The Calyrex wished to be regaled with the tales of its people. Showered with tales of fire and ice. Tales of truth and ideals. There was only one such tale that came to mind for the Mauville Gym Leader, one tale that fit that bill. It would be a difficult tale to tell: perhaps the most challenging thing Josh had ever done in his life. Even the Champion Assessment paled in comparison to how difficult telling this story would be.

"High King Calyrex..." Josh trailed off. "I am Mauville Gym Leader Josh Devlin. The tale I have to tell you is, admittedly, more of a confession than a tale. But it's something I have to get off my chest. Something that's haunted me for the last year, despite me having done my time and my due diligence with the League. Just a fair warning. I'm probably going to be crying by the end of it. I hope you understand."

With that, the Gym Leader took to his knees, much like one would between the pews of a church. "By now, it is no secret that I want to be Raikou's friend. A friend fighting for Hoenn's freedom alongside kyle lopez , Isaac Merlo , and Raikou's two brothers. That's the person I want to be. When I had been led to believe the Beast perished in the war years ago, I felt devastated. Devastated by the truth of no longer being the person I ideally wanted to be. Empty that my years-long pursuit of Raikou was for naught. I wanted to know who on the other side was responsible, and I would do anything to find out." He glanced down at his phone's calendar. How ironic today's date was.

"It is only fitting that my moment of greatest despair, of greatest weakness, and of greatest... I don't even know the word. Repugnance? Revulsion? Hatred? I don't even know the best word to describe it. Anyway, it's been one year to the day since it happened. One year ago to the day when I was responsible for a simple prisoner transfer. The transfer of a high profile prisoner with ties to those I believed were responsible for his death. I... I believed in my ideals so fervently that I was desperate for any leads that got me closer to understanding what happened in the war. I did things I never thought I would ever do. Horrible, horrible things. Things that have poisoned me by keeping their tales bottled up within my body for months on end."

Music: "Exiled" - Pokémon Legends: Arceus

"High King Calyrex... the one responsible for beating Eris Halla within an inch of her life... was me," Josh slowly confessed.

The one statement, despite being physically quiet, echoed more loudly than a Pyroar's Hyper Voice in a hall of mirrors, its reverberation intense enough to shatter the glass that was the Gym Leader's ideal world. Behind those mirrors were the unpolished, jagged edges of the backboards of the truth. A truth that pinned and crushed the man beneath its weight.

"I let my ideals control me. I wouldn't let go of them. My dream I wanted above all else. My passion. My zeal. I let it all control me. Now I understand. Now I understand what FERNANDO SILPH meant. About me not being the right person to be saddled with the burden of the gods." He began bawling and balling incoherently for a minute or two, lost in his sorrow. Lost in the destruction of his own reputation. That loss was far more punishing than any repercussion the League could ever enforce upon him.

"My relentless, unhealthy pursuit of my ideals led me to upend the life of a young, defenseless girl that will never, ever get her life back as it was before I ruined it. I want to help her put the pieces of her life back together. But I know it's something I can't help her with. Only other people can help her. If I try to do anything to help her, even out of the kindness and goodness coming from the bottom of my heart, it will only make matters worse." The true tragedy was not that he had upended the child's life, but that he could do nothing to get it back in order.

"Eris, Isaac, Kyle, Julia... if you can hear me, I'm so sorry," were the final words out of his mouth before he stood up and trudged away from the Dyna Tree, one step every few seconds, as though they were the final steps he would take in Ever Grande. After a few steps, he turned around. "High King, thank you for listening."

With that, the closure of a case that had gone cold for an entire year. There would be no further punishment coming down from the League; he had already served his time away from his Gym. He had already been fined. He had spent eleven long months away from the Beedrill used to commit the crime. Josh Devlin , the Leader of Mauville Gym, would have been the perfect diamond, the purest pearl in the eyes of Hoennians were it not for this one giant crack marring its surface. One blemish that, with it now coming to light, could forever tarnish his pristine reputation.

It was up to the people of Hoenn to do what they wanted with the unthinkable revelation that came to light.

TBTDT (LEAGUE)

Fire & Ice.

"Your majesty, High King Calyrex." He unsheathed his sword, stabbing it into the ground whilst kneeling. "Sir Amlawdd Gwyar ap Gwrfoddw, Magnus Commendator of the Order of the High King, has answered your mass summon."

dahlia goode's, more accurately.

