The portal has her head spinning, vertigo claiming all of her senses to the point she can almost find herself falling. The floor beneath her is hard, the buzz and inconsistent flickering of TL lighting do nothing to alleviate the maddening peep inside her head as she starts becoming aware of her surroundings; gruff. Cold. Underground.

And then, the voices cue in.

"And that's why..."

His voice is deep and threatening, a cruel amusement strung through his words as he purposely pauses. He'd always had a flair for the dramatic, this guy. She'd once loved that about him, but now...? Now she hated it with every fiber of her body. Her heartbeat quickened as the pieces of the puzzle started falling into place.

He wasn't the one standing before her. Something else was; something large, oozing violence and killing intent. It stank of death and battle, but it was not mortal. No. That wasn't right. Not human. The screeching of sharp blade against concrete floor made her flinch. Her instincts were screaming; adrenaline raged against the paralyzed prison of a body she found herself in, hoping it would break and move even a single inch.

She looked down at her fingers, and as they twitched she watched the crimson that soaked her clothes. Clothes she had not worn in ages. Pain that felt far too fresh for a seasoned fighter. She was estranged to the feeling, but it forced her mind to focus. Her eyes peer up, a soft growl escaping her as she stares straight into his Garchomp's beady eyes.

The snarl it wields barbarous and menacing. She'd daresay it was even sneering at her.

"It might just be better to get rid of you altogether."

Right.

Her first grand heist alongside the love of her life. They'd been the prodigies of the next generation of sellswords, thiefs and bounty hunters; and this particular request would put them on the map for years to come. High risk, high reward, but the stakes had been too good to pass on it. Midway through the operation he'd pulled her aside, and she'd blindly trusted him. It had cost Yvaine her reputation. Her credibility. Her fame. Her skills. Her eye.

Not yet, though.

She still had time.

A sick feeling grew in her stomach as it contracted. For a moment she looked shocked, viewing the world with two working eyes once again. And then her expression twisted into a vicious glare as she directed it towards [Redacted]. He laughed. "You always were a feisty one,"

The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, and she hadn't realised he'd kicked her in the face until she felt the throbbing of her torn lip moments later.

"Too bad I always hated that about you. You should've known your place." he sneered.

"You fucker."

"What was that?" he glowered at her, his voice filled with warning. A dare to repeat herself.

Red started clouding her eyes, the heartbeat she'd felt in her wounded lip moments earlier now pounding in her head like a war drum. This time it wasn't the blood seeping into her eyes... No. She saw red, truly red.

She was in his space before he knew it. Her knife piercing the underside of his jaw, nailing his mouth shut. "You. Fucker." she repeated mockingly, tightening her grip on the hilt as she twisted the knife further into his skull. There was panic in his eyes as his body tried to catch up to what had just happened.

He might have had power over her then, but this Yvaine, albeit younger in body, had over a decade of experience on this version. It was practiced ease with which she moved her knives.

The Garchomp stared at the unfolding scene, suddenly unsure of where the scaredy-cat girl from a moment ago had gone. It met the same fate as its trainer moments later, the knife once lodged into his owner's skull now lodged into its own, forced in deeper by the berserk Yvaine.

- - - - -

Blood and death stuck to her clothes when the rest of the team arrived later on, finding her amongst the brutalized bodies of their leader and his pokémon. Seated on a metal chair she stared at them, dagger loosely dangling from her blood-stained fingers. Dead, crimson eyes slowly looked up at them, seeing them for what they truly were.

Traitors. All of them.

When she rose, she did not speak a word. Just tilted her head as if she were about to question her next move. Instead she showed the hint of a smile, allowing it to tug at the corner of her mouth.

It was about time she taught them the consequences of their actions.

The consequences of her actions.

Her consequences.

Consequences?

Yvaine sneered, baring pearly whites as she took a step forward.

