the couch could swallow him whole. “I’ve been calling you it this whole time.”

It kept blinking. “You haven’t referenced me at all.”

“Uh, in my mind, I mean.”

“I don’t care what you think.”

Oh. That’s good. But it didn't answer the question.

“Soooo…” he started, dragging it out in hopes the bisharp would jump in with an answer. But he only stared a good minute until Isaac ran out of breath and sputtered out, wheezing and coughing awkwardly.

Only then did it chime in with a gruff: “I am male,” and continue to look at Isaac like a housefly buzzing around his head.

“Cool. I mean, I guess it doesn’t matter. I should’ve asked your name first,” he mumbled and, learning from last time, capped it off, “so what’s your name?”

“That has no relevance—”

“I’m never going to fight you. Probably—and if you’re going to stay here forever or until you… until I find a way to get you to leave, then I think it’s good if I know what to call you.” Isaac paused. “I’m Isaac.”

The bisharp—now a he and a real, looming presence in Isaac’s life—turned. The roar of the tv drowned in the intensity of his stare.

“Call me King.”

 

[Negrek]

Back to check out the recent chapters! I see what you mean about the first three kind of being their own mini-arc. And also how the xeno perspective wasn't the primary thing you'd been thinking about with this story! But assuming that the directions these chapters are pointing indicate where the fic in general is going to go, I am perhaps even more intrigued...

Hilda's outburst at Juniper after Aeimlou requests that Atlas become his trainer was super interesting to me. All that bitterness about having to save the world for everyone else, and now being asked to do yet more, and not for the first time, it seems, and halfway wishing she'd just ignored the call and left everyone to fend for themselves--there's clearly a story there, and it's one I'm really looking forward to learning more about! This story seems to have a lot of characters being thrust into positions of power they didn't necessarily seek or want, like Aeimlou himself, of course, and I'm fascinated by how Hilda appears to have ended up as one of these, even if she remains humans. gl Hilda, hope you don't end up zapped into a reshiram before the end of this And then, of course, there are the people actively seeking that power, that responsibility, such as Midas. I'm very excited to see what happens when those two opposing positions clash, and whether Aeimlou and Hilda might come to understand each other a little better, if they end up realizing that they're in similar situations.

It also looks like this fic might be engaging more with the themes of B/W than I thought, given some of Atlas' thoughts on trainers and starters and the response to Aeimlou's request. Sometimes it takes an outsider commenting on an accepted standard for everyone to realize how messed up it is--and of course, why would Aeimlou ever assume that only humans could be trainers, if he understands their role as surrogate parents? Surely Atlas is more capable of helping him out than someone who isn't psychic themselves. I don't know if the relationship between humans and pokémon is going to be a major theme here (although given we have a human turning into a pokémon, there would certainly be the opportunity for it...), but I'm intrigued by how you've portrayed the situation thus far.

Midas' section was full of a lot of interesting worldbuilding. Definitely makes me curious how new ascensions are triggered--presumably if the world ever needs a new Latios or whatever, that would do it, but Midas is clearly still alive. Perhaps, if he's supposed to be a protector but is instead spending his time hanging out in the upper atmosphere and contemplating how to ascend still higher, there's effectively nobody doing his job and the world needs a new Latios anyhow? Or maybe ascensions are just totally random, but they happen at such a rate that any fallen legend is going to get replaed reasonably quickly. Also intrigued by the fact that legends can apparently become higher legends under the right circumstances--or perhaps that's only what Midas believes. Given that multiple Latios exist, I assume that means Midas can become a mew without needing to, like, bump off the current Mew, but still--big yikes coming out and saying he's angling for her job. Interesting, too, that Midas refers to Mew as one of the originals. Does that mean Mew was always Mew and didn't ascend the way he did? Has she simply gotten lucky to have remained in her position for so long, or is she immortal unlike some of the other legends? Or is it more that the species or position of Mew is one of the "first batch," so to speak, and so holding that position is more prestigious or otherwise desirable than being "merely" one of the legends that came later? I'm definitely going to enjoy learning more about how ascension works and what it really means to be a legend in this world!

And finally we come to Isaac! Who is in some ways adapting to his body better than Aeimlou is, and in other ways is very much not, heh. He seems to still be in shock, even after King's arrival; I wonder when he's finally going to have to stop watching TV and try to do something about his situation. Not that I blame him; Darkrai certainly seems like one of the most depressing legendaries to be. Interesting contrast in that, unlike Aeimlou, he was actually hoping for some sort of purpose or direction in life. This probably wasn't quite what he had in mind, though. :P In general I think it'll be fun to watch him and Aeimlou interact; they have very different personalities, and I imagine the way they're going to adjust to their new lives will be very different as well. Is Hilda going to be pressured into adding another legend to her life? Just dump all the lost legends on Hilda, it's fine.

We've only known King for one scene, but I've definitely taken a liking to the guy. I'm guessing his cryptic comments about "feeling Isaac's size" have something to do with him having a huge dark aura, or aura of power in general?

I was a bit surprised that Isaac doesn't seem to wonder at all about his family when he finds himself awoken as a Darkrai. He believes he's been asleep for a long time... so does he think his family just left him behind in the beach house while he was in a coma or something? Based on the previous scene it sounds like at least some of what was going on there was a nightmare, but it doesn't sound like ALL his memories at the beach house were a nightmare. idk if he, like, phased out into the nightmare realm for a few months and so his family left without him because they didn't know where he was, or he ended up at the beach house after coming from somewhere else, or his perceptions are all screwed up by the nightmare thing, but it struck me as odd that he doesn't seem to wonder about the other people who were in the house the last time he was awake. Perhaps that's part of his apathy/serious avoidance of thinking too hard about his situation, though.

In any case, these chapters pushed the scope much farther than I expected, and I'm really excited to see what comes next! With everybody converging on Undella Town, I have to imagine we'll be getting some fun character interactions soon. The major players we've seen so far all seem like they could have a lot to learn from each other... but a high chance of deeply disliking each other, too. Should be a good time! I look forward to reading more soon.

Spoiler: Some typos etc.

The reuniclus (which was a very fun thing Atlas called himself) had taken on the mantle of teacher in lieu of his partners’ frustration.

"In lieu of" means "instead of," whereas I think you were going for something more like "in response to" here.

Hilda, in particular with a sly grin on her face.

I think you want either a second comma after "particular" or no comma at all in this sentence.

They did not stop as food was brought to them, nor as clouds hid the sun, nor as Atlas’ friends returned, the humans attempted to usher them inside and were roundly ignored.

"The humans attempted to usher them inside" sounds to me like it wants to be its own separate sentence.

Remembered creatures similar to Alas

*Atlas

- Aeimlou's name got misspelled a few times over the course of these chapters, sometimes as "Aiemlou" and at least once as "Eimlou." Depending on what software you're writing in, perhaps it would help to add his name to the spellcheck dictionary?

And sat silently for a while sharing unseen words with Hilda.

I was confused about what "unseen words" might mean in this context. I was like, are they texting or something? Or maybe "unseen" because Aeimlou isn't able to pick their thoughts up with his psychic abilities?

Up above, hundreds of metres in the sky, Hoenn shone.

The way this is worded makes it sound like Hoenn is levitating. Something like "From hundreds of metres in the sky, Hoenn shone" or "from hundreds of meters above, Hoenn shone" would get the right image across, I think.

One that always predicated a childish giggle.

To predicate means to affirm, imply, or assert something; don't think it's the word you want here.

He grit his teeth and turned back to Hoenn.

*gritted

“You big baby. Go find a map or something.”
“And if I can't read?”

Missed a paragraph break here. Also smh, Midas, it's been how many years? lern 2 read already

And he smiled and it glowed like the sun as well, blowing through his earthen robes and tinting them red.

I spent a while puzzling over this, wondering if the priest was some kind of pokémon, but at a second look--you just mean the robes are earth-colored, right, not literally made of dirt?

she‘d never given anyone comfort, but she seemed happy to let him drift in and out of the house, now.

You missed the capital at the beginning of this sentence.

Big, blocky letters spun on screen, slamming forward with impact as if they’d actually ran into the glass.

*run into

Evenly, every minute or so it rang through the house again.

I think you want another comma after "so."

 

[tomatorade]

Chapter six
Sunlight

Isaac might’ve been in the middle of a meltdown. He didn’t sleep or eat—though he couldn’t tell if he had to do either anymore—but he continued feeling exhausted and confused. He’d migrated from trying to find comfort in the embrace of the couch to splayed across it, head craned off one end watching the gaping maw of the open door as wind blew it gently back and forth.

King left it open for the unwelcome daylight to slowly crawl out the doorway. He’d gone. Well, he came and went, leaving the door open with the confidence Isaac wished he had. He didn’t talk much after their first conversation. Isaac didn't try very hard to keep it up to be fair, mostly he watched King watching TV or rummaging through the house with the air of a bored parent being shown a cool new toy.

Isaac felt faintly pathetic that it only took an hour lying there, staring at an empty doorway, to want him back.

He shook his head sadly. No, he didn’t think that. Not King; the bisharp didn’t seem to care for anyone, let alone him. Isaac just desperately needed someone to talk to.

What people could he call if he had his phone? Any of his friends in Anville: Mark, who’d definitely be there; Sarah, who’d probably not be there, or the constant procession of people leaving for training or university or work? These were five-year-old thoughts. Anville got emptier by the year. Here, in Undella, he knew the one pokemon centre nurse—Kloe—on a first-name basis, and that was about it.

So, family? No. Maybe aunt Vivian or any of the kids or his dad (though not really), but he wouldn’t want to talk to anyone else even if he were still human.

He didn’t want to watch TV anymore, but it still comforted him from the wall. Commercials swam through his head as he craned up to watch the ceiling instead, counting specks in pure white paint. The shadows leaking from his body rose to meet them.

And he might have stayed there, letting the TV sap his power until King showed up again and he actually felt like doing something. But repeat phrases got lodged in his head. Faint whispers from the broadcast that drew his attention again.

Undella town. That’s where he was. And some reporter went on about it incessantly, which must mean she was talking about him.

Isaac turned over to watch. A blonde, smiley, buttoned up lady sat behind a desk with scrolls of text streaming above her head.

“--not unusual for the eccentric Miss Vivian Allbright, but certainly a new one for the sleepy Undella beachside,” she said, chipper and practised. She held up a hand and a chunky box appeared, flashing a date. Comparing it to the date in the corner gave about a month’s difference. “In any case, it’s shaping up to be a strange summer. Now, back to Dan with the Unovan league.”

Isaac blanched at the mention of his aunt. And watched, full focus as the broadcast switched to Dan and he pointed at neon-red graphs washing over the winning championship match. But Isaac had seen the analysis a dozen times over the day and while he’d normally welcome another couple, now he wanted the woman back.

She never came back. No more mentions of whatever would happen in a month, no mentions of Vivian or Undella, the broadcast ended on a graphic smashing through the screen and flickered instead to the beginnings of some eighties-era pokemon soap opera.

Wrestling with the remote and scrolling through the guide revealed nothing. His mother didn’t like the family wasting electricity by watching the tube on vacation, so to avoid temptation she paid for exactly one news channel and whatever came for free. None of which helped right now. In the age of Xtransceivers that shouldn’t be a problem, but Isaac wasn’t reborn with his.

He dropped the remote, grumbling and crossing his arms with only a little bit of hesitance. Nobody would have left their computer.

Just then, a breeze came through the door. It creaked in concern.

Of course, there was one place that was always open.

~0_0~

As he hovered outside Undella’s pokemon centre, Isaac thought he had made a mistake. He blended into the darkness out on the boardwalk. The smokiness of his body didn’t even reflect the harsh fluorescent light blasting from the centre’s windows, and the rest of the boardwalk was mostly closed even during the day. Another month and they would wake up again.

It couldn't be that strange for a pokemon to come alone. He could tell himself that, but a paranoia settled in him as he faced the automatic doors. It would certainly be strange for a pokemon to come alone and ask to use the computer.

But he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

Isaac floated up to the polished glass, claws twined together. He stared at the little red dot in the door sensor all the while. The glass parted for him, as it should, and greeted him with a wave of cold, sterile air. He paused. Listening for the bell to chime so he could dive back outside and crouch in a bush. Then he remembered it sat on the counter—this little electric beeper stuck on between the harsh backing of two monitors at reception.

The nurse must be busy. Or gone. Maybe nobody was there, they just forgot to lock the doors. It was certainly possible. Isaac had done it before.

Isaac held onto that idea as he floated across polished white tile. It reflected his shadow like the form of a great beast lurking underwater.

The free computers stared at him from the far wall. Some small-frond ferns hid in pots on the desks and windowsills, conspicuously nailed down on little metal ties. An attempt to green up the room, sure, but Isaac could spot bits of white receipts and plastic bottlecaps in the pots, too. He wondered if he should clean them up a little. If the ferns were drooping a little sadly. If he should login as a guest or use his old employee account. These all felt like strange things to wonder even as he kept an eye on the shiny wood door behind reception, waiting for the occasional muffled scratching and footsteps to manifest into an open door and catch him out.

It didn’t happen. He slid one of the cheap metal chairs out, wincing as it squealed, sat down on it, and took an extra long moment to survey the room.

Nothing but the sound of a distant AC and the smell of glass cleaner. Alright.

He ended up using a guest account. The keys felt under his claws, tap-tap-tapping away harshly in a quiet room. Beyond that, he left little chips and dents in them each time he struck, scraping through the white letters.

He moved a bit slow watching the counter, but in only a couple minutes took to the browser, the clumsy typing of ‘undl bey’ in the searchbar. Miraculously, the computer seemed to understand that. Isaac got what he wanted by the second result. Massive, black font on faux-newspaper background. Unovan Times. More a rag newspaper than anything, but Isaac wouldn’t complain.

News. Regional. East Coast :

Summer Seance at Undella beachside.

The normally sleepy mid-spring Undella beachside will be seeing summer crowds early as a public ritual expects to draw eyes. Just last week, Vivian Allbright, the millionaire part-owner of Bright Tech and known eccentric, announced a Seance would take place at their beach house early next month. By her account, this involves a procession of over a hundred participants, including the hiring of security both before and after the event, consultation with spiritual experts from Celestial Tower, and will involve opening the boardwalk nearly a month earlier than custom to house and feed all the participants in this nearly-week long event. It’s not open to the public, though businesses are unlikely to close again after.

The seance comes a year after the sudden death of the Allbright family’s middle son, Isaac Allbright…

It continued, but Isaac didn’t need to read more. He sat there. Blinking through the harsh blue light.

Dead.

Did he feel any particular way about that?

Well, he wasn’t dead, so they were wrong about that. And if he were dead, he didn’t think he’d be that upset. He’d be dead of course, and probably wouldn’t feel much at all, but even in a strange situation where he died and wasn’t dead somehow, then everything would be fine. So he clicked the next link, onto his messages, and resolved not to think about it anymore.

His first thought was to send a message to everyone telling them he was alive, but imagining himself getting something like that changed things. First thing, he’d drive down to Undella to make sure.

So he didn’t. Just scrolled through all these heartfelt goodbyes in his feed. A strange thing to do—text dead people. There were a surprising amount of strange people trying to talk to a supposed dead person. And from all kinds of people he’d never met before. He only recognised a few names—his aunt’s mostly, dozens of times. He scrolled over them quickly, burying them in a sea of quick, one word farewells.

A pit formed in his stomach. He scrolled back up, clicked back to the article. A seance. Hundreds of people. He wasn’t even dead. A little worm of guilt settled in him thinking about all those faces showing up, seeing him there and hating him for disappointing them. Or scream, more likely.

But he didn’t want to think about that, either. He glanced back at the counter, wondering if the squeaking of a door was just his imagination. Still nothing. Then, watching a curious black wisp seep from his chest and caress his claws as if to comfort them, he figured he could learn what he’d become before going, at least.

Back into the searchbar he went, where ‘dark, scary, shadowy creature’ led into the wrong forums, and ‘pokemon, smoke, dark, claws?’, popped up images of basically every pokemon, some umbreon sitting peacefully next to a campfire, an absol watching over a sleepy village. Cute. But not helpful.

And unfortunately, every search involved some very tempting tournament clips stuck right in the browser, playing as he scrolled over them.

Isaac knew his own predilictions.The computer was tempting him.

In his defence, he held out for a couple minutes. Until he recognized the clip of an old umbreon wish strat from nearly a decade ago and found himself obsessing over it again.

See, the standard practice with competitive bulk is to keep them alive and on the field as long as possible, through walls of bubbling purple poison, fire, water, anything to create distance, especially with some ability to keep or restore energy mid-battle. Obviously variants on protect became popular then, particularly during the circuits a decade ago. In fact, it became so popular that nearly every pro team needed an answer for them.

In comes the Unovan Minor league, august 2010, Ace Pery versus Ace Dawnquist. Pery has an umbreon, and you can tell from the way Dawnquist chats with his team, everyone knows what's about to happen.

