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The Story of Daniel - Chapter 8

At the time of his birth, Walter Murdstone and his parents lived in a small, red-roofed flat on the outskirts of Celestic Town. There were five rooms altogether: two being bedrooms and another a small space for the kitchen. A thick array of cherry wood paneled the floor, giving the flat a robust country-like appearance, while floral wallpaper drew the eye with its mediocre artistry. There was also a bathroom, shared of course, with only a small porcelain tub and toilet to accentuate the atmosphere. There was a sink too, but it hadn't worked for years.

The final room of the house was The Study, which Walter's father forbade anyone but him to use. It was his private sanctuary, as Walter once heard him put it, and the place where his father did all his business. When he was small, Walter often saw many people enter The Study, old men mostly, with strange silver pocket watches. Perhaps it was the fact that each of these watches were supported by an expensive onyx chain, jet black and rich in luster, which first drew Walter's gaze, but it was definitely the image embossed on the watch that remained with him for the rest of his life; a lantern with a blue tinted flame inside. But that is another tale, which we shall not get into just yet.

Overall, the house was undersized and quaint, as everything else was in the neighborhood. Celestic Town ranked easily as the smallest town in Sinnoh and also as the regions oldest settlement. Now to some, this classification was strange. Normally, a town would expand, develop, and grow over time, becoming larger and larger until it was a major city. Jubilife, Eterna, and Hearthome City were just three examples of this system, and they began a long time after Celestic Town did. They started just as small, just as quaint, but as more and more people moved into the cities, their borders expanded. Houses slowly turned into apartments; stores slowly turned into supermarkets; buildings turned into skyscrapers; dirt turned to cement, and grass turned into asphalt. It was simply the natural scope of progress.

There was, however, no development for Celestic Town. No skyscrapers. No supermarkets. A trip to Celestic Town was like going back in time, where the roads were still made of dirt and stores still used hand-painted signs for business. It was for this same reason that not many people wanted to move there. There was simply no visible improvement in the town's economical condition, and frankly, it seemed to fall behind the rest of the cities more and more each day. In the words of a real-estate agent, Celestic Town was dead property. After all, prime housing was on blue-skied sandy beaches, a tropical island for instance, with the sun shining and the waves close by, not next to some moldy old ruins like Celestic Town.

The ruins? Oh, I must have mentioned them earlier...no? Well, they are quite fascinating at any rate. Just a stone's throw from the town bakery and a little way down the riverside, not far by any means, they rest at the base of the valley in an ancient dormancy.

It is perhaps in the early morning, when the world is fresh and damp, that the ruins look their best, with twilight fog bathing the deserted stony realm in a majestic silver glow, and the tall, crumbling pillars glistening in the newly risen sun. Truly, it makes the experience so much the better, and fills one up with a great sense of humility and wonder towards history. There is an incredible amount to see. Broken statues of misshapen creatures and persons unknown litter many of the crooks and nooks, and carvings of the most interesting kind adorn the walls with spidery-thin letters and unintelligible symbols. And there were columns! Lots and lots of columns! They towered like resilient sentinels over the expanse, with lovely green moss dressing each in a rich, emerald uniform. Weathered and eroded, they remain standing proud in a neat, trim file - the skeletal army of a world long forgotten. There was also the Mausoleum, perhaps the only ruin to have survived intact throughout time's rough passing. It stood near the rear, hidden partially in the shadows as if not wanting notice.

The Mausoleum was pure white. That was the only way to describe the ancient building, simple and white. The starkness of the color astounded many when they saw it, bone-white, from domed roof to marble door. No one had ever been inside though, as it was sealed shut during the First Age when the ruins were still alive with markets and people, and when the old kings battled in the Great War. And it is through this building that Walter's story, and in turn every Aura-user's story, truly begins.

---

After leaving Daniel at the hospital, and escorting a bemoaning Ms. Trill back into her house, Mr. Murdstone made his way over to Sal's restaurant, The Snack'n Snorlax. It was almost noon, and the sun had dissipated the clouds leaving solely a blue canopy of sky overhead. The old man strode briskly across the street, minding a honking car as it passed, and walked up to the double doors of the restaurant. He pushed them open in a single, smooth step.

A wave of noise cascaded over him. As usual, the building was packed with hungry patrons and Pokémon, but Mr. Murdstone paid no attention. He had already made a phone call and Sal's balding head popped out of the congregation the moment he entered. The large man was waving him over to sit at a booth near the back-corner. Mr. Murdstone nodded at him and approached, cautiously making his way through the throngs of customers and chairs as not to trip, until he was standing next to his friend, who sat and beamed up at him cheerfully.

"Walter!" greeted Sal in his booming voice. "It's wonderful to see you again. It's been too long."

Mr. Murdstone patted his friend's meaty shoulder and sat down across from him. "Yes, a few weeks by my count. I'm afraid that I've been a little busy. How have you been?"

"Splendid!" Sal replied, giving a hearty chuckle. "Business is booming and I couldn't be happier."

"Is it alright that we talk right now?" asked Mr. Murdstone. "Perhaps it is too busy. You seem to have a lot of customers to attend to."

Sal stamped his foot in blatant refusal. He said, "Don't be ridiculous. My employees can handle without me for a while. I pay them well enough, and a little hard work won't kill them."

There was a sudden crash of plates from behind the door to the kitchen and a muffled voice cried out, "Damn it, Tanner! Not again!"

Sal whipped his head in the direction of the noise and for a moment looked uncertain. Then he snorted in frustration. "Well, that young'un might. I swear Walter, some of these kids I got under my wing are so clumsy it's a miracle they're able to put on pants every day without breaking their necks or somethin'."

Mr. Murdstone didn't reply. He had a far-away look in his eye, as though he wasn't truly seeing the table in front of him. Sal glanced at him concerned. "Are you ok, pal?"

Mr. Murdstone raised his head a few inches and said rather vacantly, "I saw the doctor a few days ago.

"Oh," returned Sal. He knew about _that_doctor.

"And...," he continued. "I met someone new this morning. On my walk."

"Ah, that's nice."

"He was an Aura-user."

Sal blanched. He stared at his friend very intently and very quietly. The clatter of silverware on plates descended on the pair, and for a moment they simply looked at each other, ignoring everything else in the restaurant.

Then Sal spoke in a voice softer than a whisper, "What's this about, Walter? I thought you were done with that life."

"Indeed, I had thought so too," replied Mr. Murdstone noncommitedly. "But it appears now that it is still not done with me."

"But that was twenty years ago!" whispered Sal vehemently. "We swore it would end there, in front of _her_grave no less!"

Mr. Murdstone sighed and rested his back against the leather-padded booth. "I know. It's been a long morning. If you'll treat me to a stiff drink I'll tell you all about it."

---

The boy with fair, sandy hair lowered himself down the last few feet of rock and began to pick his way towards the grove. Creepers spindling up from the earth snagged at his pants and the fair haired boy tugged through them with an irritated grunt. Though he had taken off his jacket and trailed it now from one hand, his grey shirt stuck to him and his hair was plastered to his forehead. All round him the long scar of the grove cut through the forest, giving the cramped trees much needed room and the grass shoots covering the forest floor much needed sunlight. The boy with fair hair clambered heavily amongst the weeds and protruding roots when a Starly, a vision of black and white, flashed upwards with a witch-like cry; a cry that was soon echoed by another.

"Hey!" it said. "Wait a moment!"

The undergrowth at the side of the grove shook and a multitude of raindrops fell pattering.

"Wait a moment," the voice said. "I got caught up."

The boy stopped and waited, shaking his pant leg free of dirt and wiping the grime from his brow.

The voice spoke again.

"I can't hardly move with all these creeper things."

The owner of the voice came backing out of the undergrowth so that twigs scratched against his greasy shirt. The naked crooks of his knees were plump and scratched by thorns. He bent down, removed the thorns carefully, and turned around. He was much shorter than the fair haired boy and very fat. He came forward, wiping a big, meaty hand through his hair.

"Why did ya' take us out here, Walter?" he asked. "It's too hot. And me mum won't like it that we've gone out so far."

The bushes here were dark evergreen, with aromatic candle buds intertwined within the leaves and their waxen green petals folded up against the light. It was hot, and the heat shimmered visibly in the earthly glow of the midsummer sun, but in contrast to the humid shadows of the surrounding trees, the grove bore a certain freshness that could not be overlooked; like a cool bath after a long, hard day.

Walter looked around.

"I think it's perfect," he said.

The fat boy glanced at his friend startled. "For what?"

"For our _secret_hangout."

Walter said this with grinning delight. In the middle of the grove he stood on his head and laughed. "No grownups here!" he said to the reversed fat boy.

The fat boy thought for a moment, then, slowly, a smile of realized ambition overcame him. They both laughed and basked in their own freedom. Walter allowed his feet to come down and sat on the steamy earth.

"We can do whatever we want here, Sal," he continued. "That's why secret hangouts are the best!"

As if to prove this, Walter then seized a fistful of grass and yanked it into the air, watching as the gilded slivers of green twirlingly floated back down. He did it again in boyish glee.

Sal watched his friend with mild interest, rather taking notice of the dampness underneath his sizeable armpits.

"It's really hot out here, Walt," Sal said.

Walter glanced in his direction. "You already said that."

"Yeah," he replied. "But I'm getting really sweaty. Me mum'll kill me if I ruin this shirt."

"So take it off, Sweaty."

Sal frowned at Walter. With a shrug, he walked away to unbutton his shirt. Once removed, he took care to lay it on a nearby rock so that it wouldn't get dirty, his portly naked belly receiving a welcome dose of sunlight.

Walter looked at him, then at his own smelly grey shirt. He took it off as well. He didn't show the same consideration his friend had though, as Walter threw his shirt close to where Sal's lay, but still landing into the tangles of creepers and bushes.

Sal giggled. "Nice throw."

"Shut up, Sweaty," retorted Walter half-heartedly, feeling his cheeks turn red.

The sun drifted lazily across the sky, and the trees rarely spoke, their tall forms standing in motionless silence. A shallow gust of wind faintly blew into the grove now and again, as though its cool touch was only meant for teasing rather than refreshment. Without the encumbrance of their upper garments however, the two shirtless boys lay contently on the warm grass, watching the day trickle by in comfort.

A flock of bird Pokémon soared overhead, and Sal pointed to them excitedly.

"Look at that! " he said. "Those are...umm..."

He fought for the word, which seemed to be on the tip of his tongue.

"Starly," finished Walter.

"Right, right. That's what I was going to say. Did you know that Starly are one of only eight types of bird Pokémon that nest inside trees?"

Walter fidded with the grass underneath his hand. "Is that so?" he said. He tried to be offhand and not too obviously uninterested, but Sal continued breathlessly.

"Yeah! Apparently they take up inside old hollows rather than branches, because they always make their nests too light and the wind blows them away. Isn't that funny? We learned that today in class. You really missed an exciting lesson! Err, why didn't you come in today?"

Walter glanced at his friend and shifted his eyes away guiltily.

"Cuz," he said. "I just didn't feel like it."

"Come on."

Walter sat up and murmured to himself.

"What was that?" asked Sal.

"I said it's...it's kind of a secret, really."

Sal raised an eyebrow.

Here and there, little breezes crept over the polished grass beneath the haze of heat. When these breezes reached the small clearing of the grove, the tall trees would whisper, so that spots of blurred sunlight slid over their bodies or moved like bright, winged things in the shade.

"So spill it," Sal said.

"I can't. I'm not supposed to."

"C'mon."

