Serpent and Wyrm
Ch1: Snakethief
Simon heaved a heavy sigh as he pulled his car into the gravel driveway. Luckily traffic wasn’t too bad that Friday evening. After a long shift of trying to keep the water filtering plant running with all the pumps going haywire, he was beyond exhausted.
The old car groaned as the e-brake was applied. The poor thing was falling apart more every week. Did the oil need to be changed? Probably. That’s future Simon’s problem, present day Simon needed to eat before he passed out. The man leaned back in the driver seat, resting his eyes for a second or two before slapping himself awake. Food then sleep. It took Simon a few tries to unlock the door to his modest, one story home. Divine intervention deemed the door unlockable after he tried the third key, and he retreated from the chill of the October evening.
Simon threw his jacket onto the small couch by the door and stretched out a yawn before removing his work boots, the heavier autumn air that snuck its way in settling down along the floor. He always liked autumn, he mused, it felt nostalgic to him. Maybe it was because Halloween was his favorite as a kid, but now he just appreciated being able to wear a light coat without melting or freezing.
Simon stood back up and readjusted the glasses askew on his face. He moved to the kitchen to take stock of the pantry. A half-eaten bag of potato chips, some cereal he was sure was more than two months old, a random assortment of seasoning bottles from the last kitchen experiment, an empty box of pasta he forgot to toss, and finally, the last cup of ramen he had.
Better than chips for dinner, Simon grumbled, before he popped the lid open and added the flavor packet and some water. The man glanced at the packet of desiccated veggies before deciding against their addition. Honestly, they tasted like cardboard and added nothing but a weird, crunchy texture to the noodles.
As the five star course was cooking in the microwave, Simon quickly popped into his bedroom down the hall. Posters from various games and bands along the white walls greeted him as the light was flipped on. He peeled off his work clothes, tossing them onto the small but growing pile by the foot of his dresser before putting on a tee and some shorts.
He briefly glared at the small pile on the ground before turning to a terrarium tucked in the corner of the room. He crouched and gazed in, searching for the little resident who was probably just as hungry as he was. Now where was she? Not on her usual basking rock, so maybe under… Ah! Under the coconut hut, a fiery orange leopard gecko was curled up, snoozing away. Simon gently tapped the glass of the tank until the lizard blinked the vestiges of sleep away. She turned, gazing expectantly at her owner.
“Hey Miirym, you hungry? Got some mealworms with your name on ‘em.” Simon smiled, shaking a small container holding the precious goods. He might eat terribly himself, but he made sure his little dragon ate like a queen.
Simon wasn’t ever sure if the lizard actually recognized him, or just the sound of dinner, not that it really mattered. The sound of a meal got the lizard’s attention nonetheless, and she sauntered out of her den and over to the small dish Simon usually placed her food, a big dumb smile plastered on her face like all other leopard geckos you see posted on the internet.
Uncapping the container, he grimaced as he fished out some worms to coat in nutrient powder. They wriggled and writhed to escape the clutches of looming doom. Completely irrational, but squirmy bugs always gave him the creeps. Still, It was worth it if Miirym was happy, and it was entertaining watching her hunt.
Well, if the embodiment of sloth was a hunter, this might be what it would look like. She’d creep ever so slowly to her prey, like a cat getting into position to pounce, only to lazily grab one into her maw. Half the time she missed. Sometimes she just waited from one to crawl over within her reach before snapping it up, conserving energy for important things such as sleeping on a warm rock or in her hut. It wasn't always a pitiful display, some days when she showed motivation and had more energetic prey to hunt like dubia roaches, she'd bolt after them like they were the last pieces of food on earth.
He never planned to take care of a pet. Hell, he could barely take care of himself. For whatever reason his mom bought him the lizard a few years ago when he moved out. Someone to keep him company is what she said. Simon wasn't too sure about the whole situation at the start, especially factoring the extra costs on his already thin budget, but he was glad that happened in the end. It gave him someone to talk with.
The microwave beeping drew Simon out of his thoughts. Miirym had happily chowed down, so he would too. He grabbed the cup and sat down at his desk, flipping open his laptop to browse around social media as the soup cooled to an edible temperature. Nothing really interesting today, mostly the same deluge of garbage you’d expect on twitter, though it seemed like some trend about ‘pokemon in the real world’ was on the rise. Simon hadn’t really kept up with the series since high school, so he figured it was to generate hype for a new game or show.
