The 9th Mystery [Pokémon]

[wdango]

---

P R E M I S E​

They say the world used to be a very different place. More dangerous.

Supposedly, Wild Pokémon used to be far more aggressive than they are today. An infamous tale even speaks of a Rattata horde, besieging an entire platoon of Rangers and leaving no survivors.

And let's not even bring up the Mystery Dungeons. Forget about competing for them the way that Trainers do now. Back then, it was far more common to see a Dungeon Break than a Dungeon Clear. Every single delve meant putting your life on the line.

Hard to believe, isn't it?

Nowadays, it's safe enough that there are even many small towns cropping up in the provinces, outside the influence of the 8 Temples. Slowly but surely, humanity is reclaiming the Wilderness. Some of these towns have long outlived your grandparents, so perhaps they're right, and you're all living in a new age of peace.

Becoming a Pokémon Trainer, though? That hasn't changed very much.

Pokémon Training has always been synonymous with being part of the social elite, and it's even more so now. With peace and security on the continent, the civilian population is increasing rapidly, but there are still only so many new Trainers every year.

Not only that, but the only way to become a Trainer is by undergoing one of the 8 Temples' trials, and for its God to bestow you with the one Pokémon you'll be Bonded to for life.

Naturally, every living person dreams of becoming a Trainer. It doesn't matter which country or what kind of society you live in. Having a Pokémon means power, it means prestige, and it means you have the world at your beck and call.

How fortunate, then, that you are one of the lucky few destined to become a Pokémon Trainer.

And for the first time in humanity's tattered history, your generation no longer knows the bitter taste of war. It is a peaceful world, especially on the Eastern Continent, and you are infinitely blessed to be born in this era.

---

 

[wdango]

P R O L O G U E

The Bad Daughter​

Growing up, your Dad was a villain.

You remember a glittering childhood, and a little girl who idolised the man. But then you had to spend nights and years holding your mother in your arms. Every violent fight would end with a wine glass, or a cereal bowl, or a picture frame hitting the wall, raining shards onto the floor. One time, it was even the expensive marbled glass that used to decorate the top of your dining table, smashed into pieces by his naked fist. You remember that clenched fist, studded with the tabletop shards and leaking blood onto the hardwood floors, and you remember your mother sobbing and begging and yelling and crying, and all that hero worship washed away like mud in her torrent of tears.

You remember thinking, oh, so this is the strength of a Pokémon Trainer.

You've always wondered why your brother, almost 10 years your elder, never felt the same. He must have seen the abuse. He must have understood, but he always remained a bystander.

Two years ago was when everything changed.

Mom wasn't a Pokémon Trainer, you see. She's privileged enough to be a Resident of Razzetti City, but you're still not allowed to unless you're a Citizen. Oh, children inherit partial Citizenship, but not spouses. She's always been a little bit sickly, and without the mana from a Pokémon Bond, there's nothing to bolster her health.

It was a heart attack.

You were 16 when she passed, and your Dad turned into a different man.

In the stories, this is when the monster turns even uglier. Sometimes, there's a stepmother. Sometimes, without the poor wife as a victim for his wrath, he just turns his wicked ways upon his children, and they become the new and even more helpless victims.

That's not what happened.

You watched the angry monster melt away, and you saw the broken man underneath.

Too late, you thought bitterly, but at that time, you didn't understand. Your brother held your Dad, and you walked away, and it took you many more months before you pieced it together. It's simply too bad that by then, you had already long inherited his temper.

Why didn't you realise it earlier?

He had never raised a hand to hit her, or your brother, or you. He never even said a word against her, whether at the peak of their fights, or even after her death. Perhaps breaking things was the only way he knew how to express his helplessness.

Your father is a bad man. How can he treat his wife like this? You'll never leave Mom's side, right, Chloe? You'll never take his side. I'm the victim. He's a villain. I regret marrying him. If I never bore kids for him, maybe I could have left. I'm enduring this for you, you know. You mustn't listen to what he says. Listen to Mom. Mom knows better. I sacrificed everything for you, Chloe. Even your brother doesn't understand. He always takes your father's side. It's just the two of us, Chloe. You're my daughter. You're just like me when I was younger. Such a clever, pretty girl. Oh, I was pretty once, just like you, before I married that monster. You know everything is his fault, right, Chloe? Oh, you're the only one who understands. I love you, Chloe. You love Mom, too, don't you?

You should have realised it earlier.

Without her poison in your ears, and without her poison in his life, you watched the monster melt away, and the broken man was revealed. A powerful Pokémon Trainer is what he should have been. Instead. . .

Maybe, it was also around your age that your brother realised it. Robbed of even being a father to his own children. . . You wonder if you'll ever see your Dad recover.

Now it's two years after your Mom's death, and you've finally graduated from basic schooling. You're 18, so it's already more than a year since you've become an adult by your country's standards, but even so your Dad only spends his days sitting around the house. The freedom given to your country's Trainers is unique — they have no obligation to serve in the military, as long as they're full Citizens of the City — but this freedom has become your Dad's shackles.