Walter turned his head, momentarily seizing his friend up. "You won't tell nobody?"

Sal nodded.

"Swears?"

"Swears," Sal confirmed, crossing his heart.

"Okay. Well...you see...I got sorta moved to another school."

"You're moving!" said Sal alarmed, eyes widening fearfully. "Y-you can't move. Summer s'pose to be trainer's school! You'll miss ever so much. And what am I supposed to do without 'cha here to-"

"Sal," interrupted Walter, laughing. "I'm not moving. I'm just, you know, changing schools is all."

"Oh."

Relief washed over Sal and he took a long drawn-out breath before releasing it in one big, relaxing huff. He turned away embarrassed, but Walter noticed his behavior. He looked at him amused.

"Were you that worried I was leaving?"

Sal reddened and he tucked his chin in defensively. "Well...ya know...I don't really have too many friends. It was just...ya know..."

Suddenly, the fat boy's brow furrowed. "Walter," he said. "Our school's the only one in Celestic town, but you said you was changing schools. How does that work?"

A cloud listed gently forward in the sky, momentarily blocking the sun's light. The grove dimmed, and the air turned cool in the newfound shade, a few candle buds opened in response and spilled their sweet fragrance to the world. Walter leaned on his hands towards his friend, casting a furtive glance round the grove to make certain that they were utterly alone.

"That's because it's a _secret_school," he said.

"A secret school?"

Walter nodded solemnly.

"I never seen no secret school before," said Sal with disbelief.

"That's because it's really secret."

"Why?"

"I don't know," he said. "The note didn't say."

Sal looked puzzled. "Note?"

Walter nodded. He stood and trotted through the grass to where his shirt and jacket lay. He picked around the bushes, enduring the random sting of a thorn and found the sleeve of his shirt underneath a clot of vines. He pulled them out. For a moment, he ruffled with them for a bit, eventually producing a fine white piece of paper from the pocket.

Sal hauled himself up and walked over, sitting down on the flat rock with an excited air of discovery and forbidden knowledge.

"This note," spoke Walter. "Got it this morning." He handed it to his friend, who made a big effort of holding it up to the light to see it better.

He squinted, then squirmed. He held it close to his pudgy face for reading. The print was very fine and ornate, and looked exceptionally well presented. Even the ink appeared to glisten with uniformed importance. A seal marked the bottom: the shape of a lantern and a flame inside traced in blue.

"What's this thing at the bottom?" Sal asked.

Walter leaned in.

"That's the school's symbol, I suppose. When Dad saw it, he got really excited. Kept on saying that he couldn't be happier that they chose me."

"Did he?"

Walter nodded.

Sal turned back to the letter, all the more intrigued from hearing of how happy the note made Walter's father.

As he read, Sal felt his eyes grow larger, and his mouth slowly drew itself agape. After a minute, the letter ended, and Sal looked at his friend with a mystified awe.

"It's in the Mausoleum?" he said astonished. "That big ol' white place?"

Walter nodded.

"Wow," he breathed. It was all he could really say. "How weird!"

"It said that there's supposed to be a hidden passage in the ruins. Some sorta statue that you gotta go through," explained Walter carefully, watching Sal's expression as he shared this very exclusive piece of information with him.

"'You're teacher is enclosed inside'," quoted Sal with mounting curiosity. "What in the world does that mean?"

With that word the sun peaked out again from behind the clouds and the heat seemed to increase till it became a threatening weight.

"Get my clothes," muttered Walter. "Just a sec."

He reached his hand over and found the scattered articles. To put on a grey shirt once more was strangely pleasing, the sun's rays harmlessly beating him against the fabric.

"What does it mean, Walter?"

Walter said nothing, wondering if he should show his friend the other item that came with the letter. Could he keep it a secret? Walter took a moment to decide. Slowly, he pulled a shiny, miniature red and white ball from his pocket. He clicked the button in the center and as if by magic it swelled to the size of a baseball.

Sal looked at it dumbfounded.

"That's a poké ball!" he exclaimed, knowing that it was an item Walter shouldn't possess, but still very clearly envious. "Where'd ya get it?"

Walter smirked a little. "Came in the mail."

Suddenly Sal was a-bubble with decorous excitement.

"Geez, Walter! This is just too cool. You actually have a poké ball, a real poké ball! Wow! You think there's anything inside? My mum showed me hers once and she told me she kept our Delcatty in it, and I thought she was just joking until I asked our teacher. So is there? Is there anything inside?"

The thought had never occurred to Walter, and now that the sphere was in his hands, he began to feel excited himself.

"I don't know," he said, testing the weight of the device in his hand. "How do you tell?"

Sal gave a little shrug, his eyes wide. "I think you're supposed to throw it."

"Throw it?"

Sal nodded quickly, taking up a pitcher's stance. "Yeah! Like a ball!" He made a mock throw and swung his arm out high over his head before resting it near his side.

Walter looked uncertain.

He held the ball in front of his eyes. The device was interesting and pretty and a worthy plaything; but the vivid day-dreams of having his own Pokémon to battle with still interposed between him and Sal, who in this context was an irrelevance.

He raised his arm.

"Careful! Don't break it-"

"Shut up."

Walter closed his eyes, hoping that the ball in his hands wouldn't shatter to a million pieces when it hit the ground, arched back, and threw.

The ball swung through the air, sunlight glinting off it's polished surface, and Sal and Walter watched its course. Walter expected something to happen immediately, but nothing did. Slowly the ball fell, and Walter felt a welling sense of dread leaden his gut. It's going to break, he thought panicking. Indeed, it looked very likely the ball would not survive the impact, and the ground seemed to rise up ominously with lethal intentions.

Suddenly, the ball exploded in a blinding flash of light, and Walter heard Sal fall down with a yelp.

It lasted for less than a second, but in that time Walter tried to see past the brightness. His attempt was futile at best, but in that split second, Walter was certain he could see the smoky outline of a shadow escaping the machine.

Then the light faded, and the ball, as though on an invisible string, zoomed back to his hand.

Sal stood up shakily, his face turned to Walter in a nervous smile. "Didn't expect it to do that!"

"Yeah," said Walter, rubbing his eyes.

Ahead of them, the grass ruffled and shifted, and the noise drew Walter and Sal's gaze upward. They drew a collective breath.

"Look at that."

"Wacco."

A figure stood amidst the grassy brightness of the grove, almost a head taller than the two boys. It was a Pokémon, surely, but at first glance, neither boy could grasp the name of it. It was mainly blue, save for the black markings covering its head, hands, and feet; with a large spike jutting out from the back of each palm and even one which came out its chest. The torso, Walter saw, was colored with yellow fur, and the creature's ears projected abruptly from its head like a jackal's would.

They both stared at it tensely, not completely certain as how to proceed. All around them, the trees leant in with interest, their branches forming a fluid green canopy of leaves, and their whispering increasing with the steadily growing breeze.

The Pokémon turned its head towards them, eyes an intense crimson hue, studying each with a quiet subtlety.

Awed, Walter and Sal glanced at each other. In silence, they had a mutual agreement that this moment was the coolest of their lives. At least, until a soft voice, which seemed to echo within the very chambers of their brains, rang with a musical clarity.

"Which one of you is my charge?" it said.

Sal fell over again in fright. He tried to regain himself and ended up shouting back at the mysterious voice.

"What's going on?" he said, lip quivering. "Who's there?"

"Me," said the musical voice. "The one you just released."

Sal and Walter twisted their heads back at the Pokémon. It hadn't moved, but there was a tiny smile now creeping up the muzzle of its rather canine head.

"Err, you?" Walter asked hesitantly.

The Pokémon nodded.

"Golly."

"Wacco."

The Pokémon's smile broadened.

Walter couldn't hold it in any longer; he smiled as well. Delight spread throughout his body like electricity, and he grinned at Sal with a shine in his eyes. Soon they were all smiling, meeting for the very, very first time.

The Pokémon spoke again.

"Did you lose your shirt?"

The creature was apparently addressing Sal, who looked down at himself and his pink, rotund belly with clear embarrassment.

"Umm, no. It's, umm, it's just over there. I'll go put it on," he said, his face getting redder after each stumble of words. For some reason, talking to a creature that had only materialized moments ago found itself to be highly awkward.

He shuffled over and dressed himself quickly, avoiding the stare of crimson studying his every move.

"Are you my charge?" it asked again, addressing Sal once more.

"What?" he asked.

"Did you throw my poké ball?"

Sal shook his head.

Walter spoke up. "I threw it."

The Pokémon turned. It looked Walter over, seizing him up, and the fair haired boy felt as though it were seeing him like a man would see a bug through a microscope. He shuffled uneasily, but the Pokémon just smiled at him.

"_You are my charge then,"_it said. The voice was beautiful and pure in Walter's mind, and in a twinge of intuition, Walter found out something about his Pokémon.

"You're a...girl?" he asked, hoping he wasn't wrong. He didn't want to offend.

But the Pokémon smiled even broader at him, showing off a set of pointy, canine teeth as she did so. Walter felt elated at his good guesswork. He looked her over again with this newfound knowledge. Walter didn't know much about Pokémon, as he had never really seen too many up close before, but soon discovered that she was very pretty, which startled him, because he had never really thought of a Pokémon in such an aesthetic before now. Her fur appeared especially clean and soft, almost to the point of wanting to touch it, and the masklike marks on her face made her look shockingly cute. These were very little nuances compared to the whole, but Walter regardless could not help but notice them, surprising himself by even beginning to take a certain fondness towards her, without any sort of interaction in the slightest.

And then she spoke again, and her voice sounded like an orchestra of harps softly playing in the drum of his ear.

"May I ask your name?"

Walter started, suddenly finding his mind blank of this simple question. Having a conversation with a Pokémon was not something he had been prepared for that day. He flustered, his mouth opened but no sound came. What was his name? He forgot. Had another moment passed, Walter feared that things would get awkward quickly, but luckily Sal came to the rescue.

"I'm Sal," said Sal, taking command. "And that's my friend, Walter."

She nodded in approval.

"It's nice to meet you both,"_she said. _"I suppose it is only fair I tell you my name,"_she added sweetly." I am called Sapphira, and my family is of the Lucario."_

Sapphira.

Walter felt an unexpected thrill ride up his spine when he heard it, like the world had stopped in its axis so that her name might fully register itself with him before moving again.

"That's a pretty name," Walter said before he could even think of stopping.

Sapphira gave him a warm smile. Walter turned away ashamedly red in the face, asking himself how he could possibly live after saying something so stupid.

Then, Sal butted in once more.

"So how is it that you can talk?" he asked abruptly, his refitted shirt stretching against his belly. "I've seen only a few types of Pokémon, but none of them could talk. How is that you can? Can all Lucarios talk like you? Can other Pokémon talk too-"

Sal was breathless with questions. It seemed he wanted to know everything all at once, and Walter found himself silently wishing that his friend would stop talking. He didn't want Sapphira to think he hung out with idiots. But Sapphira merely looked at Sal with amusement; listening attentively to his questions until Sal could ask no more, and he broke down in a feat of great, shuddering breaths, trying to get the wind back in his lungs.

"It sounds like I have much explaining to do,"_she said serenely. "_I guess you have a right to know the answer to the first question you asked: how I can talk. Well, do you notice how my mouth doesn't move when I 'speak'?"

They looked at her muzzle. Neither Walter nor Sal could remember it ever moving during the conversation.

"Umm, yes, I noticed," replied Sal quizzically, having recovered himself. "I was beginning to find it rather odd, actually."