He curiously clicked a few posts, one showing an espeon dozing away on a sunny windowsill, with the caption claiming that their tuxedo cat suddenly changed into the pokemon over night. Another was what looked like a video of a pidgey eating out of a bird feeder, with a cardinal jealously swooping the pokemon to try to scare it off. Attached in the comments was a follow up picture of the same feeder with a pidove lazily sitting in the middle, just like a mourning dove would. Simon thought these were pretty cute, but it was obvious to him that they were all using some sort of new AI tool to make these.
Someone in a thread claimed their neighbor turned into a giant aggron. No receipts of course, the guy said he was too scared to snap a picture, but he swore up and down it was real! Apparently the poster heard a loud crash in the middle of the night and saw that the neighbor's wall was completely toppled over, with the beast slowly plodding down the road away from the rubble. The comments all demanded pictures anyways, but they were never delivered. Simon just shook his head before browsing a few more.
Eventually the call of the void that was his bed became too big to ignore with doomscrolling. Simon finished his dinner and left the empty cup on his desk before getting up to brush his teeth. He’d toss it tomorrow.
Feeling a little more hygienic, he gently pat Miirym on the head as he ritually did before bed. His little dragon lazily peered up at him before she licked her lips of whatever remained of her meal and retired back to her coconut den. Turning off the lights and crawling under the comforter, Simon plugged his phone in and turned on the fan sitting on the side table.
“I think I'll order some more roaches for ya tomorrow, my treat. Can't have you fattening up from a lack of exercise," Simon chuckled. "Night Miirym”, Simon yawned before shutting his eyes.
…
The air was frigid as he felt it whip past his head. Simon began to shiver. Why was his fan blowing so much air? Of course that cheap thing would crap out on him three weeks after getting it. Hopefully it didn't short circuit and start a fire or something.
God, he needed another blanket at this rate.
Simon tried to peel his eyelids open, the crust of sleep desperately trying to keep them glued shut. The man tried to reach over to his left to turn down the desk fan, feeling nothing. Confused, he next tried to sit up, but ended up bumping his nose on something as he twisted slightly to the right. Was he sleeping on his stomach? No, his arm was pinned between himself and the wall, that orientation wouldn't make sense if we wasn't lying on his back.
Speaking of, the mattress was incredibly firm. Honestly it sort of felt like someone was cradling him. Simon yawned, finally managing to open his eyes enough to see what was going on. Huh, since when did he put up a scale pattern wallpaper?
Wait, what?
Simon jolted awake, before hissing as the intense winds dried his eyes. Momentarily blinded, he tried to feel around for his glasses, phone, anything, but instead he was met with either the frigid wind or a smooth, scale-like texture. Simon squinted. No, not scale-like, literal scales, light-orange in color.
He looked up to try to figure out what the hell this thing was. It was too early in the morning for the sun to give anything but a few rays of light over the horizon, but he could barely make out scales of a deeper red-orange coloration. The membranes of this thing’s tiny wings were harder to make out, black maybe? Blue? Definitely a darker color. Speaking of small wings, how was this massive thing even flying with those?
So, what, a giant flying lizard is taking him for a ride? He’s had weirder dreams than this, that’s for sure. Did he end up drinking at all before heading to sleep? Usually he had strange dreams after drinking, but he definitely doesn't remember having anything.
Simon’s puzzling was disrupted as his ride began to pitch downward, picking up speed. The wind went from loud to deafening, and he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to tuck himself in more in fear of falling off. Falling to your death in a dream was never a fun way to wake up. As the seconds went by and his stomach leapt to his throat, he felt his trajectory slow to a stop, the sound of something heavy landing on the ground reverberating through thick stone. Compared to a plane ride, that was the smoothest landing he's ever been a part of.
Peering around, it seemed like their destination was in the middle of some hilly forest, up on a tall cliffside. Behind them looked to be the opening of some sort of cave. The ocean of trees below waved in the early morning breeze, the cascading greens, oranges and yellows of leaves the only sound to be heard aside from the cries of a few insects yet to go back to slumber. It smelt fresh out there to Simon, like when he went camping miles away from any town or city.
Simon felt himself be lowered by the large hands (claws?) that were holding him. He finally got a clearer picture of what was carrying him as it turned to inspect the mouth of the cave. It was huge, at least seven feet tall. Thick arms and legs on a pear shaped body that tapered to a long tail, tiny wings folded on its back. Round head sprouting long, thin antennae. He attempted as best he could to run his eyes in astonishment, but the task felt strangely difficult for his tiny arms. Was that a dragonite? Like, an actual pokemon?
It was most definitely a dragonite. The dragon cocked its head slightly side to side and hummed to itself as it scrutinized the cave. It leaned forward, probably trying to scent if there was already a resident. It shrugged before stomping into the dark. Seemed like this cave was up for grabs.