Like he had for your brother, he's supposed to take you in as apprentice and turn you into a capable Pokémon Trainer, but he won't. As a matter of fact, even if he wanted to, you might not have accepted. And perhaps your brother could apprentice you instead, if he already had his Mastery, but he doesn't yet, so he can't.

Children only inherit partial Citizenship, you see, and barring apprenticeship to a full-fledged Master, the only way you're becoming a Trainer is by conscripting yourself to the military, unless. . .

Unless someone offers you an opportunity to enter the neighbouring country's Pokémon Trainer Academy as an exchange student.

Goodbye, Razzetti City. Hello, Silph Academy.

You are Chloe Adrianna, and you are a coward.

________​

 

[wdango]

C H A P T E R : O N E

Into the Darkness​

The Evergreen River cuts from West to East across Razzetti Fortress, the capital city, and it's longer across than even two city blocks put together. A sturdy bridge, hewn out of stone, connects the Southern and Northern Districts, wide enough that two Venusaurs could walk side by side without touching. Even this early in the evening, the city lights are shimmering reflections on the river's surface, golden pinpricks on an undulating blue canvas.

A shadow falls over you, blocking out the early evening sun.

"Are you really not intending to exercise your Initiation privilege?"

Ah. Your brow creases in subtle annoyance. Your brother's found you. But you suppose it's already been more than several days that you've spent brooding at the river, so he was bound to catch you eventually. Damned stalker.

"Chloe."

"Yes, yes." Don't be so mean to him, Chloe. It's not his fault.

"Don't you want to become a Pokémon Trainer? You've trained your entire life for this."

You shrug ambiguously. "Yeah."

". . ."

". . ."

"Grrrrgh. . ." Lucas groans in frustration, lifting a hand to scramble his own hair, already messy, into further disarray. "Come on, Sis. You're already 18. You gotta do something with your life."

"Why don't you tell that to Dad?" You bite out, and regret it immediately.

SMACK

A gentle hand smacks the back of your head painlessly, and you feel a little bit better. "Don't be like that."

You rub the offended spot, glaring at him briefly. "I'm not wrong, Lucas."

Smoothly, you avert your gaze again, betraying nothing.

"This isn't about him. It's about you. Our family's wealth will not sustain you forever." Especially since Dad isn't working anymore. Even as Citizens of Razzetti, you need to work and make yourself useful to the state.

You know that.

"And who will I apprentice to? Not Dad, that's for sure." You suppress the sardonic laugh threatening to bubble up your throat, shaking your head. "And you're far from Mastery yourself."

"So if there was a way, you would do it?"

"I'm not apprenticing to some no-name third-rate Master, Lucas. I'm not joining the military, either. I told you that."

"I know." He nods. "I'm talking about something else."

You pause, and finally look back at him. He's a spitting image of you. Dark hair like your Dad, bright eyes like your Mom.

"You don't mean to tell me to work a civilian job, do you?" Working without Pokémon was beneath your typical Citizen, although occasionally some desperate people did, if they couldn't get at least an apprenticeship, and also didn't have the means to generate some sort of passive income. "I'm not gonna lower myself to the level of a Resident, or gods forbid, a Traveller."

"Chloe!" Lucas hisses, glancing around to see if anyone overheard you.

You just fold your arms imperiously. "Well? I'm not."

Your brother sighs. "That's not what I mean. I managed to pull some strings, okay? I got an opportunity for you."

You narrow your eyes. That doesn't sound suspicious at all. "What is it? Skip the suspense, already."

"Right, Sis. You're gonna love this." He licks his lips. "You ever heard of Silph Academy?"

What? "No way."

"Yes way. I've secured one of the exchange student slots for you. You're in, right?"

You stare at his smug face. "How did you — you're not kidding, right? This isn't a joke. That Silph Academy?"

"Is there more than one Trainer's Academy anywhere in this world?" His grin widens. "Are you in or are you not?"

You shove him, and he takes half a step back. You can't help it. You bet the grin on your own face matches the one he's sporting. "Of course I'm in, you idiot! What's the catch?"

His expression falters, just a little bit.

________​

In this city, families traditionally build their homes in small, walled-in compounds called corrals. Within the corral, compact buildings — too simple to be called individual houses — are scattered like trees in a garden. Connected by simple walkways, each tiny building serves its own specific function, such as the kitchen-cum-dining hall in the southwestern corner, or the set of guest rooms running along the western wall.

When you turned 17, an adult in the Commonwealth, you've been given an entire building — a small studio, really — that serves as your personal home.

It's here that you soon find yourselves, seated around the round table just two steps away from your bed. The sky is already dark by the time you get back, but this certainly isn't a topic you should be discussing in public.

You grimace. "How is this better than military service?"

