TBTDT (LEAGUE)

Fire & Ice.

His eyes, sunken at the King's request, grew dim.

Perhaps as his punishment for missing out on their previous arrangement, he was given a significant request.

The knight's silence stretched on for long— longer than most people would've been comfortable with. But the King was undaunted, patient.

Eventually, the knight knelt before the King of Bountiful Harvests, the motion slow and methodical.

"... I was once married. To a most beautiful human being."

---

It has been a long time. What feels like forever now.

Though it was for a precious, short time, I... I can say with, all sincerity, that those were the happiest years of my life.

My wife was a unique woman. Stronger than any other person I had ever met to my eyes, yet, as delicate as a flower in the middle of winter once I held her in my hands.

She... we had two beautiful daughters together.

My wife had many hopes and dreams for them. But... she did not live long enough for any of them to materialize.

I can't say they resemble her much— not their appearance, and not their character. But whenever I look at them, I can't help but think of her.

They are that is left of her in this world. They're her legacy. Their beloved Gwyn and Gwen.

And I... I have— I have spent.

I have spent over half of their lives... away...

---

The words slowly die in his mouth, his eyes dull on the grass below.

"... I must apologize, your majesty." The knight says as he rises to his feet somberly. "I must be off."

Despite the lacking courtesy, the man spun on his heel and left the tree, silhouette morose and heavy.

Shalin had been busy with her Captain duties for so long that she couldn't make it to Ever Grande until close to nightfall. "Good day to you, High King, and I apologize for the tardiness," Shalin greeted the Galarian monarch, the Ranger dressed in her Venusaur Sygna Suit. "This one's a little more personal - a dream of mine. Before I became Rustboro's Captain, my title was the Wildest Pokémon Rider in Hoenn. After the Halls of Origin led to not only disappointment, but a pandemonium that never should have been unleashed upon Hoenn, I needed a new dream. That goal was to make good on my title and find the wildest Pokémon ride in any of Hoenn. It was not too long afterward that I had heard the tale of the Sacred Sword, Keldeo. Hearing of the way he moved and fought, I could only dream of pinwheeling through the sky on the power of his Hydro Pump-fueled hoof jets, like no other Pokémon could." After all, what could get the wild child's blood pumping more than spinning through the air as fast as a buzzsaw? If there was one thing Shalin was known for besides her position as Captain, it was this most unusual way of catching a Pokémon.

"To prepare, I tested my skills against wild Pokémon of all kinds, ambushing them from above and holding on with everything I had. The giant Ninetales from the bottom of the Crystal Trench was only the start. Houndoom, Pidgeot, and even Sharpedo tried to hurl me off their backs. Those experiences let me live my dream in a different way: through my Sygna Suit."

Clicking open a Poké Ball, her hulking Venusaur appeared from within, easily taller than a one-story building. Both of them glowed green as Infinity Energy started to flow between them. The grass-type extended one of her thick, enormous vines, the Captain mounting the end of it like a Pokémon. "I won't give you a full demonstration here, but being able to do this was what made me realize I was ready to live my dream. It was just a matter of finding Keldeo." That day was not too long ago.

"He appeared in the Silent Icelands, fighting alongside all of us, whirling and wheeling around just as fast as the legends said. We fought alongside one another for what felt like hours. I was able to get close enough to him to make my move, only to realize he was... a lot smaller than I thought." Her adventure had closed just as quickly as it had opened. With Hoenn's Keldeo being a lot smaller than she surmised.

"With how many Pokémon are out there, I'm sure there's one out there that will get the blood pumping even more than he would. Sorry if I rambled on... this whole thing was last minute." It was all true, though; her frustration to find out Hoenn's Keldeo was tiny was just as great as the reward of her hard work last year.

“Tale about dreams, eh? Never been a big fan of those, as the main topic, but maybe something about a legacy,” the man rubbed the stubble on his chin. His four comrades each shared a stare with one another, a confirmation of having the exact same thought inside all their heads. Unfortunately for them, the man saw it all as clear as night. “What?”

Sonny and Sir couldn’t sign, so they looked to Bloke and Obstagoon to convey the message they all knew true to their hearts. Bloke held up his pointed hands in defense, “Oi, I was a late addition. You’ve got the history with him, not me.”