While the dragonite did whatever it was doing, Simon tried to pinch himself awake. Maybe a mixture of exhaustion from work and a drink he didn't remember having was why his dream was so messed up. He was grasping at straws for and reasonable explanation for what was happening, but it made the most sense to him. After all, the last thing he was browsing before sleep was pokemon related, so of course that's what he'd dream about.
He paused as he gazed down at his hands. They were stubby little things. Green, with only three fingers each. Gazing lower revealed a body that seemed to curve backwards, verdant green scales descending down over a cream underbelly. He slowly turned his head, spotting a tail tipped with a large three-pronged leaf that seemed to lash about with a mind of its own.
“Am I a goddamn snivy?!” Simon exclaimed in shock. His heart was racing. It was a jack hammer in his chest and he felt like he was on the verge of panic. This was a dream, it had to! A twisted dream fostered by a dumb Simon who can't even remember what he did hours before! The human-turned-snivy began pacing in tiny circles, doing every trick in the book to wake up. Nothing worked.
At that point the rational part of his mind told him to sit down, take some deep breaths, and calm down. If this was real, like actually completely one hundred percent real, freaking out in the middle of nowhere with a literal dragon nearby sounded like turning a bad situation catastrophically worse.
The snivy plopped down. The height difference between standing and sitting was almost non-existent thanks to the little nubs he now called legs. Deep breath in, hold, out. Repeat. After a minute of this exercise Simon felt like he reigned himself back. He muttered to himself to take stock of what was happening.
“Ok. I’m a tiny little bipedal snake-thing. Somehow. I have no clue where I am because a dragonite kidnapped me in my sleep to go play house hunters. I have absolutely nothing with me, there’s no way to get a hold of anyone at all, and there’s zero chance someone knows where I am. Pokemon are real and I turned into one over night."
"Do dragonite eat other pokemon? Is that why I'm here? Am I a snack to that thing?!"
Just as he calmed himself down, that last line of thought brought those feelings right back. He whipped around to face the cavern entrance, wide-eyed and locked in an internal battle of fight-or-flight, when the dragonite stepped back out into the open. Immediately the snivy held up his hands in a submissive gesture and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Look, hey, uh I really think there was a misunderstanding! Yeah I’m not a pokemon, ok? I mean, I look like one now but I promise that I probably taste like gross human! And uh, you’ll get sick? Please tell me you speak english... Oh god please don’t eat me.” Simon struggled with his words as the approaching dragon crossed the threshold into the morning light. He dared take a peak at what would likely be his end. It really was striking, the fiery orange scales that armored its body glinted in the sun like a shower of polished gems. That color was so familiar.
Simon felt a headache begin to take hold as it dawned on him. There was no way. But if he turned into a pokemon, why couldn’t she?
“Miirym?” he whispered.
The dragonite seemed to recognize the name, her small, dopey grin growing to a glowing smile and she reached down to pat Simon on the head, just as he did every night for her.
Ch2: May I Offer a Wurmple in These Trying Times?
The morning sun’s light filtered through the dense canopy of old oaks and pines in luminous, shimmering shafts. The beams caught the brightly colored leaves midflight as they danced towards the lush forest floor. Detritus littered the ground and covered the dense moss blankets and patches of wildflowers that still defiantly stood against the flux of changing seasons. The air was fresh, with hints of pine and the scent of nutrient rich soil, and felt refreshingly cool to those who felt its kiss.
The birds were the first to awaken, as they always did; their morning orchestra joined the clatter and flutter of branches and leaves caught in the steady but soft breeze, and the hum of the energy that suffused the forest. Their chorus gently brought life to the woodland.
Various squirrels and other rodents began their long task of foraging for the looming winter, and placed their food stock in places they surely would not forget about. A fox poked its head out of the hollow log it called a den. It yawned the vestiges of sleep away, before it slinked off in search of a meal. A skunk and her stunky mate shuffled between bushes on their way to drink from a gently flowing spring.
A harsh voice broke up the melody, one that caused a grating dissonance that threw the other avians off. The boisterous staravia had risen from slumber. It was glad the other residents were hesitant to harmonize with it, as that made the task of finding others of its species to flock with much more feasible. It could survive on its own, of course, but strength in numbers would be important in the future. The weather was still favorable for the moment, but it recalled that the winters were bitter and cold, and having others would improve its chances.
A blue jay tilted its head as it listened to the cacophony; the corvid had not heard a call like this before, but it sounded like a predator. Learning that call could be useful, especially since it cowed the others so easily. Soon it joined into a duet with the pokemon with a mimicry of its own, and the other song seemed emboldened by the addition. A good sign.
