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minerva cannot deny the thrill that courses through her veins as she settles onto swift's black thundercloud, her fingers curling into the soft, electrified strands with a grip born of equal parts exhilaration and trepidation.[break][break]

the leap to verdanturf is brief—no more than the span of a dozen heartbeats—yet it is filled with a sense of raw power and potential, like the crackle of electricity in the air before a storm breaks loose.[break][break]

as the trees and fields of the route blur past them in a dizzying rush, minerva finds herself struck by the juxtaposition of the wild, untamed strength of the ashen raikou beneath her and the quiet serenity of the verdant landscape around them.[break][break]

here, in the midst of nature's beauty and the god's latent fury, she feels the weight of her own mortality, the fragile nature of human existence in the face of such primal forces.[break][break]

but at the same time, she is invigorated, inspired by the sheer possibility that exists in moments like this—one foot planted firmly in the realm of the gods, the other stepping boldly into the unknown.[break][break]

the breath catches in her throat as verdanturf comes into view, the buildings rising from the earth like monoliths carved by some unseen hand. there is a sense of inevitability about it all, as if the very stones themselves have been waiting for this moment, for the arrival of something greater than themselves.[break][break]

"thank you," she murmurs as they slow, then eventually skid to a stop. minerva is quick to dismount.[break][break]

then, with one last glance over her shoulder:[break][break]

"and good luck."

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minerva's face betrays nothing at keiko's words. instead she watches closely as the dial appears and listens intently. her knowledge of the specifics is murky at best, but she recognizes genuine devotion and belief when she sees it. it's an echo from the past, dredged up from memories better left buried.[break][break]

for a short while she finds herself envying keiko, envying the surety and tranquility granted to her by her beliefs, the soft glow emanating from her like heat from embers. minerva, in contrast, is eternally wandering through shadows, collecting doubts and questions like mismatched buttons in a jar.[break][break]

but such thoughts lead nowhere except to bitter darkness. and there is something unexpectedly comforting in the quiet of this encounter, in the unexpected company. so instead she merely nods, folding her hands together in her lap.[break][break]

perhaps it's fitting, this odd companionship found on a mountain under a frost-gilded sky. perhaps her mother would have found poetry in it.
she gestures toward the sundial with a slender finger, her voice low like the coo of a dove. "is it true that the first hour of sunrise is meant to hold special significance? that was something my mother always said."[break][break]

she wonders how keiko interprets such teachings in comparison to her mother’s interpretations, though she has few expectations. mother was always prone to spouting nonsense.

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the corners of minerva's eyes crinkle ever so slightly at illeana's condolences, but the emotion lasts as long as a mayfly in the noonday sun. "thank you," she responds automatically, voice flat.[break][break]

minerva listens intently as illeana explains the nature of palkia's domain, processing each word with analytical precision. it's interesting, certainly, but it doesn't quite scratch the itch of uncertainty she feels about her mother's beliefs.[break][break]

"apparent because i've only heard stories," minerva clarifies, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug. "i didn't say i disbelieved, just that my knowledge is limited." her gaze stays steady on illeana's face, watching for reactions.[break][break]

when questioned about her mother's worship, minerva hesitates. "she never talked much about her faith with me," she admits, jaw tightening slightly. "we didn't exactly see eye to eye on... well, anything, really." including religion.[break][break]

"but from what i gathered, she believed in a single all-powerful deity who created everything." minerva frowns, trying to remember bits and pieces of overheard prayers. "in her final days, though, palkia and dialga took precedence."

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she is not a prophet. her mother, in minerva's mind, was. perhaps she merely picked up on the madness.[break][break]

then again, a clairvoyant's path holds an inexorable pull, especially in the presence of those rare heroes touched and nurtured by the gods themselves. perhaps it is more likely that anyone can become a prophet in the presence of one josh devlin—his path is so precariously placed that it would be foolhardy to ignore the precipice of danger her so carefully balances upon. minerva merely speaks into the world that which she perceives to be true.[break][break]

in josh, the truth is clear—he has been blessed by the gods, even if only in bits and pieces, and the echo of that power must be controlled, and it must be controlled quickly, lest it overpower him. she sees in him a man that can either enter a greek comedy or a greek tragedy—filled with potential, certainly, but unnerving to watch nonetheless.[break][break]

at the very least, he acknowledges this. his path will be a hard one. minerva is eager to see where it takes him. she's also, most of all, eager to see how a vestige of a god plays into the grand scheme of the world's cosmology.[break][break]

so, of course, when he offers to take her to her location of choice, she is eager to accept. "yes, please," she returns, extending her palm so he may drag her up. "to verdanturf."