Only it doesn’t. Really, what’s so brilliant is Pery’s counterplay. The stadium watches his umbreon turn glowing red eyes skyward, feels the arena fill with warmth and light and love. Then waits, yawns in store for the shimmering wall of light to cascade between him and the opposing sawk. It never comes. Instead the umbreon sends out a prodding dark pulse, a seeping poison trail that grazes the opponent’s side. Dawnquist is shouting over the chaos, can’t keep up with the commands—he expected half a minute of waiting or otherwise blugeoning the wall and wasting energy, but by the time the sawk manages a weak counter that keeps the opponent at bay an aura of sparks settles over the field and the umbreon’s ears perk up again.

An interview—Pery’s winner talk, all smiles and glowing satisfaction—later reveals the umbreon to be a reserve. He doesn’t even know the technique.

By the time the video finished, Isaac was in awe all over again, leaning into the desk and the bluelight of the screen. Then the video flickers to black. And a startling blue eye cuts through the dark.

But Isaac was so enarmoured already, he didn't flinch. Watched, for a time. That eye wasn’t human. It had an ethereal edge to it, the pupil shimmering with power.

He held up a claw.

Had a thought.

And before he got time for a second or third thought to correct the first, a gasp shattered the silence. Then, a clattering. The rolling of glass across a vinyl floor.

Isaac found himself so overwhelmed by his single thought that he couldn’t even be shocked. Just look back at the counter and watch the nurse back away, arms raised.

He’d always had a hard time telling the nurses apart from each other. They hid their hair in white caps, and all had the same sharp uniform somewhere between scrubs and those old nurse outfits that only exist in desaturated tent photos from the Unovan war. He’s certain this one was Kloe, though. She had a mole on her neck and an accordion of thought wrinkles between her eyes and a sleeve of harsh, black tattoos wrapping around her left arm that peeked from below her sleeve as she held her hands aloft.

Isaac used to have a crush on her. Well, no, he pretended to because all the kids in battle camp thought she was pretty and he wanted to fit in. They got to be friends, later, during his volunteer hours, when he rambled to distract himself and she was the only nurse who seemed excited to hear about the up-and-comers on the Unovan circuit.

And there she stood. Again. Buttons tight against her chest with held breath and a spark of fear in her eyes.

“This is just a hospital,” she said. So calmly, as if she’d faced threats like him often. “You can have whatever you want as long as you leave the pokemon alone.”

Isaac took a very long time to consider that. In a way, he was surprised, though he shouldn’t be. He knew what he looked like now. The thought sent some awful images playing against the back of his mind, but he could ignore them to watch Kloe tilt her head in anticipation.

He didn’t really want anything, did he? He was tempted to ask for one of those lung inflation machines he remembered seeing, but that would be stupid. Something his parents would scold him for thinking. Maybe he wanted to talk. But even as he tried to open his mouth, the words wouldn’t come. This whole situation would probably be very strange to her. And even with the promise of company, all of a sudden he felt shackled to his own loneliness.

Yes, she would think this was strange. And he was strange. And if one truth could be gleaned from the past however many years of his life, it’s that the only thing he liked less than being alone was sitting at the end of a table and having a blinded, blinking face stare back at him as if he’d landed there from space.

So as calmly as he could, Isaac floated to his feet, steadying a claw on the rolling chair and wincing as it tore a line of stitches. He slid it under the desk. Allowed himself tentative movements across the room. Kloe watched all the while, backing up into the swinging doors behind her as he passed the counter.

Her hands had sunk, one reaching behind, one pawing at her hip for pokeballs that weren’t there. A terseness had sunk into her, on the wrinkles in her forehead and the drawing up of her shoulders.

Maybe Isaac expected this. It didn’t matter now, as things had become uncomfortable and left him fidgeting. He certainly didn’t mean to scare her.

So he mumbled a ‘“sorry,” watched as her expression morphed into surprise again, and drifted back until the sound of the sliding glass door greeted him again. When it shut, distorting the inside with streaks of dried rainwater and dirt and glare from the dawn’s first breaking light, she still watched back.

~(0)~

King was back by the time Isaac worked up the courage to cross the promenade. He’d left the door open, of course, a trail of ants marching over the marble floor like a caravan under the watchful eyes of some chickadees chatting on the coat rack. Neither of which gave Isaac mind as he floated past. He had an easier time seeing in the dark now, but could still feel the difference between early morning outside and the dark, musty beach house. Only the dark made him more comfortable, now. He closed the door. Eyed the chickadees as they scattered from the slam. Promised himself he’d let them out later.

Isaac found the bisharp in the walk-in closet beneath the stairs. He’d been doing… something as Isaac entered, working between a pile of shoes dumped from their shelves, and clothes spread out over the carpet in a patchwork of summer colours. Not wrecking them, really, a couple minutes watching had him pick something off a shelf at random, hold it up to the darkness, then dump it on the floor without a second thought.

And although that one fuzzy wool sweater his mom liked stared at him, buried halfway under the pile, Isaac couldn’t find it in himself to care that much. He still though he should say something.

“I uh… lived here before. You know.” As if that would stop him. King didn’t even notice. “I was human, before. I guess that doesn’t make sense—I’m not sure why you’d believe that.”

But King paused, a billowing purple blouse held between his claws.

“I don’t see how it wouldn’t make sense. I found you in a human home. You have no concept of yourself,” he said. It sounded like he’d continue, but instead he took a silk belt from the blouse, placed it in his lap and tossed the rest aside. “Don’t talk to me about this any more.”

“And I went to the pokemon centre. The uh— nurse—Kloe—saw me there.”

“Fine.”

“I think she could call someone. I’m not sure who. Like, a ranger or something, I guess, and then they’ll come here.” Which also reminded him, “there’s a seance happening, too. That’s in a month, but it’s— y’know. You’ll probably have to leave. Maybe me, too. I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”

King let a harsh sound escape from his mouth. It was too alien to decipher emotion from, but Isaac suspected it might be irritation.

“You talk as if all this information is equally important. It isn’t.”

That had Isaac fidgeting awkwardly in the doorway, wishing he couldn’t spot King’s murky silhouette sitting cross-legged in the darkness. Wishing that it hid him under a heavy doorframe and no backlight.

“There will be challengers,” King said, “Others will come and try to take you. Kill you. Defeat you. As I have, and intend to do again.”

Oh. That didn’t sound great. Maybe it should be more discouraging, but it had Isaac mostly thinking about the seance again. Imagining what a fucking disappointment it would be.

And then his single thought. The one he’d let go of in the pokemon centre. It returned, here in the closet and struck him again, stronger than ever.

“Could you teach me how to fight?”

Now—and maybe for the first time—Isaac caught King’s attention. He dropped a pair of shoes he’d been extracting the laces from like guts from the body of a shrimp. Turned and scanned Isaac from top to bottom. With a heave and plenty of heavy shearing, the sounds of factories in his joints, King rose to his feet, brushed past Isaac and went back into the hallway. The quick glance Isaac got of his metal pincer was cold enough to make him shiver.

“I never gave you a tour,” Isaac tried to cut the tension. All it got was a withering glance from King. He drew his claws into his chest, choosing to examine the angles of King’s shadow splayed out In the hall “I mean, I guess it’s not that important, just… hospitality, you know? And you’d probably rather not uh— train me. If you still want to defeat me.”

“You have an arena.”

Isaac blanked. Then thought it was a question and nodded. Then realised it was rhetorical once King waved him on and stomped down the hall. A faint burn of shame rose through him—for the whole situation, really. Normally he had someone around to shut him down and curb all the stupid things he thought, but here he felt unfiltered. And King hadn’t said no. And Isaac didn’t want to walk it back now that the bisharp cut through the house with his authority.

“Sorry.” Isaac mumbled.

“Never apologise to me again,” King said.

And led him through the hall, out the house, beyond the beach, and into the forest. Isaac followed meekly behind, hiding in shadows the sun threw across the beach.

He didn’t have to hide when they got to the trees. Even King seemed to relax, shoulders dropping and pace settling into something more manageable. Isaac had to look up, squint through the leaves and notice those yellow smears splashed against the canopy in order to find sunlight amongst the ferns and moss and cool rot crowding below.

It seemed the whole forest was a shadow.

And it took far too long for Iaac to realise they were in king’s territory, now.

 

[kyeugh]

what a great fic. i'm really glad i decided to check this out.

i'll start by saying your prose is totally hypnotic. this is one of the stories that is a bit difficult for me to review because moment-to-moment reactions require pulling myself out of the story to remark and it's just so hard to do here. i'm so sucked in.

coming to grips with a new body is well-tread territory within pokémon fandom considering all the PMD content. to be honest it's rare that this type of story does it for me. but you do a great job focusing on what's interesting about the subject without getting bogged down in rote description. i always felt like the expressions of disorientation revealed something about the character or their background. well done.

the premise of this story, with random individuals (human and animal and i assume occasionally pokémon?) ascending to godhood reminds me of the incarnations of immortality series by piers anthony, only less, uh... piers anthony. which is not a bad thing. the intersection of ordinary and extraordinary, mundane and divine, is a fascinating one, and it draws out some intriguing themes about self and identity that you play well to here. there's such a strong continuity between the characters' pasts and their presents, and there's a strong push and pull between instinct and intellect as well. i enjoyed, for example, how isaac seems to float as darkrai much more intuitively than aeimlou is able to fly as latios, despite humans being flightless and ravens obviously not. really drives home the idea that a body is a machine and your ability to pilot it has as much to do with your intuition regarding that machine than anything else—isaac can float because he understands that he ought to be able to and has an inkling as to how. there is such a strong physicality and sense of duality to these perspectives.

your characters bleed history and experience, and you establish rapport so quickly and vividly. you establish background and motive quickly. atlas, isaac and even hilda are all so easily dominated, but for totally different reasons from each other, and it always feels compelling within their given contexts. i was struck by how overdetermined a lot of the character interactions are. juniper was always going to make the request of hilda, hilda was never going to say no, isaac was never going to stand a chance against king. the outcomes never seem in question here—the focus is the commentary and the metabolization of those outcomes by the characters.

i think i enjoyed aeimlou's section the most. the perspective is just so novel and well-executed, i couldn't get enough. and his relationship with atlas is really sweet. i hope we return to him soon. i agree with negrek that his role as an outsider, capable of elegantly revealing the weirdness of systems that others take for granted, is pretty interesting and i'm curious to see where it goes. his relationship with atlas feels like a bit of a deconstruction both in-world and out.

i'm really enjoying king as well, so forceful but nonchalant. your xeno perspectives really shine.

it seems like this story is trending towards a convergent plot of some kind involving the legendary hierarchy. at the same time, with the exception of midas's perspective, this story feels more slice of life than anything. my enjoyment of the story has come mostly from exploring the character's perspectives and impulses and getting glimpses into their histories. i'm curious whether that will remain to be the case or if the plot will take a more center-stage role going forward... to be honest, i'm happy with either.

pretty good stuff so far. i'm looking forward to seeing where it goes! thanks for sharing this story with us.

Spoiler: line edits

And he did not comprehend the stream of information pouring through his mind

dropped a period here.

Remembered creatures similar to Alas—small and round and clustered together between the branches like berries ripe for plucking.

* Atlas

just to see the look on their fiucking faces.

stray i.

And it took far too long for Iaac to realise they were in king’s territory, now.

king should be capitalized here, i think.

 

[Nekodatta]

This story stood out to me because of the premise and even just by the first chapter I can already tell I'm going to love it.
You captured Aeimlou reactions at his sudden transformation so vividly. His mind suddenly being assaulted with new feelings from his body, of actually feeling more capable of thinking now that he is more intelligent and sapient, the feeling of both loss in not being part of the "flock" anymore but also the sense of superiority from his new form, I loved it!

Once again, something cold settled over him. Liquid pooled in his eyes.

This part broke my heart, poor thing just felt so lost : (

It took me a while to understand what kind of Pokemon he had become, but of course I guess it's not really supposed to be immediately recognizable, especially with Aeimlou's description. At first I was thinking he had become a Rayquaza when Jupiter mentioned "Hoenn" and flying, but some parts of the descriptions didn't exactly fit, namely the feathers and general body shape... Took me a moment to remember that Latias/Latios also have feathers lol


Then in Chapter 2 we have his first real interaction with humans and tamed Pokemon, and I have to say that I really loved the psychic conversation, how it was used to show Aeimlou's thoughts process. He has no idea how to use these words or what some of them mean, so he starts by parroting them back (which I found really adorable, it gave him a bit of this child-like attitude and also a bit... Bird-like? Was it supposed to be a reference to his previous form or am I reading too much into it? Corvids can also mimic speech after all)
He also seems to like irritating Atlas and others, I loved the little bit about him mistaking asking about his age as a game of reaching the biggest number. It's such a ... Wild and non human conclusion to jump to, in a sense.
They also seem to mistake his honest answers as him being sarcastic ahah

I'm really intrigued about where the story is going to go from there, and discovering more about the reason behind his "ascension". But I admit I would be perfectly fine reading a dozen chapters of nothing but Aeimlou discovering the world through his new form.

 

[tomatorade]

Rebiew Rebonses 100 100

Spoiler: Negrek

Negrek:

Giving me ideas about the other legends lol. Maybe jacked giratina will show up at some point, who knows?

Yeah, the b/w themes were sort of accidental. Ported into the fic along with Atlas. It’s kind of funny, actually, considering he was initially a plot device, but I ended up liking his first convo with Aeimlou so much that he ascended to main character status. I am part of the problem.

In any case, considering you like King, the B/W themes absolutely will continue. Atlas is still somewhat gentle, but King is uh… not. And definitely more radical. You’ll see :)

I’m glad you like the legendary worldbuilding! A lot of it is incidental with other plans I have, but it’s fun to consider how mini-gods function and come into being. I was nervous about the Midas chapter, actually. It’s the sort of thing meant to drive some stakes but it’s a strange kind of chapter for me to write considering I usually focus on low stakes stuff.

Poor Isaac, lol. I’m bullying him. He’s essentially my take on the average whitebread dude you see all the time in fanfic. Which is to say, hopefully more interesting than the description allows. I don’t know, he kinda evolved over the course of two chapters. He was initially conceived as an overtly-religious kinda character until I remembered that I don’t really like writing religion lol. There are still some remnants of that, but he’s turned into a bit of an awkward wreck instead. He’s also got a strange sort of thought process, which will hopefully become more clear as time goes on. Definitely the kinda guy to answer the door even though he’s transformed into a smoke demon. (I’m going to shill the british tv program Taskaster to you now, because I imagine him something like Joe Thomas’ performance from season 8)

Glad you like King. He’s definitely fun. There’s something oddly appealing about a character breaking into your life, taking absolute control, and then just hanging out with you for basically no reason. I’m trying to cover a lot of different avenues and philosophies of life and he’s firmly on the nihilistic end. If you like him now, just wait, you haven’t even heard his manifesto yet.

And yeah, ten guesses who’s going to be absolutely infuriated by every other member of the cast. You don’t get any points for guessing Midas.

Spoiler: Kyeugh

Kyeugh:

Glad you liked it! And I’m glad my prose worked for you, it’s always the thing I’m most concerned doesn’t come across. I feel like I write a lot of strange things that don’t make sense, so I’m glad they actually do!

Yeah, I’ve been around the PMD block enough to see the same pokemon tf play out a hundred times. I used to be a big fan, but apart from some really good sequences it doesn’t do it for me anymore.

Unfortunately, have not read Piers Anthony but it looks interesting. Another one for the reading pile, if I ever get some money to spend on books again lol. I’ve always been a lit fic boy, and I think I was on a bit of a short story kick so Winesburg, Ohio might have been a contributor to this beyond my constant fixation with Kafka’s metamorphosis. In any case I steal Sherwood Anderson’s approach to character, I think. There’s a really good bit about grotesques at the start of that collection that I highly recommend. (outside Hands, which is one of the best short stories in the collection).

It’s interesting that you bring up the interactions feeling overdetermined, because that was certainly not something I thought about when writing lol. I usually have some sort of pretentious explanation for how things come about, but here I can’t be certain. Thinking on it, that might be more a result of the character being very down-and-out kinds. They’re at their least proactive, I suppose, or a little beaten down and ragged from life.

I’m glad you like Aeimlou! He’s very fun to write and he’s the sort of ‘what if…’ plot bunny that started this whole thing. I would gladly raise him as my son. It’s also funny you mention him and Atlas, but that’s also mostly by accident. I said in my response to Negrek that he’s essentially a plot device I turned into an MC, but I just liked their relationship so much that it became a bit of a focus.

Also another King fan, too lol. Big metal nihilist monster.

You say you’d be happy with either, but it’ll probably end up very low-key so put down your energy drinks and boil some tea instead.

Spoiler: Neko

Neko:

Maybe I shouldn’t have split these up so much, I’m running out of things to say about my own work.

Anyway, glad you picked up on Aiemlou’s superiority, he truly is the best of us all. I definitely wanted to avoid the general angst (at least with him). He’s just eternally grateful to get a big brain.

I did worry a little that people might not pick up on the transformation results, but based on the reviews it seems they’ve come through. I’m also picturing him as a rayquaza and wow, would he be a menace to society like that.

To answer your question about his mannerism, some were definitely inspired by bird behavior. Specifically, when he’s examining Juniper’s pokeball and is sort of craning his neck back and forth. The mimicking, too, and his generally being a bit of a dick by provoking those around him (which shows up a little more in later chapters).

Glad you liked it!