Practice time was cut short, however, as something rocketed through the branches of nearby trees, and landed with a loud crash as leaves and sticks plowed into the dirt. The blue jay felt danger as it shut its beak, but curiosity’s grasp got the better of it. The bird hopped onto a lower branch with a clear view of the floor of the forest, its gaze piercing as it stared at the intruder that dared ruin its rehearsal.
Miirym stood tall as she took stock of her landing zone. The trees here were tall and old, and one nearby should be perfect for her task. She carefully inspected various oaks within the clearing, before she spotted one clearly gnarled by the test of time. Its thick trunk grew well past the canopy, and was wider than she could hug. The exposed roots spread like arteries through the earth, plump and healthy. A small blue bird perched on one of the branches; its disgruntled but cautious gaze questioned what the dragon was, and what it wanted.
Miirym nodded to herself; this tree would do. The dragonite took a step back as she raised her paw. The thick claws swathed in a metallic sheen before she drove three deep gouges into the old bark. The tree shook violently but stood, and the little bird squawked in surprise and fear before it retreated away from the monster below. Miirym smiled to herself as she claimed yet another stake of territory.
This pattern took most of her morning as she explored their new home. Miirym marked where she could on trees and stone that could survive her indelible warning; a warning that this forest was hers. With the dragonite’s powerful wings, she made quick time as she obtained the lay of the land on the close region that surrounded her small mountain, and she mentally noted a few landmarks she had crossed thus far.
To the east was an old tower of rotted wood and rust that rose above the forest canopy as if it stood in silent vigil. Miirym was not sure as to what purpose it served, but that time had clearly long passed since its last use. The forest had already reclaimed its struts and platform with creeping vines and lichen.
Various creeks gurgled lazily between bushes and boulders, serving as crucial lifelines to all that lived near. Great for a drink, but Miirym wished to find a suitable lake to swim and hunt within, an instinctual desire demanded it.
Most interesting though was the scar on the base of the mountain a short northward flight from the tower, almost on the opposite side of her den. Strange steel that twisted like ivy slumped around the artificial clearing, more gap than barrier. Old, rusted metal claws and other relics stood abandoned, their yellow and black coloration faded to corrosion. A strange repeating pattern of wood and iron peeked from below the dirt here and there, and led to a gash into the earth that had long since collapsed on itself, heavy timbers pinned under rock.
A curiosity to behold and possibly related to the decayed tower. There was something past the collapse, deep within that called out to the dragonite’s blood. Miirym felt the allure of its secrets but staved off the curiosity to save for another time. She had more pressing tasks to complete.
She marked more ancient oaks, gouges deep and rough. The previous lords of the forest had been usurped. Miirym stepped back to gaze at her handiwork and idly licked her claws clean of the tree’s vital fluid. Yet as a moment passed, she felt a shift in the forest. Something was wrong; the woodland was deathly silent, as if all life was simultaneously snuffed out in an instant. The wind that had been a constant companion on her journey had suddenly abandoned the dragon. A strange feeling that the shadows seemed to darken and elongate, as if reaching out to snatch her.
A feeling that she was being watched by something powerful.
Miirym turned around, her usual happy face suddenly torn into a vicious, brutal snarl. Her muzzle peeled back taut and angry, muscles twitched and strained to reveal a maw of jagged, cruel fangs. Her antennae laid dangerously low against her skull, dangerous arcs of electricity danced between.
Someone dared to challenge her in this coward’s way just seconds after she claimed this area? Her snarl took on a goading tone, as if to say ‘come and face me if you dare, meek creature’. But accepted her provocation, much to her disappointment. Slowly the strange happenings melted away, and everything returned to normal. Powerful the entity may be, it was a coward all the same.
Miirym let out a steady breath as the combat cocktail of adrenaline and dragon energy simmered in her blood. She stood tall and passed a penetrating gaze across the clearing once more before she moved on. If it wanted her attention, a proper challenge should be issued. She would not waste her time on a rat’s game.
The dragonite’s stomach eventually rumbled and reminded her of the next and final mission of the morning. Surely there would be some body of water around here that wasn’t completely pathetic; biting into the flesh of fish sounded absolutely divine right now. She would also need to hunt something for the youngling; something easy to digest and nutrient rich to encourage his growth. She pondered this as she lazily flew, thinking back to when she was a hatchling herself, and of the succulent, plump worms she was fed.
Out of the corner of her eye, Miirym spotted a lone wurmple.