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her hands remain in her lap for a few breaths. then, slowly, one reaches out, slender fingers touching the offered palm with barely a whisper of contact. a firm grip fastens the handshake, a ritual of the mundane world. for once, minerva doesn’t shy away; her obsidian gaze lingers on a face framed by windswept strands of pink, the flickering light dancing across features that could belong either to a ghost or a goddess.[break][break]

"minerva valentine," she murmurs.[break][break]

she glances back at the fire, the wind catching tendrils of smoke and carrying them away. "almighty sinnoh is... was my mother's faith. i am not a follower per se," she explains vaguely, choosing her words with care like one picking their way through a thorny bramble patch, "though i would say she followed more than almighty sinnoh. she likely followed every god there is, really."[break][break]

what does it mean, she wonders idly, that she's keeping these traditions alive, albeit privately and imperfectly? perhaps it's the same urge that sends her searching the abandoned corners of the world for answers, traces of her mother's shadow still dogging her heels.[break][break]

"...then i suppose you are a follower of sinnoh, yes?" and there's a hint of envy, quickly hidden, tucked away behind a velvet curtain of black eyelashes. "you carry a serenity with you, certainly."

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the sudden presence of another stirs the air like the chill breath of forgotten ghosts, the words stuck halfway between minerva's tongue and teeth. flame eats away at yet another strip of paper in silence before she turns her head just so, cheekbone stark against shadows, gaze cutting through darkness to lock onto the stranger.[break][break]

her dark eyes narrow and it seems she might snap a sharp retort or dismiss the person entirely. instead, she pauses, looks back at the tiny pyre she's made, then says simply, "it is a ritual."[break][break]

there's an edge of vulnerability to her voice that wasn't there before, or perhaps it had simply gone unnoticed. she watches the other, gauging reactions or intentions or whatever else she needs from their next words, entirely still save for the slow rise and fall of her chest.[break][break]

only then does she realize the strangeness of her own actions. burning slips of paper inscribed with advice and commands for oneself is peculiar, she supposes. but there's no need to justify herself. it is a ritual she had seen her mother do countless times. there is an inkling, buried deep, that wonders if minerva is even performing the ritual correctly, or if the ritual is truly connected to the gods her mother worshiped so fervently.[break][break]

but it feels right. the worries cease to matter.[break][break]

she turns back to the pyre. "a ritual for things we hope to come in the following dark months."[break][break]

she pauses. her tone goes deep.[break][break]

"or for things we would like to avoid."

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minerva listens as josh describes the experience of riding swift, the sheer scale of the power and potential that lies within the ashen raikou sending another shiver down her spine. the image of riding a lightning strike is both exhilarating and unnerving, a reminder of the forces that lie just beyond the boundaries of human comprehension.[break][break]

"fun indeed," minerva murmurs, her voice laced with a mix of admiration and apprehension. "but also deadly."[break][break]

there is a part of her that yearns to experience such power firsthand, to feel the wind tearing at her face and the ground blurring beneath her feet as she pushes the limits of what is physically possible. but another part of her recoils at the thought of the consequences should something go wrong, should the connection between josh and swift falter even for a moment.[break][break]

minerva shakes her head, as if to dispel the thoughts crowding her mind, and fixes josh with a pointed look. "you play a dangerous game," she declares, her voice low and intense. "but i suppose that is the nature of power. it demands respect, lest it consume you."[break][break]

the corners of her lips quirk into a wry smile, a knowing glint sparking in her sharp, dark eyes. "nevertheless, i do not envy you."[break][break]

minerva's gaze drifts to swift, studying the ashen raikou with a newfound appreciation and wariness. she wonders silently what secrets he holds, what untapped potential lies dormant within his sleek, powerful form.[break][break]

"may the gods watch over you," she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the whisper of the wind. "for you will need all the help you can get."

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minerva's eyes widen slightly as josh confirms the name of the move, her mind struggling to process the information even as she watches him struggle to regain his composure. the idea that such speed and power could augment a rather basic move to such heights of power and energy is both awe-inspiring and terrifying.[break][break]

"quick attack," she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her own heart. "a fitting move for a god of speed."[break][break]

the realization of what josh has just accomplished, the sheer scale of the power he wields with such nonchalance, is enough to send a shiver down minerva's spine. she has seen many incredible feats in her travels, but nothing quite like this. it is a reminder of the limitless potential that lies within each individual, a potential that can be unlocked with the right combination of determination, skill, and perhaps a touch of madness.[break][break]

minerva shakes her head, as if trying to clear her thoughts, and fixes josh with a piercing stare. "you are either the bravest man i have ever met," she declares, her voice low and intense, "or the most reckless."[break][break]

the corners of her lips quirk into a smirk, a wry glint of amusement sparkling in her sharp, dark eyes. "though, considering the company you keep, i suppose both are not mutually exclusive."