 

[tomatorade]

Chapter Seven
Now For Plan A

Route fourteen had a sense of mysticism to it. Could be the fog spewing from the waterfall on one side and sea on the other, which liked to gather under the treetops and make all those towering pines seem like the gnarled legs of massive creatures. The waterfalls also came and went along the path, filling the area with a constant rumble and showing up around every corner. Pokemon lurked there. Isaac sometimes spotted the red glint of a golduck’s forehead gem as they ducked underwater. Or a drifblim passing silently overhead. They paid him no attention. Not even when he was a human, which is why Isaac liked them over the city pokemon that crowded ankles for food and covered his pants in shed fur and scratchmarks.

Not many places in Unova felt exotic anymore, but Route Fourteen still had some magic left.

Even if he couldn’t tell whether King helped or hindered it.

The bisharp approached the forest the same way he did the beach house. Plowing through it, daring something to get in his way. So while Isaac felt some childlike wonder at being led into the misty woods to be trained by a mysterious stranger, the image was ruined somewhat by the heavy thumping of metal feet through rotten logs and over rocks, leaving a trail of chips and dents in everything. Isaac barely had to mumble directions to the forest arena to start King on his warpath. But he made quick travel. They got there before noon came—just as the sun found the perfect angle to strike them through the trees.

The arena showed the most signs of winter. The rest of the forest could handle the snow and cold and wind. There would always be fallen logs and leaves scattered around. But when you level out a flat bit of ground out here, a couple months without maintenance and it became a warzone left after the elements.

Isaac winced as he first saw it—imagining the work he used to put into it. Shallow ponds had formed in all the potholes, muddy water leeching brown from the compressed dirt. Stray pebbles manage to lodge themselves everywhere, sheltering the roots of thistles and tall grass. Add a scattering of leaves and fallen branches—some too big for Isaac to lift on his own—and the arena certainly…

Needed maintenance.

“Can we lift those logs?” Isaac asked. King took to the other side of the field. The fog obscured him. Partially, the glint of metal shining through a gray haze.

“There’s no reason to,” he called back.

Isaac looked back out over all the bumps and hurdles and tripping hazards. Then down at himself—floating a cozy couple feet off the ground. There was no reason for him to, at least.

“Um, I don’t think it’ll be fair, that way. I mean, you could trip or uh— hurt yourself. Or something,” he mumbled, trying to follow along as King tested his weight on a fallen log. It crumbled, and he ended up kicking bits of mushy wood off his foot. “Shouldn’t this be even?”

“You would have no chance against me no matter the circumstances.”

Isaac scratched at his collar, the odd pain of a claw dragging across flesh grounding him slightly. He supposed that was true. He didn’t feel great about it though. And that didn’t seem like the point of a battle. Even through the jitters at facing King who, frankly, still sent bolts of panic through him when those dark, alien eyes met his.

He’d like this to be something like the image in his head. A camera view from above, with harsh white lines keeping violent blasts of energy contained to a neat square. Two opponents facing each other until one bowed. The energy frightened him somewhat, but his own body reassured him, too. There didn’t seem much tangible there, between the smoke, to be injured. He hoped.

And he was supposed to be dead anyway, so what did it matter? The seance would make more sense then, at least.

Yes, this would be fine.

But tracking King as he set himself down on a bulging rock outside the field, Isaac had a feeling a different image of battle lived in the bisharp’s head. He didn’t seem overly violent or bloodthirsty, but had a scary kind of apathy to him. Isaac doubted he’d get much help if he were cut down.

Isaac floated up before King, stray wisps from his body floating off to meet the fog. He swore he could feel it—cool and dense.

“So, uh… how do we start?”

King thought for a moment. Or did he? He clicked his mandibles together in a way that might be thoughtful. Scraped a claw across stone and leaned back under the shadow of a tree.

“You are not capable. I want to know your strategy first.”

Isaac perked up, drifting quite a bit further above the arena. Oh, he had a lot of thoughts on that. But he came down to earth as his mass followed, a haze of black smoke bubbling from him in his own excitement.

He wasn’t sure what that was. What pokemon he was. What he could do or how to do it.

He sank again, meeting the ground with two thin, ephemeral legs.

“Defeat me with your words.” King continued.

“I’m not… we’re not defeating anyone here, are we? I mean, we’re just battling.”

King rose. Quick enough for Isaac to jerk back.

“We’re always defeating someone,” he droned. Standing now, watching him felt like the battle had already started. A thick kind of pressure pushed Isaac back further. “ The only two languages are strategy and violence. Then, every interaction is a battle. Every battle ends in defeat. Whether you or the other is the only question.”

“O-okay.”

He pressed forward. Isaac floated the same space backwards. A corded, rotting log blocked the path, but that didn’t matter to King. Not with something full and iron in his heart, sprouting out through all those blades, uncontainable.

“Tell me what you can do.”

His voice took a softer tone, but it didn’t help. Isaac still stuttered and gripped his claws together so tightly they sank into a single, dark mass. He still felt his form shiver, his hover dropping.

This is exactly why he couldn’t be a trainer, he remembered. Out there, on the field, any plan left his mind, vaporised by the blare of spotlights and the shouting of the crowd. He had a venipede named Posey who tried very hard with him—hard enough to evolve and carry him to the second gym—but she couldn’t save him from himself as the attention started to ratchet up. He couldn’t please her, he couldn’t please the crowds or his family or himself.

He certainly couldn’t please King. He had a feeling nothing could.

Still, his mind raced with details. What could he do? He could fly— but no, flying type didn’t fit—he had no wings, and didn’t feel the pull of true flight and, well, fire or poison didn’t fit despite being synonymous with smoke. Ghost? Dark? Maybe. But that implied a huge range of powers and all he knew was his own claws.

So he ended up staring down at them again. Uncertainly, this time, with heart rising to his face. Until King butted into his vision.

“I-I don’t know. I only got this body a—a day ago.”

“Strategy’s a time to eliminate possibilities. Now, you can do anything.”

Isaac blinked, looking up to meet King’s eyes. They weren’t friendly, but they missed the cold edge Isaac had grown used to.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Isaac whispered.

That got no response. Isaac coughed. Tried to clear his throat, but felt it harshly and watched a stray sunbeam glance off one of King’s chestblades. Only then did he really regret this whole thing.

“I’d run, I guess,” he mumbled, “get a ranger. Or a trainer or something. I mean, they'd be around, wouldn’t they? It’s only spring. Early spring, I guess.”

“They won’t help you. Not as you are. They only help humans.”

Only humans. Of course. Isaac thought to correct him, felt almost ashamed, then wondered why.

Had so much changed that he wasn’t allowed to consider himself human anymore? He didn’t think so—he felt very much the same. His problems hadn’t shifted that much. It didn’t seem to matter what body he had, he would always feel trapped because he was the cage.

Of course, he doubted King would understand.

“I uh… could curl up in a ball and hope a tree falls on you.”

“Unlikely.”

“D-do I Have to do this?”

“You requested it.”

And he did, he had to remind himself. Even though it stemmed from one reckless thought, Isaac had been stupid enough to speak it out loud and this is where it led to—

“I can tell you aren’t going to learn anything by talking.”

Something cracked under King’s foot. Harsh and scattering and followed by the rolling of rumble like dice across a table. Then, silence. For a beat before he tilted his claws and the grinding of metal cut through again.

“Let’s get into the violence.”

Even though King made no more sudden moves, Isaac yelped and threw himself backwards, his legs dissipating and sending him to the ground.

“No! N-no, I didn’t—you didn’t give me much of a chance!” he stammered, digging his claws into the loose earth and coming out with handfuls of rotten leaves. “I can’t fight! All I have are my claws!”

“Then use them.” King stepped forward. “Earlier, you asked if I would hurt you.”

Isaac nodded dumbly, a brief speck of hope shining through at the question. Maybe he’d get mercy?

“I will.”

King stomped forward. Isaac screamed, not even bothering to follow his arc. He scrambled over a fallen trunk nearby, hoping to get some shelter. A violent cracking broke through. And a sudden rattle against his spine and a shower of splinters followed.

Isaac had no heart, so instead the stray black mass trailing after him thrummed, rippling like a pond in an earthquake. It simmered at the spike of fear punching through his chest. Then spread. One moment, Isaac sat, tensing every muscle and hoping King got himself stuck. He blinked. The world vanished into darkness.

He stilled. His fear fed back into him, jerking him back and forth in an attempt to find an out. But none came. And King wasn’t far away.

He held his breath, creeping alongside the tree as agitated smoke poured from his body, blanketing the area until the only signs were the dull thuds of King feeling around. But a sudden glint through the fog got him to gasp. The same moment he realised he could breath the smoke he had to throw himself to the ground once more, rolling away in a tangle of not-quite limbs.

Still, King managed to cut through something. Isaac felt the cold punch of steel. Hitting him all at the same time. Like once, when he fell off a playset and winded himself slamming chest-first into the sandpit and choked on mouthfuls of sand as he struggled to take in air.

Only here, some of himself went with it.

He stumbled out of the fog. Tendrils of black void clutched desperately around his limbs as though trying to keep him inside. Instead, he dragged some of them out. He couldn’t truly understand why until he’d exited, gaping at the lingering black cloud he’d left behind, smelling overwhelmingly of sulfur and ash.

Then he looked down. He gasped, which turned into a coughing fit. Something sick crawled down his throat. A stump. Oozing black smoke like blood. Where he expected an arm.

Isaac wriggled his stump around. Heaved. Clutched with his remaining claw, letting it sink in and the cutting pain and spilling of black ink. That piercing bite of grit in his eye. Blinding, burning pain of sunlight. He tumbled to the floor, desperately trying to draw in breath. But too late. Another flash from the smoke. King’s silhoutte encroached against the black and trees, like watching a leviathan emerging from the deep.

Isaac tried to drag himself back, but flopped onto his side with a grunt. He curled into a ball instead, one twitching eye trained on King.

“You took that well,” He said, stepping out from the smoke. It began to dissapate at his exit. Black flecks shrinking into white and green and brown and gray. “Now, get up.”

But Isaac had only just taken a breath.

“Y-you—” he sputtered. Once again, unfolding to drag himself away. Only now, he found purchase. And stared at a slender, black arm coiling back out where five seconds ago he though there was none. “What?”

“You are incorporeal. It reformed. Get up.”

Isaac huffed. Tried to take a deep breath. Tried to count. But for the first time, King had begun to truly upset him and he wasn’t sure what to do about that.

“Could you— could you s-slow down. Please. Please…”

King stopped on a pin. Mid stride, almost, before settling into a neutral stance. He didn’t break eye contact, but paused way too long to seem certain of anything.

That almost frightened Isaac more.

And his stare changed, this time. He squinted. Tilted his head, folded out his mandibles and drew them back into a tight pinch with only the briefest sigh. He stepped back.

“We will try again tomorrow.”

Isaac slumped, finally taking that breath he’d been searching for. But as King moved past him, the implication settled, too.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered. Mostly to himself. Head turned, he watched King wander back across the arena. He looked back down at his body. His arm, mostly. Still there. Though the weight hadn’t quite left his chest and the image of a short nub of limb broke through his mind as he closed his eyes.

“You wanted this.”

Isaac opened his eyes again. He’d though King left as he had a moment to himself, but no. Instead, the bisharp lingered at the edge of the forest. The fog had lifted at this point, and the sun reached fully between the scattered pines and oaks and in a wide, yellow wash, he stood stoic as one of the trees.

“I— not that. I wanted… a battle, y’now. Like…” Isaac wasn’t sure he even had the words to explain it. As he tangled with them, waiting for King to react or move or do… anything, he wondered for the first time where the bisharp had come from. He blinked. Was King upset? That didn’t make any sense.

“Friendly,” he continued, finally rolling over to meet King face-to-face. His form still shimmered, but it kept in on itself enough for his confidence to trickle back. “I don’t—I just thought we would… spar—is that what you’d call it? Like on TV. Or, I mean, not on TV if they aren’t sparring on… TV. Yeah.”

Beyond another tilt of the head, King didn’t respond.

Which meant Isaac had to fill the silence.

“You scared me. I mean, you always kind of do. I don’t know if you mean it that way—I didn’t really know what you intended.”

More silence. And how strange it was for that silence to slide things off kilter. Just slightly. King always seemed alone—becuase he was alone—just this brute who’d forced his way into Isaac’s life. Here, somehow, he seemed far more alone than someone standing off by themselves. Isaac assumed the forest was his domain. But he didn’t respect it. He didn’t respect the arena. He didn’t take to it like home.

“You were afraid,” King said.

Isaac nodded. Slowly, wary of another trick question.

“I did not intend that, fully. Violence does not scare me. I was not afraid when the humans came to my home. Not with fists. Not with swords. Not with guns or bombs or all of my brothers turned back to kill us.” He paused. Broke eye contact for the first time, searching the forest for something. Whatever it was, he never found it. “I was afraid when they spoke to me. Words are an illusion. They mean nothing except to obfuscate intent. They made me uncertain enough to let the humans in. But their intent had never changed. I understand uncertainty.”

Isaac wasn’t sure what to feel about that. One question had been answered, but…

Well, maybe King saw the way Isaac drew up his claws, because he shook his head.

“Do not feel sorry for me. The mistake was not mine, in the end.”

Isaac blanched, the image of his stump at the fore of his mind again. Then he imagined a human in his place. He shivered, scooting back slightly.

“D-did you…?”

“Yes,” he shot back, “I killed them. They would have killed me. They are worth less than the mud they returned to and I refuse to feel anything for them.”

Oh. Okay. Isaac could only hum in response, hoping King didn’t read anything from it. He busied himself trying to stand again. He didn’t feel up to hovering, so he let his legs form. Still, they shook slightly as he stretched.

“Do we have to do this?” he asked.

“Yes. For the future, anything you say I will accept fully.”

“S-so you’ll leave the beach house?”

“No. I will simply accept you want me to leave. As I accept you want to learn to battle.”

Isaac sighed, taking some tentative steps forward. Finally, as Isaac teetered over a log and past the faded edge of the arena, King stomped back into the forest. It was strange to think he was waiting for Isaac, but he glanced over his shoulder as if to confirm it.

“But I will try to create a ‘friendly’ battle for you. Something more amicable. A better learning experience.”

Well, Isaac had never seen him friendly, so he wasn’t sure that meant anything.

Still, under King’s watch, Isaac could only nod subtly and follow along.

 

[Shizzza]

What the Gods Gave Me

When a common raven gains the form of a god, he seems to be the only one not particularly concerned about that. And he's not the only one the universe has chosen. In their change, they will be forced to find the new meaning of their existence.​

Spoiler: Author's note

Figured I'd finally post something from the backlog, especially as that backlog continues to stretch and gets sadder the longer I take to throw it into the internet. And this is something I'm actually quite excited about, if somewhat meandering and unplanned. Feel free to criticize anything you'd like.

Spoiler: Content Warning

General CW for existentialism, near-death experiences, some gore and violence and swearing, self-esteem issues, general mental anxieties and general adult themes. If I'm missing anything, feel free to message me.

One:
Aeimlou

In a violent wave of new memories, a fickle little idea sang at him, passing by in a repeated blur as he stared at tangled strands of grass stuck with flecks of dirt.

A name. He should have one, for whatever reason. Aeimlou. He liked the sounds it made in his mind. The importance of this exercise blew past him like the passing of trees beneath his wings, but he’d never distrusted his gut before. It had let him survive many winters, beyond the weaker chicks and unlucky flocks.

A sudden coldness seeped over him at the image. He did not understand it.

Then his thoughts consumed him with the strangeness of his body. He had not been this thing the day earlier. And he did not comprehend the stream of information pouring through his mind

His talons had migrated to his chest, now clumsy and thin and instinctively tucked in. He had rounded and lengthened and grown to a size that would not lend itself well to perching on branches—he certainly could not imagine building a nest to his size. He had no legs and he mourned his wings. He kept his feathers, now black and white spread across a pointed snout rather than a beak. But his wings had been replaced by useless fins jutting straight from his back, those which former members of his flock perched on as he lay immobile on his stomach. His former flock made an awful racket, cawing and screeching at this new intruder.

He craned his neck to stare at the gathering. He had to tell them. He understood the message, a warning, a defending of territory. But they would not understand his meanings anymore. His mind supplied that to him as well, this sense of superiority to the ravens as a former brother darted into his vision and twisted its head with a detached curiosity that beaded also in his dark eyes.

The sounds he used to make would not come, his throat too odd and long. Something heavy in his chest sounded instead and the raven escaped in a burst of feathers.

Once again, something cold settled over him. Liquid pooled in his eyes.

He did not understand.

He did not understand.

~0_0~​

Eventually, these pleadings dried into a trickle. He could think about things with the clarity of a still pond. His flock had left.

His flock had abandoned him.

They had realised he posed no threat and had grown tired of pecking him and fled into the trees, black flickering into green. They left him with a great rustling, a chorus of caws fading into the distance as the stinging of their pecks faded from his skin.

Aeimlou sighed. Instinctively. Then stopped to puzzle over the sound. He repeated it, coming to no conclusions except that his stomach ached in hunger.

Spending an atrociously long time trying to flap imaginary wings highlighted his predicament, however. And forced him to reach out with his new claws, digging them into the roots carpeting the forest floor and pulling himself along. His belly ached, feathers shedding as he grunted and dragged himself along. His fins, too, sent bolts of pain down their length every time they bumped up against a trunk. They were more sensitive than he expected.