Unaware of the rumble of space and time; unaware of the portal that only now had started vanishing like ashes in the breeze. Unaware of how, one by one, her memories and instincts were being stripped of her present body.

She had already stopped remembering all of it.

In the years that follow, she remembers many things from that day. The day she took fate into her own hands. The day she showed the underworld that she was not to be messed with; that she would not hesitate if someone dared turn against her.

But there are equally as many things she does not remember anymore.


She no longer fears the dark. Yet she no longer remembers why she feared it in the first place.


She does not remember why she never wanted to take a life.

Her team are trained professionals, both her pokémon and those that work under her. She grows and nurtures an empire of cutthroats and killers, thieves and sellswords, disregarding the dangers of having so many ties leading back to her. Why did she even fear those in the first place, when she could just kill them if they crossed her?


She did not remember why she had valued the life of tools.

Pokémon's behavior was studied not to learn about them; instead her interest laid in how to exploit those behaviors, and how to fine-tune them into natural-born killers. After all, why wouldn't she use them for that which they were purely designed? Tools did not need a life of freedom.


She does not remember what it feels like to have a heartfelt bond with her pokémon.

All they needed to do was listen to the orders she gave them. The only curtesy she'd allow them was their life; for as long as they lived, they would serve her. And as long as they served her, she would reign.



declan walsh seemed to be intrigued with this Yvaine's way of working. It would not take long before she reached out to them, and they to her, mutual interests beckoning for future endeavours. Partnerships. This Yvaine would never feel the smoldering dislike for their heinous deeds against pokémonkind. This Yvaine was intrigued by them. Even moreso when she was offered a chance at getting herself involved in the making of shadow pokémon. Welsh seemed most amused when she spontaneously offered up over a dozen of pokémon to help facilitate the shadowfication process.

That she would have sacrificed her Zoroark to certain death for a chance at unbridled power would have been deemed normal, but somehow he was spared the effort. Whether it was a sliver of the old Yvaine still lingering within, or whether it was her inability to give them one of her prized possessions, remains a feat of mystery still.


By the year 2024 she has grown bored of her life, the obligations of her henchmen having become a burden. Granting Declan Welsh co-leadership of her imperium in exchange for more freedom, she has seen Rocket expand its influences beyond its wildest imaginations. The League still thinks it can withstand Team Rocket, and Yvaine started aiding them every now and again for her own entertainment, finding their optimism utmost hilarious.

Tools, the lot of them. She was sure Welsh would see the fun in it as well if she'd ever bother telling him about it.

Hoenn has lost its touch. Yvaine's boredom grows, and declan walsh no longer wishes to entertain her, claiming he has bigger, more important projects to tackle, she decides to leave the region behind. Old ties and even older myths bring her back to Galar, where the ongoing excavations of ancient ruins have drawn her attention. It had been laughably easy getting herself involved in two of their major excavations; a few fake documents and a deep dive on the darkweb had conjured the perfect alibi of a recluse master archeologist that wanted to aid in their endeavours.

Little did they know she was merely there to make them cough up everything they knew about the old ruin's lore, the legendary hero and his knights. Coaxing them with the rumours and legends of her own home region, she was quick to learn everything there was to know about the Galarian myths, and the artifacts they believed to be present on their sites.

Her patience turns out to be boundless enough to persist.

By the year 2025, on a mid-February night, she and a fellow archeologist are wrapping up their latest dig when she hears him exclaim something in his native tongue.

"Yvonne, Yvonne, vite!" His Kalosian accent is thick, his excitement barely contained, coaxing him into abandoning their shared language for more excited Kalosian phrases she would not bother to repeat. But she scurries along nonetheless, nearly tumbling over his scattered equipment when she barrels into the room.

"What is it, Jean-Pierre? Did someone die?"

