It's your last day of Calyrex duty, and this time, you've actually brought a story.

It took you a while to pick out. After all, you're not exactly the most well-read guy in the world, and his choice of topics weren't exactly in your wheelhouse. Hard to find tales of memory and sacrifice within lads mags. Hell, even if they were in there, you probably wouldn't have noticed them. But that's neither here nor there, is it? No, the point is, you've managed to scrounge something up. So, summoning all of your non-existent bardic prowess, you take a seat opposite of the Calyrex and Doublade, open your book to the front page, and clear your throat.

And then, you begin.

"The Very Hungry Caterpie, by Eric Carbink... In the light of the moon a little egg lay on a leaf. One Sunday morning the warm sun came up and - Pop! - out of the egg came a tiny and very hungry Caterpie. He started to look for some food--"

"Cro."

"Hang on, hang on! I'm not even at the good part yet! Fuckin' hell... Alright, SO! On Monday, he ate through one Oran Berry. But he was still hungry. And if you look, that page is only around a fifth of the length of the book, so you flip it and it reveals more pictures underneath." You turn the book around, clumsily demonstrating the innovative and exciting feature as best as your one arm can manage. "Pretty nifty, ain't it? Because when it's like this, you can only see one Sitrus Berry, but like this? Bam! Two Sitrus Berries. It's cool, right?"

"...Cro."

"Look, man, what do you want from me? I'm REALLY trying to be nice to you here, and this is the best I've got. Why've you got to be such a dick about it? You know how much Rocket is sacrificing just to indulge your little hunger for stories? You've got Admins and Beasts and Underbosses taking time out of their busy days to march up this hill and talk to you. When the fuck are you going to start paying that back, man? Enough with the chit-chat and the yapping and the ifs and the whens. Get off your ass and do something."

With that, you stand back up. Wow, you managed to burn through that feeling of fondness in record time. Oh well. It is what it is. All Kings Are Bastards and whatnot.

"Anyway, the moral of the story is that the Caterpie eats a bunch of food and then evolves into a Butterfree. Sacrifice. Memory. Bam. Done. You're full power now. Do us all a solid and go destroy League headquarters, yeah? See you around."

With that, you slam the book shut, and with your obligations fulfilled, begin to make your way back down the hill...

"...I thought it was a good story, sire."

"...Thanks, Doublade."

---

Sacrifice.

Oscar entered the king's throne room for the last time, appearing more tired than usual. What the king could not possibly know was that today happened to be very special to Oscar, and he had been up since midnight reflecting upon the past. This surely influenced his choice in story, as he began speaking to the king in a far more somber tone.

"Hey, I thought over what you want and I'm giving you something a little different than my last few stories. Let me tell you a little bit about my dad. He died today ya know--I mean not today but like eight years ago. It feels longer than it is, probably because my dad and I were never really close. Ya see, back in my childhood I wanted to be a dancer. I used to take ballet in elementary, that's right I was ballet boy. So what?"

"Anyway my dad never approved. He thought men shouldn't do ballet because--I dunno maybe he was scared I'd be gay, which is funny because he didn't care when I actually came out. He never really cared about anything except work. I can't count how many times I begged him to come see a recital. Just once, then I could prove to him why it was so precious to me. He wouldn't have it, once or twice he would act like he relented and would come but he never showed. Not once. His work was too important, he was in charge of a very controversial construction firm in Alola. My dad was probably fighting a different battle every day, just trying to prove that the company deserved to exist. That its destruction of natural ecosystems was for the good of humanity or some shit. He was busy, is what I mean."

"Well, it wouldn't be until years later where I'd find out that there was one time where he actually tried to come to a show. It was my last one for the year, and I was feeling pretty defeated because I couldn't muster the passion to continue dancing if my dad hated it so much. I should have been tougher, who gives a fuck if the old man doesn't approve? Whatever, I made my choice already. Anyway, I can't tell my dad's side because I only know what happened at the end. I like to imagine though, in the quiet hours of the night when my mind won't stay still. I picture him at his desk, setting up for a big presentation he would have to give later that evening. Around that time he had a picture of my brother and I on his desk, and I like to think he stopped to look at it. I imagine him focusing in on my young face, and for a miracle of a moment he feels a twinge of fatherly love. He realizes how quickly time moves, and how he's been sitting at his desk as years roll by. Then he makes a faithful choice. He gets up, grabs his coat, and leaves the office."

"My dad chose to go to my last recital, and if I had looked out on the crowd and saw him that night--I probably would have made a lot of different decisions. He didn't make it though. By the time he got to the community center where I had performed, the show had been over for an hour. I bet he thought it was funny, I doubt he was disappointed. I only found out he tried at all after he died, he shared the story with my brother. Not with me though. Had to hear it second hand."