Through all the grunting and moaning, eventually he rounded a shady grove and lucked upon a berry bush—with the small blue ones. He practically threw himself into it, shoving clawfulls of berries and leaves alike into his muzzle until he slumped into the grass, sticky and out of breath.

He preferred meat. Occasionally, the armoured orange creatures threw themselves from the river, flopping and gasping, offering themselves to his flock as a feast. Those gelatinous eyes were especially his favourite.

Berries were not meat, but they were food. And he enjoyed that these ones looked like eyes. They filled him, too. Their juices coated his face, a sickly sweet scent that also stuck to the grass and glued it to his mouth as he tried to raise his head. They made him warm and tired and longing for more. It gave him an appreciation for the new length of his neck, at least. He could stretch up to reach for more berries without moving from the forest floor, picking them between his teeth and grinding them into paste.

Another binge and that satisfying warmth overtook him, dampened his aching chest, and he slept in the bush.

He continued all through the next day.

Even with all these new thoughts, he failed to understand his next steps. Flight had left him grounded, but unlike other creatures, he had no legs to stand on.

His second night he spent watching stars in a gap through the trees, the darkness of fliers blotting them out on occasion. Unlike the plentiful stars, his bush had no more berries to give. The food no longer satisfied him, either. Instead, the stars crushed him. Another new feeling. One of uncertainty. The end of things and his helplessness to stop them.

He found himself breathing heavily, gasping like those dim orange creatures flopping on the banks.

Did they feel this, too, in the precious pink curls that spooled from their stomachs and into the beaks of his brothers?

~0_0~​

Aeimlou did not feel inclined to leave the bush. He hungered. And thirsted—mouth so dry he struggled to peel his tongue from the roof as he opened it to whine.

All motive had left him. He did not know what to do, what he could do. Once, he might’ve ruffled his feathers and kicked up a fuss, but that nature no longer appealed to him. And he could not stop thinking about his flock. It served no purpose anymore; it should leave his mind as they left him to die on the forest floor, but that never happened. He could not forget.

He let the water pour from his eyes until he had no more to give, growing weaker each sunset. He watched creatures pass: some old rivals like the jays, and the predators. He had no name for them except predators. Back in his flock they tore through the forest with foreign powers, launching strikes at each other and ruining all the good perching spots. They either ate the weaker creatures or ignored them.

And now they avoided him, freezing at the edge of his vision with wide-eyed stares, shrinking and muttering lowly noises to themselves and turning back to where they came.

Even in his weakness, Aeimlou found a certain warmth in that. He must look intimidating. Certainly, he must be the largest creature in the forest now. He would die happy knowing this would be his territory. Regardless of whether he had the chance to defend it.

But, ah, that did not remain true for long.

The one who found him would be a… what would he call it? The ravens rarely concerned themselves with much, but the biped creatures with fleshy skin and furry heads were an exception. Certainly, they dominated the landscape. In their cube nests. But not nests. But nests: Aeimlou had no other words for them. They controlled the empowered creatures, too, with stiff hands to draw elements from them.

Unlike their empowered charges, they had a mixture of concern for the flock. Sometimes they chased them off and sometimes, in the green spaces between their nests, they palmed seeds and fruits for them to eat.

This one in particular had flowing white cascading from its shoulders, a large swirl of brown fur on its head and softer features than some Aeimlou had previously seen.

Aeimlou would have been concerned; he would have raised himself up, but he barely possessed the strength to slip his claws beneath his stomach. He settled for a shaky growl as it paused under the bow of a string tree. Green drew lines across its expression, though Aeimlou would’ve had difficulty interpreting the wide eyes and open mouth into a readable emotion anyway.

It murmured to itself. Something Aeimlou would not have appreciated before. The sounds startled him so much it took a moment to focus and realise he understood them.

“--Incredible! But so far from Hoenn? Goodness, it must have been a long flight, do I— can I come a bit closer?”

He understood them? He understood them. Though he did not understand the meaning. The creature’s voice had a pleasant lilt to it. Like the whistling through the trees, but with power behind it. A chorus, perhaps. It could be the novelty, but he would be happy to listen to that noise until he died.

In wondering, Aeimlou held unblinking eye contact for a very long time until he realised it had addressed him.

“Sorry, was I not loud enough? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable; may I approach you?”

Staring. More staring. It began to shuffle in place. Only then did he realise what he was missing.

Ah. He had to respond.

Aeimlou tried to imitate the sound, but his odd, dry mouth filtered it into something like a wheeze. It broke into coughs soon after.

“You seem to be struggling. Let me help.” It approached anyways, without answer—hands raised to the sky. This must be its territory for how bold it was. If true, Aeimlou supposed he must oblige. The best he could do was lay his head back on the grass, moaning as hunger flared in his stomach again.

“Alright, let’s get you untangled from these bushes.”

It spoke to itself as it worked, peeling thin branches away from Aeimlou’s bulky form. Truthfully, he wouldn’t have had an issue extracting himself, if not for the weakness.

“Odd colouration,” it mumbled, patting Aeimlou’s neck. Strange to feel the pressure and warmth press into his feathers. “Not consistent with other sightings in Hoenn. We’ve always thought there was only one of you, but this pokes holes in that theory, huh?”

Yes? These thoughts it shared were so complicated that Aeimlou could not tell how to respond. He tried not to break eye contact—difficult when it began circling him. He craned his neck backwards, but unfortunately could not fold himself in half.

It hissed once finished, showing teeth. Aeimlou blinked. Curious sound. That one he could imitate, pressing his teeth together and forcing his breath out through them.

It jumped back, both hands held out before it.

“Oh, sorry did I hurt you? I didn't mean that.”

How fun. He did it again. And again, watching its face harden. The creases around its brow deepened.

“Something’s wrong?” it asked. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can you move?”

Yes, yes, yes, no. He would like not to be here anymore. He would like to live.

Still, he had no way to express these things. So they sat. In their individual bubbles, watching across a boundary drawn in roots and long grass. It tilted its head, face scrunching up in what Aeimlou assumed was sickness.

“Nod your head for yes and shake for no. Do you understand that?”

Ah. Brilliant. He could do that. He repeated sluggishly, a wave of dizziness cresting over him as his chin skimmed the grass.

“Great. Good job. Now, hungry?”

Nod.

“Thirsty?”

Nod.

“Can you move?”

Shake.

Questions finished, it settled. The worry in its face did not.

But none of that mattered; Aeimlou had done it. He spoke! He warbled in delight, tired voice cracking. A warmth bloomed in his chest. One unlike hunger and the pain of dragging himself across the roots. The creature did not share that, instead making a low sound. Shaking its head.

Which, as he’d learned, means no.

“I don’t have anything for you out here, can I… hold on one second,” it said. It looked around, limbs drawn into its sides, one hand vanishing in its white. After a moment, it sighed and drew an object out from inside, holding it out in front of Aeimlou’s nose. Red on top, white on the bottom Some sort of orb, so perfect in its shape, in the separation of its colours, it could only have been made by the creatures.

The orb being in their possession was also compelling evidence to that fact, true. But it did not hurt to be thorough.

“I know you probably don’t like it but it’s the only way to get you out of the woods and back to Nuvema.”

The creature must have taken his stillness as permission because it shuffled forward until Aeimlou could see his own reflection spread in the polish.

And that became so much more fascinating than the object itself.

Aeimlou watched his new face, awed by this complete understanding. He twisted back and forth, the black arrow of his snout stretching and distorting as he moved. This was the fault of the orb, though. And he understood that. The world existed in so much more clarity than before.

He cooed happily as he continued, widening and narrowing his eyes, flexing the new muscles on his face. He opened his mouth and inspected the inside, all those sharp teeth like cliff stones. A much longer tongue now, too.

Then he discovered how wide his face could get as he moved closer.

Ignoring how much strain it put on his neck, he happily slid back and forth into his reflection, getting closer and closer until finally his nose met the cold hard metal and it sent a shiver down his body.

Which was not as shocking as when it cracked open at his touch.

He did not have the chance to wonder if he broke it before a violent flash of red overtook his vision. Then, nothing.

Alright, sorry for the late review mate. I've been in a terrible mood the past few days and was very sick, so I didn't want that to hinder my enjoyment of your fanfic. For the catnip, I'll only review and share my thoughts on the first chapter. I will eventually get to the later chapters, but for now, I'll focus on this first chapter.
Now, let's get to the actual review, shall we?
Right off the bat, I adore the concept. Mystery Dungeon fics are quite common and a human morphing into a Pokemon isn't a super shocking concept, but an average animal morphing into a Pokemon is a very unique and creative concept and I already love it. It's such an original concept and I can't wait to see how it is handled! This concept has a massive bag of potential.
This chapter serves as an alright hook. It is nothing too exciting or attention-grabbing in my opinion, but it does its job well enough. Sometimes simplicity is key. It's also fairly well-structured and not much grammatical flaws or tense issues(Take this part of the advice with a grain of salt as my grammar is not even close to perfect.)
However, I think where this chapter and your writing style really shines is in the imagery. Your writing does a great job of painting a strong image in the reader's head and it does a great job of setting the overall tone of the story. You do a great job of taking full advantage of the unusual character perspective in this story, and you really do a great job of describing the almost alien senses in this story.

That's really all I had to say. Sorry for the long wait on this. I really did enjoy this first chapter a lot. I will be posting more reviews in the future that's for sure.
Adios!

 

[SparklingEspeon]

Aeimlou enjoyed this. More than anything in his life, perhaps even more than the scavenging—finding something dead and stripping it to its skeleton with the help of his flock.

These are very normal and ordinary things to have good memories of and enjoy, I have a night on the town every friday with the boys and girls and do it regularly

I am so late to this and very very sorry, I forgor 🤡 but I did make sure to read all seven chapters! Hope that makes up for it a little.

This fic was a treat! Always down for a legendary fic, and even more so for a legendary fic where ordinary animals/pokemon/humans ascend to becoming legendaries. You have a really interesting take on it as well – it seems like rather than there being an order to or reason for the process, it just happens at random, and apparently to random people? It’s a really cool idea, and you take it to the max by having a common garden raven suddenly becoming a latios, which is extreme and dramatic and funny. I guess I do have to wonder if this has ever been discovered before, though; if it just happens at random, then statistically it feels like at least a couple of them happened where others could see or in public? Could spawn some interesting myths/fairy tales…

Aeimlou himself is a pretty absurd character tbh – even his name is sort of nonsense. He makes a fun main character, though, and it’s fun to watch him basically get hyped up Causing Problems with his new powers and blissfully breaking all boundaries set before him just because he can. Just, yup, I feel like if you gave a raven sapience and psychic powers this is what you’d get tbh. I would be Done with babysitting him so fast but give me 10000 years of him being A Little Shit™ to other people.

You have a lot of strength not just in character interactions but also in generating humour between them, and that really shines through in all of your chapters. There wasn’t a section where I wasn’t able to laugh or appreciate the irony of a situation at least once, and it adds a lot of character to the story. The humour also helps build the characters; there’s multiple layers of hilarity in Aeimlou gaining a ridiculous idea of the pokemon-trainer relationship and then asking to become Hilda’s pokemon’s starter pokemon, and in Hilda’s outburst afterwards, but it tells the readers a massive amount about what their dynamics and histories are, and how they feel about certain topics. King’s reactions to basically everything are funny and gripping because of that, but they also reveal a ton about his character and are layered later on with much darker and more serious material. This is fiction 101 tbh, but I’m pointing it out because you do it really well and in a way that makes the characters not only memorable but very layered and detailed in just a single scene. Really excellent skill…

We pivot to Midas about halfway through, and he’s an interesting character tbh. Suuuper conceited. I loved the irony in him putting on a show about how invincible and indestructible and above everyone else he is, but being abjectly unable to keep up with Mew as she runs circles around him with words. (we need more mew in this, your mew is wonderful and amazing). I'm guessing he and Aeimlou are going to meet pretty soon, and it doesn't seem like Midas has the best intentions at all... I thought the flashbacks to Isaac were also interesting, though I'll admit I have no idea where it's going. Darkrai is a pretty big piece on the board, and I'm guessing Isaac is probably still around somewhere, but really it'll have to come together a bit more before I'm really sure what's going on.

I thought the fight scene with King at the end of the chapter was really impactful as well – King has gone on and on about his strange ideology of social dominance via “defeat”, but that scene really set in the true rawness of what that meant, as well as solidifying him as a character – just like before, we learn a ton about both Isaac and King in this scene (but especially King), and you do a simply flawless job of using in media res to flesh him out. I like also that after the end of the scene, it pivots away from King being brutal to King explaining his motivations to Isaac, and basically offering to teach him at the end – turning a scene that was already pretty impactful to one that advances the plot in a big way.

Things I’d like to see more of in the future… definitely looking forward to when Aeimlou and Midas meet; I’m guessing Midas probably doesn’t have many good intentions for him given his disposition, and one way or another it means Aeimlou getting swept up into the broader motions of the legendaries. Interested to see more about the legendaries in general, more of Snarky Mew, maybe some bits about Arceus and where he is in all of this? Definitely looking to see the rest of Isaac’s backstory filled in too – I feel like there’s still a long way to go, and both he and King seem like they’re significant and not around in the present… wonder what’s happening there. Hilda is probably about to be pulled into another world-altering plot (or at least, altering her world) and I’m here for it tbh.

Overall, this is an unexpected delight – it’s really simple, and still in the beginning stages, but I adore your characters and admire your sense of irony and just how well you ladle out character details in media res. Truly admirable and excellent writing, and you’ve gained another reader tbh; keep up the good work!

~ SparklingEspeon

 

[tomatorade]

Chapter eight
Hovering

On hitting the road Aeimlou expected he, Hilda, and Atlas would get through quickly. He turned out to be wrong for a number of reasons.

First, though humans had several means of transportation, many faster than any individual creature, they could not use them until reaching the human colony of Castelia. Well, Castelia to Atlas or Shithole to Hilda. Aeimlou could not be sure which name was true.

Humans had a strange barter system where they exchanged imaginary goods with no value for tangible goods or services with actual value. Atlas did not seem to understand it fully and Hilda actively hated it. They insisted on using it for transport. Aeimlou could only wonder why they obeyed it.

“We have to pay to get to Castelia. And again to get to Undella. I don’t like it, but I’m not going to bitch about it and constantly remind myself how empty my account is.” Hilda snorted. She adjusted her fabrics—changed and smelling of sweet sitrus from those white things she’d draped herself in yesterday. “Haven’t figured out a way to get free rides yet, but I’m close.”

So while they could not move swiftly, Atlas had been convinced he would not travel by forest—and it had to be forest, deep forest, by Hilda’s command—until he could fly. Aeimlou would not mind this. He had dreamed for the first time the night before, and it had been one of flight. But he did mind being grounded and only able to move by Atlas’ psychic manipulations while he struggled. The reuniclus tried to simulate wind and atmosphere as he totted Aeimlou a couple feet above the roots and wet layer of last year’s autumn leaves, but it could not compare. Certainly not as Atlas grew tired quickly and could not talk as he tried.

Second, Aeimlou expressed a brief flicker of confusion at the phrase ‘hit the road’. Though after a few minutes, he did not think it that strange. A brief explanation sufficed.

The others did not seem to think it would.

If they enjoyed talking so much about a mere three words, he would smile and let them, he supposed. He figured out quickly that if he sat there, allowed some low chirps, blinking dumbly, they assumed he did not understand and would continue talking indefinitely.

So certainly, much of their wasted time was his fault.

—it’s not literal, really. Merely an expression, understand? Atlas said, gesturing vaguely as if his arms could also explain.

And he did understand, but the thrum of excitement Atlas sent over their connection was so infectious he sent back his own little uncertain chord and received the same, again, but in different words.

And without Juniper around, Hilda seemed to need something to talk to, also.

“--y’know, shoving two ideas together. Hard as a rock, get it? A metaphor. You know what a metaphor is, right?”

And once, again, he learned. But if he confirmed, the conversation would die under the drooping shade of a great willow, watching droplets of rain patter on the moss outside. So that meant extending his forced lack of understanding onto other things. It started with a curious roll of the eyes and a dry shake of the head, and the topic of metaphor became the focus.

Hit the road is hardly a Metaphor, Atlas butted in, resting on the same bed of moss Aeimlou laid on. But concerning metaphor, it’s a comparison. Taking one object or idea and using it symbolically in connection to something else.

“--I already explained that,” Hilda said, kicking the mud off her boots against a rock as the rain’s trickle sped into a steady rumble.

Not very well.

She’d already released her other pokemon. They left as the rain came. Strange, to Aeimlou. From videos she and Atlas had shown him, released pokemon tended to sit and wait for instruction. Hers did not. As the ethereal red glow faded from them, they took a glance around their alcove, gave Hilda some bare acknowledgment as she stood back, hands on hips, and let them flee through the leaf curtains surrounding them.

They never seemed interested in talking to Aeimlou. They noticed him, certainly. The longer, green one cut its chin up at him as they met eyes. A long pink tongue shot out to meet the air. A complex hiss seemed meant to communicate something. Though what it was, Aeimlou could not be sure and Atlas would not relay.