Thus, the obligation fell to Obstagoon. She started to sign cautiously, as if scared to step into the minefield right before her. One wrong step, and they’d all be blown sky-high. “Well… we think you should change that. You know. Stop being so hell-bent on the idea of dreams alone.”

The man looked flabbergasted. His eye darted between them. “Is yer head on loose there, Obstagoon? We’ve talked about this before, and my mind isn’t changing: dreams on their own are worthless.”

“None of us disagree with you there. Not entirely, anyway,” she responded. “But a dream can be a nice thing to have. Gives you hope.”

“But that must be tempered by the weight of reality. Otherwise, they’re as good as the stars in the night sky– a pretty thing to look at, sure, but do nothin’ for us down here.”

“Do you remember when we used to dream, Tavish?”

The man fell silent, knowing that this was a touchy subject for her. But he wasn’t content either, as his fingers dug into the dirty fabric of his pants. They’d done this song and dance too. Only once, and it’d been a bloody nightmare afterwords. It happened the night he decided to take matters into his own hands. When he abandoned a life of comfort and ignorance.

“Our simple dreams, ones made up on a whim and gave us such whimsy in our hearts… do you still remember them, Tavish?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “How could I forget them?”

“Of owning your own lab. Of fighting for the rights of Pokémon as best as we could, even if the odds seemed insurmountable. Hell, we even dreamed of fantastical things. Like your brewery idea, or my dream to go far away, and explore new sights. New sounds. Meet more wonderful people. In a way, we both got what we wanted.”

“At the cost of everything, Obstagoon.”

“Well, that would make a good story of its–”

“No,” Tavish crossed his arms and shoved them forward. “Timeout. My, our history, isn’t over! There isn’t some grandiose tale here. Not the kind we should tell a King. They aren’t like the stories in this book. Ones that would be more proper, with better endings and where everyone lives happily ever after.”

“Back when things were simpler? Easier?”

“Yea!”

“Tavish, they’ve never been simple.”

He looked to the furry black-and-white creature, and then back to the other three. None of them could properly meet him in the eyes. Something snapped inside, and he closed the book with a loud thump. “Fine.”

“You want a story? Here’s a story of your precious ‘dreams’, unbound by reality:”

“Once upon a time, nine years ago, there was a bright-faced lad with the stars in his eyes and a head in the clouds. Things were easy, simple, ignorant. He had a few friends, a few Pokémon companions, and life was easy. There weren’t any actual problems, and there wasn’t any hardships. He had a nice job where he did what he loved.”

“And then they came,” he spit the acidic phrase off of his tongue and motioned far away, towards Sootopolis. “They came from the sea and started to steal. Plunder. Kidnap the precious creatures that wanted to live simple lives. Brought to a foreign land against their will, where everything was awful. A war zone, where they were drafted or conscripted at best. Not to mention the treacherous seas that many never escaped.”

“And this hurt the man. Not only because of what was happening, but because of how the people reacted: they didn’t. They shrugged their shoulders, said ‘what can you do’, and bloody well moved on with their lives. How could they willingly choose to turn an eye to the problems that plagued their lands? How could they sleep at night, knowing that they held the power to help the situation?”

“So, the man acted. He called the government and asked them what their plans were, how he could help. And they turned him away. ‘Join the royal guard, and you can make a change’. So, he did. He worked hard, day and night, to get into their illustrious service.”

“Yet he never did. His work meant nothing, because he was always passed over. Never given the time nor day to prove himself loyal to the cause. Excuse after excuse, they sent him home with a pat on the back and a ‘better luck next time’. How it infuriated him. How his blood boiled.”

“So, he decided to join a local watch. Keep an eye out for intruders that dared to take from their homes. He was accepted, and he watched with as good an eye as everyone else. Day and night, always on the lookout. He never saw anything, either from the cover of night or because of other obligations. Yet the problem persisted. Nothing got better. If anything, things grew worse. Like not even those in charge cared.”

“The man started to expand his efforts. He raised awareness, sent out petitions, held peaceful protests against the seemingly infinite inaction. If there was a way to show the problem to all, then he did it. Everything under the sun was fair game, save for direct violence. For he was one man, and this a problem for an entire body of people. They were so many, and they so few– so why couldn’t they stop it?”

“And as time went on, something started to change in the man. His heart grew cold, and his brain full of strange ideas. Those clouds he reached for, the ones he thought firmly in his grasp– nothing more than blips in the sky. The people did not care. The royalty did not care. No one cared, it felt. And despite his best efforts, his attempts to make the imagination into a reality, he never got a single foot off the ground.”