"So answer me this, sire. Who made the sacrifice here? Did my dad sacrifice precious time solidifying his family's future to catch a glimpse of my childhood? Did I sacrifice my interest in dancing to chase after my father's approval? Maybe a bit of both? Maybe neither. I know you won't actually answer, that's alright. Thanks for hearing me out, I hope you got what you wanted." With that Oscar turned and left without further acknowledgement. He had a rough night ahead of him.

"Alright, now next is foreign policy. Don't fall asleep on me!"

The stack of books that surrounded the king and his advisor had grown tall and fat. Ponderous tomes bound in languages few from Rocket could read adorned the king's court. There were books on kingship, books on heroism, books on imperial policies. The most prevalent of these tomes were the histories.

The lattermost tomes had been chosen with great consideration. Few in Hoenn could choose a finer selection of kings, regions, and eras from which an aspiring king would learn. There were tales of tribal leaders from Hisui, from which Yuina Higashi would likely appreciate. There were tales of Hoyeon battles, Unovan kings, and even begrudgingly, stories on Galar's royal family and House Calcifet.

He despised Remiel Calcifet, thinking more highly of Elise Calcifet, but their ancestors had been impeccable people.

"You must learn to parley with foreign powers. Rocket is foreign to every world, to every other group. We are not seen as legitimate. Our authority doesn't derive from epochs of tradition like Galar's crown, nor is Rocket a highly evolved democracy. Our authority stems from power and capability. In that sense, we are pure. Vile, put pure."

Howard's eye flicked to the king. He scratched his chin, stubble scraping against his fingernails as he did so. This had been a long night. He desperately needed a shave. His eyepatch lay in the grass, undisturbed. The Key Stone that glinted in his eye occasionally appeared whenever his missing eye's eyelids fluttered. The Key Stone was surrounded in a hideous scar, partially scribed in various runes.

"We rely on ability. You must be capable if you are to rule. I'm practically worthless, but I've made myself invaluable to Rocket. You must be the same, but you must also be strong."

Calyrex was strong. Of that, he was sure. It had blasted away the three birds that had attempted to gorge on Dyna Fruit, which gave great credibility to its power. He wondered how mint frost and BARNABY FINCH were doing. Hopefully their birdwatching had gone well.

"Crowow?"

"I don't know what that means." Howard sighed. "I wish Shred was here. He's good at translating. I don't know if it's the booze or the drugs, but he's the best translator I know."

Howard cocked his head.

"Or he's fucking with me."

"Crowow?" Calyrex pointed at his missing eye, and Howard frowned. He touched the scar-laden surface and flinched, hissing in pain. Fried nerves that stung in the cold had become his constant companion.

It was a story that he had kept buried. It wasn't in a database, it wasn't recounted anywhere else. It was simply a fact of life that Howard had omitted due to trauma. Sometimes, he found himself screaming awake at what had transpired, a recollection of his eye, something he'd never see again.

He felt Shirley's Pokeball tremble at his belt. His imagination was overreacting today.

"Fine. Where do I begin?" Howard sucked in air and thought back. "When I was younger, I had gotten Shirley from a preserve for fossil Pokémon. They were rare at some point, if you can believe it. Poachers were constantly trying to break in and steal them for breeding, but my dad pulled some strings and got Shirley for me.

His words were bitter for a moment.

"That was the first and last time he used his connections to get me ahead in the world."

Networking was imperative, and Howard did it constantly. Yet he never liked the idea of being placed on a higher pedestal due to something as obscene as the circumstances of his birth. He did not use his parents' money. He did not rely on their connections. He simply did his best. If he accomplished something, it would be due to hard work, not due to nepotism.

Then, he got nothing. Nothing but debt and internships. What was he to think of that?

"Way back when, I went into this ruin with Shirley. I thought I'd find... something. Anything. Instead I found..."

He heard the scream of a rusted iron hinge and the roar of grinding stone. Fear. He tamped the memory down. It couldn't hurt him. All he did now was relive the memory. He had always been afraid, but when he had held up that knife...

It got so much worse. Half of his vision gone, replaced with darkness. He had tore out his eye for wisdom, to save Shirley, and bled for nine hours. No food. No water. No wisdom.

Instead, there was only darkness. There was no knowledge there now, only darkness and missing sight.

"I found sacrifice."

TBTDT (ROCKET)

THANK YOU FOR PARTICIPATING

TALES BENEATH THE DYNA TREE will receive a finale post shortly. Thank you all for participating with your characters!!