"It's more normal than you might think,"_said Sapphira."You see, I'm not technically moving my vocal chords. At the moment, I'm using Aura to communicate with you through my thoughts. That's why you don't hear anything from my mouth. If I were to talk, then you would only hear my name, like any other Pokémon."_

"Oh, err...okay," said Walter, not really understanding. Sal looked equally perplexed.

"So...," he continued hesitantly. "It's like a psychic power, or something?"

Sapphira shook her head.

"On the contrary,"_she said. _"Psychic moves relatively deal with forces outside the body, their points of control focusing more on the physical world and affecting matter, rather than the mind and senses. Aura, you could interpret, is actually psychic's complete opposite."

She paused, looking up at the two boys to see how well they were following along. Walter and Sal seemed more confused than ever. Huffing patiently, she continued trying to explain.

"To put it as simply as possible, the abilities of Aura spring from control within the body, while Psychic abilities rely on a more outward control over the forces of nature. Though the way I am using my Aura now might be mistaken for telepathy, I suppose. Really, it's all about control from within, and manipulating the forces inside the user to produce a usable form of energy that is called Aura. So you can understand now how calling this power 'psychic' is blatantly unrealistic."

Sapphira glanced at the boys once again, hoping her message finally got through. It would be her first discussion on the principles of aura, and she wondered if they were able to at least comprehend the basics. Their faces were hard to read, looks of deep concentration and thought wrinkling their noses. Sal then turned expressionlessly to Walter, whispering in his ear.

"Do you get it?"

Walter frowned. "Not a lick."

"Me neither."

"Maybe we should just drop it."

Sal nodded wisely, and both boys gave Sapphira a heartfelt smile, as if they had comprehended her explanation.

The Lucario scrutinized them dubiously.

"_You understood?"_she asked.

"Umm, of course."

"Naturally."

"Well, we'll see about that,"_returned Sapphira with a smirk, a foreboding echo in her words. _"When we start training, I'll know for certain whether you really get it or not."

"Training?" asked Walter. For some reason, the word tasted funny coming out of his mouth. "I don't understand."

The sun dove further into the sky, the ball of glaring light swimming farther and farther down the sea of blue until its rays gently changed from yellow to orange, coating the trees in fall colors so that it appeared summer had ended prematurely. Neither boy noticed however, being too wrapped up in their strange and uniquely exciting encounter to pay much mind.

Sapphira cocked her head and merely smiled at Walter, an action that made her seem cute to a fault, and Walter was left utterly bemused at the amount of butterflies suddenly fluttering around his stomach.

"Didn't you read the letter that came with me?"_she said. _"I thought it made the matter clear that I would be the one teaching you how to use Aura."

There was a shocked silence among the boys. None of them spoke, and not a sound could be heard in the grove, save for the trees, which whispered excitedly to one another in the gentle evening gusts.

Then Sal's head shot up, his face unusually elated. "So does that mean we will be able to talk to other Pokémon and stuff? Ya know, like you're doing with us?"

For the first time, Sapphira's smile lessened. "I'm afraid that you may be mistaken. I am only here to instruct my charge. Teaching you as well would be an impossibility."

"Oh."

Sal hung his head away dejectedly. Somehow the fact that he would not be included made Sal feel very discarded and cast off; like a reject.

"Well, why not?" he asked obstinately. "Ain't I as good as Walter? Why couldn't ya teach us both? I bet I could do it! I could!"

Sapphira gazed at him in a look that seemed akin to pity, but she said nothing.

Walter tried to consol him. "Sal, don't worry about it. Really, it's not such a big dea-"

"It is a big deal!" shouted Sal. Walter backed off quickly. He had never seen his friend so angry. "It is a big deal! Every time, I'm always the one that gets left out. Every time, I get shunted aside and...and pushed around. Now, you get to learn how to talk to Pokémon, and I have to sit back and watch. Talking to Pokémon! Don't you get how amazing that is?"

Sal pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked ready to cry.

"I wish just once that something cool would happen to me," he said quietly. "I don't mean nothin' by it, Walter. It's just..."

Sal looked away silently. He hid his face as his arm came up to wipe his face, and Walter had to remember that Sal had dealt with a lot of bullying growing up. They had only met a couple of years ago, and before then, because of his size, Sal was often the cruel outlet for teasing and ridicule.

Walter was about to interrupt his sulky behavior, to tell him that this wasn't about him being the lesser person and that he was being stupid, when Sapphira did it first. She walked forward, her steps so light they barely made the grass rustle, until the Lucario stood in front of Sal. From this close, the height difference between her and Sal was commanding.

She put a furred paw on his shoulder.

"I truly am sorry, but it's not up to me. It is the Brethren who make the ultimate decision, and who determine those who will learn. You seem like a good person though. It may not mean much coming from someone like me, but I do not think you require aura. Deep down, where things really mater, you already have many fine qualities. It would be...unnecessary to teach you."

Sal timidly looked away, his ears red from hearing this. It was clear that no one had ever talked to him in such a way before, and if he had, then he hadn't figured out a way to properly respond.

"Just sayin' that," he eventually mumbled.

But Sapphira continued kindly.

"Do not feel so discouraged. You should count yourself lucky that you have a good heart. Not many do."

From aside, Walter marveled at how well Sapphira was handling Sal: with just the right amount of reasoning, and a lather of compliments on top to soften the blow. And a confidence boost was just the thing Sal needed, Walter thought. She must have known that his appearance gave others a reason to tease him.

Sal took in the Lucario's words with a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude, his face flushed with quelled indignity. He tried to look casual, shuffling his feet as though her flattering didn't faze him at all. He turned his head up at the sky, wondering why this Pokémon sounded so much like his mother, and watching as the orange sky darkened to a pumpkin hue.

He stared. Orange sky? He thought.

With a panicked yelp, Sal rushed over to the flat rock to gather his things.

"Oh geez! Oh geez!" he repeated to himself.

"Sal?" Walter asked. He was alarmed at his friend's sudden behavior. Sal never moved this fast.

"Oh geez! My mum! Oh geez!"

"What?"

Sal thrust the last item on the rock into his pocket: a worn out marble bag; and cast Walter a fleeting glance.

"Me mum! Gosh Walter, it's so late. It'll be dark soon, and then I'll have it! Me mum'll-."

"Sucks to your mum!"

Sal shook his head.

"I gotta go. Gotta go."

He took one last look at them, his gaze lingering on Sapphira, the being behind this entire odd day, and took off into the forest.

Walter shouted after him.

"Hey! Be here tomorrow! Same time, okay?"

Through the crashing of bushes and snapping limbs, Walter made out Sal waving back at him in affirmation, before disappearing entirely into the foliage.

_"Well that was certainly...strange,"_said Sapphira after a pause.

Walter nodded. "That's Sal for you."

"Why did you invite him back?"

"Hmm?"

Sapphira had turned her gaze upon him, her eyes sharp and speculative.

"He is a nice boy, but I think your judgment was mistaken in telling him about the letter."

Walter was surprised. Only moments ago, Sapphira was praising Sal for his good character, and now she was having second thoughts? Walter wondered what could have changed her opinion.

"How come?" he asked.

Sapphira looked down and away.

"It's nothing personal."_She said. _"The Brethren simply do not take kindly to outsiders. If they learn he is aware, I am not sure what will happen. They might deem him a threat."

"And then what?"

Sapphira didn't respond, yet her silence held a breadth that weighed heavily on the air. A cold chill swept into the grove. For a moment, Walter appeared worried. Then he shook his head, clearing away the picture forming in his mind.

"Sal would never tell."

"_How do you know?"_she asked, her musical voice ringing with curiosity.

Walter shrugged. "I trust him."

Again, she was silent.

The sky above began to lose its orange color, and as the sun drooped towards the horizon, orange turned to bright shades of red; and the red slipped silently into a deep translucent purple. The heat, losing its energy for the day, simmered down and eventually felt cool to the skin, and the light that had so filled the grove earlier with warmth and bright sunshine, dimmed with fading slowness.

"What are the Brethren?" Walter asked, hoping to change the topic.

"They are my masters."

"Your masters?"

She nodded. "It was them who sent me to you, and who chose you to learn the secrets of Aura."

"Oh. Of course they did."

"Yes. They have been watching you for some time now."

Walter was beginning to feel his head spin. He wished there was something simple and recognizable he could grasp hold of. He might have felt much better if alongside the all the talks of mysterious, secret organizations, aura training, and the Lucario staring at him with a cute grin he were to see Sal was still next to him; looking just as bemused as he was now.

Then Sapphira spoke.

"You put a lot of faith in that boy. Are you his master?"

Walter blanched.

The question threw him off balance, and somehow the world appeared a great deal stranger. Walter's mind took a moment to kick back on. Then, with a great whoosh, he began to laugh, clutching his sides for support. Sapphira looked at him blandly.

"He's not my _servant_or anything," he said with bewildered mirth. Walter didn't know why he was laughing so hard. It was just funny. He tried to calm himself down. "If you're wondering why I trust him, well it's because he's my friend."

The Lucario blinked.

"Friend?"

"Well, yeah," said Walter, laugh subsiding to a chuckle. "I mean, I don't own Sal or nuthin, but me and him are...well, pals. I trust him 'cause he's got my back and I've got his. That's what friends do."

Sapphira seemed genuinely puzzled. She frowned in concentration, as though trying to get her mind to wrap around the idea.

"Your not his master?" she asked again hesitantly.

Walter giggled.

"No, we're friends."

"What do friends do?"

At first, Walter interpreted the question as a joke, and laughed again in spite of himself. However, when Sapphira continued to look at him blankly, he wondered if she was actually serious.

It seemed that today's wonders would never cease.

"Well, umm-," he started, not sure as how to best explain himself. "Friends...do stuff for each other."

"Like what?"

Walter scratched his head.

"Like what? Like what?" he asked himself.

Sapphira watched him, waiting.

"Well, they...err...hang out together, and...you know...have fun-"

He felt like he was doing a terrible job, and Walter was finding Sapphira's innocent, naïve face to be astonishingly distractive.

"So, friends are people that have fun together?"

"No, not exactly," said Walter, trying again. "It's more like...people that like each other are friends. They're, well, important to each other."

A glow suddenly lit up Sapphira's face and she gave a toothy smile.

"So does that mean we're friends?"

"What?" said Walter in surprise.

"It's what you just said, right?"_she said cheerfully. _"If we both like each other, then we're friends. I like you-"

Walter stared at her. She liked him? He felt his face get hot.

_"So, do you like me?"_she continued.

Immediately it seemed as though the sweltering heat of the afternoon had never left, and Walter could sense his throat tightening. His palms started to sweat, something that had never happened before in his entire life. Walter knew what he wanted to say, but still he realized his body was turning on him with merciless aspirations.

"S-sure," he stammered ineloquently. "Yeah, err, I like you."

She beamed at him, and Walter suddenly experienced a wonderfully pleasing sensation, like a balloon was steadily inflating inside him, lifting him higher and higher.

"Great! So are Sal and I friends, too? I like him also, but he never said if he liked me or not."

"Oh," said Walter. "Well, I'm sure he likes you, too. Yeah."

Somehow the inclusion of Sal's name in the conversation left Walter feeling as though the balloon inside him had just been punctured. He hung his head.

_"So we're all friends now, I suppose?"_noted Sapphira.

"Oh, umm, yeah. I guess so."

"Good! We'll start your training tomorrow then!"

Walter's head sprang up. "Whoa, now wait just a second!"