Lucas shakes his head. "We're not military, Chloe. We're. . . You can consider us more of a secret society, so to speak."

"And your boss wants me to join this thing."

"No, I want you to join us. We don't usually admit newly initiated Trainers, let alone uninitiated ones, but he agreed to make an exception for you."

"Does Dad know about this?"

"No."

Of course. So, one more secret to keep. You knew that it was too good to be true.

". . . Why me?"

"What do you mean, why you? You don't want to take any of the options avail—"

"—No, I mean, why would he make an exception for me?"

"Because of me. I'm a pretty trusted agent—member, and I already know you can keep a secret. We can't let our existence leak, but we're always short on trustworthy members, so when I vouched for you, he agreed."

"Hmm. . . . ."

"I know it sounds suspicious, but you've got to trust me, Chloe. An opportunity like this won't come twice. And once you're one of us. . . You'll have an even brighter future ahead of you, I promise."

"How can I just agree when I don't even know what your so-called secret society does, Lucas?" You shake your head. "This is all very dodgy. How long have you been a member, anyway?"

He leans forward. "More than 5 years, now. And I already told you what we do. We're trying to find out what the churches are hiding, and we're really close."

"Hah." This time, you can't hold it in. A bark of derisive laughter escapes your lips. "You just need a girl who doesn't even have her Bond yet to walk right into the heart of another country, and do all of your investigation for you. Are you really doing this to your own sister, Brother?"

"We've never betrayed one of our own before, Chloe. And this task is perfect for you. There's no risk at all, or I wouldn't even have considered it."

". . . . ."

". . . Chloe."

"Shut up. I'm thinking."

Supposedly, this group that your brother is a part of. . . They've found a piece of a divine relic, and it isn't connected to any of the 8 gods, or any of the known myths. They've also established, somehow, that the correct way to use this relic is by bringing it into the Initiation Chamber in any one of the 8 Temples. Or, well, 5 Temples, since 3 of them are on the Western Continent.

Your job? It's simple. Just bring it in when you're going through your Initiation, and report your findings afterwards.

You see, the only time anyone is ever allowed to enter the Initiation Chamber is when they're receiving their Bond. That means it's either you, or some desperate middle-aged uninitiated Citizen.

You figure your brother's not entirely honest. You're their only option.

. . . They might even be pressuring Lucas into roping you in.

You don't have to do this, but. . . Screw it.

"Alright. Fine."

"You'll do it?" Relief and excitement creep in tandem across Lucas's face, like hesitant frost across a piece of glass.

You scowl. "Yeah. I'll do it."

"That's great, Chloe! Welcome to the Order!"

". . . What was the name of this secret society again?"

THUMP

He grins proudly, thumping a fist to his chest. Two fingers trace the shape of a circle in what's obviously a secret salute of some sort. "We call ourselves the Reclamation Order for Covenant, Knowledge, Enlightenment, and Truth."

Oh, gods.

It gets worse. Later, you find out that they also call themselves ROCKET, for short.

________​

 

[wdango]

C H A P T E R : T W O

Family and Ritual​

There are three types of alcohol that are signature to the Commonwealth.

First, of course, there's palmasa, also known as bark wine, or colloquially just palm beer. Made from the sap of Pamtre berry trees, it's a cloudy amber beer that only takes a couple of days to make. It's popular because it's fizzy and sweet, and also very cheap. Your family often tells you tales of how your Dad fed you a little bit on a teaspoon, when you were barely old enough to walk, and then started dancing and jumping around on the couch. To this day, you still have a taste for the drink, and it's one of the things you'll miss the most once you're away.

And then there's risino, also known as red moon wine, or red rice wine. It's made from red glutinous rice, and it's thick and milky. The suspended red sediments in the opaque white drink gives it a pink tinge – many think it's pretty, but you've personally decided it's just creepy. Sour and sharp with a bitter aftertaste, you don't think anyone actually enjoys this. Still, it's a traditional drink that's often served in ceremonies and festivals, but you hear it's more common to see it in the province than in the city.

Finally, you have sudora. There's two types — it's simply distilled from either palmasa or risino. It's strong, and pungent, and it burns, and you hate it.

Ironically, the stuff made from risino is smoother and sweeter, but the liquid you're pouring into the shallow conical cup is a pale gold, instead of clear and transparent, so it's the more potent palmasa sudora. This is gonna suck extra.

The cup fills to the brim before you cut the flow, and as if to punctuate the pour, the man sitting beside you taps a stern finger onto table, DMPP. Quietly, you pass the jar of alcohol to him with both hands.

Despite the dark three-piece suit framing his lean posture, he's far from out of place in the rustic bar you're meeting in. Rather, his presence is what sets the atmosphere itself in the otherwise empty bar. Without even a bartender to attend the two of you, the only other people present are two men in simpler suits, standing to each side of the entrance as if guards to guarantee your privacy.