So he watched. Somewhat blankly, wondering if he was meant to communicate with them. He cut his claws under a bed of roots and dragged himself over, poking his snout through the willow leaves. Empty space met him through a wall of other trees. And the cold patter of rain against his snout forced him back to waiting. He felt strangely lacking in these sorts of interactions, but recognised he must wait to fly so he could keep up.

But ah, he had distracted himself too long. The others had been talking.

“--we’re not talking about semiotics, Atlas.”

Why not? It’s interesting. I’d like to reach that far with Aeimlou, Atlas said. He sent out a psychic prod for Aeimlou, who—truthfully, this time—had no concept of semiotics and so stared flatly. Atlas received it with a disappointed gurgle. Ah, that’s to be expected. Perhaps we should move on.

But Aeimlou looked back out at the pounding rain and recognised he would not be getting very far for the moment.

Semiotics? Are those related to these metaphors you spoke of? he said, making an effort to smooth out their connection into something approachable. Atlas disturbed it almost immediately, sending it thrumming and thrashing as he drew up from his rest and hovered up beside Aeimlou.

Hilda watched with a tired frown and sat against the tree, rubbing her legs in an attempt to stir felling against the dulling cold creeping in with the rain. She did not attempt to interfere otherwise. So Atlas spared her his attention and leaned against Aeimlou, his cool gel sending a pleasant shiver down his neck.

Well, you see—

The explanation took hours. But listening was more enjoyable than training, so Aeimlou hardly complained.

~(0)~

Change seemed more certain now than ever before. It was something Aeimlou could only appreciate in a new body; his old routine had been so predictable, in hindsight. Here, excitement and uncertainty came every day, as they moved further towards wherever Hilda’s destination was. And his charges often were the least predictable of all. They were quite complicated creatures, he found. Progress swarmed around them.

Of course, he also betrayed himself. He had looked forward to flight for many days. And could feel it coming the more he tried.

Aeimlou could not tell who bored first under the willow tree. In either case, conversation dried to a trickle and he and Atlas defaulted to what they always seemed to as a dense weight settled over their connection and they met tired eyes each. Training.

Neither liked it. But Atlas constructed a series of exercises that meant nobody needed to argue about it. Aeimlou would extend his power, find the edges of it—those nebulous lines that wavered in speech and stretched thin as he sent them to touch others across space—and slide them beneath himself. Extend them, finding his own shape against the ground, and tightening until he began to rise. With some training wheels, as Atlas described them. Another fascinating idiom that paled in the face of Aeimlou’s newfound joy at finally being free of the grit and wet and general discomfort of the ground.

Aeimlou spent a good while basking in that. Managing to push himself forward with ease, chirping and cooing and marvelling while Hilda and some of her stray flock watched on with half-lidded eyes. He rejected Atlas’ training wheels in minutes. Banking into playful circles around the reuniclus until he became dizzy and wobbled back to earth to rest.

Finally, he could hover under his own power. And could not understate the sunlight warmth he felt even in the shade.

Though this did not come without bad habits, according to Atlas—with example, he should not be using his psychic to push the ground away, for it took more energy and performed rather inefficiently. Rather, he should be lifting himself up. Still, he managed another couple circles, receiving a halfhearted applause from Hilda. The spare few feet below him as he rocked through the air, in circles around the willow’s trunk, were not inspiring. But he could still imagine the moss was a vast swath of trees below him and the ants were all those creatures who never knew he flew above them because they did not look up.

And Atlas was proud. Their connection sparked with energy the rest of the day. Every word after felt so much more colourful.

Hilda shared in that, somewhat. While she did not respond to his flight beyond a tired grunt, she took back to walking with a renewed vigour. Understandably so. They had spent many wet hours in one place, and from what Atlas shared, Hilda did not stay in one place often.

It’s the life of the trainer, really, he said, trailing beside Aeimlou as they followed Hilda deeper into the woods. He bubbled still with shared joy. Flitted around Aeimlou, gently prodding him whenever he began to drift off course. They are a busier type than other humans. You might understand, I can’t imagine you stayed grounded often.

This was true. In both the known literal and learned metaphorical sense of the term (although the temptation to cock his head and feign ignorance remained; his companions certainly never figured him out). In retrospect, Aiemlou never felt much attachment to a single place. He had fragments of images, all half-formed, with the human nests and the trees. But territory was scarce and fragile and often took only one stronger creature to upset.

If Hilda had to contend with every other trainer and their own flock, Aeimlou understood.

This was also her explanation for travelling deep through the woods. She did not seem to enjoy the moss and rot and chilling shade that wanted to travel with them. Her flock noticed. Atlas first, but though all her other partners tended not to stay, they still exchanged brief words with the reuniclus which found their way to her.

She did not seem much more receptive to their suggestions.

“I don’t want the hassle,” she explained the first, fifth, and twelfth time someone suggested she was unhappy with her own arrangements. And she dragged her fingers through her hair and let her brows dip. “All these fuckin’ trainers—all the bullshit—I hope, in Giratina’s name, that we don’t gotta deal with idiots who spot a Latios for the first time and think it’s a great opportunity to talk. ‘Oh, can we trade? Can we battle? Who do you get one, it’s not fair!' Yawn. It’s gross. The city sucks, too, honestly.” She finished by sticking out her tongue. Wrinkling her face—which Aeimlou took to mimicking.

She chuckled at that. But still sounded tired and left him with Atlas, who left him to think.

He was a Latios now, Aeimlou reminded himself, though the word seemed uncertain. A supposedly powerful creature. And rare. The second known in existence. Which, he supposed, was less than the many hundreds of ravens he had seen in his life. He did not understand the significance. But he knew some power now, so he was inclined to agree.

Speed became a detail that stuck out most. Atlas faced education with a manic joy, and especially liked to feed him statistics.

Faster than the speed of sound, Atlas would say, in a reverent whisper echoing beneath their connection as they floated along. Hilda’s flock broke in and out of strange formations around, some poking into the conversation at their leisure. They left quickly and with a faint turbulence.

Aeimlou had no comparison for the speed of sound. Except now that he could fly faster than it (well, not yet). Atlas could stress that further—gesturing and miming and explaining how Aeimlou could one day circumnavigate the globe in around eight hours, by his estimate.

Aeimlou didn’t have a frame of reference for that, either. Neither partner had the energy to elaborate. Though he figured he could prod answers from either eventually.

Then Atlas stopped a moment.

Wait, he said, freezing in midair, arms outstretched and rippling with gelatin and reflecting green shards of sunlight. Take this moment in. Remember it.

Aeimlou cocked his head. First at Atlas’ static expression, then at all the trees waving through a gentle wind and the creek that trickled by. Remember what, he would not say. But Aeimlou liked these sorts of tangents Atlas went on, so he let himself reflect the green light and feeling of sunlight and obliged.

The day passed dully, though not without incident. The forest did not relent and seemed also to tire of them, with other inhabitants breaking through the trees with roars and hisses and warnings that were always met by a greater volley back from the flock. Hilda was the loudest of all, stomping on dry sticks with bone-breaking cracks and throwing her arms out and drowning out the others’ warning growls with her own shouts. Most smaller insects and wild tangles of fur and flora skittered back into the bush.

A stray few, those especially who stood tall and puffed scaly chests, remained and were talked down by Atlas or the long, green one who liked to curl closest to Hilda’s side. Or, if their snout split in a sharp growl, were launched back into the forest with a decisive attack. The strange, floppy, furry one especially liked to draw up gracefully. Then launch forward with a kick so strong the offender’s body launched through the weaker trees in a shower of splinters and screams.

Their only remains were distant whimpers.

Some lingered. Aeimlou had grown skilled enough to feel where a mind could reach, and here they sent wisps in the direction of the injured creature. They did not last long. Nobody paid much mind to them as they left. Aeimlou might have enjoyed the spectacle, if only he hadn’t seen too many of his own nesting trees destroyed by such displays.

He took his place after the floppy one. Through a ruins of trunks and stumps—laid out like plucked weeds in the darkness—a gleaming spire crowned a long white snout, attached to a darker body scarred even before the attack. Dark black eyes met Aeimlou. They watered steadily. The creature whimpered. Aeimlou reached out with a psychic prod and the creature seemed to sense that. It drew back with a whine. Injury kept it slow, but it still had enough energy to limp back through the woods.

Aeimlou let out a dry chirp and turned his attention back to the trail of destruction. He would not spare many thoughts there. He had his flock, distant as it was. Mostly, Aeimlou mourned the trees.

A cold hand settled along his neck, sticking in his feathers. Atlas drew close—his presence mixed warmly in their connection and Aeimlou responded in kind.

It’s not easy. But there have been worse incidents—worse injuries on either side. We must excercise some force, when necessary, understand? I’ll teach you to defend yourself eventually, but we could keep you away from the battling, if you would prefer that.

Aeimlou let himself lean in further, rumbling unsteadily. All this energy between them, it narrowed, filtered as a stream would into a lake. And all the thoughts like fish swimming mindlessly away. Something strange had happened. He tried craning his neck around to Hilda and the others. They did not have anything for him.

Aeimlou sat there, blinking.

And the fish started to converge once more and Atlas’ grip tightened around him in some mix of protection and fear.

He did not understand. And he did not mind battling. And he would prefer this feeling to leave him for the moment.

I see, he said. Their connection condensed again. Warmed. He liked that. But an impression remained.

As Atlas withdrew, he let himself sink slightly in the air, still fixed on the distant forest as a wash of light spread across a disturbed patch of flowers.

~(0)~

Later, with much thought and careful picking around Atlas’ feelings about the creature which threatened them, Aiemlou made a careful observation that perhaps, if Hilda wanted to avoid attention, screaming might exacerbate the problem.

She gave him a very deep stare. One hand drew to her belt, to the ball that Atlas should have taken, but that he only handled from great distance with his psychic. It presented a certain threat, according to the reuniclus. One he was quick to usher Aeimlou away from.

She’s not that serious, Atlas reassured. Not well, by Aeimlou’s account, because Hilda would not stop staring at him, hand unmoving on her hip. Just give her a few minutes. She’ll listen, but obstinately refuse to let you know. A tremor of frustration rumbled between them. Atlas shook heavily in the air. Just something to get accustomed to.

So he complied, somewhat. Keeping just in range to hover, yet far enough to seem as though he were practicing—exploring the hollowed knots of trunks and prodding around thick bushes for stray berries.

Atlas’ words were true. She did not send him back to the ball. They ran into many more pokemon. Hilda let her flock take care of them much more quietly. Her stare returned as a vengeful challenger. But Aeimlou had no more words for her. She had, indeed, listened.

Then, nothing happened. And continued to happen. Their paced picked up as trees began to clear for flatter plains and distant, sloping grass trailing into sand and sea. It was Aeimlou’s turn to concentrate on hovering to keep up, so he still could not converse beyond brief words. And once they stopped to rest the flock fled and Hilda and Atlas were tired also. They liked to share the breadth of that backpack she lugged around. And chat faintly about Aeimlou’s progress.

He did not see the need to talk about what was obvious. He had made progress, but not enough.

Finally, after many more stops and starts and as the smell of salt overtook that of moss, darkness arrived. Time to rest. Atlas initially tried to convince Aeimlou to stay out of the ball, but Hilda suggested otherwise and he did not mind so inside he would go.

Atlas had some last words for him.

Alright, he said. Hilda had started a fire to cook on. Only stray embers remained. Glowing angrily against darkness like a predator’s eyes opening through the thicket. They were enough to cast Atlas’ pale body in a warmth that vanished still into cool darkness.

Still, Aeimlou did not need to see. He simply let their psychic maintain the warmth of the fire. Felt Atlas through that. He learned quickly that a physical form never became as detailed or expressive as this.

It’s been eight hours, Atlas said simply. Breathlessly.

Aeimlou thought about it for a while. He remembered being asked to remember.

Eight hours to circumnavigate the globe.

And breathlessness came for him, too.

Aeimlou knew a certain awe that came through when others faced him. For the first time, he felt it also.

Eight hours was no time at all.

He could go anywhere.

Suddenly, he understood his own strangeness for not minding the ball. He felt himself strangely, too. The ball was static. Unreal, by Hilda’s explanation. He had everything outside, and no reason nor lack of ability to find it. But what was everything? Where could he find it? Why did he need it?

These ideas reminded him of Atlas’ lake of thought. Aeimlou sensed a certainty there. He could not explain it.

So instead he sat his chin in the sand. Squinted into fading light. Clacked his beak together in a steady rhythm and whistled a little tune underneath it. The others were resting or building a nest for everyone to sleep in.

He drew little circles in the sand and counted as they came into existence within seconds; he would like to circle the globe—

(The thought drew a sore pang through him. From deep in his mind, into his chest and up his fins.)

—Well, not yet. He had stopped hovering from an exhausted, beak-pulled psychic and could not do much even energised.

While Hilda and Atlas set up a flimsy, flapping nest to shield them against the night, Aeimlou stayed on his belly, watching the embers fade into the night. He sat there. Whistled lowly to himself. Blinked dumbly and did not know what to think.

 

[slamdunkrai]

Heyo! Here for catnip, thought I'd give the first three chapters a read. The rules dictate that only one chapter is necessary, of course, but I was entranced enough by it that I ended up dedicating a good chunk of my morning to this thing, lol. I'll start by echoing some praise laid out above by a few other readers; firstly, the premise you're working with here is pretty fantastic. I'm usually pretty xeno-averse, in complete honesty, but you've touched on one of the potential things you can do with the genre that I often come to appreciate: this is a story that has thus far taken a pretty strong interest in going beyond the novelty of experiencing the world through receptors that aren't human, instead laying out Aeimlou's place in the world, the social and bodily disruption he's having to grapple with through his sudden transformation, the sudden difficulty of feeling compelled to explain how and why you have come to be the way you suddenly are without quite knowing it, and even tying this back into a couple of questions — "what does it mean to be a person?" and "who gets to be one?" — that I always like seeing explored in pokémon fic.

Perhaps more impressively, your prose neatly compliments the ideas that are at the heart of your project. On the one hand, there's a level of clarity ("starkness" may be a better word, mind) to the images you're laying out here that goes a great distance in giving the story some emotional propulsion; there's a great deal in the world that Aeimlou has come to know in his past life and has now suddenly lost, and the intimacy he has with his natural environment and his feathered kin in the first chapter is underscored well by the sudden and massive shift brought about in how he relates to it all (and indeed, how it all relates to him!). This is where the other element comes in; there's a sense of defamiliarisation here that provides a necessary level of unknownness to much of what we're shown here. It's easy to deduce, for example, that he's something like a latios that looks different, or that his own understanding of a nesting place translates into the "cube-shaped nests" (i.e., houses) that humans have built (and in turn, his own sense of acute dislocation and his uncertainty about where, or with whom, his home now lies further underscores his difficulty interpreting his new life as any form of recognisable living to begin with), or that his own carrion-scavenging past ways inform his new tendency to favourite berries easier to think of as eyes from some dead thing, etc.; at the same time, there's some hesitancy with how he approaches these things that he doesn't quite have names for, which I think you communicate very well to the reader. That hesitancy is further informed by his own tendency to read his past habits into the future that I suppose is being rebuilt bit-by-bit throughout these three chapters; I leave off here because there is a pretty clear gesture towards what's in stock for him, Atlas and Hilda.

Aeimlou is also a pretty great name for reasons others have outlined — a guy whose relationship with language and physical ability to use phonetics has been fundamentally reshaped just as we meet him and who is immediately preoccupied with the need to have a name would stumble upon a mishmash of vowels and consonants. I also thought he was a pretty endearing character, too; corvids do get stereotyped as clever and contrarian little fellows, and I think it's sweet in its own way that those tendencies still course through him even after he's become this much bigger fellow all of a sudden. I am also 100% pro-pokémon being horrible and uppity towards trainers; the laws of the land give them so much power that they really should be more okay with their companions and the beings who are not their companions talking shit towards them. (That dynamic is neatly discussed by Aeimlou and Atlas in chapter three, and I did love that; more comments on that in the line-by-lines.) I'm very pro-Atlas, too; the tension he's navigating as this obviously hugely intelligent creature who is at least smart enough to be conscious of the fundamental inequality at the heart of his relationship with Hilda even as he tolerates it (and who is only really in this because Juniper knows that he's The One Guy Who Can Do Psychic Communication) is eminently very readable, as is the camaraderie he finds in Aeimlou once his guard has been let down enough and once he's gotten over those aforementioned cheeky corvid tendencies.