"Non non, Yvonne, look-"

The man turns around and carefully retrieves a rusted scrap of metal from the linnen cloth by his side. Such excitement for a piece of trash metal? Yvaine's about to tell him as much when he points at a particular part on the metal scrap, aiming a lamp at a specific spot. It is faint, but the sigil of the royal family of yore is visible upon it.

Excitement grips her chest as well as her eyes grow wide. Suddenly she finds herself sharing the same excitement as Jean-Pierre, but for entirely different purposes. The ancient Galarian hero's shield. It exists. It actually exists. Which meant the sword's existance was no longer a myth either. The murals. The canines depicted beside the hero prince. They, too, were real?

Thoughts rumble in her head as she peers at the shield and smiles. Her hands instinctively go for her waist, the knife hidden beneath clothes. It would only take a few seconds to reclaim that shield for herself. She could run, and return when they found the sword. Rinse repeat.

Or she could stay. Bide her time.

Yvaine stares at her fellow archeologist, and sighs.

"Let's go tell the others."

For the first time, this Yvaine denies herself actively taking a life.

- - - - -

As the excavations continue, they eventually stumble upon the sword as well. Biding her time had proved more advantageous than expected; her eventual contributions allowed her access to the artifacts whenever she wanted, but only so many times. So she did what she did best, and let others do the dirty work for her. Both ancient artifacts were replaced by exact copies, and the originals were stored away.

It took her a while to realise change had settled in her mind and soul.

Her intrigue for the canine beasts had trumped her destructive nature; and had tempered her into something milder. Even her Zoroark did not know what to think of the sudden change, reacting awkwardly to the humane way it was suddenly being treated. The curiosity and smiles Yvaine suddenly expressed were alien to it.

Even moreso when, on a foggy morning in March, he was allowed to roam free within the Slumbering Weald alongside her.

- - - - -

This was the place she needed to be. The fog was so thick she could barely see three feet in front of her, yet she felt oddly calm when she wandered further into the unknown forest. It had not been the first time she'd visited the Slumbering Weald ever since learning about its ghost stories and rumours, but this was the first time she was actually wandering this far without the intention of going back.

This time, she would find them.

"Stay close." she muttered softly, her Zoroark promptly joining her, walking flush against her right side.

She uttered no other words in the next three hours. She did not know whether she'd gotten deeper into the Weald or not, but the sensation that she was being watched had grown stronger and stronger, almost uncomfortably so. Even her Zoroark had grown anxious, growling at the mist whenever it seemed to draw too close.

After another 30 minutes, Yvaine was certain.

They were being followed.

But whatever it was, it did not want to be seen. Not yet, at least.

When darkness fell she would notice their presence getting closer; had she been a regular person she would've most-likely bolted and abandoned her plight, but at that moment her resolve had never been stronger. Her nerves never calmer. They were trying to chase her away, but they would have to forcibily remove her if they wanted her to leave.


For some reason, they never did.

Light and the warmth of the sun stir Yvaine from her slumber. Grogginess clouds her mind as she pushes herself upright, trying to rub the sleep from her eyes; once again, she does not remember falling asleep. And, once again, she does not recall having made it to the shrine in the middle of the Weald.

It's not the first time she's woken up here, out of the blue. It's been at least a dozen times, every time she's forced to return because her food supplies start running low, she returns again.

"They" have started waiting for her. "They" have yet to show themselves to her, but Yvaine has noticed the sensation of eyes watching her whenever she returns to the Slumbering Weald. The locals say she's most-likely angered the ghosts roaming the Weald and gotten herself cursed. Yvaine knows differently. She's hopeful. Bold. Even daring to enter the Weald without any pokémon at all at times.

It was when she started doing that that "they" started following her far earlier.

When she'd discovered the shrine the first time she'd left a little offering of berries, and was ever so delighted to see they had been gone when she returned the next day. So she'd left more. Bigger things. It had become a ritual of sorts, until eventually she felt safe enough to nod off anywhere within the Weald; the moment she opened her eyes again, she'd be here.

Here.