Beyond your expectations, the Boss of ROCKET himself is personally welcoming you into the fold. And even more so is the fact that he's someone you've seen before, although this is the first time you've met him up close — the Grand Master of the House of Guilds, Silvano Giovanni, and one of the most powerful men in the world.

"Tell me," he says as he starts to pour into a matching shallow cup — yours. "Are you religious, Chloe?"

The Boss pours with a steady hand, and you watch the spirit swirl elegantly into your cup like the dread and regret filling up your lungs. The cup fills up, and he sets the jar down on the table with a gentleness that nearly catches you off-guard. Belatedly, you knock a closed fist onto the table, THCK THCK THCK.

One finger once to a junior, two fingers twice to a peer, and a fist thrice to a senior.

"I," you first mutter, then raise your voice to speak with more confidence, "wouldn't say that."

Out of the corner of your eyes, you see the corners of his lips turn into the barest hint of a smile. "Surprising, for someone aspiring to be a Trainer. But you're at least familiar with the myths, yes?"

You resist the urge to shrug, and you force your head into a proper nod. "Of course. We're taught in school."

"Tell me," he says again. "How were the 8 gods born?"

You grimace. "Arceus created the world, and it was perfect. The world was filled with humans and animals, but not all was well. . ."

Article:

In the beginning, Arceus, the Father of All Things, created the world.

He formed light and shadow, time and space, life and death, and the world was filled with human beings and animal creatures.

But to each light, there must be a shadow, and from the depths of the void, Giratina was born — the shadow of Arceus, a reflection of all that He was.

Where Arceus created, Giratina lurked, growing ever stronger in the presence of Arceus's light. As Arceus's power grew, so too did Giratina's, a balance of creation and destruction. The two were bound together, inseparable, yet at odds.

Arceus saw that Giratina's power had grown too great, threatening to swallow the world. In His wisdom, Arceus made the ultimate sacrifice: He shattered His own divinity, breaking Himself into eight pieces to weaken Giratina and seal him away.

From the shattered essence of Arceus, eight new gods arose, each inheriting a part of His divinity, and a part of His Mystery. These eight gods, born of Arceus's sacrifice, took responsibility to govern and manage the world. They work in concert, guiding humanity and ensuring balance, for they had inherited the very essence of creation.

With Arceus's grand act, Giratina was shattered, not into just eight but countless pieces. Inheriting Arceus's will, the eight gods worked together to seal him away into the animals, turning them into Pokémon. Filled with fury and vengeance, Pokémon seek destruction above all else, warring with and consuming not only humans but also each other.

To temper their destruction, each god empowered their faithful acolytes to Bond these Pokémon to their wills, allowing humanity to restore balance to the world, as well as the hope and promise of peace, one day into the future.

Source: The Creation Myth

​

". . . and ever since then, Pokémon Trainers have been the lynchpin of human civilisation."

"That's right. And even through war and strife, even the rise and fall of dynasties, the 8 churches still remain neutral, and remain unified."

". . . Yes, sir."

"Don't you find that suspicious?"

Suspicious? The church?

"I understand it's supposed to be a symbol of their incorruptibility," you say instead.

The Boss's smile widens a little bit at your phrasing. "I meant the fact that the church has held far more power than even the fallen ancient empires, and for far longer. But nobody bands together without reason, Chloe. Even on a scale as small as countries, or towns or cities, or even in guilds large and small, we face internal turmoil."

You're already aware of this. Even your family, after all, has had no taste of peace or unity. You let out a breath, calm, and unclench your fingers, already white from the tight fist they've been in.

"We have collected much evidence, and you too will see them, once you've proven yourself a little bit more," he says.

"Yes, sir," you say again.

"You will collect one more piece of evidence for us, and you will prove it for us."

His declaration hangs in the air, and you wait for more, but the Boss picks up his cup, and meets you in the eye. Now it strikes you. Lonely, seated not across but next to each other. It feels intentional. Symbolic.

The silence stretches.

"From this day on, you are no longer just your brother's sister. We know you as Chloe, one of us."

With both hands, you take your own cup, and you wait, just like your brother taught you. This is the ritual. The leaders go first, and the people follow. Power, but also trust, and responsibility.

He drinks, GULP GULP, and sets his cup down with a gentle THUNK.

You mirror the motion, tilting the cup into your lips. GULP. GULP.

It's lukewarm, and strong, and pungent, and it burns. You are unsure whether or not you hate it.

"Welcome to the family, Chloe."

"Yes, sir."

Family, huh? No turning back, now.

________​

A few days later, your personal belongings are packed tightly into your travel bags, secondhand from your Dad — bigger things in a large leather suitcase, and the stuff you need often in a smaller, compact backpack, also leather.

Despite term being still weeks away, you have to depart early, so tomorrow is the day you leave. But for tonight, you see the whole family — all three of you – gathered in the dining hall in the southwestern pavilion. Laid out on the dinner table is Razzettian suckling Nidoran — a rare and luxurious feast for your family, and a local delicacy that's one of your favourites. Caught young enough that it has yet to be weaned, its meat is tender and juicy, and since it hasn't yet developed the potent venom of the species, preparation is far more straightforward, and even the skin is edible.