In that moment, Walter truly felt the situation was spinning out of his control. The Lucario had jumped from friendship to training lessons without skipping a beat, and he felt quite certain that those two things weren't related in the slightest.

"What training? Why on earth do I need to train?"

The Lucario only grinned.

_"Because that's what my masters want you to do,"_she said inadequately.

"Hold on! I thought we were friends!" Walter said, grasping hold of whatever came to mind.

Sapphira giggled, and Walter felt a slight flutter in his chest from the sound.

"Even though we're friends, I still have to train you, don't I? If I didn't then I wouldn't be doing my job."

Her tone was light and airy, but Walter couldn't help but feel stressed. Mysterious letters arriving in the mail? Lucarios? Aura training? Walter felt as if his entire life were being shunted around for no reason whatsoever.

"But why me?" he cried out. "Why am I the one that they had to pick? How am I any different from...from Sal?"

Then the sun went out, and the grove descended into darkness. Taking the change in ambience as their cue, every candle bud nestled in the bushes blossomed, and the wood was suddenly filled with their exotic scent. It was pitch black, and for a few moments, Walter lost himself in the dark. He groped around, trying to get his bearings.

Then the moon peaked its way out from behind the clouds and bathed the grove in its own silvery light, allowing Walter to finally see and move about more properly. It was an unlucky thing, therefore, that the first thing he registered, after his eyes adjusted to the dim light, was something very pointy shining in front of his face. Walter instinctively reared back.

Without his knowing Sapphira had gotten nearer to him, her chest spike dangerously close; which just so happened to be the thing that startled him. She really was only a little bit less than a head taller than him, but still Walter had to crane his neck to see her. She grinned at him.

"What did you do that for!" shouted Walter. "You scared me half to death!'

"We're friends now, right?" remarked Sapphira, not minding Walter's outburst at all.

"What?"

"Didn't you say a moment ago that we were friends?"

"Well, erm, I suppose."

The Lucario held out her paw in what Walter saw was clearly a handshake. He didn't believe it was though. It appeared too normal for such an odd day.

"Then trust me,"_she said brightly. _"As a friend. Everything will be fine. Just go with it. You will have your answers soon enough."

Walter looked at it. Then back at her. Then back to her outstretched paw. His mind buzzed ceaselessly to no avail, and the trees rustled around them impatiently. Poor Walter was very lost. He coped with the feeling by shaking Sapphira's paw-it was warm and fuzzy-thinking that if his whole life were getting turned upside down, then at least he would have a friend along for the journey.

"This must be Tuesday," said Walter musing to himself, Sapphira grinning at him from behind the handshake. "I never could get the hang of Tuesdays."

---

Mr. Murdstone swallowed the last of his drink and knocked the glass back onto the table. "And that's the whole long and short of it, I suppose," he said. "Found him, talked to him, and invited him over here for you to have a look at him, too."

Sal had his hands on his head, unable to take it all in. "Arceus, Walter. It feels like we just got out, and now we're back in it again!"

He took another slug of the alcohol in front of him and slumped back into the cushion. He had brought back two bottles, one for him, and the other for Mr. Murdstone. Sal now wished he had brought back more.

"We're _not_back in it," said Mr. Murdstone forcibly. "This lad is different. It appears that he doesn't work for the others-"

"Of course he works for the others! They all do!" shouted Sal, causing a few heads to turn in his direction. The large man then pinched his nose and took a few deep breaths. When he next spoke, his voice was much more subdued. "Don't be a fool with this. It could simply be another ploy to get you out in the open again."

Mr. Murdstone shook his head politely. "I've already considered that. I believe, however, that it is safe to assume they think us already dead. We've been in hiding a long time, my friend, and those people don't have time to waste on dead men."

But Sal wasn't listening. He waved over a waitress, a slender blonde, and said, "Mary, bring me two more bottles of liquor from the cabinet, would ya?"

She looked at the empty bottles next to her employer. This ale was strong stuff. "Two more? Sir, are you sure that's..."

"Yes! Yes, just bring them over!"

Mary shrugged and brought back the bottles. After she left, Sal popped the cap off one and took a heady drink from it. His cheeks turned a little rosy, and he seemed to calm down quite a bit.

"Walter," he said, a tad woozy. "I'm an old man. I don't like to admit it, but I am getting on in years. All this talk of _them_is getting my blood pressure up, and that was over twenty years ago. Heck! I wasn't even one of you guys. I was just the fat kid that got in way over his head." He chuckled a little at the recollection. Sal took another swig of drink, and his voice began to slur. "I knew I should have stayed away from you. Do you remember that day on the playground? Ever since I firs' saw ya, I figured you'd be nuthin but trouble."

They both laughed. Mr. Murdstone opened his bottle and, following his friend, took a minor sip. "I don't know what you're complaining about," said Mr. Murdstone grinning. "You should be glad you had a friend like me. All those schoolboys laughing at how big you were!"

Sal waved his hand dismissively. "I could 'a taken them! You didn't need to have done tha'."

"They would have beaten you up if I hadn't stepped in!" said Mr. Murdstone laughing.

"Could 'a fought them off."

"How, by rolling over them?"

"Would 'ave been better than kicking their butts all 'a way home!" said Sal, chuckling behind his bottle. "Their muther's looked ready to kill."

"Oh yeah!" smirked Mr. Murdstone. "I'd forgotten. I think my father grounded me for a month after that. That must have been, what, forty-two years ago?

"Forty-three, when we was ten, don't be skimping on the years now." They laughed a good deal more and poured each other another glass, losing themselves in their memories. It was a long time before any of them spoke again. Glasses clinked nearby and the world moved on without them. Sal heard children laughing outside and smiled meekly. Mr. Murdstone heard it too, and for a moment, recalled the scent of lilies.

Sal noticed Mr. Murdstone's far away gaze again and shrugged, as if he had expected this reaction.

"You can't keep doing this to yerself, Walter. Sooner or later, you have to let it go," he said, his voice containing a hint of sadness.

Mr. Murdstone looked away. He raised a withered hand to his eyes and took a long look at the brown spots dotting his skin, how leathery and wrinkled it appeared in the dim light of the restaurant.

"I took away what was Death's, Sal. Yanked it right out from his bony little grip. There is no light punishment for such a sin."

Sal said nothing, but his lips tightened significantly.

Mr. Murdstone continued. "One year. One weak, miserable year, in exchange for ten. Heh. Look at me now. I'm the same age as you, but now I look like I'm on my deathbed. No, Sal. I don't think I can let it go. Not anymore. The clock's run out for this old codger."

Sal stared at the bottle in front of him, his eyes a little misty. The alcohol was wearing off faster than he anticipated. What a rotten time to be sober, he thought ruefully. His voice choked softly on his next words, as if his own throat needed convincing to utter them.

"What do you mean by that?" Sal croaked. "You have time. Lots of time, damn it. Don't be such a fool with this. Look, have a drink! Let's...let's talk about the old days again, eh? Do you remember the time we dared each other to jump in the river? It was freezing! I think it must have been the middle of winter, I can't really reme...oh, and we both caught colds! That was terrible...er, terribly fun I mean! Haha! See, Walter? All the fun times we had, right? Remember?"

Mr. Murdstone gave a tired smile. "Sure," he said. "I remember." He then took another swallow of ale from his bottle.

"Yes! Yes! Drink up, buddy! This is the good stuff. Premium Fire Blast Ale, all the way from Lavaridge. It'll knock er boots off ya an' hang yer coat too!"

"I've noticed."

"Only the best of the best for you!" laughed Sal. "As a matter of fact, I might pour me another glass myself."

"You shouldn't overdo it," warned Mr. Murdstone. "Don't you have to go back to work?"

Sal smiled. He said, "I'm a big boy, Walter. I know how ta hold my liquor."

He drank deeply from his bottle, and silence fell once again on the old pair of drinking buddies. Mr. Murdstone snuck a glance towards the front door of the restaurant. It was still there, stiff and unopened. Disappointed, Mr. Murdstone slouched back in his seat.

The wooden clock on the wall unmercifully ticked away the hour, slipping silently and methodically into the next without so much as a notice of its passing.

---

In the days of the First Age, when Pokémon were still untamed wild creatures and the shallow follies of man limited themselves to within the borders of their tiny, walled sects of land, the vast mountain range that divides the area today into east and west did not yet exist. Back then, only the two warring kingdoms separated the land: the realms of the Eastern King and the Western King.

Now King Tessori, the Western King, ruled from his castle on what townsfolk know today as Iron Island, a small piece of land nestled safely off the northern coast of Canaclave City. Actually, calling it a castle would be using the term loosely. Perhaps it is better to call it for what it truly was...a fortress.

With thick, black walls of mortar and iron, and great portcullises of the hardest steel that would fall shut as quick as a guillotine at a moment's notice of danger, King Tessori's home was nigh impenetrable to any form of attack. It had cannons and battlements and archer's windows, and a whole mess of metal armaments at its disposal. The amount of weapons stockpiled in the castle's armory was staggering, and many of today's scholars believe that this very castle is the reason behind the island's nickname: "Iron Island".

Atop the great spire of his tower, King Tessori ruled over his domain. For the most part, he was just and kind. He was not an overly good king; he enjoyed life with enormous luxury by taxing his citizens, and even though married to his lovely queen, found time in his schedule to pursue a chambermaid every now and again. But, King Tessori was always paranoid. He lived constantly in his iron house, executing one of his personal guards at least once month on some random account of treason or conspiracy.

This terror, however, was not without some merit. He was dreadfully afraid of his enemy, the Eastern King, King Alymer, who ruled from his throne on the far coast of what townsfolk know today as Sunnyshore City. Always, he saw his foe's spies lurking in the shadows of the castle, ready to poison him, or slit his throat with a quick, cold knife. Tessori tightened security whenever possible, never leaving the safety of his castle, but rather sending letters with his express instructions, and sealed with the royal emblem.

King Tessori's rule extended far, despite his strange habits: all the way from the enchanting meadows of modern Eterna City, to the sloping cliffs of the Southern Shore; from the frigid snowy lands of Lake Acuity, down to the sun-quenched beaches of Twinleaf. He was, however, no man fit to rule such a large empire without assistance, so the task mainly fell to his council to govern the kingdom.

Then there was his enemy, King Alymer.

He was a broad man, with a flaming head of hair and a full, thick beard. King Alymer lived comfortably in his own castle near the shore, and what a castle it was! Words simply could not describe its beauty and elegance. It towered above his kingdom from a rising cliff, with sparkling walls of cream-colored stone and many high-arching stained glass windows. Ornate masonry decorated the gate with flowery images and its thickly walled battlements inspired in the residing peasants and tradesmen, who nestled beneath its shadow, feelings of protection and security as well as envy and wonder. Just beyond the gate was the Royal Garden. Beautifully arranged and tended to, flowers of almost every kind rested in this magnificent track of land: red roses and tulips, white-tipped orchids and rhododendrons, forget-me-nots and snapdragons, and all surrounded by a crisp, green trim of hedge. In the springtime, when all the flowers budded and bloomed, one could smell their sweet fragrance from almost anywhere in the kingdom.

Now, King Alymer was faithful to his subjects. He did not press severe taxation on them, but rather spent his royal funds on things like fresh food and clean water. He built hospitals and apothecaries for the sick, and schoolhouses for the young, and built prisons for the corrupt and wicked. King Alymer was a lawful man to his subjects, and always kind and generous. The kingdom loved him, and even the lowliest beggar gave him some form of due reverence. Truly, it was a picturesque kingdom to anyone that saw it.