Yvaine turns around and stretches, wanting to take in the view of the morning sun stretching across the adjacent lake when she freezes. Two giant canines stare back at her intently.

Waiting.

She stares back in silence as she takes them in. They are large, easily the size of a stallion Mudsdale, their bodies riddled with old scars from past battles. Azure and crimson fur; one lean and swift, the other sturdy and strong. Both golden eyes continue looking at her, sizing her up. When she attempts to move, they bare their fangs and snarl, making her flinch.

"Sorry! I won't do anything, I swear!"


Their gaze seems to pierce her very soul, yet after another minute of simply staring each other down, the pair howls in unison, summoning the mist back. "They" are gone before she can do anything else.

- - - - - -

This continues for several more weeks. And with every sighting they seem to acknowledge her presence more and more. Yvaine ends up venturing into the Weald so often she spends more time in there than she does in the outside world; unknowning of the tragedies unfolding back home. She doesn't care. Having made it her goal to have the beasts accept her, she does everything in her power to do so.

She's learnt their names by studying the ruins surrounding the shrine, and in turn they have started allowing her closer and closer still. There are times when she catches them slowly creeping closer when she's nodding off, and it hasn't been the first time she's actually woken up to feeling warm and fuzzy, like she'd been sleeping on a warm pillow rather than the cold stone floor.

Zacian and Zamazenta deny it whenever she dares mention it, and judging from their expressions they seem to wonder where she gets the audacity from. It only makes her smile more.

One morning, when Yvaine joins Zacian and Zamazenta's patrol around the edges of the Slumbering Weald, she makes up her mind.

The treasures she's been safe-keeping, hoarding, whatever one wished to call it. She would return them to Zacian and Zamazenta. Entirely. It belonged to them in the first place, taken or stolen by humans for reasons she didn't know. And she told them as much, thanking them for allowing her a place by their side, however briefly.

She promised them she would return to them what was rightfully theirs.

And then she left.




Yvaine did not return for three months.

Three months in which the canines almost started believing they'd been lied to. Lied like so many others had ever since their hero passed.

Almost. They picked up her scent halfway through the fourth month, but beside hers a foul smell had entered their forest. They would find Yvaine struggling against a tree, covered in wounds, both fresh and aged; a glowing shard lodged deep within her chest. Her breathing was labored, relief radiating off her face when she laid eyes upon the legendary Galarian heroes.

"H-heh, sorry it t-took so long," she'd stammer, pushing herself upright. From her back she unraveled two large items, clad in linnen cloth. "I tried to... had a little competition--- getting t-these back." Her smile is cut short by a heavy coughing fit and a pained grunt as she grips her chest, the shard glowing brightly. It seems to live, slowly lodging itself deeper into her chest.

Zacian closes in on their friend, Zamazenta following suit. The abhorent smell is coming from the shard stuck in Yvaine's chest; and when they lay eyes upon it they know what it is. Where it came from. They want to do something about it but Yvaine stops them.

"Don't. You'll o-only make it worse," her smile is a sad one, and she tries to bite through the pain long enough to unwrap the rusted sword and shield she'd once stolen. "T-these are yours... Zacian... Zamazenta."

She tries giving them to the canines but ends up sinking to her knees and falling to her side. The shard hums violently in her chest, its warmth scorching her skin. Tears fill her eyes as she looks at her two canines, feeling how the last bits of her energy start fading away. "P-please save them, h-heroes." her voice breaks as the pain becomes too much, she claws at her chest ever so weakly.

"M-my heroes..."


Her world fades to black as she utters her final plea, and as unconsciousness overtakes her, the last she hears is the echoing howls of Zacian and Zamazenta.







And then, their combined voices tear through the darkness.

"RISE, OUR HERO!"

declan walsh laughter roars across the desolated field as he finally sees who has been fighting back against his invasion plans. The very idiot that so willingly handed him her minions merely because she was bored. The simpleton that didn't have a clue what he was doing when he straight-up told her.