It's takeout, of course, because Dad doesn't like to go out much anymore, and despite the occasion you didn't buy the entire Pokémon. You would have loved to carve out your own portions from the spitroast, but it's something, and your brother even arranged the table the traditional way. A mountain of small plates are all stacked on top of each other, each one piled with a different dish, all made out of the same Pokémon.

The biggest pile is made of your favourite red meat: it's a fatty meat cut that's taken from just under the skin, marinated in red spices, and then deep fried until crispy. It's served in small pieces, and if you bite into it, the fats and juices burst through the crunchy exterior, mixing with the salt and filling your mouth with flavour.

Also served in abundance is the main cut, the yellow meat. Carved and then pulled into shreds, it's thoroughly coated in the marinade that was used to stuff the spitroast. Full of collagen, it's the most juicy and tender part of the assorted dishes, and when its grease soaks into the rice, the flavours and aromas will seep into every grain.

You mustn't forget about one of Razzetti's most beloved and aromatic dishes, known only as 'mince'. There's many different styles, but the one served with your suckling Nidoran is a minced meat, very heavily spiced, and then tossed together with the shredded flesh of the Pamtre and Maranga berries, colourful herbs, and some blood.

It isn't just these three. There's also blood sausages, grilled skewers, an airy rind crackling, and the crispiest roast skin with a layer of fat still on it. If you're a true Razzettian (and you are), you also enjoy the spare ribs, lung, liver, heart, ears, stomach, and intestines. There are three different vegetables, and a pot filled with rich stew made with the hock and some of the discard. The rice is served for the table in an entire woven basket, and there's three bowls of all different chilis.

But most importantly? There's several large jugs of fizzy palm beer, ice cold, to help wash down all the grease. You pour a glass for your Dad, and as you set it down, your brother distributes the cutlery.

"It's been a while, hasn't it? It's pretty nice to be gathered together like this," your brother says.

Your Dad shakes his head. "It'll get even harder to meet in the future, so we should enjoy this."

"You sure you're okay with eating this?" It's your favourite, but your Dad barely tolerates the taste. "We didn't have to all eat the same thing."

"Don't make a fuss and just eat it," he says.

"Is this enough rice, Dad?" Your brother says, showing him the plate.

"A little bit less will do."

"It's too bad I can't go with you, Chloe." Lucas sighs. You'll have a ROCKET escort, of course, but it won't be your brother.

You stick your tongue out at him. "I don't want you with me, anyway."

He reaches out to ruffle your hair, but you dodge his hand deftly.

"I still can't believe you got the exchange," Dad says. "You should be more grateful to your brother. And make sure you work hard when you're there."

Yep. Here we go again. "Can you get my rice too, Lucas?"

"Got it."

Dad grumbles. "I mean it. Don't waste your time anymore, now that you have an opportunity."

"Yes, Dad."

Lucas shoves a plate in front of your face. "Speaking of which, you're sure you didn't forget anything? ID, passport, visa?"

You roll your eyes as you receive rice from him, and immediately start scooping ingredients onto it. "All good. I already checked three times." You didn't, but you're sure it's all there.

Dad says, "Don't lose any of the money I gave you. I'll send you some more in half a year."

"I won't. Almost everything is included in the tuition, anyway, so I won't need much. Let's eat Dad, Lucas."

Lucas claps his hands. "Let's eat, all."

"Yes, go ahead. Let's eat."

It's delicious. You're gonna miss this.

In the middle of the meal, Dad suddenly says, "You can use my motorcycle if you want. It's already equipped for terrain, and it's licensed for both Wilderness and international use."

"I'll think about it," you say.

"Hey!" Lucas complains. "You never let me use your bike when I just started."

You stick your tongue out at him. "You almost never had to leave the city, Lucas. It's not the same."

Dad ignores your bickering. "The keys and registration are by the door. Just take them."

"Yes, Dad," you say.

"I won't see you off tomorrow," he says.

"I got it, Dad. Don't worry."

"But I'll be there," Lucas interjects.

"Who needs you to send me off? Don't bother."

Another swipe, another dodge. The rest of the meal continues like this, with endless nagging that you won't get to hear anymore for a good, long time.

When dinner ends, as expected, your Dad hasn't eaten much. For once, nobody leaves the table early, and you refill the jug of palm beer until it has run dry many times over.

________​

 

[wdango]

C H A P T E R : T H R E E

Don't Look Back​

The sky is still dark when you begin to wheel your Dad's bike out onto the city's cobblestone roads. Curfew isn't quite over yet, but the City Guard is always more lenient to Citizens anyway, and if you waited until proper morning, the streets might get congested with pedestrians, and then you'll have to push the bike rather than ride it out to the North Gate.