It is sad, therefore, that not all was what it appeared. A darker side to King Alymer lurked deep within the kindly man's shadow, a side that not many saw, and that none could ever forget afterward.

For it was not out of goodwill that King Alymer performed all of these charitable acts, but rather out of a misplaced pride in himself; for what would his kingdom be without him? He adored the admiration he received from his citizens. Thrived on it, as a matter of fact. To him, it was amusing at how easily a few acts of charity could inspire such loyal conviction. They were as sheep. All he had done was wave a carrot at them, and they flocked to his feet willingly. How simple.

When he rode his Rapidash-drawn carriage down the cobblestone streets of his kingdom, all the townsfolk would gape and fall over themselves to see him. "How stately a man!" they would say. "How bold! How confident!" King Alymer looked down at them all. He would wave his hand and smile like a good king should, but what business else was there for such an inferior class.

Once, a peasant, whom had graduated from one of the recently built schoolhouses, had the disastrous idea to challenge him to a game of wits, a chess match, as it were. King Alymer thought the idea utterly laughable. "The fool figures himself a royal!" he stated that very evening. "What nonsense, but it would make out for a decent show! Bring the ignorant man to the garden and I shall give him the honor of my presence."

Believing himself superior in every way, the king accepted the match and even promised the young lad one thousand gold coins if he were to beat his majesty. They played in the courtyard with the palace gates open for the entire kingdom to behold in the match. It was an exciting event and throngs of peasants crowded the gate, watching the pieces on the chessboard as they moved back and forth. The crowd did not root for their ruler though, as King Alymer had hoped. Instead, they gasped and moaned whenever King Alymer took a piece from the challenger's side and roared with cheers after the challenger prevailed over one of his.

On that day, the air was electric with tension, and after a time, the king began to feel anxious. His challenger was proving difficult to overcome, and almost a full two hours had passed since their start. This spectacle, King Alymer felt, was fast becoming not just a chess match, but also a match between commoners and royalty, between the top of the pyramid and the bottom of the barrel. He had to win. There was no alternative, for even losing this ultimately trivial game of chess now appeared far too great a disgrace. What would those peasants outside the gate think?

He glanced at the restless crowd and cursed under his breath. No, he thought spitefully. This will be the day! The day I prove to those peasants just how outclassed they are!

King Alymer sweated under his heavy gown, and took his turn.

He moved his rook three spaces up the board, perfectly taking the challenger's bishop. True, it left his king defenseless, but now the tables had turned. "Check!" shouted the king triumphantly. The crowd gasped. King Alymer expected the challenger to at the very least look worried, but the boy merely gave him a wan smile.

"You certainly are a tough opponent, Your Majesty," he said. 'It has been an honor playing with you."

King Alymer raised an eyebrow. To him, it sounded as if the peasant had just given up. "But the game is still not yet over," reminded the king. "If you have forgotten, the game is supposed to end at..."

The challenger suddenly took his black queen and knocked out the afflicting white rook, giving him a straight shot at Alymer's king. "Checkmate!" said the challenger.

Bewildered, the king looked down. It couldn't possibly be over, he thought. But it was. With rising horror, King Alymer saw that he had truly lost. The stupid, smelly peasant had won. Just like that.

White-lipped and infuriated, King Alymer quietly muttered a "Good game", but the words were lost in the sudden clamor of noise coming from the gates. The townspeople were cheering wildly for their victor. Banners were waving, songs rang loudly in the streets, some were even disgraceful enough to start dancing, and the challenger's admirers tousled the young man happily with many hugs and congratulations.

Seeing the peasant boy applauded by the townsfolk, _his_people, enraged the king unbearably. He stood up abruptly and clenched his fists. It was an outrage! The lower class did not trump the upper! Something must be done about this, thought the king wildly. Yes, something quick and brutal and bloody! But what?

Then the challenger swaggered back to him and took a respectful bow. King Alymer knew what he wanted, but some bestial part of him roared for the boy's throat. If there had been a dagger or sword nearby, the king would have gladly cut down the boy, in front of the whole kingdom if necessary! But there wasn't, and King Alymer was forced to compose himself. He drew a small drawstring pouch from inside his cloak and presented it to the peasant.

"Your winnings, my talented and loyal subject!" he said, as it was proper to say such things, even when overcome with bloodlust. "One thousand gold pieces!"

The crowd roared their approval and the challenger graciously accepted the sum. A moment later, palace guards escorted him off the grounds, leaving their king alone with his thoughts, his mind shaking like an angry storm.

The next morning, a local innkeeper found the peasant boy murdered in his bed, his throat slit, and the thousand pieces of gold missing. Word got round quickly, and all that day, not a single joyful song could be heard, nor any laugh that was not hastily stifled.

Up high above the grief stricken town, the royal garden's flowers bloomed in fragrant bliss. Their lovely scent wafted delicately into the palace halls, where King Alymer sat upon a jewel-encrusted throne, and whom smiled with triumphant glee when his guards told him of the news.

"That is terrible," he told them smiling. "Just awful. But I suppose that is simply the circle of life in progress, eh? Put up a few warrants for the man's murderer and that should be fine. Now, it's early, and I'm hungry. How about some breakfast, hmm?"

No one would ever suspect their king to have paid an assassin to murder the young man and take the gold as payment. But then again, how could it ever be? Not their king. Not their wonderful, kind, and handsome king.

Yet it was to be noted, on that sad, sad day, that King Alymer held no grief. For he still waved, and he still smiled, as though he knew the world worked to his whim, and that victory never comes without cost.

---

"You're going to have to walk faster than that!"_called Sapphira from the trunk of a beech tree. _"If we hurry, we'll make it before the sun comes up!"

Walter groggily trudged after her, trying to keep his legs from giving out beneath him. The forest roots, however, seemed intent to trip him in his tiredness, as his foot caught yet another barked vine and he stumbled to the ground. Walter made no notion to get up. Instead, he cried out from the dirt.

"Why are we up so early? I thought you said we'd start training in the morning?"

"This is the morning."

Walter picked himself up and looked at the starry sky. It winked at him mockingly.

"I see the moon, not the sun. From my experience, that means certain things. Things like, 'night' and 'sleep'."

"Well now it means, 'get up and train'!"_Sapphira called back impatiently. _"Now hurry up, we don't have all day!"

Today was Wednesday, the first day of Aura training. Currently they were returning to the hidden grove where they met, Sapphira deciding that it would be the perfect place to train since it was so far out of the way. She had not yet explained exactly what they would be doing, but Walter was in no mood to ask her. His legs felt like they were filled with cement as he stumbled over another root.

Yesterday evening he had attempted to glean some information out of his father about the whole ordeal, but his father just clapped him on the back and walked away. Walter found it frustrating to get anything out of him at all, for after wishing his son another hearty 'congratulations', he locked himself in The Study and began making one phone call after another. Apparently, they were to the school Walter had received the letter from, as his father constantly kept spouting his name from behind the wooden door. He tried to knock on it, demanding to the bronzed wood that he get some answers, until his mother overheard and shooed him away for making a racket.

He wouldn't come out, not even for supper, and that evening Walter was forced to go to bed without hearing anything productive from his father. Now it was morning, and Walter's unanswered questions maddeningly flounced around his head. He sulked quietly.

Meanwhile, Sapphira hopped cheerfully over stones ahead of him. She seemed unfazed by his behavior, and not at all affected by the earliness of the hour. There was a magical energy to her movements, as though her jumping from rock to rock was something as effortless as breathing. She stopped suddenly at the outcrop of a cliff, and Walter could see her peering over the edge and smiling.

"This is it," she said. She still hadn't moved her lips, but Walter found that this did not trouble him as much as it did yesterday. "We're back."

The grove was exactly how they left it: peaceful and quiet. In the gloom of pre-dawn, the candle buds had remained in bloom, and their aromatic scent permeated the surroundings with a strange fragrance. Walter thought about how nice it would be to take a nap right then and forget all this nonsense of training. It would be so easy. Just to lay down on the soft grass, not a care in the world, and. . .and. . .

"Hold this."

Walter opened his eyes, which had been slowly closing since they arrived, and looked up. Sapphira was standing in front of him holding a rock and a smile.

"W-What?" asked Walter, quite befuddled.

"Go on. Hold the rock."

"Hold the rock?"

"Yes."

Walter took the rock from her outstretched paw. It was smooth and black, and fit right in the palm of his hand. He looked at it without much thought.

"It's a rock," he said. His mind was too foggy to form anything more coherent.

_"That should be obvious by now,"_replied Sapphira patiently.

"Well," he said with a dreary innocence. "What do I do with it?"

"I want you to break it with your hands."

"Oh."

Walter looked sleepily at the rock in his hand. His mind was having a hard time keeping up with the action, and for a moment, he couldn't quite place what was wrong. His fingers gave the stone a practice squeeze. It was very hard. Walter looked at it some more.

"But, it's a rock," he said at last.

Sapphira cocked her head with a playful smile. "So?"

"I can't break rocks."

"Well, why not?"

"Because," Walter began with a little more strength. "People can't break rocks."

"Have you ever tried?" she asked nicely.

"Well, err. . .no."

"Then give it a go. Maybe something will happen."

Walter rubbed his eyes and glanced at the rock again. It seemed very solid and unbreakable.

"Go on," urged Sapphira.

Uncertainly, Walter clenched his fist around the rock. It didn't give in the slightest.

"No, no. You'll never do it like that!" she snapped. "Come on now, put some power behind it!"

Walter tried again, this time using both hands. He pressed his arms together as hard as he could, his palms hurting against the stone obstruction. After a few minutes of fruitless pressing, Walter broke down. He lowered his arms and looked again at the small black rock. It remained un-crushed.

Sapphira tutted. "You'll have to do better than that."

"I'm trying!" Walter said angrily. He surveyed the rock in front of him with distaste. "Why am I trying to crush a rock?"

"It's your first lesson."

Walter looked at her. "We're training?"

She nodded. "Those that can see past their limits understand what it takes to control their Aura."

Walter ran a hand through his hair. He had no idea what she was talking about. "But, but what does that have to do with rocks?"

Sapphira gave him a smile. "You'll have to figure that out for yourself. I'll be over there meditating."

Before he could say anything, she turned and walked away toward the big rock at the side of the grove.

"Wait!" cried Walter desperately. "I thought you were supposed to help me."

"I am," she replied, sitting herself onto the rock's flat surface and closing her eyes. "You must forgo the sense of dependence that you have grown up with. Become reliant on your own strength instead of others. Only then, will you break the rock."

And then she was silent. An odd humming sound emanated from her throat, and a blue light began to surround her. Walter tried to call out to her, but it was no use. She had shut out the world, and left him to himself.

---

King Alymer was not in a good mood. It wasn't as though anything particularly displeasing was occurring at that time, but even so, he was in an unconsolably bad mood. For some reason, the food would not satisfy his taste anymore, nor did the flowers delight his senses, nor did his bright castle invigorate his body. Not even the soft, virgin skin of a chambermaid could rouse his passions for more than an hour or so.

King Alymer was bored. He was tired of seeing the same things day in and day out, tired of seeing the same guards; the same obnoxious people waltzing around and telling him it was a 'good day' or that the weather was 'splendid looking'. He was tired of about everything, and from this extreme tiredness King Alymer began to reflect on exactly why he felt so tired of things. It was impressively droll.

He speculated at first that perhaps life simply was not as exciting as he had made it out to be, that perhaps there was some naïve part of him that believed there was more to existing than having everything handed to you on a silver platter.