On that note, though, I'm still not sure where I stand on Hilda's characterisation here — or, more specifically, how it's conveyed. There's some great stuff here: she naturally has good reason to be greatly dispassioned by everything; being not just a former trainer but formerly the trainer that everyone relied on to catch them all and save the region from Team Plasma and uphold their way of life for them and then being expected to go back to a normal life where everyone still expects you to do shit for them would leave anyone at least a little pissed off about everything (to that end, I'm especially intrigued to see how N factors into her past and present along with Cheren and Bianca; she seems as though she doesn't have them as close as they once were) and I am also pro-burnt out Hilda whose trials and tribulations have led her to become a person whose fraught relationship with her past as a pokémon trainer has led her resentment to fester towards her pokémon in a few unhealthy ways that everybody who has helped make her into the person she is suddenly feels a little weird to call out. That said: I thought it was a little clunky that she essentially says "I'm going to go into rant mode now" before launching off on a big rant about how hard-done she's been, and the exact reasons for her strong disdain towards allowing Aeimlou to join her felt a little incoherent here for me... sure, she doesn't want some new and massive burden that reminds her of her past life foisted on her; her concerns so heavily and explicitly materialising here in her displeasure about her pokémon undermining her authority and even her hope that the law she evidently seems to resent would allow her to further veto this authority felt a little unconvincing and forced as though they're here to create tension for Aeimlou for overcome in the story ahead as opposed to fleshing her out as a person with her own inner world in which the things she leaves unsaid will linger (her repeated use of "idiot(s)" in that last part of chapter three felt like a notable example of the dialogue straining to get this across). That also said: I realise that my feelings on this will manifest more clearly as the story progresses here; I'm for sure intrigued to see how things develop for these two, and I do want to note that this is, in the grand scheme of things, a pretty minor criticism. (I've much less to say about Juniper; she's well-written, evidently quite compassionate if also prone to doing the whole "foisting huge asks on people for reasons that are at least partially out of her own self-interest" thing. The line about not being the professor who'll have a legendary pokémon die in their care captures that very well. One of my favourite lines in this thing so far.)

I'll get to the line-by-lines now; the one other thing I'll say about this is that there's enough errors here and there for me to suggest maybe giving these chapters another proofread or so before they go out — this is by no means a substantial complaint, though. I enjoyed this pretty significantly. Definitely going on my to-finish list for whenever I'm able to get that done. Cheers for submitting it for Catnip; I'd had it recommended to me before, I believe, and I like how it came out!

Spoiler: Line-by-line comments

In a violent wave of new memories, a fickle little idea sang at him, passing by in a repeated blur as he stared at tangled strands of grass stuck with flecks of dirt.

A name. He should have one, for whatever reason. Aeimlou. He liked the sounds it made in his mind. The importance of this exercise blew past him like the passing of trees beneath his wings, but he’d never distrusted his gut before. It had let him survive many winters, beyond the weaker chicks and unlucky flocks.

Great opening, conveys the vibe here really well while providing a clear picture towards the sort of person Aeimlou is.

And he did not comprehend the stream of information pouring through his mind

missing full-stop

It served no purpose anymore; it should leave his mind as they left him to die on the forest floor

tenses feel off here? want to say this is "it should have left his mind" but I also get mixed up with these so YMMV

Red on top, white on the bottom Some sort of orb,

missing full stop

He had not been this thing the day earlier.

"the day before" or "a day earlier" feel more correct here

He had no legs and he mourned his wings. He kept his feathers, now black and white spread across a pointed snout rather than a beak. But his wings had been replaced by useless fins jutting straight from his back, those which former members of his flock perched on as he lay immobile on his stomach.

Interesting! Tempted to say he's a latios, by this description, though not the same colour as they usually come, still retaining features from his past life as a raven? (Comment from after the name-drop: bingo!)

His mind supplied that to him as well, this sense of superiority to the ravens as a former brother darted into his vision and twisted its head with a detached curiosity that beaded also in his dark eyes.

Good idea here, though I feel like this sentence becomes a little unwieldy at the end there ("detached curiosity that beaded also in his dark eyes")

The one who found him would be a… what would he call it? The ravens rarely concerned themselves with much, but the biped creatures with fleshy skin and furry heads were an exception. Certainly, they dominated the landscape. In their cube nests. But not nests. But nests: Aeimlou had no other words for them.

Very good

This one in particular had flowing white cascading from its shoulders, a large swirl of brown fur on its head and softer features than some Aeimlou had previously seen.

Feels like a professor of some sort; good way of communicating this. Is this Juniper? (Comment from afterwards again: two-for-two, nice)

“Odd colouration,” it mumbled, patting Aeimlou’s neck. Strange to feel the pressure and warmth press into his feathers. “Not consistent with other sightings in Hoenn. We’ve always thought there was only one of you, but this pokes holes in that theory, huh?”

"to feel the pressure [...] press into his feathers" is maybe a little redundant; that being said, I do like how intimate this feels. Neatly conveys the delicate vibe that comes from seeing an experienced professional approach a rare, wounded and magnificent creature.

Aeimlou watched his new face, awed by this complete understanding. He twisted back and forth, the black arrow of his snout stretching and distorting as he moved. This was the fault of the orb, though. And he understood that. The world existed in so much more clarity than before.

He cooed happily as he continued, widening and narrowing his eyes, flexing the new muscles on his face. He opened his mouth and inspected the inside, all those sharp teeth like cliff stones. A much longer tongue now, too.

Really good.

She slowed the longer they went on, brows furrowed and lips drawn down. The face of dullness, he presumed.

Other things took her interest after that.

Once again, Aeimlou had no way to apologise for being so dull.

god, isn't that a mood, champ

Aimlou couldn’t see her,

misspelling of his name

“Yes, you. I’m serious. He’s not here and— sorry, Undella? This time of year? No, of course. I’m sorry to hear that. I understand.”

[Farnsworth voice] "To shreds, you say?"

She ate across from him, stabbing into her container with white utensils and lifting piles to her mouth.

Interesting and odd that he knows what a utensil is given everything else.

Juniper got that concerning, wrinkly look on her face again. It softened as Aeimlou nodded at her. He did not have much to agree with, he only wanted to be part of the conversation. She sighed.

Ah, he's so cool. I love him. (The thing about xenofiction that I think people often lean too hard on is that all of it is in some way metaphorical — which it is, but this can't get in the way of it also being about a creature being rooted in the world in its own unique and literal way; that being said, I am going to say that he would totally have autism if he were a human.)

“Well, Steven tells me Latios has been spotted recently in Sootopolis, so this is… another one. As impossible as that should be. The issue is, he’s struggling to communicate. I’m hoping he isn’t injured or sick, but he let himself be captured freely and hasn’t attempted to fly once, among other odd behaviours. Probably nothing, but you know what they say about birds who won’t fly. And I will not be the professor that let a legendary die in her lab.”

Cool detail that Steven would get consulted for this despite the distance between them and the wildly different roles that they play. Also, very good bit of dialogue that conveys a lot about Juniper herself.

“So what can I do?”

“Could you bring out Atlas? Hopefully that will let us set up a direct line of communication.”

“Knew it. You only talk to me for my pokemon.”

“Hilda—”

She held up both palms. “I’m joking. Sure, I’ll bring him out.”

Lol

Good evening. A voice echoed in his skull. It sounded wet.

In love with the idea that reuniclus (reunicli?) have some kind of Wet Filter

Good evening, he said back, good evening,

italicised speech tag

Atlas attempted to mime something, the mass of his gel shifting into odd shapes as he floated around Aeimlou’s head. His massive arms gestured, but to what nobody could be certain. If he wanted a response, he did not wait.

Then the lesson started. It did not stop starting for a good while—long enough to watch the shadows stretch and the humans grow silent.

Very good

So, supposedly, his psychic was a physical force accessed metaphysically, which connected to his mind which was in his skull and enabled by the precise assemblage of biology and abstracts unique to his species, yet also shared by every other psychic species. With this thing that was real but not real, he could fly. And communicate. And levitate objects. And perform illusions.

Truly complete nonsense.

Hahaha, love this bit; toes the line neatly between "genuinely interesting and coherent outlining of how psychic powers work that reads vaguely like philosophy" and "weird bullshit"

Although talk of psychic became tired in the way it ground them against each other.

They moved on to each other.

Aeimlou enjoyed this. More than anything in his life, perhaps even more than the scavenging—finding something dead and stripping it to its skeleton with the help of his flock.

Really good description.

Aeimlou hummed, imagining the path, the streaks of water below him, gleaming gray towers piercing from the ground and spiralling through the clouds. He passed them, passed beyond a beige landscape he’d rarely stopped at for want of food. Landed in a forest. Remembered creatures similar to Alas—small and round and clustered together between the branches like berries ripe for plucking. If only they weren’t larger than him.

(misspelled Atlas)

I apologise.

It’s not your fault. You must have done something incredible to be chosen like that.

He blinked. He had not even considered his ascension a result of action. He knew it had nothing to do with growth as he’d seen others in his flock age and die, but he’d imagined it as something more random. Another disease or attack.

And if he had done something incredible, he did not remember. He did not understand.

Very good. The way that "chosenness" is floated about by Atlas here as this great transformative blessing that comes to you even if you don't expect it reminds me of "White Cedar," a Mountain Goats song that I've developed a fondness for.

Like a star come down to walk the Earth in radiant array
I saw the light of my spirit descend the other day
I was standing the bus stop on North East 33rd
I will be made a new creature
I don't have to be afraid
Speed that day on it's way
And you can't tell me what my spirit tells me isn't true, can you?

So the human children become mothers? He asked, after a while of watching

Atlas shook, fully. Aeimlou had allowed him to perch between his fins, so he felt the motion even though he could not see.

I would not describe them like that.

But they rear the chicks.

Their connection dipped. A coldness crept in—as it did when Juniper left the lab window open one night. They train them. They are too young to be mothers.

Perhaps I do not understand the difference. Where are the mothers, then? Would they not be a better option?

They breed them, giving them up to humans for the children to train.

That is not an answer.

The coldness only intensified, frost lurking between thoughts. Two gelatinous fists gripped his fins tighter until they sent cold shocks down his spine. Aiemlou let out a dull whine and got an apology in return.

Yes. They would.

Missing full-stop after "watching"; very good, though. I like this a whole lot. The idea of training as a sort of surrogate family that most pokémon just get thrown into without the ability to consent is a fascinating one that I think is mirrored a little in the way that Hilda is shown being able to act to her pokémon without much in terms of scrutiny from those around her, and in addition the way that she is expected to do stuff for the authorities around her without them ever needing to question who it is that's actually doing all the work for the sole reward of "being allowed the company and respect of those around her" — which is to say, human ideas of the nuclear family are often concerned with ownership of children in the same way that one could read into pokémon training if you were so inclined. Great metaphor.

He sank onto Aeimou’s back with a deep gurgle and tried, once again, to sort out his feathers.

Very cute :)

Atlas had an unexpected physicality to him. He liked to be close, liked to touch more and more as the days passed by. Aiemlou could not say what exactly had changed, but the reuniclus slept across from him now, out of his ball, on another spare bed pushed up against the wall. He glowed green in dim light and their connection thrummed in sleep also, beating with waves from the other’s dream.

Also very cute! A lovely little way of communicating the growing bond between them and the sensory experience of their kindling friendship while also leaving the door open for the nature of their relationship.

but he had grown the capability to prod

missing full stop

They found it annoying, mostly. Especially on initial discovery, when he abused it, focused it hundreds of times and watched Hilda itch at an invisible sensation while she twirled a fork over her breakfast. She found out quickly. And stomped over to him with a sour pout. And threatened to tape his muzzle shut if he didn’t stop. Not that it could stop him. Which she found out not soon after.

Well, Juniper rescued him eventually, hands full of clippers and a few choice words for Hilda. Atlas found it amusing, at least.

Don't Do That....................

“So whatcha need?”

Do you remember those children who picked up their starters?

“Do I remember something that happened yesterday? I dunno…”

Well, in case you need a reminder—

A quick sharpness cut him off. Irritation. Yes. And a brief scan of his companions’ faces convinced him he would not have to elaborate.

missing italicisation

I think it’s a fine idea. I see no problems with it, Atlas shot back, voice echoing with a certain airiness. He floated over the table—giving Hilda a long stare before plopping himself down beside Aeimlou, one arm draped over his back. He could learn much from me. He already has.

“You’re only saying that to be difficult!”

Perhaps. And there’s no reason why not.

King behaviour. Love this guy.

“You’ve got me in a ranting mood.” Hilda stood, brushed crumbs off her legs and looked down on them. “ All this taking advantage; It fucks me up that whenever I take a job, everyone acts so surprised that they need to pay me; like I should be rich by birthright, like saving their asses got me anything.” She sniped, arguing with some invisible creature. “But it’s not like they paid me, or helped, or did anything—they just sat on the couch and waited for someone to clean up their shit.”

She paused, took a breath, a fire lit in her eyes that Aeimlou only then realised had been there the whole time.

“Sometimes I wish I would’ve let team plasma win, just to see the look on their fiucking faces. Life stops kissing their boots, handing them shit and they probably curl up and die.”

Should be "fucking faces", though at the same time I did laugh aloud imagining this in Goofy's voice; Team Plasma should also be capitalised. Fuck 'em up, though. (Even if I do stand by my comments about bits of this dialogue feeling a tad unnatural; "everyone acts so surprised that they need to pay me [...] like saving their asses got me anything" is great, though.)

For a moment, Aeimlou considered testing the order, sending another prod her way and watching the ensuing punishment. But Atlas seemed to sense those intentions not long after they sprouted. Don’t, he warned. So Aeimlou did not. He simply nodded instead.

And although Hilda nodded back, she did not smile.

“Great. Welcome to the team. Well, Atlas’ team, I guess, since he’s offering to take care of you. And I’m holding him to it. Good luck, idiots.”

Off she went, not sparing a glance behind her as she stomped out the door. She only returned at nightfall. Hours after they were supposed to leave.

Instead, they left the next morning.

Very good way to end a chapter.

 

[Negrek]

Really enjoyed catching back up with this story! More of Isaac and King's stories come to light, and we get to check in on Aeimlou's side of things as well!

King's a really intriguing and rather tragic character, isn't he? I wonder how much of his oddness is just normal for a living chess piece like himself and how much of it might be trauma related. He makes a very interesting companion for Isaac; not malicious but still very dangerous, and alien despite the fact that Isaac can now understand his words. I wonder what's going on with his interest in human wardrobes.

I also like him as a companion for Isaac, since I think he provides some nice propulsive energy to counteract Isaac's intense apathy and anxiety. I enjoyed how muted Isaac's reaction is to finding out that everyone thinks he's dead, scrolling through sad messages and feeling awkward about it. Responding to news of his aunt's upcoming seance with an, "Ah, we're probably going to have to leave, then. That sucks." Not wanting to think about it--not wanting to feel it, maybe.

The encounter with the nurse in the pokémon center was a highlight for me. That contrast between Isaac's outward appearance and the fact that he's so utterly harmless, that intense awkwardness and him accidentally slitting open the chair, heh. Really fun character moment!

And then the fight with King! I know you were a bit unsure how to approach this one, but I thought it turned out great. Isaac obviously didn't stand a chance, but it felt like a good exploration of the characters, and I think we readers learned a lot along with Isaac, heh. I like that realization he had back in the Pokémon Center, where he realizes how powerful he is, and maybe now he can actually fight... and how rapidly he realizes that asking King to train him was a massive mistake, heh. It's obvious how much battling means to him (and no surprise, given the environment he grew up in). I'm curious what exactly it was that caused his journey to fail--was he fine with the training/battling parts, but other aspects of the journey proved too much for him? Or did all his study of battle and obsession with strategies not translate to actually battling for himself, the same way that knowing all the minutiae about baseball or whatever doesn't make a person a major-league athlete?

Then back to Aeimlou! Who's starting to get a real sense of just how much his world's grown thanks to his newfound form. What a terror he's going to be when he's zooming around the world at top speed, heh. I enjoyed how he'll pretend not to understand what Hilda and Atlas are saying simply so they'll keep talking (and not try to get him to train).

I continue to be fascinated by Hilda and what might be in store for her. Her relationship with Atlas is certainly different than with the rest of her team; I wonder how much of that is just the communication barrier (although he could presumably translate for the others if they wanted) and how much of it is just a difference in attitude. Atlas definitely appears unusual in how he feels about trainers and training--or at least unusual in that he's willing/able to express it--but as Aeimlou notes, Hilda's other pokémon don't behave like trained pokémon tend to, either. Since they and Hilda both seem pretty content to do their own thing, I wonder why they stick around--what the arrangement looks like between them now. But we're definitely seeing them through Aeimlou's eyes, and he doesn't seem to have much empathy for other pokémon, given his reaction to the injured one Hilda's team left behind, so our perception of them may be rather skewed. All in all, though, I enjoyed getting a better picture of Hilda and her team in this chapter. It's a really interesting dynamic.

I have the feeling that when Aeimlou shows up he's going to absolutely run rings around poor Isaac. Should be a good time. And presumably Isaac will be starstruck over Hilda, too, which I'm sure she'll "enjoy." King's reaction should be pretty interesting, too... it definitely seems like these characters are bound to bounce off each other in fascinating ways, and I'm really looking forward to it.

I'm kind of surprised none of the legends have shown up to check out the new kids on the block. Mew at least is aware of them, and it sounds like Cresselia's aware of a new Darkrai on the block, too. Midas seems to be going to see them, but is he the only one? Is there not a Latias who might be interested in a new Latios? Is Cresselia not going to pop by and see what's up with the new Darkrai? We don't know how the legends relate to each other, if at all, but I'm kind of surprised by the lack of interest in these new arrivals. Wonder what it means. And it sure makes things much rougher for those ascended. Mighty lonely... though I guess there is a danger in an alternative, if existing legends might try to manipulate or eliminate new rivals.

In any case, had a lot of fun with the most recent chapters, and I look forward to more! Hope you're having a good time working on the next one.