Your luggage is strapped tightly onto the rear rack, and you've given up your large backpack for two smaller ones that can double as saddlebags while you're on the road. Since the machine itself is already pretty bulky, with the added weight on top. . . You imagine it wouldn't be fun at all, trying to push while trying to navigate the city's crowded streets.

"Sure you won't need me to send you off?" Lucas is leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded, watching you with half-lidded eyes. In Razzetti, the look plastered on his face is what you call a pillow-face.

"What, and have you ride pillion behind me?" You scoff. "No chance, Lucas. Just go back to sleep."

This is already plenty, anyway. You're not gonna make him walk all the way back home from the meeting point. One last check. Tyres are full and tight. Brake discs are good and thick. Suspension springs are springing. Squeeze left, squeeze right. . . Hydraulics are working well. Lubricants and coolants are good. Toolbox for emergency repairs. The fuel chambers. . . Huh? It looks like there's only one fuel chamber.

"Dad got the engine replaced when he heard you'll be going abroad. It's a newer model. Much quieter engine, so it should be safer for the Wilderness, too."

You crouch a little bit to peer at the engine block.

"Is this one of those fancy thunderstone-powered types?"

"Yeah. It's a pretty steep upgrade, but it should be cheaper to run and maintain in the long run."

Right, the reinforced steam tubes and exhaust pipes are still attached to the body, but they're no longer connected. They've been reduced to just a fashion accessory, instead of a functioning part.

The type of engine you're familiar with uses waterstones to generate water, and then firestones to create heat and turn the water into steam. The expansion drives the pistons, which drives the wheels. But this type. . . Something something electric field magnet? There isn't even a gearchain anymore, so you don't know how the engine transmits power into the wheels.

"Ugh. . ." Your brow crumples. "I don't know how to service this model if anything goes wrong on the road."

"Don't worry too much about it. It'll drive normally, and your handler knows how to help you with any problems if there's an emergency."

"Hmm. . ." Elite agents also know how to do engineering work, huh? But you suppose ROCKET is based out of Razzetti, after all. There isn't anywhere else in the world with as many engineers as this city, and it's also the place to go for both reclaimed relics and new inventions.

"Get going already, Chloe." Lucas yawns. "The day's not getting any earlier."

"Yeah. I guess you're right." You shake your head, swipe the hair from in front of your face, and then wiggle your helmet to fit onto your head. Tightening the straps, you climb into the motorcycle seat. The goggles can wait until you're on the road.

"Tell Dad. . ." You trail off.

"I'll take care of him. Don't worry so much."

". . . Yeah. I'm leaving."

"Go. Favourable winds along your road, Sis."

You take one last look at your corral's walls, the elaborate traditional front gates, and the roofs of the buildings poking out from behind. He'll be okay, you think. They'll be okay. They'll take care of each other.

"Thanks. Alright, bye."

You pump the gears into first, rev the throttle, squeeze the clutch, and the vehicle shoots forwards with barely a sound. The wind is cool on your cheeks, and you don't look back, even in the mirrors.

________​

The streets are deserted, but all the streetlights have gone out overnight, and at this hour, the scant daylight along the horizon hampers visibility far more than it actually helps.

But you've lived within the inner walls of the Fortress for 18 years, know all of its buildings, explored all of its alleys, and once, you've even walked a full circuit along the city's walls within the same day. You can probably navigate these roads completely blind, and still manage to avoid hitting anything.

So it's at a none-too-careful pace that you let the road carry you past one landmark after another, each one as familiar as home even in the embrace of dusk. There's the grocery store you visit practically every day, and the cute bakery next door that makes your favourite cream puffs. And there goes Physician Helen's clinic, and then the noodle shop owned by the lovely Amatsun couple, and the bicycle rental place at the corner of the park. . .

Within minutes, the old gatehouse and its flanking towers begin to loom higher and higher as you steadily get closer. It's a monolithic thing that's comically oversized, even for the already massive walls of the Fortress. The walls already stand twice taller than the highest buildings in the city, so it's easily six storeys up, and the gatehouse is more than double even that.

You remember asking your Dad about it when you were small, and you remember how his eyes shined as he launched into a lecture about Razzetti's history. History is one of your worst subjects in school, but the way he told it. . . Growing up in a place has a way of making your hometown seem pedestrian, but he made you realise how cool Razzetti Fortress really was.

You never knew before then that the founders of the city were all Trainers — yeah, every single one of them. Supposedly, they were just a bunch of rebels who got sick of how their Temple was governing, so they decided to just. . . leave, and make their own city.

They got lucky, and found this place.

The original Razzetti Fortress? However many generations ago, it was just an abandoned castle on a hill, just a ruin from the imperial era like any other. But then your great-greats cleared it out and moved in, and then once word got out, more and more people from the other Temple-cities began to come and build around it. The castle was too small, so eventually the newcomers had to make their own fortified mini-compounds outside of it.