He allowed himself a silly little smile whilst swallowing a chuckle. Never once had he thought he would use those words unironically in the 21st century.

Prior to arriving at Hoenn, at any rate.

Rising back to his feet, the knight sheathed his blade and pondered the King's request.

He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest as his head lightly tilted, brows knitting together.

He was a knight, not a bard. Educated in the classic arts, sure, but his teacher had once referred to him as 'martially-inclined'.

A very courteous way of telling him to not become a poet.

Still, he knew a myriad of old romances and chivalrous poems... few were short, though.

Should he just make something up...?

"... This is but a recollection— a memory."

---

When I was very young, I tried to escape my home.

My father was a cold, pragmatic and unfeeling man. He was not one for sentimentality or praise, and heaped endless training and punishment unto my less than excellent younger self, that I may one day become an ideal knight.

On one evening, after a particularly cold session with my father— I 'planned' my daring, ill-advised escape, grabbed the bulkiest furs in my closet... and made for the windows, snatching the warmest lamp I could find along the way.

The manor I was raised in was a castle, built in ages past upon the tallest peak of the Crown Tundra. That is to say, the coldest lands in all of Galar.

As you can imagine— a small child who had never once ventured outside the confines of his ancestral home had little chance of making it down the mountain on his own, let alone of finding a settlement within a snow storm.

The young me had not given his plans much thought. As I recall, the cold in my father's gaze felt more chilling than any blizzard back then, and I was willing to risk the storm to get away from it.

Granted— only because I was not nearly as well acquainted with the blizzard.

I collapsed from exhaustion a few miles away from the manor. Most would've died then. However, my poor planning and lacking knowledge saved me from the catastrophe of my own making.

For the lantern I had snatched for myself on my way out? It happened to be a Lampent.

You see, my father, despite all appearances, did not specialize in steel or ice type pokemon. He specialized in ghost-type.

The manor was, then and now, populated by countless pokemon such as Lampent. Hiding so effectively within plain sight, most would not realize they're being stalked at all times.

Contrary to folklore, the lampent did not consume my soul, but kept me from crossing over the edge with its warmth until morning came and the storm passed.

By then, I had learned that my father's cold gaze did not compare to the fury of the tundra, and that my gilded cage reached far beyond the castle walls.

Tired, demoralized and, yes, still very cold, I returned to the castle in defeat.

My father did not punish me when I returned —though I suppose forcing me to do training as usual after such a night might constitute some manner of punishment— but he did ask me if I had learnt my lesson.

At the time, I thought I had. But he said...

"A better knight wouldn't have failed.."

The nerve of this man. Not only had he clearly not been worried, but he didn't even bother chastising my attempt at escaping. He chastised my failure of it!

... Looking back on it now, though... I could believe that, in his own way, he may have been trying to encourage my younger self.

I never once met my grandfather, but my mother had oft suggested my father, in all his aloofness, was still a much, much kinder man than him.

I cannot help but wonder. Did he, too, try to escape in his youth?

Did he succeed? Did he fail? Did he give up? Did he want me to continue trying?

If so, it certainly worked. I did manage to 'escape' after all. Many years later.

Calling it a escape seems a bit silly though. Looking back, the cage had always been wide open. I just needed to be strong enough to cross it.

---

The knight's 'story' came to an end— and he looked to be pondering over it a lot more than his audience.

"... Haaah... In the end, that man got everything he wanted, didn't he?" He concluded with sagging shoulders, his hands coming up to rub at his temples.

It was the first time he really gave some thought to his admittedly not too great childhood. His father's insight seemed a lot more terrifying with the benefit of hindsight...

"... Haaah. I pray that memory served you in some form, your majesty." He said, bowing at the king. "Farewell."

After everyone had gone to sleep, when the stars dared emerge from the vastness of the night sky, when the Pokemon that fought for the delicious, sweet fruit had all given up for the day and vowed for tomorrow, and when the Moon blessed the fertile earth beneath the Dyna-Tree.

That’s when one man and his four companions emerged from the black of night. He held a book in his arms and a rare hope in his eye. Not filled with the fires of vengeance or justice, but of childlike wonder. How nice it felt. How different it was.