The idiot that thought she could best his Eternatus and paid the price with her life.

Except she seemed to be more of a roach than he expected her to be. Not only did she survive, she also managed to awaken those stupid dogs that had caused Eternatus so much misery in the past. Well, not that it mattered much, even if they retrieved their stupid artifacts and fought in their Crowned forms. And then there was the fucking ridiculous knightly get-up she was wearing.

Ha!

Preposterous.

"Took you long enough, Yvaine. I'd almost think you up and died."

"You wish. Wanna try your luck and try again?"

"No need, that's what Eternatus is for."

Welsh snapped his fingers and pointed at the trio of heroes. "Kill them."

- - - - - -

There was no saying what the effects would be of facing Eternatus this way. Its giant forme loomed over the razed battlefield, the shadow it cast upon it larger than any thing she'd ever fought. Zacian nudged her with her sword, while Zamazenta joined her at her left, staring up at their monstruous enemy.

"Can we really win this...?"

"We've defeated it before."

"And we'll defeat it again this time around, too."

"Believe in yourself, Yvaine. You are one of us now. You hold our power within your palm, so use it. Together we will strike this fiend down once and for all."

"Once and for all." The Zacian nodded.

"Once and for all. Right."

Yvaine exhaled deeply, gently tapping her chest. The shard was still in there, but after she'd passed out, thinking that had been her final moments on this planet, a miracle had happened. Zacian and Zamazenta had bestowed upon her their greatest boon; a shard of their Crown Shield and Crown Sword to counter the effects of Eternatus' shard. It had worked, to an extent, but in the process had permanently lodged the piece inside her chest. Getting it out was impossible.

Their power now raged within her. It was the reason she could hear their inner voices. The reason they now stood beside her as the new heroes of their time. With their blessing she was certain she could do this. They'd beat Eternatus and bring peace back to Galar and Hoenn.

And for Welsh... if it was up to her, he'd see his end as well, at the tip of her blade.


"I'll keep his attention on me," Zamazenta said, pulling them back into order. "You and Zacian go in for the kill."

"Got it."

"Be careful, Brother, and godspeed."

- - - - - - - -

Their fight lasted for days. Long and drawn out, it was only meant to be them. The League held the rest of Rocket at bay whilst they kept on dealing with Rocket's boss and its monster of devastation. Yvaine, Zacian, and Zamazenta were running on their last legs, fatigue building up despite the power of the blessings bestowed upon them.

She'd almost given up when declan walsh 's words echoed through her head. Something that reminded her of a time long ago, where the outcome had been similar. There was not supposed to be a way out of that, and yet she forced her way out of it. Through rage and vengeance.

"Know your place."

Her place. Her place. Just because she had not taken interest in his plans, he saw her as a stupid bitch. He took everything from her. Betrayed the trust she had given him, just like that bastard had years ago. That feeling of unbridled rage. Oh, how long had it been?

When another of Eternatus' attacks hit, Yvaine gritted her teeth, using her sword to get back on her feet. She growled when she her a metallic clang and dropped unto her knee, the sword she wielded having broken into pieces. Panic seeped inbetween the rage as the Eternatus reared itself for another attack. When it moved, Zacian and Zamazenta rushed to her side.

Yvaine was pulled unto Zacian's back as Zamazenta blocked the attack with Behemoth Bash, allwowing the two the time to jump across it and move into the Eternatus' personal space. "Now!" Yvaine yelled, holding on tightly as Zacian performed a devastating Behemoth Blade.

It tore through the Eternatus, breaking open most of its protective body. She knew it before she saw it; it wasn't enough. Her gut screamed for her to get away, but they couldn't, stuck in mid-air. The monstrosity roared, its beak opening wide as it attempted to fire another beam a them. This time she didn't hesitate and jumped off Zacian's back, into Eternatus' mouth.