…
Up on the cliff a snivy basked in the sunlight, his brow furrowed in concentration. He held his breath as he searched for a specific feeling, the one he felt when his tail involuntarily moved of its own free will. It was like trying to exercise a muscle you just discovered, atrophied from extreme neglect. Well, it literally was that in Simon’s case. He knew he could control what was essentially just an extension of his spine, but the feeling eluded him.
Simon roughly exhaled and drooped his shoulders in frustration. He figured trying to get to know this new body would help soothe the dizzying mental divide that warred within his brain. Something about this form screamed unnatural to him, that everything was in the wrong place. It was a constant, heavy feeling that swam in his chest. Yet he simultaneously felt that this was normal, that nothing was wrong, and that his mental fortitude being tested by this was absolutely pathetic. Maybe his psyche was trying to cope with, well, everything that happened in the span of a few hours.
This was reality, huh? He really was a pokemon. He felt as though he should be going through the stages of grief right now, but Simon just felt exhausted at every philosophical perplexity that bubbled up from his subconscious.
Was he even the same person? Was this his body, transmuted into the shape of a fantasy creature? Was his heart, his lungs, his brain, all the bits and pieces that made him Simon still Simon? Or was everything replaced and his memories and sense of self copied into a new body? He was like some messed up Ship of Theseus paradox.
Not that thinking about any of that really mattered, or changed anything about his current situation other than make him miserable. Those thoughts would rear their ugly heads, and he would shove them back down as he distracted himself to take his mind off the subjects.
He tried to focus on the bright side. The sun felt really nice. Like a nice, warm hug that felt so refreshing. Was that because he was a grass type now? Was he photosynthesizing? He didn’t know what that felt like, but maybe it was like this. Plants had it nice. Maybe everything wasn’t so doom and gloom.
Simon resumed his task of figuring out the tail while his idle musings continued.
Staying on the topic of positives, one thing he noticed before Miirym left to do who knows what was the fact that he could actually see more than a foot in front of him. In fact, he could see far better than he remembered he could before his eyesight went kaput. Gazing down at the forest below a few minutes earlier was so vibrant and clear; minute details like various insects and other animals that would have been far too small to see without binoculars were sharp to Simon. Becoming a snivy fixed his eyes and improved them. Or were these completely new eyes that replaced the original ones? Whatever, it didn’t matter.
He didn’t find any sign of civilization on his second search, just an endless sea of big, leafy plants. He knew that already from earlier in the morning, but he held hope that maybe, in his semi-delirious state, he passed over something. Nope, just mother nature. Finding his way home seemed a herculean, nigh-impossible task.
He did spot other pokemon though, here and there. A burmy, a budew, even what he thought was a leafeon. They were just doing normal things you’d expect forest animals to do, as if they weren’t fictional characters from a video game. A vulture and a mandibuzz both circled the same, probably dead animal in hopes of scavenging some scraps. A wild boar led a pack of piglets in search of truffles, completely oblivious to the fact that one of her offspring was now a fire breathing tepig.
How long has this been going on? He and Miirym clearly weren’t the only ones who got changed, so this must be a recent phenomenon as he recalled social media hadn’t gone nuclear last night. Maybe the digital storm was happening right now.
Why did he change into a snivy specifically? Were there factors that affected what pokemon someone would turn into? Miirym’s change made some sense; she was a lizard, and now she was a flying lizard. Simon turning into a leaf-snake? He had zero clue.
He thought about other pokemon he could have become. He hadn’t really played the games since Sun and Moon released, and only had cursory knowledge of the entries of the series afterwards. Lucario was a fairly common choice. Chances were some guy out there was probably living out a childhood fantasy of being a super hero as the titular aura jackal of justice. Simon would have laughed at the thought of it had it not made him strangely bitter.
Flygon would have also been awesome. Oh, and scizor too, they were always cool. Heck, anything with wings if he was being honest. Being able to fly anywhere he wanted sounded like a dream right now. Psychic types would have also been welcome considering they could teleport. It seemed hard to beat the practicality of that. Plus, they could move things around with telekinesis, so he wouldn’t have to worry about being short or not having hands. Anything was better than these stumpy arms and legs.
Well, maybe not everything. Being a sentient pinecone would really suck. Another plus one for his new snivy body.
What special thing did snivy even do? Something with vines, right? How would he figure that out when he couldn’t even get his tail to do what he wanted? Simon groaned in exacerbation as his meek hands clenched. ‘Come on you stupid tail, listen to me!’ he mentally screamed at himself. The snivy scowled as he pushed every bit of willpower to make it twitch at the very least. A moment later he felt something, a tingling down his spine. Yes! This was it!