Later, he dismissed this notion; adamantly deciding that there must be more to life than just sitting around and acting like the perfect king. It was very possible that life had simply lived out all it could in the small confines of his kingdom. From his tall arched windows, draped in the richest velvet available, Alymer saw the townsfolk below him living out their days; happy, ignorant; and for the longest time he wondered how they coped with how dull they ultimately were.

He saw them do almost the same things everyday: get up, go work, talk, flirt, eat, get drunk, eat again, beat each other up, eat and drink at the same time, go home, go to bed, repeat. Always the same, wherever he looked, and whatever order it all happened in. The meaningless logic of it all was mind numbing at best, and eventually, he quit paying attention to them altogether.

King Alymer never figured that the reason for his boredom might have had to do with something _inside_himself rather than with the outside world, but then again, if King Alymer had ever been concerned with self-reflection, then the events to transpire would probably never have occurred. Either way, what did happen, happened, so it is pointless to think about the 'maybe's of life. The main thing is, is that all of King Alymer's reflecting drew him to a point where he suspected the world was hiding something from him. He didn't know what, but upon reaching this conclusion, the king felt as if a great void had taken place inside of him, and felt that there was some missing element to his life that made him feel so tired of it all.

He paced his study every day, trying to think of what could possibly be missing from his life, and looking out the window to view his kingdom. As the days grew longer, and the nights grew shorter, a realization began to dawn on the king. It was a strange realization, one that he might not have come to had he not been so obsessively thoughtful, but King Alymer was finding his kingdom more and more often to be pitifully small. Far too small for his taste.

One day, the king voiced this disquieting feeling. "There should be more," he irritably said to his personal advisor, a tiny, squarish man with a balding head of grey hair. "I_should have more. What king am I that my realm should be this diminutive? Am I not a great king, a great leader? Kings with less than an ounce of my worth have lead _empires!"

"B-but sire," stuttered the Personal Advisor, which he always did when he was nervous. "Y-You already possess such a v-vast t-territory. E-Everything east of t-the Heartlands is y-yours. Even t-that graciously large island t-to the n-north belongs solely to you!"

"Rubbish," King Alymer scoffed. "Whatever borders you say I may have are polluted by those_creatures_. The untamable beasts render all of our trade routes completely unsafe, and trying to clear them out is pointless because of their numbers and strength. No, the only lands that are truly under my rule is this kingdom here, and whatever small villages that litter the outskirts of these walls like so many insects to a flame."

"Yes, s-sir. Of c-course, sir." The king must always be right.

"True, we were able to domesticate the Rapidashes and Ponytas to use for carriages and supply carts, but that took years, no, decades!" King Alymer leaned out his window and glared towards the west. "That sniveling coward Tessori," he said abruptly. "What business does he have owning all that land? Such a man as he is not fit to rule over others. He is too weak. Spineless. Is there any recent news of his current plans?"

The Personal Advisor scurried over to his majesty with a bundle of tattered, hand-written documents. "Of c-course, sire. Your s-spies have sent in m-monthly reports as r-requested."

With a callous swipe, the king yanked the papers from his advisor's grip, causing the small man to cry out softly in terror, and held them up to the light. For a moment he was quiet, eyes darting back and forth across the first page, then the next. He rifled through the papers until he came to the final report. Here, a note was hastily scrawled across the bottom, as if the author's hand tried to write it out as quickly as possible. The king read it.

Tessori's council plans expansion into Heartlands. Rumors of new device circle King's highest officers. Device designed to make Heartlands accessible. This information comes at great cost.

No more reports. Tessori suspects spies in his castle. Too risky for another message. Edmund and Felix already caught and beheaded.

Forever your loyal subject,

Darius

Upon reading this note, something clicked inside the king that day. Perhaps it was due to his recent realization over the state of his kingdom, or perhaps it was because of all of his 'reflecting', but upon reading his spies report, and then Darius' note, the king understood what needed to be done in a quick, sudden flash of inspiration. He needed to expand. It was a new idea; an exciting one too, and on any other day, King Alymer would have been overjoyed to think of it himself. However, seeing as his enemy Tessori was already doing this, it only served to enrage him terribly.

King Alymer threw the report away with a roar. "Those blasted spies! They tell of a device to penetrate the Heartlands, but discover nothing useful for me to use! This is unacceptable. If that coward Tessori has discovered a way into the Heartlands, then my kingdom is in dire straights."

"Sire?" said the Personal Advisor, very much alarmed.

"Do you not see?" said King Alymer, his mind racing. "Tessori is encroaching upon my territory with every act his council passes! If he extends his reach into the Heartlands, then what do you think will happen as a result?"

"Err, he gets more land, sire?"

"Exactly! He will have more land with which to spread his forces, more land to build his kingdom. There are stories of treasures and riches within the Heartlands just waiting to be uncovered! I am not certain as to the sureness of these tales, but if Tessori gets his hands on whatever resources those lands may contain, then our kingdom will be put in a very precarious position."

The Personal Advisor was aghast. "You can't possibly mean that we would be attacked? What would be the incentive? The logic? Surely King Tessori would know that a war would prove far too costly for either side?"

The small man had forgotten his place. One did not demur the king's word, and King Alymer shot his Personal Advisor a such piercing gaze that the man began to shake and stutter harder than ever.

"P-Please f-f-forgive me s-sire! I d-do not know w-what came over m-me. Y-You are absolutely r-right! King Tessori's p-plan is d-dangerous! Very d-d-dangerous!"

"Yes, it is," replied King Alymer sternly. "And I hope that you will come to understand its seriousness. King Tessori is unstable at best, and given the chance, he would rather cut down everyone around him than allow an enemy of his to reside too closely. Have you not seen previous reports from his castle? Apparently, if he has the slightest suspicion of treason or spying within his domain, he _strikes_them down without warning or provocation! Tessori is intelligent, but his overwhelming paranoia confuses his mind to the point of insanity. That is why his council rules in his stead. If he were to lead himself, he'd be chopping down a citizen every five minutes just for breathing too loudly."

"That's terrible!" said the grey-haired man, completely horrified at what his king was telling him.

"If such a weak ruler were to gain control over the Heartlands," persisted the king. "Then his armies would gain an extremely advantageous position, and King Tessori would be able to attack us whenever his obsessive little mind would deem us as a threat!"

"B-But your majesty," the Personal Advisor cautiously asked. "If I am not mistaken, the Heartlands are filled to the brim with all sorts of monsters and beasts. In fact, there is such a large concentration of the creatures within these forests, that we could never breach these lands, not even with our strongest warriors! If we could not penetrate those dark forests, then how in the _world_can King Tessori succeed where we have failed?"

King Alymer turned away from his Personal Advisor without a word. He silently looked out the window, westward, toward the very lands that so vexed him with mystery and fear. Now his enemy may soon possess that shadowy wood, and if that were to come to pass, then what other lands would be taken from him? Would Tessori be content halt at his gates, or would he break down the door for his very crown? If this unattainable land were to be taken, then Tessori will be proven superior. He will be the stronger, because Tessori's kingdom will have shown that what was impossible for his realm, was not for theirs.

"Sire?" trembled the small, grey-haired man, praying that he had not upset his master lest he be thrown in the dungeons. Turning back to the advisor, King Alymer bore a dark expression upon his face.

"I must stop this," he said. The king's voice was low, a rumbling determination echoing from his words, but at the same time, there was a detectable hint of prideful rage that flowed beneath the undertone of his voice, and which made the Personal Advisor believe that his king was no longer speaking for the good of his subjects.

"I must prevent this event from happening at any cost!" continued King Alymer. "What will come, will come, but I shall not stand idly by as my land is taken by such an unfitting leader! These people, this castle, this kingdom! They are mine and mine alone, and I will not allow someone as cowardly, as sniveling, as...as..._incompetent_as Tessori to take them from me! The time for acting is now if I am to change the course laid out before me. For far too long I have waited passively in the shadows of King Tessori's slowly growing power. Now, we must take action!"

"Take action?" exclaimed the Personal Advisor fearfully.

"Yes. There can be only one option if we are to thwart this destructive force. I must take the Heartlands for myself, before Tessori can lay his hands upon it! Now, my Personal Advisor, I have a job for you."

The small man trembled as he looked up into the fierce stare of his king. What lurked behind those regal eyes made the hairs upon the man's neck rise in a prickling apprehension of the soul, for something far colder than ice seeped through his master's countenance. Whatever intention plotting within Alymer's kingly mind remained unbeknownst to the advisor, but he knew with utmost certainty that no saintly purpose could possibly arise from such a cold, cold gaze, and from such a face as shallow as death itself.

"I will only say this once. Find me a way into the Heartlands!"

As the Personal Advisor left the king's chamber, his nerves jangling and heart beating fast, he tried not to think about the task laid out before him. No one had ever entered the Heartlands and come out alive. No one. The woodland was too fraught with beasts to forge any sort of path, or any sort of livable environment for that matter. And it wasn't just one type of monster that inhabited the land. Hundreds of different types seemed to throng inside; beasts of different sizes, different shapes, different powers; all of them lurked in the shadows of that dark, deep, and mysterious forest.

The small man shuddered. What was he to do?

He walked slowly, his shoulders drooping, feet shuffling along the spotless marble floor. What the king was asking him for was impossible. There could be no way that King Tessori's council had found any solution, the note must have been mistaken. It was all just one big mistake.

Somehow, the thought made the Personal Advisor feel better. Perhaps the king just needed a day to think this idea through, he thought optimistically. Surely he would see that there could be no way King Tessori could breach the Heartlands. Surely.

With his burden significantly relieved, the small man picked up his feet and prepared himself to fulfill the rest of his responsibilities for the day, a reassured smile on his face.

But what if that note was telling the truth?

The advisor stopped. The thought had flashed across his mind without warning, and what was worse was that he found it to be a very unsettling one. What would happen if the note's information proved correct? What would happen _to him_if he didn't find a similar answer to penetrating the Heartlands? Goosebumps snaked along the man's skin at the very notion.

"Perhaps I'd better start in the library," the advisor quickly decided. He then turned on his heel and marched, rather hurriedly, down the east wing of the castle.

---

A lone Pidgey hobbled around the forest floor, sunlight creeping in through gaps in the canopy and bathing the small bird Pokemon in a speckled light. It was looking for berries that might have fallen off branches, hungry for its mid-afternoon snack. It hopped lightly onto a root to get a better view. Nope. No berries here. It hopped off and went on its merry way.

Hop. Hop. Hop.

Bird pokemon don't walk very often. It is actually quite a complicated movement, as one leg must bear the entire weight of someone for a few seconds before switching to the other. Now, to one with thick, muscular legs, this might not seem much of a conundrum, but bone structure is quite different when it comes to bird pokemon. For flight to work, a bird pokemon's bones are actually marred with thousands of tiny air pockets, which make their bodies light enough for air travel. This in turn, makes their bones much more liable to breaks and cracks. Also, hips aren't really a bird pokemon's thing, so the whole motion would result in a sort of wobble rather than a walk. Quite undignified, to say the least. Better for everyone just to simply avoid the embarrassment and get on with a good hop.

Hop. Hop. Hop.

The Pidgey squinted around for sustenance. Out of the corner of its eye, something shined in the grass. It turned excitedly. Berry? It couldn't tell from so far away. The shining thing was down below, in the center of a small field of grass.

The pokemon leapt off the edge of rock it had hopped on previously. It flapped its wings wildly, shoving air under itself and slowing the pokemon's rapid descent to the ground. It landed with a soft thump and hopped excitedly towards the object.