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as josh and swift return, minerva can't help but notice the way the young man's entire body vibrates like a live wire, his skin visibly humming with the aftershocks of their shared intensity. there is a wild light in his eyes, a manic gleam that speaks to the thrill of pushing oneself to the very brink of what is possible, and then surpassing it.[break][break]

minerva's own heart is still racing, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she struggles to regain her composure. she watches, a mixture of awe and disbelief etched across her sharp features, as josh somehow manages to slow swift's breakneck pace to a more manageable speed, their movements still blurred and indistinct to the untrained eye.[break][break]

"are you insane?" she demands, her voice raspy with disuse and the lingering effects of the wind that had howled in her ears. "what the hell was that?" her eyes are wide, almost manic, as she takes in the sight of josh and swift, trying to reconcile the ordinary appearance of a young man and his pokemon with the extraordinary display she had just witnessed.[break][break]

minerva shakes her head, unable to fully grasp the reality of what she had just seen. "i've... i've never seen anything like that," she admits, her voice still tinged with disbelief. a wry smile tugs at the corners of her lips, the sharp edges of her black lipstick glinting in the fading light. "if there is a faster duo in hoenn, i've yet to see them."

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minerva sits on an outcropping high above the jagged curve of a path through mountains, the edges of her black lace skirt trailing onto the rough stone. a wisp of cool air teases her pale skin, and she tugs her high-collared coat a little tighter around herself. the last of the day's light clings to the horizon like a dirty film on glass, casting an eerie half-light on the scene.[break][break]

in front of her on a flat rock lies a pile of neatly torn strips of paper, and beside it, a lighter. she picks up a strip between her gloved fingertips, eyeing the cramped scrawl of black ink, and murmurs softly to herself, "control what you can." then, with a swift motion, she lights one corner and watches the flames dance, consuming the paper and the words on it. her worries curl and blacken, then flutter away as ash, carried off by the chilly air.[break][break]

she takes up another strip, reads aloud "persevere," and sets it alight, repeating the process as the sun finally dips away and the first stars appear. "learn constantly," "make sacrifices," "prioritize." one after the other, the messages burn and disappear, while minerva's face remains impassive. only her eyes flicker with the reflection of the small flames.[break][break]

it's a ritual, a private tradition to signify the coming of winter and darker times, signifying an internal change or shift. minerva finds solace and stability in it. her eyes lift to a tree above, a silhouette inked against the indigo sky, where a large spider web stretches between two branches, already glittering with frost.

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minerva watches in awe as josh and swift circle her, the wind whipping at her hair and cloak with an almost frantic intensity. it is not merely the speed at which they move that captures her attention, but the raw power and control that radiates from them like an almost tangible force.[break][break]

her breath catches in her throat as they line up for their final charge, a bolt of adrenaline surging through her veins at the sight of the ashen raikou poised and ready like a coiled spring. the thunderclap that accompanies their departure is nearly enough to deafen her, but she refuses to look away, to break her gaze from the sight of josh and swift blurring into a streak of ash and lightning as they surge forward.[break][break]

time seems to slow to a crawl as they pass her by, minerva's heart pounding in her chest with a force that threatens to break through her ribs. the sheer intensity of their speed is enough to steal the breath from her lungs, leaving her gasping for air as they disappear into the distance. it is not until they are gone from sight that she allows herself to exhale, her body trembling with a mixture of awe and fear.[break][break]

"holy shit," she breathes, her voice barely audible over the howling wind. "holy fucking shit."[break][break]

minerva can't help but feel a surge of envy at the sight of josh and swift, disappearing into the distance with a speed that defies all logic and reason. it is a reminder of the power and potential that lies dormant within each individual, waiting to be unleashed and harnessed for greatness.[break][break]

she wonders, idly, what he is running from. or, instead, is he chasing something?

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mortimer, frankly, finds himself above these shenanigans. he is a distinguished gentleman, not fodder for the frightened hearts of young men and women seeking scares in an overdone mansion.[break][break]

alas, he is bound to minerva's will. whatever she pleases, he will do, as any gentleman would. he may sneer and sigh the whole way, but to serve his lady is a great, terrific honor.[break][break]

as such, he floats menacingly at the end of a dimly lit hallway within the haunted house, wreathed in an eerie, flickering flame that casts macabre shadows on the aging wallpaper and dusty floorboards. the mansion has been converted into a kind of tourist attraction for thrill-seekers and fans of the paranormal.[break][break]

mortimer's job is simple: scare the guests with all the ghostly panache he can muster. and, being the dramatic, ostentatious spirit he is, he does so with flair.[break][break]

as a group of tourists rounds the corner, their laughter and chatter filling the corridor, mortimer prepares himself. the hallway, lined on either side with decrepit portraits of victorian era lords and ladies, yawns before the patrons, beckoning them further and further into the bowels of madness. as they step forward, a clever use of will-o-wisp causes the portraits' eyes to glow with an eerie blue flame whenever a patron passes in front of it. by the time the tourists make it to the end of the hall, their hearts beat with tension, awaiting the darkness at the end.[break][break]

then, once they are beneath him, mortimer drops from where he hangs motionless on the ceiling. visitors release bloodcurdling screams, expecting to be drowned in the chandelier's fire, only to blink owlishly up at him once they find themselves unharmed. he hovers mere inches above their heads, heaving with silent laughter, far too pleased with himself.[break][break]

he floats back to the ceiling to prepare his trap once more. the patrons continue on, hearts pounding, hair raised, and adrenaline filling their veins. certainly, minerva would be pleased with mortimer's performance tonight.

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