Nope, false alarm, he was just itchy. Much to his chagrin he failed again, just like he had for the past few hours. Simon deflated like the world's most pitiful balloon and flopped onto the rough, stoney ground. Something in the back of his mind was greatly amused at his self pity party. He pushed it down like everything else, swallowed the bleak, bitter pill of disillusionment, and allowed it to fester in his chest.
His eyes burned as he gazed into a partly cloudy sky that seemed far too large. He bit down on his tongue as he felt the corner of his mouth waver. No, he wouldn’t cry. He was a grown man and he would figure this out.
Maybe this was all temporary and it wouldn’t even matter. He hoped that maybe in a few days he would close his eyes to rest and wake up in his normal, regular human body. That would be nice. He would still need to figure out how to get home, but at least he wouldn’t be a two foot tall walking spinach monster that could get plucked up by a hawk. It would be easier if he could convince Miirym to take them back.
Simon felt like he would have coped with his pokemon situation better if he still had the comfort of his own home. Why in the world did she take them here? He understood that caves and dragons were kind of a standard fantasy stereotype, but weren’t dragonite aquatic or something? It would have made more sense to find some coastal region than a forest. Maybe her brain was all mushed up like his.
How smart was she? He knew dragonite had near human-like intelligence in the series. Was she more on that side of the scale, or closer to a nuclear powered lizard that was a slave to instinct? She most definitely knew her name and seemed to know who he was. Simon wasn’t sure if that was similar to how a dog ‘knew’ its name in the sense that they recognized the sound of it, but not the actual language. Her other actions like claiming a den and leaving a territorial marking could be attributed to instinct, but again he couldn't be completely sure.
Seeing her gouge the side of the entrance of the cave with her bare claws was something to behold. There was real power behind that strike, and he somehow could tell that the cold stone only felt a fraction of her might. Would he be able to do something like that? Cut through rock with his vines like a knife through butter? Yeah right, he couldn’t even make his tail move on command.
Dumb Simon, stupid Simon. Stop thinking like that. Really, he doubted things could get worse from here as long as he didn't mentally berate himself every other minute. Sure, being lost really sucked, and not intuitively understanding how his new limbs worked double sucked, but at least he had a giant dragon to keep him safe.
As if on cue, the sound of beating wings caused him to lazily shift his gaze to the approaching individual. Miirym landed on the outcropping next to him as she happily crunched and munched on what looked to be some sort of fish. Its tail briefly stuck out from her maw before disappearing behind bone-splintering teeth.
As she swallowed her meal, she crouched down to gently pat him before she pressed a slightly charred, red and cream worm-like insect into his hands. He gazed down as a slight frown formed on his snout. What was this, a wurmple? It was almost the size of his arm. Why did she give this to-
Oh no. Oh no no no.
Simon’s eyes snapped back up to the dragonite, her cheery disposition and sunny smile told him everything. This was his food, gathered with love and care. He had never felt so appalled in his entire life. His phobia surged to the forefront of his mind as he glanced back down. Did it just twitch? Oh dear lord, please don’t still be alive. The strangest feeling of intense nausea and hunger took charge. His mind refused to even consider eating the caterpillar pokemon, yet his body acted like it hadn’t eaten in days.
Miirym still stood at his side as this internal feud raged within Simon. He tried to voice his refusal, but his voice died in his throat as he saw that expectant look in her eyes. She wasn’t going to leave without making sure he actually ate. It was just like a mother that made sure her child ate all of their vegetables. He had no choice in the matter.
Swallowing whatever shred of dignity and pride he had left, Simon slowly raised the insect to his mouth, and after a beat, took a bite. The strange crunch of charred exoskeleton and uncomfortable mouth-feel of rubbery insides made his stomach do flips. It tasted both earthy and savory mixed with the acidic bile that leapt up his throat. Simon slowly and painfully chewed, eyes narrowing in complete disgust, before he swallowed. It sat in his gut like a rock, yet his body kicked in and continued to eat in complete disregard for his feelings.
Miirym cheered and gave a small clap as he finished the last bit before she scooped him up into a hug and nuzzled her chin against his head. She hummed as she turned around to plod into the cave for a well earned nap. Rest and digest, or some such. Simon’s thousand-yard stare threatened to burn the rocky ground as a shudder wracked his limp body.
Becoming a snivy had officially been dethroned as the worst thing he’d ever experienced.
Ch3: By Royal Decree
“Miirym, please just take me with you, I’m going to go crazy if I stay cooped up here all the time!”