 

[tomatorade]

Review responses 2: son of the review response.

Spoiler: Shizzza

Hey, no problemo on the late review. Happens to everyone. Anyways, glad you enjoyed the fic! I'm always happy to hear people like the premise so much. It's one of those things I wrote down the second I thought of it and always get super jazzed to think about, so being validated is very cash money for me.

And yeah, it's a bit of a slower, more introspective story I think. I've been trying to avoid giving the impression this will be super action packed and explosive all the time lol.

Spoiler: Sparklingespeon

Ah, yes, I've heard tales of you from the corners of the forums. Negrek recced me your legends fic and I've been meaning to get to it, but I still haven't. Sorry :(.

Aeimlou best boy. The best fictional character because you never have to meet him in real life lol.

Glad you mentioned the humour. I think it's the first time it's been pointed out in a review, but I always have fun writing scenes with some weird bullshit that makes me laugh. I think it's probably the best recurring inspiration that actually motivates me to write tbh and I'm happy it resonated.

Thank you for all the praise, too! Before I started posting fic I was always very nervous if my writing made sense at all. I think there's a point in writing or editing where you've just read so much of your own stuff it stops feeling like english or something idk. I'm very proud of the characters, too. They're some of the more fun ones to write for me because they're so different from each other.

And yes, I'm also excited for Midas to meet Atlas. He's not a very good guy, but I think Mew's right in saying he's not going to have very much fun at all.

There will definitely be more legends down the pipeline. I have no guarantees (partly because I haven't planned much further in the future) but there's definitely some new players coming up to join the circus and make everybody's lives much more complicated.

Thank you for joining the cult!

Spoiler: Slamdunkrai

Yes! My own frustration with xeno tends to be similar to yours, I think. Lots of time spent on stuff that doesn't interest me much of feels like it matters. I think it also tends to get bored with itself and turn into a sort of human-in-weird-body-story, but I can't pretend to be too far above that lol.

The first chapter is certainly the most overlaboured thing in this fic, maybe all my fics. I don't think that's unusual considering everybody reads their firsts probably more than any other, but I can't help but think it's strong and am excited that everybody is agreeing. I feel all fuzzy inside :3. The themes, too, are a strong point I wanted to get across. Admittedly, they're somewhat scattered, but I like to pretend I'm some hotshot lit fic writer or something so theme is what I draw myself to.

Funny enough, the way I came up with bird boy's name is throwing around syllables like a baby until I got something I liked. My first go was an actual word (which I forget, unfortunately) but It's much more thoughtful than most of the other names in the fic, so I'll easily settle. I'm still waiting to drop the drop the pun line about Aeimlou's name. I don't know if anybody's picked up my terrible wordplay yet.

Happy you liked the trainer-pokemon tension. It will keep cropping up all over the place. It's something I initially thought would distract from everything else, but I eventually realized how similar Aeimlou and Atlas were and really leaned into that. Although in initial plans for these chapter, I was the problem and Atlas was definitely just a plot device used so Aeimlou could communicate. He managed to achieve main character status because I liked that first conversation so much.

I have been waiting for this day.

Truthfully, I agree with pretty much everything you say in criticism about Hilda's section. I'm not allowed to have favourite scenes because they're all my precious children who will grow up to be doctors, but if I did pick favourites, that would be at the bottom, at least for the first couple chapters. I especially agree with it being a little clunky--if I ever get some time to go back and do edits (including minor typos, sorry previous reviewers. I still remember you, I'm just lazy) I'll probably end up smoothing and clarifying that whole argument so it doesn't feel like it's been dropped there to get some plot going. Although she's definitely intentionally somewhat in the wrong. It's not clear this early, but part of the story is every character being kinda bad in different ways.

Also, you mentioned Aeimlou probably being autistic if he were human man. If you're looking for a ah... canon(?) neurodivergent character, then strap in for Isaac in a couple chapters lol. He's got some stuff going on.

Spoiler: Negrek

We stan King in this house.

I'm honestly a little surprised I've had so much positive reception for King tbh. A lot of what he does is walk around like he owns the place and respond so bluntly that it makes every question sound like a stupid one lol. Speaking to his trauma, he's sort of the dark future version of this story's pokemon if that makes any sense. I think I said this somewhere else, but he's the guy who's seen everything and found no meaning or purpose in any of it. Hasn't had a great time for sure.

Glad you liked Isaac's bits too. He's got a strange thought process that I like a lot. I was tossing around whether to do a thing where he tries to communicate to Kloe that he's not dangerous through charades, but while that's very funny I couldn't find a way to make it go anywhere. Unfortunately.

Good that the fight worked, I definitely tried to incorporate some of the discord feedback. I still feel like it's a little short, but I also just don't like writing action that much so that's probably all the juice I had for it.

I'll say it here because I don't really think it's a spoiler and more just background lore. Part of the intent for Isaac's journey failing is that journeys always felt kinda two-pronged between the strategic play of actually battling, plus all the hoopla and pageantry of being an athlete expected to perform on the big stage all the time. And Isaac is just too awkward and uncertain to really command a team of pokemon effectively, let alone deal with crowds and lights and shit. That's the intent, at least.

Dude, I can't wait for Aeimlou to be a menace lol. I'm finding myself delaying his actual flight. Once he gets it, he's gone. (though Hilda would like that, so it isn't happening).

Yes, this is quickly becoming the Hilda arch as I'm writing it. You shall receive answers in following chapters, hopefully. All will be revealed.

You picked up on the lack of empathy, too. A shame, too. Atlas is gonna have trouble forming a union with Aeimlou.

You'll get some new legends in a couple chapters too if all goes as planned. Cresselia's on her way, she's just a little slow.

Glad you're keepign up! I've slowed down a lot because school, but I am still trying to write and should hopefully have more soon.

 

[tomatorade]

Chapter Nine
People and People and People

The flock shared a single moment atop a hill.

Castelia waited beyond. Over many human paths cut through acres of forest. Aeimlou faintly recognised some as a resting spot he and the ravens once shared between long journeys. A great long structure stretched across the water—for all the humans and their vehicles to cross. At the end, silhouettes of human nests blinking with confused light.

For once, the others did not flee. They waited. Alongside him and Hilda and Atlas. And shared in their connection and were otherwise silent. Hilda put her hands on her hips and fingered the straps tying all her supplies to her back and this is all reflected in their connection with one, great sag. The others fired off, also. Aeimlou was versed enough in the weight Hilda added. Or the complicated, ever changing landscape of Atlas’ mind, but these other minds plucked unevenly on his psychic like all these beaks dipping into water to find the last morsels floating there. He could not tell which feeling belonged to which creature. Not even as he studied pointy snouts and whiskers and washes of purple fur beating steadily over a heart and wondered.

This did not matter so much. They were all disappointed. Apathetic. Bemused. Worried. Exasperated.

Even Aeimlou, as he wanted to fight this sticky tree-sap feeling they left him with. He had seen Castelia. He had flown over it and thought nothing. Atlas explained each blinking square as a home, like Juniper’s, for a human, pokemon, mate and family.

And so it made sense for those nests to be large. There were many humans, after all. Perhaps even some thousands.

But he was also set up to feel some kind of way about it. Hilda made plain her hatred. Atlas his slight, fearful awe. He expected his change to introduce some sort of shift, but it did not. His feelings as a raven were fleeting, but he was not impressed back then either.

So Aeimlou smiled. He let a faint warble of happiness slip through. The others met him strangely.

Their connection was quite in line. Truly, he felt in-tune at that moment.

He knew it would not last. The others left soon after.

He would like to get closer.

~(0)~

There were many reasons Aeimlou no longer accepted requests to go into the ball. Hilda assumed because of Atlas’ influence which, while a reasonable assumption considering the way Atlas sighed wetly at every suggestion, was not the case.

Neither was it the case that he simply wanted to be difficult, as per Hilda’s second suggestion. Though Aeimlou had heard her describe nearly everything as ‘difficult’. From him, to each other individual in the flock, to the weather as it rained, and her own body whenever she rested on a toppled log and rubbed at her chest or sides and sighed deeply in the direction of the city.

Truthfully, it hindered his ability to train. Earlier, he did not have the language to describe it, but Atlas called it ‘draining’ and Aiemlou felt that an adequate description. The ball somehow created less than no stimulation. He could not focus for thinking of how bland and unengaging the artificial forest was—holding no winds or smells, the sounds repeating every so often. He might have bore it. If not for the promise of an entire globe of things to engage him.

His decision seemed to come at a bad moment.

“Are you serious? Now?” Hilda said.

It’s his choice, Hilda. Atlas said, bubbling like the mouth of a creek. But warm and self-satisfied. You should respect it.

Yes, even Aeimou knew the reuniclus had waited many nights for him to reject the pokeball. Waited with a hidden glee that Hilda saw through quite easily.

“I’m not gonna force him.” Hilda huffed. “I’m just telling him he’s being a pain in the ass.”

Maybe he likes the attention, Atlas retorted, waving a hand at Aeimlou. He shared that full feeling with a light whistle and a smile.

“Right. And you? You’re gonna have a great time on the trip through? Out and forced to talk with me and a bunch of strangers?” Hilda shot back. She had already begun walking, leaving in her wake the expectation they would follow. And the path laid itself out before her—all this dark earth still rugged from previous rain—the hundreds of pawprints a first sign of human community.

The wet and mud that Hilda stepped through seemed also to afflict Atlas’ connection. He sagged midair, feeding Aeimlou his chill.

I suppose I’m not exactly an extrovert. But I’ll bear it for Aeimlou.

Atlas managed to find something strong in his response. Or the way he crept close to Aeimlou, reaching a sun-warmed fist to mould around one of his fins. He shook mildly midair, but had enough presence to bear it with a coo.

Hilda paused for a moment in the middle of the path, something tugging down the corners of her mouth, her eyes. She stuck her hand to her hips and surveyed back and forth, up and down the path, letting Aeimlou follow her along with a faint, befuddled stare. He was not quite sure what she wanted to find. Other humans, perhaps, and hopefully; he enjoyed Hilda and Juniper and if the rest of Hilda’s flock was not interested in him, other humans might be.

But if she searched for humans, they were not there. Not down the path and not on his or Atlas’ faces when she looked back at them. And thought for a while. The emotions that played across her face reaching out to Aeimlou as the sound of dirt creatures waking up for warm months.

“I’m too fuckin’ nice, aren’t I? I’ve raised you terribly, Atlas. Should have told you to hold everything close to your chest. Or something.” She shrugged, scratching a speck on her arm.

Atlas gripped tight around Aeimlou’s fin. Emotionally, he often seemed to be something like a blunting branch for a bird’s talons—only for Hilda, instead. Here, he had nothing. He, himself, grew sharper.

Aeimlou could not tell what idea he took umbrage with there. But the idea of other humans grew more energetic in his mind, and waiting in the middle of an empty path did not inspire him. He prodded Atlas. Then Hilda. They shook from their thoughts a moment.

How many humans nest in Castelia? When do we get to see them? There is nothing in this forest that interests me.

And then both stared Aeimlou between them. Neither had an encouraging energy to add to their connection.

See? He’s made his decision, Hilda, Atlas said, now unlatching from Aeimlou and pressing forward, beyond even Hilda as she dug further into the mud.

She watched. Remarkably unfazed for what Aeimlou knew of her.

Though Atlas’ connection wobbled like a spiderweb picked through by beaks. Maybe she could sense that.

~(0)~

On a night closer to Castelia, only Hilda was up. She caught Aeimlou on his belly. In the dark shadow of the grass just outside the glowing remains of her bonfire. The light caught her cheeks and chin. The rest of her features hid except a glint reflected in her eyes.

It had grown cold over the course of the day. Unseasonably so.

Perhaps for the first time, the whole flock was out and sleeping. Some together, entwined, Aeimlou supposed, for the warmth of another body. Atlas hovered off by himself. Still sleeping, but with no need to stay grounded.

Aeimlou found that sort of autonomy fascinating to watch. And yet he gravitated more towards those sleeping bodies he did not see often. Chests rose and fell lightly against each other. All these hills of fur and scales and skin, and Aeimlou seeming to soar above them without landing.

He found it strange. Everything else seemed comfortable to approach him in this new body. And he had tried, also, to approach them. He’d sent out some signals, some prods and trails, only to be ignored.

Irritating, really. Being ignored was something he quite minded.

He huffed, scattering some dry leaves across the dirt. Hilda watched from the other side, raising her brows. Though she did not smile.

“They’re not talking to you, huh?” she spoke for the first time in a while. She slept late, and at the moment searched through her bag.

Aeimlou could not speak without Atlas. And did not yet have the ability to form his own connections. He gave a light whistle he hoped sounded like a confirmation.

Hilda shrugged. Her hair pooled around her shoulders, let down from those ties she wrapped it up in. Though Aeimlou could sense a vague ambivalence from her, he felt numb not having the full scope—vulnerable like the sleeping flock not far from him. Nights were quiet. Something consistent across his life.

“They probably won’t. Especially not with you creeping around, waiting for them to be interested in you.” She slipped off her shoes next—something Aeimlou had learned were not part of her feet and could be removed—settting them beside her tent. “Just saying.”

Aeimlou watched as she performed her night routine. Rubbing her face with a handful of water scooped from a nearby river, nibbling on little snacks she had pulled from her bag.

“They’re not obligated to like you or talk to you. This isn't a friendship. I don’t know what you think it is, but—” She hesitated, taking a deep breath. The hole to her shelter flapped steadily against a light wind. “I dunno. I’ve talked a lot about what being a trainer is, but I haven’t said that yet. It’s important.” She met Aeimlou’s eyes. Grew stronger in her repose. Night crept steadily along. Those stray threads of thought flowing through the air sagged, waiting to land amongst the grass and sleep, finally.

“All these kids fucking around—and I get it—they’re young, kicked down, laid out, waiting for someone to give them a chance, and they think they have something. Someone will finally be forced to give a fuck about them.”

She slid her outer layers off. Her skin prickled in the cold but she did not seem to notice even under the bare protection of a white fabric hanging loosely off her shoulders. She scowled and , as her head tilted, the light flickered and cast the rest of her face in a flat shadow that stretched and morphed as she spoke.

“But that’s a lie. You’re not family. You’re not friends. Not coworkers. Barely allies, I guess. If nothing gives a fuck about you at home, they sure as hell aren’t when you’re dirty and starving in the middle of the forest. So I don’t know what you think it is, but it’s not any of that shit,” She said.

Aeimlou blinked, trying to catch up to her words. Hilda sighed. Some of her anger had returned. Hot and creasing over the bridge of her nose.

“Ol’ bleeding heart Atlas told me about you. I don’t know how it’s possible for a raven to become—” She gestured at his whole body. “--that. But fine, I’ve seen wilder shit. Just listen when I tell you it’s not a pack or whatever. This is conditional.”

That, he understood. And took to watching the sleeping bodies again. He could not deny wanting what she spoke about. Yet, he could not have it? Hilda spoke a lot about what this was not, but she had yet to tell him what it was instead. Aside from training. And that word became more complex every day.

Hilda was not done speaking.

“If you want them to respect you. Talk to you or whatever, you need to put up something they want. Sepira wouldn’t even give Reshiram the time of day without battling first—honestly—and it’s taken me years to get to the point we can all just sit here, alone together.”

She stood up now. Shook the irritation off her, expression morphing into a yawn which morphed into something fading and tired. Aeimlou found it contagious, unable to stop himself cracking his beak open, letting faint tears pool at the corners of his eyes.

She looked over at him once more, seeming as if she wanted to keep speaking on and on. It was true, in Aeimlou’s opinion, that despite herself, Hilda liked to have someone else to talk to.

But tonight wore on her. She broke into another yawn. Her energy gave up on her. She shuffled off with a quiet goodnight, leaving him to watch her shadow play on the fabric on her shelter until the light flicked off also and left the area dark.

Aside from the coals.

Aeimlou tried to watch the not-flock through the darkness. Their outlines blended together until they formed one mass, Atlas reflecting green-tinted moonlight above them.

He was inclined to believe her. But was not sure what he could give them, like he was not sure how to do something remarkable, like he was not sure how he became what he was.

Once he knew how to fly, he could bring berries and dead creatures from the rivers. But he remained weak. And could admit his own impatience. Watching the not-flock traipse through the woods on their own stirred something in him.

As Aeimlou tried to sleep in a nest of stray grasses and fabrics, he settled back on Atlas’ signature.

He would have to ask sometime.

~(0)~

They waited at the foot of the bridge.

They had been waiting for quite a while.

Hilda sat on some wooden, human constructions and travelled her fingers along her glowing square and rubbed the morning light from her eyes as it forced its way through the bridge’s many red spires and branches and across their little plains of stone and shallow puddles.

Aeimlou could admit to being excited. The morning did not hurt him the way it hurt Hilda. Atlas, too, who reclined on the bench beside Hilda and bubbled with a morning sickness Aeimlou heard through their connection.

The rest of the flock chose to stay in their balls. They were in before Aeimlou even woke up. He would like not to be upset by that.

But besides, he was excited. He exercised some newfound height by feeling around the stubby barriers on all sides of their platform, poking his beak through little gray diamonds that took cold nips at his face on contact. Great budding trees spread before him and into the sea. The passing of human craft did not disturb them. And sent faint giggles through him as they passed through the oppressive shadow of the bridge. White peaks met them on all sides. A nice smell came up from the water. Salt and decay, as he liked it.