Later on, they realised that it would be far easier to protect their new city from Wild Pokémon if they just built a bigger wall around the entire city rather than trying to protect each individual home, and that would be this wall right here. But the custom of keeping family tight and protected? That stuck, and that's why you live in corrals.
The outer ring beyond these inner walls came much later, but that's mostly just farmland or factories. The only people who live out there are Travellers, because the gods know that even Residents would rather commute.

"Halt!" One of the two guards flanking the gate shoves his palm towards you. Sheesh, alright. You were already pulling your bike to a halt, okay? "Chloe, is that you?"

Your boot kicks up a small cloud of dust as you steady yourself on the cobblestones. With a quiet click, you unlatch and lift up your goggles so that they can see your face more clearly. You give him a sloppy salute.

"Morning, Davy." And then to the other guard. "Paul."

Davy grumbles. "What did I tell you about being out during curfew?"

Paul laughs quietly. "Cut her some slack, Davy. She's never cared much about the rules before. Probably won't start now."

"The law is more than just a set of rules, Paul."

"Anyway," you shake your head. "Think you guys can open the gate a bit earlier for me?"

Paul raises an eyebrow at you. "Hey, hey. Maybe you also shouldn't push it, Chloe. He has every right to detain you, you know. In a rush somewhere?"

You allow him a smirk. "Guess who got a ticket to Silph Academy?"

Paul gives a low whistle. "Wow. You're this year's pick?"

Davy nods absently with a hum of obvious approval. "Congratulations. Still can't open the gate for you."

Paul shrugs. "Yeah, Chloe. It's just a few more minutes, and what's the sense of rushing to the outer gate, where you'll just have to wait again?"

BNGGG. . . As if on cue, a distant bell begins to chime a low, resonant tone. BNGGG. . .

You grin. "There. Do I have to wait for the full six, or are you going to open it for me?"

Paul laughs, but Davy just shakes his head. "I'll open it for you."

Snapping his heels together, Davy performs a crisp salute towards you. "Safe travels, Missy."

". . . Thank you, Davy." You return the salute properly, this time.

As Davy turns away, you think you see a smile at the corner of his lips, but then he's already entered the gatehouse through a door — a regular sized one — set to one side.

Paul turns towards you, a rare serious look in his eyes. "Hey, take your time on the road, alright? Your bike can outrun most Wild Pokémon, so terrain will be your worst enemy out there."

"Got it," you nod.

CRRK, CRRK, HSS. . . CRRK, CRRK, HSS. . . Just then, with the laborious groans of creaking metal and hissing steam, the portcullis barring the gateway begins to gradually inch open. Thankfully, the gateway itself is only a fraction of the gatehouse's size, so it shouldn't take too long to fully open.

"Say bye to the others for me," you say, already pulling your goggles back down over your face. You snap the latch back into place to secure it, and palm the throttle.

"Favourable winds always, Chloe." Echoing his colleague, Paul now also snaps off a crisp salute towards you.

CRRK, GRR–RR–RRK, KLACK–HSSSS. . ! !

At the telltale sound of the locking mechanism engaging, you give Paul a final nod.

And then, again. . . you're gone.

________​

 

[wdango]

C H A P T E R : F O U R

Pretense​

You've never found it hard to tell a Pokémon Master apart from normal people. As a matter of fact, it's not even hard to tell them apart from other Trainers.

For one, if you're a normal Trainer, you're only supposed — legally, that is — to use your Pokémon under supervision, although Lucas still secretly releases his stupid fire monkey at home, even when Dad isn't around. But the Masters are permitted to have their Pokémon deployed freely, so if you ever see a Pokémon just out and about? You're probably looking at a Master-level Trainer.

But what always gives them away for you is that inevitably, every single Master you've ever met has this air about them that reminds you of your Dad — well, the version of your Dad from your childhood, at least.

Secco Bianchi is no different, the first time you meet him.

A couple minutes into the city's outer ring, the hard-packed dirt road cuts through the fields and stretches endlessly in both directions. Shrubs and trees along the roadside draw long shadows, throwing stark black lines across the road. Riding in and out of this darkness, with the crisp morning air filling your lungs, is at once dizzying and hypnotic.

At this hour, the world is washed out and drained of all colour. Even the occasional farmhouse or factory in the distance is a dull silhouette, each one slowly leaking an army of groggy workers into its surroundings. The jealous sky is in backdrop, already ablaze with a dazzling cascade of reds and pinks, and seems even more vivid and vibrant for it.

That's when you see him.

Your rendezvous point is the second milestone along the highway, and indeed.

A motorcycle that looks very similar to yours is parked to one side of the road, and leaning against it is a slim gentleman, already halfway through the motion of folding a paperback novel into his back pocket. Unsurprisingly, he already saw you first. Pale hair, dark vest. Very sleek wire-rimmed glasses. He looks decidedly far too formal, and not at all prepared to head into the Wilderness.