Simon’s exacerbated voice filled the midday mountainside as he pleaded with the Dragonite, gesturing between himself and the forest below. She was about to head back down to the forest, most likely to gather food for the two of them and do whatever else dragon pokemon do in their freetime. After two days of being left in the relative safety of the isolated cave without the distractions of modern living, Simon was maddeningly bored and felt the creeping onset of cabin fever.
She paused at the cliffside edge and seemed to contemplate his request, brow furrowed as she rubbed her chin and paced around the cliffside, like how a normal human would. She hummed to herself in thought, glancing between the Snivy and the forest below. It was a struggle for Simon to keep a serious expression on his face at the sight of her exaggerated pondering, but he felt he had to keep the theatrics up to get a favorable outcome.
Eventually Miirym nodded to herself and relented to the Snivy’s petition. Her contemplative expression melted back to her normal, nonchalant grin. She padded back over and scooped Simon up, where he rested in her sturdy grasp against her chest. He barely had time to yelp in surprise as a strong pump of her wings launched the two rapidly into the open air. He covered his face against the abrupt gales as best he could to try to take a peak at forest below, but the speed at which they traveled made it difficult to single out any one thing.
As quickly as the ride began, Miirym descended down to her new favorite slice of the old woods. Simon peered at a substantial lake that had cut away a large swathe of the vegetation, the shimmering of the mellow waves acted as a beacon to guide them to their destination. Mirrym’s talons drew furrows into the soft earth as she adjusted her glide and landed on the grassy shoreline.
She looked down at her little passenger, giving Simon a wide smile before she placed him down beside her. Simon wobbly stood up, still disoriented from their brisk pace in the sky. He slowly regained his balance and glanced to his left and right, before he returned his attention to the dragon.
“A little warning next time, but… thanks. Feels nice to not be on that stuffy rock.”
Miirym gave a happy chirp and a goofy thumbs up, then crouched next to Simon. She gestured to him, then pointed to herself, and finally mimed a shout with her paws to either side of her snout. Simon was confused as he puzzled out what she attempted to convey, but eventually understood her meaning.
“Shout if I need you, I think,” he nodded in confirmation.
Miirym looked pleased that he understood, giving him a pat on the head which he begrudgingly accepted, before she took a deep breath and dove into the depths of the lake. Simon let out a small sigh as he sat down and took a look at his new surroundings. The sight was truly a wonder to behold, and a much needed reprieve from his previous vista.
The lake gently lapped against the grassy shoreline, reflecting the pale blue of the late October sky. Hints of mist hung low over the water and lazily flickered in the sunlight like waltzing spirits. Old pines and birch trees listed over the water's precipice, their fiery leaves and evergreen needles rustling softly as they idly fell to join the bright collage stuck on the shallows.
A crane, tall and stoic, lingered beside the reeds and cattails. Its shadow stretched long and oscillated faintly as it hunted for the many minnows and tadpoles darting to and fro in search of a meal of their own. It was interrupted by a duo of Psyduck as they splashed through the shallows, grumbling to one another about the relentless headache they both endured.
A Bidoof and a beaver both munched contentedly on a stump near the river that fed the sizable body of water. Occasionally they paused their gnawing to steal a glance at a passing Lotad floating serenely by with a mouse that snoozed away precariously atop its large lilypad.
Across the river came the faraway snap of twig. Perhaps it was a deer, or perhaps a Sawsbuck in its autumn guise. From this distance atop the dirt and clay beach Simon couldn’t tell, though he imagined the crown of fall leaves the pokemon might have been adorned with.
Life teemed beneath the surface of the lake, which Simon could get glimpses of if he looked hard enough. Feebas flashed through a jungle gym of fallen branches where rainbow trout zipped, glints of iridescence in the dim, murky light. A lone Relicanth stood vigil in the center of the activity, the ancient pokemon just a piece of the backdrop, and various other bass and catfish mingled with one another in an amorphous mob.
In the distance above the Snivy, a murder of crows soared against the sky, cawing and screeching as they chased a few startled Pidgey out of the treetop canopy. The bird Pokémon may have been stronger than the corvids, but their menacing calls still spooked them all the same.
Simon took a deep breath and stretched the leaf of his tail as wide as it could spread to catch the sun’s light. The air was cool and crisp, filled with the fresh scent of pine and that damp, somewhat fishy smell bodies of fresh water had. There was also that familiar crispness that was a harbinger of incoming colder weather. Here, deep within the forest, the world felt timeless, undisturbed, and peacefully still.