“It was only when he resorted to violence that the people noticed. That the people cared. If it did not affect them, then it wasn’t a threat. But as soon as it disrupted their daily life, then they grew mad. Upset at the injustice being performed at the hands of this villain.”

“But the villain was him.”

“The people turned on him. Insulted him for his methods, assaulted him for his decisions. The royalty condemned him. Pokémon feared his name, for what he might do.”

“But the invaders learned to fear that man. Whenever they saw his signature red fatigues and smelled brimstone in the air, they knew themselves doomed. They had been deemed problems, and problems were best squashed underfoot. For him to take action, he had damned himself to hell. A life of this path that no one would dare tread. Because they were afraid of losing things.”

“The man did not live happily ever after,” his knuckles grew white, “he did not get to realize his dreams. He did not get to live the life he wanted. He has given so much to better the lives of those around him, and yet they spit on his shoes.”

“You can keep your dreams, those clouds in the sky, like the Kingdom of the North,” the man set the book down by his side and pulled himself to his feet, “but tell me where that gets you in a year or ten.”

“Tavish, they give us reason to wake up in the morning, to have hopes and look to the future!”

“And look where that got me, Obstagoon. Look where we are now.”

The man stormed off, his boots heavy in the dirt and grass. Dew scattered off the stalks, leaving behind a trail of mother nature’s tears. She wept for the man, and for those he had to leave behind. She wept for a soul that kept his head focused right ahead, with a glint in his eye that would never go away.

One that could only admire the night sky and moon for what they were, not for what they could’ve been.

Another week, another request by Calyrex for more stories. Hideo still had plenty to share - but he hardly wanted to overstuff the King, nor take the opportunity away from others to tell their tales.

Hideo dismounted his Spectrier, his Beheeyem accompanying him once more. "Me again, King Calyrex," Hideo said, offering a bow as always - a motion his Beheeyem mimicked. "Heard you wanted some more stories. I could tell you a story about sacrifice, but I'd just be repeating the last story. And I don't feel like I'm in the mood for something that depressing. So, I got a story for you about memory."

Hideo took a book out of his bag - the same one he'd used on his second tale. He sat down, flipping to a page as his fingers ran along the braille lettering, his Beheeyem sitting beside him.

"There was a man who found himself in the middle of a dark path. He had no memory of where to go, his destination, or even who he was. He sat down to collect himself and let his tired legs rest for a moment, but looked up to see an old Hatterene standing before him. She was looking right at him, showing a toothless grin. 'And now, what will be your third wish?'"

"Of course, the man was confused. 'My third wish? How can that be if I haven't even made a first or second wish?'"

"'Ah, but you've already had two wishes!' she told him. 'But your second wish was to make it as if you never made your first wish. And that is why you cannot remember anything: because that is how you were before you made your first wish.' She laughed at the poor, confused man. 'So now, you've but one wish remaining.'"

"The man looked at her, dumbfounded. 'Very well. I don't believe you, but there's no harm in trying. I wish to remember who I am.'"

"The Hatterene cackled, snapping her fingers. 'Funny,' she said as the memories flooded back into the man, the Pokemon disappearing forever, 'That was your first wish.'"

With that, Hideo closed his book, his tale told. He could hear the awkward patting noise of his Beheeyem's hands clapping.

"Bit of a short one, but Elga here always likes it when I read that story. Think I have a hunch why…hope you don't mind if I talk a bit about myself?"

"My Psychic Pokemon do stuff with my memories sometimes. Obviously, I don't remember the stuff they remove, but I can notice if I'm feeling sad and don't know why, or if I suddenly don't remember where I just was. They sometimes do it without me asking, but there've been times when I asked them to do it. And one time, someone else asked them to do it to them."

The latter had felt the strangest, even if it affected him the least.

"I think they could bring the memories back if I asked…but I always feel like there's a reason why they remove those memories. And if I asked for them back, I may end up regretting it. And I trust my Pokemon enough that they won't abuse it…and if any did, the others would fix it."

Hideo reached over to his Beheeyem, patting it on the head - made easier by the Pokemon moving its head to his hand. "I trust Elga here the most with that kinda stuff. I know he wouldn't do that kind of stuff without telling me."

He couldn't see that Elga's eyes looked away from him as he said that.