He knew now the reason the others were not so excited for the city itself. The buildings were large, but very flat, and they were not able to go into any of them. They would be travelling through.

Still, those dots travelling along the boxy stone beaches across the water were exciting.

Why have we not seen more people yet? he asked, still turned to the ocean. One sigh and one grumble answered behind him.

“You’ve met me already,” Hilda cut through. Her voice was still gummy and deep from waking. “How can you want to meet anyone else? I can’t have made a good impression.”

You have impressed upon Atlas, Aeimlou reminded, eagerly. A spark of warmth skittered from Atlas. Though he seemed far too tired for much else. Juniper was nice, also. And you still have food left in your bag. Do you think the other people will have more? They have hands. Surely, they carry it around. Unless they have bags like yours. Were you born with it or did you make it yourself?

Aeimlou turned, looking Hilda in the eyes. Though they were already dark, they seemed to sink even darker now. And as Aeimlou thought of another question and chirped and opened his mouth, Hilda’s box made that irritating, shouting noise.

That meant she would be sighing and ignoring him to talk to her box for however long. A common sight, if one she always frowned and grumbled through.

Aeimlou let out a low whistle and turned, instead, to Atlas.

Only to find that he had fallen asleep, a green mass on the bench.

Which left him alone.

He blinked, looking out over the area. A cold wind blew across the stone, kicking scraps of leaves up from the crack.

What should he do? He would not prod Atlas. Not today, when he was tired and would wake up upset. And Hilda had grown remarkably agile with it. She would not react in the moment. She would wait. Later, she would find him after he guided Atlas to sort through his feathers and ruffle them with a vigorous hand, ruining the work.

He would find other solutions, but she proved too clever for the moment.

So he found himself floating along the perimeter again. Prodding at the barrier. Cold and hard slipping between his claws. The staircase back down tempted him, but he was not much interested in the forest. Across the other side, a ramp led up into the gleaming spires and across the water.

Both were empty. Aeimlou grumbled to himself. He had waited very long for other humans. Neither Hilda nor Atlas promised anything, but they had also worked against him in this case—the reason they woke so early was explicitly to avoid other humans.

He could only circle.

He tried training once more. Off in the corner, on his own. He watched the others all the while—neither budging. Hilda would glance over her shoulder in dry pauses, but by the way her lips thinned, Aeimlou suspected she did not understand or care.

And he could not focus. The humans should come by either entrance, limited as they were to ground paths. Nature made itself known—whether by the chirping of insects or chattering of other flocks or indistinct rustling and scratching against the rocks.

Unfortunately, Aeimlou did not have enough experience to intuit what sound a human would make. And so he distracted himself by watching. At the worst moments, as he floated a length higher than usual and thought he heard a conversation and coasted a little off until he clipped his wing against the fence and tumbled to the ground with a yelp and a ruffle of feathers, harsh noise resonating from the barrier.

Whether Hilda heard his tumble and reacted, or simply finished her conversation with the square, he could not say. But once Aeimlou recovered enough that his blurred vision became solid again, she stood above him. Atlas, too, peeked back at him over the bench.

“The bus should be here soon,” she said, hands on hips. “We should head down to the road.”

Bus? Atlas grumbled from the bench. He could lift himself slightly, now. And project his turbulent wakeup in the form of thousands of invisible currents. I thought you said we wouldn’t need to be recalled. The last instance, our driver was fairly clear on their policy.

Hilda scoffed. She waved a hand.

“Since when do you care about policy?”

Well, I certainly remember what happened last time.

“That was before I saved Unova.”

Atlas gurgled lowly. He had picked himself off the bench and floated dully around the chunky stone exit framing the staircase. Aeimlou tried to send him a signal, but got no response. The conversation was rapidly leaving his understanding.

I don’t believe that matters to the bus driver. And I thought we were meant to get through Castelia without incident.

“Nobody wants to go into a pokeball, so I don’t know what you want from me. Bird boy isn’t gonna fit in a cab. We sure as fuck aren’t walking.”

What I want is for you to listen to your own concerns.

Hilda snorted. “Uh-huh. Sorry, who’s talking?”

A prickle of irritation spread out from Atlas’ connection.

Good luck convincing them, I suppose.

But if this was meant as an appeal, it had little success. Hilda clicked her tongue and strolled up to Altas’ side, lingering by the barrier. Only after a long period of eye contact did Aeimlou realise she wanted him to follow.

“I’m not afraid to throw my weight around. What are they gonna do?”

And so she trailed off back down the stairs, ignoring the waves of irritation she left in her wake. But there was not much Atlas could do except clench his fists until they dissolved into a great green mass. And usher Aeimlou down the stairs behind her.

Unfortunately, that lead to more waiting. They found a bench leaning in a grove of overgrown whiteflowers, each big and bursting across the slick black that denoted many human creations. The fabled bus took long enough for both Hilda and Atlas to fall asleep once again, each snoring faintly on their own sides.

Here, Aeimlou could only wait.

His own irritation built quite neatly. Prickling and restless in a way that caused the others to twitch in their sleep as they felt it also. The woods watched on—he spotted the eyes of pokemon peering on through walls of foliage. But none stepped out or responded to his prods with anything more than a yelp. They retreated back into the dark.

Until the bus came.

He heard it before he saw it, his chin down on one edge of the bench, staring down the deep rivets dragging up and down the dirt path. A rumble sounded. At first, so small it might have been another sound from the forest. But it increased. Sawed through everything in a way the insects’ incessant buzzing never did.

He faintly recognised sounds like it—those that rumbled the foundations of their bench and could be felt from very far away. By the time it broke through a thin layer of fog, tumbling through the trees and roaring onto the dirt, his companions had been rumbled awake.

It…

Was a box. Tall and unsurprising—he did, actually, recognise similar things from long trips watching over human settlements. He simply had not had the chance to come so close. Here, it was an unnatural red and quite intimidating. Some rows of seats poked into vision from within. Some with great spaces between. Humans occupied some. Though the seats vastly outnumbered them.

Well.

Aiemlou snorted. He did not understand the humans’ obsession with boxes. Everything needed to be square to them. Even the openings. Those too-small squares that were hardly large enough to allow creatures to clamber through. He could see through them to the other side, also, with a sliver of space between walls which was not inspiring. He tried to send out some signals, but a bleary Atlas had only woken up then and their connection only just struggled to life.

Aeimlou lagged behind as they yawned and stretched and approached. The door folded open on its own for them. Another human leaned forward in their seat, surrounded on all sides by buttons and knobs and lights that all lined up eagerly to be prodded. But while Aeimlou would have liked to poke around, the human held his attention. A new face. One with bushy, bristly hair sprouting from a pointy chin. Dark eyes narrowed at Hilda. Narrowed further at Atlas squeezing through the entrance.

And shot open. Wide and shining in the harsh yellow light stuttering from the ceiling. The others stepped up the stairs and around the first row of seats. But they hovered. Hilda, especially with a quirk of the eyebrows and the thinnest smile.

“Whuh—” the human mumbled. He blinked, shuffling in his seat and tugging at his sleeves. Then he cleared his throat. Sent a stern look back at Hilda. “Dunno what this is. Ditto or what,” he grumbled, “Can’t let ‘em on free like that, though.”

“Yeah you can. You already have.” Hilda sniped. She tapped her fingers against the railing she leant on.

“C’mon, lady.”

Hilda— Atlas bubbled into the conversation. At least try not to make a scene.

“What? Why would I do anything like that?” She said, “He’s not a ditto, by the way.”

Once again, the human’s eyes widened. He gripped tightly to his chair. Atlas slid back into the aisle, floating between Hilda and the other human as if anticipating a fight. Of course, his attention was fully pointed at Hilda.

You’re making it sound like a threat.

“He can call the rangers if he wants. I’m not fuckin’ budging.”

And the human bit his lip. One hand grabbed a device nestled at his hip. He fumbled with it a bit. Held it up for them to see. Traced the buttons with a finger.

Hilda did not twitch. She let out a quick breath through her nose. Then climbed back up the stairs. She did not make it to the aisle before being interrupted.

The human sighed. “Could ya just put… him away?” And a point to Aeimlou, to which he pointed back.

“He’s not mine. Wouldn’t listen to a damn thing I say, anyways.”

“C’mon!”

But far too late, she’d already fled. Heavy stomping following her through. She vanished beyond a floor-to-ceiling partition which blocked the rest of the bus. Her thumping continued on, but muffled, then settled. Here, some indistinct chatter leaked through, swirling with faint hairs of emotion. Aeilou only noticed them now. The man’s was most strong—strong enough Aeimlou could sense how it swirled and clung to the even cracks in the wall behind him.

The human looked at Aiemlou. Aeimlou looked back. He tried to smile, but the man frowned. He would like to say hello. But Atlas’ connection did not include him.

So silent seconds passed. And the man seemed to age in real time, wrinkles deepening over the bridge of his nose. He shook his head. Waved a hand and faced forward once more, mumbling something about his schedule.

Nothing to do for it, now. At least we won’t be confined, I suppose. Atlas said. One gelatinous arm reached out to Aeimlou, draping over his neck.

He let the reuniclus guide him up. Though he had not lost his focus on the man.

Hilda and the man were kin, in many ways. Or reasonable to each other, at the very least. Yet she seemed more hostile here than she had been with Juniper. And all these humans did not seem from separate territories—they spoke like they knew of each other, if only faintly. They did not seem in competition yet neither did they seem cordial.

Strange.

Does Hilda approach all humans that way? He asked.

Atlas did not hesitate. Yes. Everyone and everything, he said, I mean, it’s not like she’s less stubborn around us.

But they are both human, at least.

Nevermind. Now Atlas hesitated, stuck between the partitions and painting the beyond—all those seats and spaces, the dangling legs of people poking beneath his pale body—in vibrant green. Something heavy settled over them.

What does that matter?

I understand our differences. We are strangers in body, all of us. Some distance makes sense. Humans are the different, I believe, but they grate together as they do with us.

And you believe that's natural?

Yes.

Atlas’ weight increased. He pressed against the wall. Turned. Though his eyes could not be squinted, Aeimlou had the sense those two black specks were trying.

In what way? We are different? But are you and I not close?

Yes. I believe so. But we do not have to be.

And Atlas simply sat there. It was his turn to sit dumbly and wait for Aeimlou to talk. A memory of Aeimlou blinking washed over their connection.

But Aeimlou agreed with the image. He had no more to say. He did not know why the reuniclus had turned like this—feeling both hot and cold at once.

He could not dwell. He could not answer further.

A gasp sounded from the aisles, breaking them from their little circle.

Most of the seats were empty. But on a close one, just a couple rows away, a very small human leaned over their armrest, hundreds of coiled strands of hair flowing down from their scalp. Bright, sparkling eyes fixed Aeimlou in place. Her mouth widened. Only until he noticed, then the human yelped and jumped back into hiding.

We can discuss this later, Atlas said. As if this was an important discussion. As if Aeimlou would commit each word to memory.

He still did not know why he should.

Atlas must have sensed his confusion. The reuniclus shook faintly in the air.

You’ll get to meet humans here, at least. Have a good time. I’ll be back with Hilda.

Atlas, though complicated, could not help but show did not have a great control over his emotions. As he left, clearing the hallway to a full view of many humans peeking as the little one did, the heat followed him. Shameful and burning in a way Aeimlou had not felt from him.

It hurt. Aiemlou could not pretend otherwise.

The little human returned. This time she poked out with a smile, tugging a larger lookalike over her seat with her.

“Latios!” She giggled. Pointed. “See! I told you!”

And the lookalike gasped.

And Aeimlou wanted to enjoy this.

But Atlas had already settled in a chair beside Hilda and he found that quite strange.

 

[Phoenixsong]

Hi there! Had a bit of time to actually *gasp* read something for once, and thought I'd drop in and give the first few chapters of this a look.

Wow, so much of the prose in this is just stunning. I love "black flickering into green" as the ravens fly away, and "He found himself breathing heavily, gasping like those dim orange creatures flopping on the banks. Did they feel this, too, in the precious pink curls that spooled from their stomachs and into the beaks of his brothers?" as he fears he's dying like the magikarp. There's a lot of strong imagery throughout, in particular the gut-punches in the first chapter and some lovely scenery in the fourth.

It's always rough figuring out what a xeno-POV character should understand and what they shouldn't; definitely not a job I envy, and for the most part I think you've done a fantastic job of getting into the perspective of a creature that is very Bird but is also becoming Pokémon and yet having to interact with humans. I'm curious why Aeimlou has no concept of "psychic" but does know the definition of "legendary" (in the general sense, not (yet) the category of pokémon sense), and does seem to understand in general that pokémon can do unusual, "empowered" things that animals like him cannot. What determines what he does and doesn't know, I wonder? My attention was drawn to the comment about the humans not understanding psychic either—is Aeimlou somehow learning these concepts based on what others around him can understand and define?

In general I do love his continuing raven-ness, though. So entranced by shiny objects, or thinking in terms of whether he's boring to someone else or whether they're boring to him (must have novelty). It's a fun way to have him learn about and interact with other characters for sure. And, of course, it's delightful that he's such a little shit in general already. It's all going to make for some interesting contrast with the feelings of "superiority" that seem to be an inherent part of becoming a legendary.

The confusion about the starter distribution was especially precious. I mean, why not, taking responsibility for another young creature might as well be mothering it! Very curious to see what Atlas's hangup about that is, given he seems to be wild-caught rather than bred and likely didn't go through that experience himself... was it something similar? Did he know someone who did? Or is he just the sort in general to worry about children separated from their mothers, born to be separated from them more or less? (So unusual, I know.) Will be interesting to see how other pokémon feel about this, and what, perhaps, they'd like to do about it. (If they can do anything about it. )

Hilda's story seems like it ought to be interesting. You see fics about game protags becoming heroes, or about being recognized as heroes, but I'm not sure I know of any that are about that protag basically being forced into being that region's troubleshooter long after the initial event has ended. Can't blame her at all for feeling like she's being used or run ragged, and it makes me wonder what specifically all this heroing about is interrupting; what is the life she'd rather be living? I also want to meet the rest of her team properly and get more into that "seemed like she specifically sought them out from their homes" bit. Is there something different about the way Hilda met her team?

Midas's intro chapter was definitely interesting. The conversation between him and Mew was a little hard to follow in places, though I think some of that's just a function of the characters having a lot of context and past history that we're not privy to yet. It's a conversation that raises a lot of interesting questions, but I do think it's a bit easy to get lost in it as a result; not sure what to do about that, though, since this does seem like it's meant as setup for things that will be clarified later. (Might just be me, of course. I am often very bad at following threads, :P)

It does become clear pretty quickly that the conversation is about Midas ascending even further, which is an intriguing concept—absolutely want to see what that entails, and how it relates the criteria/situations for "normal" ascension. The nature of his relationship with Mew is still a mystery to me at this point; I assume much of that will come out as the story develops, though there was something that confused me. Clearly they know each other and have interacted before, and I'd guess they have some kind of history that goes beyond "sometimes Mew just shows up to annoy him", but at the same time he says "You have no idea who you're talking to"—have they not actually interacted in as much detail as it seems, or is this just a turn of phrase that's more referring to his lofty ambitions than their actual relationship? (Either way, must be infuriating to have what seems like an irreverent, annoying goofball hold a much better, more powerful position than you do, heh. His irritation at how many times he's had to put up with her games is amusingly clear in his narration.)

There are a few spots where I did trip over some of the otherwise impressive prose:

Spoiler

From Chapter 1:

"Flight had left him grounded, but unlike other creatures, he had no legs to stand on.

I get that he was "left grounded" as in he doesn't have his raven wings and can't fly anymore, but flight being what left him grounded doesn't make sense to me. Even if "flight" here means fleeing/trying to get away, it's not clear why that would be what "leaves him grounded" compared to just not having wings.

And in Chapter 4:

A psychic hook in his chest that tried tugging him down amongst them, but hadn’t yet realised he’d been the fisherman this whole time.

"... but hadn't yet realised he'd been the fisherman ..." is also confusing. Who hadn't realized this, the lesser creatures or Latios himself? (...the hook?) And what does it mean to be the fisherman here? Nothing so far has really been about "taking" or "catching" anything, which is what I'd associate a with a fisherman. If the "hook" is intended to represent what connected him to creatures like this before he ascended (i.e., back when he was one of them) then that's a neat metaphor in and of itself, but I don't quite understand what the fisherman clause adds to it in that case.

But yeah! All in all, this is definitely something I haven't seen much like before, and I'd love to know where it's going next. Aeimlou, Atlas and Hilda (and presumably Hilda's other pokémon, at some point) are going to make for some unusual traveling companions. I'm eager to see more of how they react to each other and how the world reacts to them (and to Atlas and Aeimlou's "trainer/starter" relationship, such as it is, especially). And what will Midas be getting up to? Mew never said, but it seems pretty likely that it's Aeimlou's ascension to new latios specifically that has Midas interested. Does he just need to make sure he's got a replacement of his own lined up before he overthrows Mew, or is there something else he needs Aeimlou for? Will definitely want to check in on this again when I've got time.