"Zacian, your sword!"

Zacian obeyed, tossing her sword after Yvaine into its mouth. The moment she held the sword she felt its power surge through her, like a raging storm waiting to be unleashed. And she'd allow it, together with all the anger and hatred she'd bottled up.

"Behemoth BLADE!!!"

It tore through Eternatus' core, detonating in an explosion of light and dynamax energy. She allowed herself to free-fall to the ground among the shards of light, Zacian catching her before she plummeted to her death. Once grounded, all three eyes turned towards declan walsh , who remained as a sole tether to the apocalyptic being. He was heavily wounded, but alive.

Taking charge, Yvaine stormed towards him, blade ready to strike.

"Don't, Yvaine! He has to live."

"He should pay for his crimes!" she snapped back in disbelief, feeling how Zacian and Zamazenta's judging eyes watched her as intently as they had the very first time they met.

"He will pay, but that is not your role to play, Yvaine. The League will bring him to justice."

"But I.... I..." she clicked her tongue, gripping Zacian's sword tighter. This was bullshit. Why couldn't they end this right here and now? If he died, they'd be rid of him completely!


"Yvaine." Zacian's voice demanded her.

"Do not make the same mistake your predecessors made, Yvaine." Zamazenta warned her.

She bit her tongue and hunger her shoulders in defeat.

The two canines sighed softly. "It will get better soon, trust me. For now we should-- NO, DON'T!"

Yvaine lashed out the moment they let their guard down, severing Welsh's head from his body with a single slash. The next moment she was tackled to the ground by Zacian, who forcefully pulled her sword from her hands. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" The outrage was audible in the Heroes' voice as it echoed through her mind.

"YOU."

"You betrayed us."

Yvaine tried to scramble back unto her feet but was knocked back down by Zacian, who pierced her shoulder in the process with her sword. "After all we did for you? You dare-"

"Don't, Sister. She's just like the others. Blinded by power, greed and violence." Zamazenta loomed over the wounded warrior, his face contorted in disappointment and disgust. "It seems we were mistaken about you, Yvaine."

Both legendaries backed away from her, averting their gaze when she tried to look at them. "Make peace with whatever time you have left, Yvaine. You do not deserve our blessing after all." The moment Zacian and Zamazenta left, Yvaine cried out in pain as her chest flared up once more. The shard, once ceased by a boon now reclaimed, started moving again, inching its way further and further into her chest.

"No! Wait! C-come back! Come back, you bastards!" she growled, clawing at her chest.

It hurt so much. So, so damn much. She should have listened to them. Let Welsh live. It would have been alright.

No.

No, it wouldn't.

declan walsh would do it all over again if she hadn't killed him. They were wrong. He had to die.

"I can't die..." Yvaine pleaded through her tears, into the nothingness.

Silence.

"It hurt so much..."

"He had to die."

The shard dug deeper into her chest, slowly edging into her heart. A bestial scream erupted from her body as the shard flared and pierced her life.

"They're wrong,"



"You are wrong."

Her eyes slowly fall shut. Within the shard, a remnant of Eternatus stirs.


"They should die. And you will help me."

"Yes.... they... will die."

"How long have you been staring at the ceiling?"

"Three hours, give or take."

"How much longer do you plan on staring at it?"

"As long as it takes."

Marcus shakes his head at her and turns to leave. "You know, you're really weird sometimes, Yv."

"... yeah..."

She remains alone in her room, light spilling through her windows as noon shifts into midday. Her hand absent-mindedly runs across her chest, looking for a gash that was never there. Her head is quiet, no intrusive thoughts or voices mulling about within it. She stares at the knife on her nightstand, and flashes of the altered timeline flash before her eyes. Yvaine shudders softly and turns the other way, pulling her blanket up to her chin.


Did she really do all that?

Was it real?

And if so, would she do it again if she ever gave in to such derailed feeling again?