As soon as they all reached the King, the man bowed. So too did Obstagoon, and Sir did the best he could with the lack of knees. Bloke hesitated at first, but shrugged and eventually followed suit with the rest. Sonny closed his eyes and folded in on himself. Together, they all paid their initial respects.

“O wonderful King,” the man said softly, “I ask for forgiveness, for disturbing you at such a late time. On such a beautiful night… it was for the best.”

The League might not know who he is. If they did, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t attack. He could not lose the one thing that kept him from pure home-sickness. The old leather-bound book in his hands, weathered and as old as the being they bowed for. Its cornered bent in on themselves, and the pages were yellow with oxidation.

“But… I knew I must meet you. If not for your sake, then for mine,” he fell to the side and crossed his legs as he set the book in his lap. “If I’m not mistaken, I’ve heard rumors that you wish to hear tales. To regain your power. And as a proud Galarian myself, it would be the utmost honor to help you in whatever way I physically can.”

“Because if the tales of the past are true, and what I’ve heard is true… then you were the one that gave us all we had.”

The rest of the Pokémon unfurled themselves and joined the man on the ground. All but Bloke focused their attention solely on the King and the Storyteller– his gaze fell on the stars that twinkled high above. He had only slight interest in this, as Galar was not his home. But an easy night was never a bad thing.

“So, I thought it best to begin with a simple tale,” the man opened the book and carefully turned the first few pages. Each one handled like a newborn until his finger landed on the very first one in the book. “One to help you remember our home.”

“Once upon a time, there were two kingdoms that bordered one another. To the North, a kingdom that lived in the clouds. The people were happy, hopeful, and without a single worry in their hearts. Every morning, the sun greeted them and began a new wondrous day. Life was simple, peaceful. Perfect, even.”

“But things never changed. They never grew, and the world was a daze. Day in, day out, all they could do was the things set before them in a never-ending cycle. The things they hoped for was always destined for tomorrow, yet it was always a day away.”

“And in the South, a Kingdom of chaos. Nothing was ever guaranteed– nothing but the ground beneath their feet and the sky above their heads. They understood the world, yet that meant little for the problems of the then. They labored against the world, mother nature– existence itself. Every battle a struggle, and with no hopes.”

“Yet they grew. Changed. Little by little, they furthered their knowledge of the land. If they must struggle, they would become one with it. They conquered goal after goal, until their kingdom was just as large as the one in the North. Even if they felt as empty as the halls they inhabited, they had become just as large as their opponents.”

“How they hated one another. Those in the North could never understand their hardships, their reality. Inside their lofty castles were lofty ideals, always dreamed of but never accomplished. And those in the South, how empty their hearts. Even if they became as strong as them, there was no passion behind it. Empty husks with no reason for existence.”

“They waged war, and fought on the battlefield. That idealistic kingdom without a single true accomplishment against the truthful kingdom built with cold, emotionless motion. Neither side ever beat another in a way that mattered. Land was won, then lost the next day. It was long. It was bloody. And nobody won.”

“After ten years, both sides were in ruins. The people were tired. Neither could ever hope to beat the other, and both had to face the reality of the situation. They had to join one another, or both perish to the struggles of the world. Reluctantly, they merged into one whole kingdom.”

“The people of the North finally could put their dreams into reality. Even if slowly, their tomorrow had finally come. And if it didn’t, then that was perfectly fine. It just meant things were different, and that was okay. From the South, passion entered their hearts. They could finally feel purpose for the things they did, and the knowledge they had let them finally see tomorrow. There was now a reason to their motions; a thing to hope for.”

“And they lived happily. Ever. After,” the Man slowly closed the book. Its echo filled the air, and silence soon after. He smiled– a rarity in these last few months. Struggle after struggle, towards a future that always seemed to be in tomorrow. But steeped in the reality, and acceptance that it wasn’t certain.

But to struggle was to hope, and to hope was to struggle. Ideals without Truth were little more than a distant thought, and Truth without ideals was a cold, merciless land of medals with no meaning. Only together could they ever hope to give purpose to life.

Even as the King offered a heartfelt cry to the story, the four would remain silent and simply enjoy the presence of the thing they never knew existed until recently. Bathing in its glorious radiance for as long as they could. For this one night, they could be hopeful. They could be at ease with themselves and the situation.