Walter watched the Pidgey approach out of his periphery. It was coming quite close to him, and Walter wondered if it even knew he was sitting there.

Hop. Hop. Hop.

The Pidgey came closer. It was staring very intently at the rock Walter had laid in front of him.

Hop. Hop. Chirp. Hop.

Now it was in front of Walter. The Pokemon raised it's head at him, finally noticing the boy. It seemed to be taking him into consideration; then it bent down and picked up the black rock with its beak.

"What? Hey! No, get out of here!" shouted Walter.

He waved his arms at the Pidgey, which squawked at him, dropping the rock, and took off flapping its wings. Walter watched it flap away, until it disappeared over the treetops, and returned his attention to the small black rock.

He had not made any progress at all. The rock seemed indifferent to his every attempt, even when he tried to cheat by hitting it against another rock. Sapphira was still motionless and glowing behind him. Every now and again, her eyelids would flicker, but otherwise she was not unlike a statue in the park.

Walter picked up the rock again. It's impossible, he thought resolutely. He'd been sitting there for hours and he hadn't come up with a single, workable solution. How was he, a human boy, supposed to crush such a hard rock with his bare hands? He tried to think back on what she told him earlier.

"Those that can see past their limits," he repeated to himself. "Understand what it takes to control Aura."

Walter rolled the thought around in his mind for what felt like the umpteenth time. "See past my limits. What are my limits?"

He looked at the rock.

"I can't crush rocks."

Walter tried to connect the two to some form of reasonable answer. After a minute of quiet reflection, he beat the rock against his head. He might have screamed in frustration had there been anyone to hear him, but since their wasn't, Walter didn't bother. This was hard. How was he supposed to see past something that was impossible: like crushing a rock with his bare hands?

"What else did she say?" he said desperately to himself. "Come on, Walter! Think! What else did she say?" He beat the rock against his skull. "That I must forgo my...what was it?...Dependence!...that's it...and learn to become...reliant...on my own...strengths?"

Walter groaned. "Mud. It's as clear as mud!"

He made to throw the rock away. It wasn't worth it. All this senseless sitting around and puzzling; it just wasn't worth the trouble. He arched his arm back, but before he could complete his action, a musical voice paralyzed him.

"Break the rock yet?"

Sapphira had woken up, the unearthly blue glow vanishing and her ruby eyes now clearly looking at him and the rock in his poised grip.

"Well, I. . .err."

The Lucario sighed. "I suppose it was too much to expect you'd get it at first. I'll just get back to my meditation then."

She made to close her eyes again, but this time Walter was quick enough to interrupt in time.

"But, wait! Why do you think I can suddenly break rocks? I keep on trying, but I just can't! How can I possibly do this?"

His voice was urgent and pleading, and Sapphira opened her eyes slightly, the glow returning to her figure and making her eyes dance with light.

"Stop trying,"_she said in a slow, calm voice. _"Do it. Just believe in yourself, Walter. I do."

Sapphira was closing her eyes again.

"Sapphira. Sapphira!" Walter cried out, but it was to no effect; she was gone.

Walter stared at her for another long moment. He looked down at the rock in his hand and hit it angrily against the ground.

"Mud! Mud! Mud!" he said to himself.

The rock smacked loudly with every hit, but otherwise did not mar its smooth surface. He was mad. Mad at everything; mad at himself. How could she expect him do do something that was impossible? It was unfair.

Walter fumed. He stood up. Then he sat down. A moment later he tried to stand up again, then thought better of it and sat back down. He needed to calm himself.

"I just need to think this out," he reasoned. "Need to just...just clear my head."

Walter stood up and put the rock in his pocket. He walked slowly around the enclosure, breathing deeply and trying to figure out what to do next. The sun had risen past its peak and was gliding its way silently across the sky. All round him, he could hear the small sounds of nature wrap around his focus: leaves rustling on the forest floor, the swish of branches in the wind.

He tried to make his mind blank, closing his senses to the world and solely contemplating upon the task at hand. What was he to do?

Walter thought about everything Sapphira had told him; all the way back to yesterday, when she first mentioned aura.

"She said," he remembered. "That Aura was ultimately the result of control from within. But what does that really mean? How could I possibly use that to crush a rock?"

He beat his head again. It was such a frustrating problem. Was training always going to be like this? Walter's mind raced through everything again. There has to be something, Walter thought. Something. Something. Anything.

It was a long time before he moved. The forest shivered around him, and their sound was like a thousand calming hands. Walter relaxed his arms, letting his shoulders droop and letting go of his tension. He thought back to what Sapphira had told him last.

"She believes in me," he reminded himself.

Something inside him purred at the memory, like a creature hidden in his breast. In a strange, and not entirely unpleasant way, knowing Sapphira had faith in him to accomplish this task comforted him greatly. The more he thought about it, the better he felt.

"She believes in me," he reminded himself again.

It was like something was rising in him. A sensation of purpose and confidence that surprised Walter the moment he felt it. Walter opened his eyes. The air seemed a bit fresher than he remembered, and the world a much brighter place. He pulled out the rock again.

Somehow, it didn't seem so difficult. Walter couldn't explain it right then, but it was as though a wall had been torn down. What had been impossible before, now seemed almost laughable.

Walter looked at the stone. He twisted his head, trying to see it from another angle. The rock hadn't changed, but something was different. He could feel his heart beating faster. A startling sense of knowing filled his every neuron. He sat down, trying to contain the wellspring of energy he was experiencing. Walter felt more excited than he ever had in his life, though he had no idea why.

He rubbed the stone's smooth black surface with his fingertips.

I can do it, he thought suddenly.

Walter blinked. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled in apprehension. Sapphira was counting on him. He realized that now. The rock had not changed, but inside himself Walter began to see things clearly. Now there was a goal: a purpose that filled him up with glowing, warm hope. She believed that he could do it; believed in him that he could overcome this seemingly impossible task.

He stared at the rock.

Her words were echoing in his head now; Stop trying. Do it.

All this time, Walter had been trying to crush the rock, never succeeding; never thinking he could truly accomplish what Sapphira had set him out to do. Walter never thought it in such a way before, but this time, he decided that he would take Sapphira seriously. He decided that he wouldn't try anymore.

"This time," Walter said thinking aloud. "I'll do it."

If he had told anyone else his train of thought, they might have laughed at him; called it absurd and written him off as crazy, but Walter knew he wasn't. There wasn't Reason. There wasn't even Logic. Logic had long ago left when Reason was still buggering around about the rock. What Walter was experiencing was the sensory equivalent of seeing the glass-half full, when before it was half-empty; of seeing a white wine glass transform into two faces; of a bunch of multi-colored dots resolving themselves into the letter six, and then going to see the doctor because doing those kinds of puzzles made your eyes hurt really bad.

His mind filled with single-minded purpose: crush the rock. Suddenly, as though waiting for this moment, a blueish glow surrounded his hand. Walter didn't think. He didn't even start as his hand became enveloped with the mysterious light. It felt right, it felt normal, even though this moment was possibly the most _un-_normal moment of his life.

His blue-colored hand clenched around the rock without hesitation, as if it had been meant to do it all along. Walter squeezed. He squeezed as hard as he could; harder than he ever thought was humanely possible. It was pressure like he had never experienced, like an entire mountain was caving in on his hand and the stone clenched inside. Spots flashed in front of Walter's eyes. He was feeling dizzy, his mind overloading with the indescribable feelings his own body was producing.

Walter cried out in pain. Somehow this feeling was spinning out of his control! He wasn't sure what would happen first; either the stone would break or his hand would simply shatter with the effort. Whatever force was manipulating his muscles so brutally didn't seem to be slowing down. Rather, it felt to him that it was growing stronger, flowing ceaselessly out of him and into the stone.

The pain was building. His eyes watered and he struggled to keep from screaming. His arm was trembling with the power coursing through it, steam rising from his hand as the sweat inside screamed to get out. For Walter, time was melting away. The memory of him waking up in his own bed that morning, to Sapphira, standing over him and jostling him awake, seemed to have happened weeks ago.

Just when he thought his body couldn't take any more, when the strain had reached its impossibly unbearable peak and he felt certain his whole arm would burst from his torso at any second, did he hear a noise.

Crunch!

Walter was so shocked that the glow instantaneously vanished from his hand. The pain was gone, as if it had never been; a ghostly thought that never truly existed. Walter couldn't quite figure out what just happened. He found himself breathing hard, gulping down sweet, fragrant air into his exhausted lungs. It was as though he had resurfaced after hours underwater, his hair dripping with sweat and his muscles shaking violently.

He whipped his head around to see, but the world lurched sadistically and he felt like he was about to be sick. He stopped and put his face between his knees. The world steadied. When he felt he could look up without the the sky spinning, Walter lifted his head. He was still in the grove, the trees whispering gently in the breeze. Nothing had changed. Everything was the same.

He looked at his hand, which quivered as he raised it to eye level. There the rock lay, split in twain, two pieces of equal size resting in his palm.

At first, Walter didn't know what to do. He continued to stare at the broken stone expressionlessly.

"It broke," he stated. He had to say it out loud. He had to, otherwise Walter felt like he would have gone mad if he thought it instead. It's crazy to say mad things; thinking madly, doubly so.

He wondered for the longest while on how it broke. Walter stared at the two pieces of black rock in his hand. He could have sworn a moment ago that they were whole. Then the hammer fell.

"I broke it," said Walter to himself. He paused. Somehow, the way he said that felt wrong. Not enough emotion, he decided. He said it again.

"I broke it."

Better. Then he paused again. Walter thought this time he would try it a little louder.

"I broke it!" he shouted.

Much better. Walter felt a jolt of excitement flood his veins. He said it again.

"I broke it!" he yelled. "I broke it! I broke it!"

Walter was standing now. His face was breaking into a wide grin. He held the pieces above his head and did a sort of jig in the middle of the grove.

"I broke it! I BROKE IT!" he screamed happily at the top of his lungs. "I broke it! I actually broke it!"

Walter was laughing now. Laughing himself into a wild fit. He never felt so elated, so alive!

"I broke it! I BROKE IT!"

"Well done," said a sweet, melodic voice. It seemed to come from all around, but Walter only spun in one direction.

Sapphira was beaming at him from atop the rock, her ruby eyes shining. Walter's heart nearly exploded. He leapt towards her with the two broken pieces of rock clasp in his hand.

"I did it, Sapphira! I actually did it! It broke! I broke it!"

He held them out for her to see. She looked down at the broken pieces, then stared deep into Walter's eyes.

"You did very well, Walter. You should be proud."

The creature inside Walter roared with delight. He'd done it, he'd impressed her. Walter couldn't stop smiling. He laughed, laughed until he couldn't laugh any more. He had done the impossible, and he'd done it for her.

Walter shoved the pieces of rock into her paws. "Keep them!" he said. He didn't know why, but he wanted her to have them. He felt that she deserved them, his trophy.

Sapphira glanced at Walter with surprise. She looked down at the split rock. For a horrifying moment, Walter believed she would reject his offering, but then she gave him a tender smile.

_"Thank you, Walter. I'll treasure them,"_she said. Her paws curled around the stones.

Without thinking, Walter grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She squeaked out in shock. "Walter!" she exclaimed.

But Walter was laughing. He hugged her tightly and without restraint.

"It was amazing, Sapphira! It was absolutely amazing! I didn't think I could do it, but I did!" he said, laughing all the while. Walter looked up at her face. "How'd I do it? Huh? Come on, how'd you know I could do it?"