Beside him, with utmost concentration on its face, is a canine Pokémon that you've never seen before. Cream fur, bipedal, man-sized. Its tail is held in one forepaw, and in front of it is an easel and a canvas. Almost as if it's a paintbrush, the Pokémon is dragging the tip of its tail across the canvas with broad, energetic strokes. No image actually forms; it continues to paint, and the canvas remains blank and pristine.

"She's here, Shaun. I think that's enough, for now."

The Pokémon pauses, an audible grumble of annoyance escaping its throat, and then with a quiet flash, both the easel and the canvas disappear in a visible burst of mana.

You pull your bike to a halt a respectable distance away from him, kill the engine, and climb off of the motorcycle seat. Taking the helmet off, you perch it on your handlebars, and then walk towards him.

"Good morning," you say. With rehearsed non-chalance, you bring your right hand up to your chest, using two fingers to trace a loose circle over your heart. Quick. Clean.

"You're early," he says with a soft smile. As he walks over to meet your approach, he casually returns the gesture. Two gloved fingers, one circle. He then extends the hand towards you. "My name is Secco Bianchi, but you can call me Master Secco, or just Master. And this is Shaun, my Smeargle."

Huh? 'Master Secco'? Not 'Master Bianchi'? That form of address is usually reserved only for a Master's direct apprentices. Just like your brother always taught you, you meet his gaze and grasp his hand, giving it a single, firm shake. "Chloe Adrianna. It's a pleasure, Master Secco." You pause. "But was I supposed to become your apprentice?"

"I'll brief you on that," he inclines his head. "Shaun, perimeter."

"Pff. . ." The Smeargle sighs, but it doesn't hesitate. SWSSH–SWSSH. It swings its tail with its forepaws, tracing an invisible pattern through the air. Closing its eyes, it then goes completely still. In between its closed eyes, a single point begins to glow dimly with a colourless light.

Huh. You didn't think it looked like a Psychic Pokémon. As a matter of fact, it looks more like a Normal Pokémon, but that kind of mana usage can't be anything else, you think.

From inside one of his pockets, Master Secco produces a small velvet pouch. He loosens up the drawstring, then fishes out a thin, braided cord. He pulls the cord out of the pouch, revealing a small pendant hanging at the end — it's a necklace.

Instantly, you connect the dots. "This is the artifact?"

"Relic," he corrects you, but then adds. "That's right. It's a risk to have you carry it when we're heading into the Wilderness, but it'll be too suspicious to do the handover once we're within Temple territory." He holds it out for you, and you receive it with both hands. "Just put it on, and then do your best to forget you even have it."

The pendant is carved into a simple but abstract shape — an exaggerated recurve bow with a barb piercing through it? A set of Gogoat horns with a small, extra horn in the middle? A weird, three-dimensional W folded in on itself? You can't decide. It's made of a glossy translucent stone that looks like jade or opal, except that it's black. Right on its edges where it catches the sun, it gleams with a colour that's almost red, like coagulated blood, or the last pinprick of a sunset right before it turns to night.

He's giving it to you this easily? It barely weighs anything. You shake it a little bit, and it doesn't react. It's pretty, but. . . This is supposed to be some sort of divine item.

"Or play with it," Master Secco shrugs. "That's good. The less important you can make yourself believe it is, the better."

You loop the cord around your neck, and tuck the pendant under your shirt.

"It's from an ex-boyfriend," you tell him. "I would have thrown it away when we broke up, but it's too pretty, and it matches my eyes."

His laughter chimes like a bell, and you startle a little bit at the warmth of the sound.

"That works," he says with mirth still underlining his voice. "Keep it up."

"Huh? Keep what up?" You double down on the joke.

He shakes his head, but the smile doesn't fade from his face. "You're already aware that as a perk for executing this mission, we've chosen you for this year's exchange student. What you might not know yet is that only formal apprentices are eligible to represent each City."

So it's not a real apprenticeship. "That's why I'm roleplaying as your formal apprentice."

He nods. "You'll be getting used to addressing me as your Master. We don't wanna slip up in the presence of company, yes?"

Sheesh. You nod. "Yes, Master."

"You'll also need to have your Pokémon by the time of enrolment, which takes place earlier for exchange students, so our first task will be to put you through your Initiation."

Great. No time to waste, Chloe. Toss the relic into the Initiation Chamber, Chloe. Let's go, Chloe. "We're going straight to one of the Temples, then. Do I get a say which one?"

He pauses. "Any of the Temples should work, in theory. But we're on a tight schedule, and we have to run some errands on the way. There's no time for any additional detours. It will have to be the one closest to the Academy."

Silph Academy is located in Silph City, the capital of the Silph Republic, so. . .

"Silph Temple," you conclude. No chance to retread the same path as your Dad or even Lucas, then. You decide not to be disappointed.

Master Secco nods. "The Temple of Mew, the Pure God."

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