Sapphira seemed taken aback by Walter's affection. Awkwardly, and with a faint blush hidden by her fur, she patted his head. "Belief is a powerful force," she said waveringly. Sapphira paused and tried to steady her voice. "It...it only takes a little to bring out the best in oneself. When you finally believed in yourself that you could crush the rock, the moment you truly and utterly believed you could succeed, did you allow your body to channel your inner strength, your Aura, and break the rock."

Walter released her from his grip. "So, I was able to do it because you believed in me?"

Sapphira appeared relieved that Walter had let go, but her blush strangely remained behind. She shook her head at him. "Not I. You. You believing in yourself enabled you to crush the rock."

"But, but..." started Walter. He was very confused. "The only reason I thought I could do it was because you were believing in me."

Sapphira looked like she was about to respond, her eyes focused on Walter as if she was about to explain something important, but then suddenly her entire demeanor changed. Her ears laid back to press against her skull, and her blush was returning at an alarming rate. She looked flustered, and not at all like her usual self.

"O-oh, so...that was how you did it," she said, her once-contained voice faltering for the first time.

Walter wondered if something was wrong. He was entirely oblivious of the fact that he had just shared something extremely private to Lucarios. "Are you alright, Sapphira?"

"Fine! Fine, just...just fine, Walter," she replied a little too hurriedly. She averted her gaze from him and stared fixedly at the sky. "It's...it's just a bit hot out today, isn't it?"

Walter glanced at the sky. The temperature was actually quite mild compared to yesterday.

"Umm, I don't know. A little, I suppose."

He looked into Sapphira's eyes trying to catch her gaze. She had never acted this way around him before. Did he say something he shouldn't have?

He continued to stare at her, and suddenly, for the briefest moment, she glanced at him, and Walter thought he saw something lingering in her ruby eyes. Then she averted her gaze again.

"Walter..." she began. "What you said...well, that was...that was..." She paused, as though uncertain as how to collect herself. "Sometimes, when a Lucario performs Aura, they choose a certain...other...to base their strength on." Now Sapphira was looking exceptionally awkward. She fidgeted and tried to avert her gaze from Walter.

"And...well, we call those certain others 'bonded spirits', because...well...of how...important they are...to...the...other. It's...it's supposed to be...private." Her voice eventually petered out, becoming quieter and quieter as her explanation continued.

"And well...you...sort of...told me that..."

Sapphira ended up being too flustered to continue. She was not used to describing such a romantic and personal term. It felt unbecoming towards a student-teacher relationship. Of course, it was an utterly ridiculous notion, she reasoned. Nothing like what real 'bonded spirits' did for each other could ever happen to him and her. It was far too unrealistic, like something out of a children's fairy tale come to life.

Despite her own beliefs however, she glanced towards Walter. His face was very much red, and as he took in Sapphira's words and realized exactly what he said, she couldn't help but notice how flustered he, too, appeared to be.

Walter tried to clear his throat, which had for some reason become suddenly knotted and tight.

"Oh," he choked out. "I, err, I didn't know. I'm...I'm sorry if I offended you."

"No!" cried out Sapphira. Walter jumped.

"No," she continued, her voice much more quiet. "It was...it was sweet. Thank you." She said after a pause. "I'm...I'm glad you said it."

Walter's chest was heaving. She had startled him greatly, but now what she said was circling around his head. He looked very nervous, as if he truly didn't know how to respond.

"Umm, don't...don't mention it," he finally said, his free hand rubbing the back of his head. Walter chanced a smile, but somehow it ended up looking stupidly apologetic rather than sincere.

Sapphira just stared at him and his smile nervously. It, too, appeared she did not know what to do next.

Silence enveloped them.

"We should...we should get back, I suppose. I think...I think that our training is complete...for the day."

"Oh, err, right. 'Course."

The Lucario sidled over to Walter, and together they began to walk back to Celestic town, trying not to glance at each other, yet failing miserably all the way.

It might be a point to mention that some time hours later, Sal crashed through the bushes and into the deserted grove. He wasn't there for very long, but this is an account for what he said.

Deep in the forest, Sal lumbered over roots and brambles as fast as he could. He had made it all the way back to the meeting place by his lonesome.

"Guys, you here?" he called out from the side of the grove, still hidden by foliage. "I got held up at school, did I miss anything?"

Sal broke through the thick line of bushes and looked around. Not a soul except for the trees were present.

"Guys?"

A Pidgey flew down and landed in front of him. Sal stared at it; the Pidgey stared back.

"Pidgey!" it chirped. Then it flapped its wings and flew up and out of the grove.

---

From the back of the restaurant, the two old men laughed as they reminisced about their childhoods. A single bottle of almost untouched Lavaridge Fire Blast Ale rested in front of the thinner, more elderly appearing Mr. Murdstone, while several were placed lopsidedly across from his larger friend, Sal.

Sal was remembering the time he single-handedly beat up a bully named Charlie Fletcher from way back in grade school: his greatest childhood moment.

Currently, he was in the middle of his amazing tale.

"So there I was," Sal said in a low, dramatic whisper. Mr. Murdstone of course had heard this tale many times before, but never once interrupted his friend when he told it. He listened raptly.

"It was just me ... and him. We was squarin' each other away, eye'n each other and just circlin' like beasts of war." Mr. Murdstone smirked knowingly, thinking that Sal resembled much closer to an overgrown puppy than a beast of war. He coughed into his hand.

"I stood there and told him 'I'd had enough o' him', I can tell ya, 'and that this was comin' to him, one way or another'. You should a' been there. His eyes glowed like the coals of hell, and he bulked up his muscles like a madman!"

This was the riveting part.

"Then he charged me!" recounted Sal with widening eyes. "And yeah. I was scared, more scared than I'd ever been in me entire life. It was like a Tauros was stompin' its way towards me, and there was no gettin' away. I could see spittle flying off his teeth, his eyes bloody red with rage!"

Here it comes.

"I did the only thing I could possibly think of. When he came up right to me, so close that you could make out ev'ry miserable speck of his eyes, I punched him in the nose!"

Sal acted out the heroic deed, throwing his fist out with gusto.

"POW! Right in there! I cracked him one good, broke his stupid nose into seven pieces that day! Were still pick'n pieces out of the wall when they took him away. Never messed with me or anyone ever, EVER, again!"

Sal dropped back into the cushion, his miraculous and adventurous tale spent, and relaxed with a satisfied grin.

Mr. Murdstone clapped dutifully. Sal's devastating blow seemed to be getting gorier every time he told it. Again, Mr. Murdstone coughed into his hand, this time a little bit louder. Sal didn't notice.

"Sal, in a few years, you're going to swear you'd punched Charlie Fletcher's nose right off his face."

Sal smirked at him. "Well, it's a good thing that I'll be the only one remember'n it in a few years, isn't it?"

They both laughed, like two old friends do when alone together. It was a happy moment, and in their age, they knew how very valuable happy moments truly were. So they relished it, for everything it was worth.

Suddenly, the wooden wall clock dinged noisily. From its little door at the top, a small, antique Pidgey popped out.

"Five 'o' clock! Five 'o' clock!" went the antique Pidgey, before returning to it's mechanical nest.

Mr. Murdstone stared up at it. His shoulders slumped, and his eyes turned downcast.

"Five 'o' clock," he repeated. "Time for me to go."

Sal tried to protest. "No! C'mon, Walter! Stay, drink, c'mon!"

But Mr. Murdstone wasn't having any of it. "No, no, Sal. I think I've waited long enough for Daniel to show up. I don't think he's coming. Shame, really."

He stood up and prepared to leave. "It was wonderful to see you again, Sal. Take care."

Mr. Murdstone turned to go. Sal remained sitting, unhappy that his friend was leaving, but not disrespectful of his wishes. That is to say, until Mr. Murdstone abruptly collapsed to the floor.

"Walter!"

Mr. Murdstone was writhing on the ground, coughing ceaselessly into the polished wood of the restaurant. He kept taking large, violent breaths, only to spit them out again in a hacking cough. Sal rushed forward and helped his friend to a chair.

Patrons were staring at them, but Sal didn't mind. To hell with them, he thought. Mr. Murdstone's coughing died down, and Sal looked at his friend worriedly.

"Are you okay, Walter? What happened?"

Then he noticed a red patch on the front of his clothes.

"Walter!" exclaimed Sal. "You're coughing up blood!"

Mr. Murdstone looked at the blood on his shirt guiltily.

"I see." His voice was raspier now, and Sal stiffened with fright. He didn't know what to say.

"Walter... I... "

"Listen, it's nothing. Don't worry about it... happens all the time."

"Damnit, Walter! Don't you dare expect to believe that! Come on, now. What's this all on about?"

Mr. Murdstone paused and looked at his friend. For the second time in his life, he sized his friend up. Then he looked around the restaurant. All the customers had resumed their meals.

"Well?"

Mr. Murdstone blinked at him. "I'm dying."

Sal went white-faced. He pursed his lips. "That's not funny, Walter."

"I'm not joking."

"You're talking rubbish!"

Mr. Murdstone looked out the window to his right.

"I told you that I went to go see the doctor earlier this week, didn't I? This was the news he gave me. I'm dying."

He might have been talking about the weather, the way he said it.

The blood drained completely from Sal's face. He stared quietly at his friend, unable to comprehend the horrible truth being explained to him. Mr. Murdstone continued.

"You know already that I do not age as you do, Sal. Time has ... let's say ... sped up the clock for me. I started coughing like this over a month ago. I think back then, I knew what it was, but I had to be sure. I got tests done on me. Biological scans and the what-not. I just recently got them back. The doctor explained it to me just this weekend. It turns out that my advanced aging is deteriorating the organs in my body much more rapidly than normal. They're breaking down inside me, becoming worse and worse."

He turned to his friend, who could only stare back at him stiffly and open-mouthed. He knew that Sal didn't want to hear this. Sal would never have wanted to hear this, but Mr. Murdstone knew it would be easier this way if Sal were prepared.

"Eventually, Sal, my friend." Mr. Murdstone gazed at him apologetically. "My organs will no longer have the means to function. They will fail. And when they do, I will die."

"W-Walter..."

Mr. Murdstone stood up to leave again. "This wonderful day, I believe, has made for a perfect 'last hurrah', don't you think?" He smiled down at Sal, but all that returned was shocked silence.

"I shall see you tomorrow, then."

He turned towards the door.

"H-How long?" quavered Sal's voice from the table.

Mr. Murdstone looked at him ponderously. "Hmm?"

"D-Do you know how much longer you have?"

Sal appeared positively terrified at his own question, and Mr. Murdstone stifled a chuckle.

"Yes, Sal. I think I do."

Sal waited for Mr. Murdstone to continue, but he didn't. Instead, he merely smiled in such a way, that it reminded Sal of a certain canine pokemon from a long, long time ago.

Mr. Murdstone saw his friend was on the verge of tears, so he decided to try and relax him a little.

"Don't fret, Sal. Today is not my last day. And _neither_is tomorrow," he added after seeing Sal's mouth open questioningly.

"I don't want you to worry. When my time comes, I will go with few regrets. I beg you not to be sad. Now, I really do need to be going home. There is supposed to be this lovely special on the network tonight. It's about how a Sandgem Town doctor was recently fired for releasing an amnesiatic patient without any treatment whatsoever, and I would very much like to watch it before it ends. Goodbye, Sal. I'll see you tomorrow."

Then Mr. Murdstone turned. He walked briskly out the door, exited the restaurant, and strolled back to his home; leaving Sal, pale and uncertain, in his wake.

To be continued...