Simon gazed down at the water, at the Snivy that gazed right back. He felt the smile from his face slip into a melancholy frown. It had been two days since he changed, yet only now, seeing his own reflection, did it finally register within his mind that it had truly occurred. Call it stubborn denial, but he had hoped that it was all still a strange, vivid nightmare that he would wake from. Those large crimson eyes staring back told him the truth.
The once comforting atmosphere now felt icy and alien against his scales.
He wondered if anyone knew that he was gone. Work was probably wondering why he wasn’t returning any calls. He was pretty sure he had a shift today, so they would definitely be attempting to reach him. Surely some of his few friends would have tried to ping him on social media as well; it would be unusual for Simon to not send some picture or video to one of them for an extended period of time. Maybe they would assume his silence was caused by something else, like power or internet issues.
Did his parents try to get in touch with him at all? Surely they would have called to check in by now if news was spreading about the pokefications. His mom was always one to worry about these sorts of things, and the previous pandemic definitely shook her up something fierce.
All these people worried and it was his fault, like always.
Simon grit his teeth and jerked his head in an attempt to shake off the negative thoughts that clawed at his psyche. He promised himself that this wallowing and self pity would end; they served no purpose other than to perpetuate stagnation and misery. This could be seen as a new lease in life, and perhaps it was time to take advantage of that rare occurrence and move on from the pathetic Simon of yesterday. A part of himself delighted at the bravado of this new conviction.
He shut his eyes and slapped his cheeks to wake himself up from that stupor, taking a deep cleansing breath, and reached down to grab one of the numerous small pebbles on the ground. Simon inspected the stone, taking note of its smoothness and how flat it was. Satisfied, he attempted to recapture the memories of skipping rocks as a youngster. A record of seven skips if he remembered correctly. The Snivy followed the motions as best he could.
He could immediately tell the combination of being rusty and having an unfamiliar body wasn’t beneficial to proper form. The rock glided above the aquatic weeds before unceremoniously dipping into the water with a tiny splash. His tail lashed in frustration as he crouched back down for another rock, before he stood up to muse about his earlier observations of the area.
It was honestly amazing how integrated the pokemon were with the previous, non-fantastical residents of the forest. He supposed it made some sense given that they themselves were just normal animals not too long ago, so whatever drove their actions now was most likely the same. After all, he changed, yet he felt like himself… Mostly.
There were strange urges that he had noticed; subtle observations and actions he normally wouldn't make or do. Like right now, with his tail. At first he thought it was just acting on its own, but after figuring out how to control the appendage yesterday, he realized he was just subconsciously directing it towards the great fireball in the sky. Plants needed sunlight after all.
Now he actively took note of the sun’s position in the sky to make adjustments. He glanced back as he wagged his tail side to side before letting it rest back to the spot that was favorable to the sun’s rays. He was glad he solved that mystery; not being able to control your tail seemed like a failure on a fundamental level for a Pokémon.
Another toss, this time the stone hopped once against the blue water before submerging. Progress. A nice yellowish rock was chosen next, somewhat larger than the others. Simon dusted the clay off to reveal a pristine surface that felt like silk against his leafy hands.
His eyes were bizarre compared to his previous human experience of sight. They were on the sides of his head, which led to a much larger field of view than he was used to, and he found he could almost gaze behind himself without having to turn around. The process felt like crossing his eyes as a human, just in the opposite direction as they shifted back to neutral position.
It wasn’t perfect, and there was definitely a blindspot still present directly behind his head, but it was rather impressive. He heard that in prey animals this usually came at the cost of depth perception, but as he figured out on day one his vision was even better than it was as a human.
Simon cocked his arm back to toss the pebble before a small splash from the shoreline distracted the Snivy. He snapped his gaze back to regard whoever approached his little spot on the beach. A large, dark green and lumpy bullfrog paused as it noted the bipedal snake, letting out a gruff ribbit as it sat in a neutral position.
“Uh, hello, little frog? Can… Can I help you?” Simon awkwardly asked the amphibian, tilting his head to the side. The only reply he received was a dull expression, its stare unnaturally devoid of any hint of emotion. Something about it sent a chill of unease down Simon’s spine. Why was it just staring at him? More strange, however, was how suddenly grating its incessant stare had become.
Simon’s eyes sharpened into a glower as an icy presence washed over his mind. The pebble left his grasp to join its brethren on the ground. He sneered down at the creature. Was this little pest mocking him? Had it approached to gawk like he was some circus freakshow? It was! That would not do. No prey-beast dullard would dare jest at a princeling if it knew its proper place in the forest. Simon felt himself go deathly still as his surroundings evaporated from sight and mind. It was just him and a fool that needed to learn an important lesson.
The Snivy slowly dropped low to the ground, curling on himself like a spring, his pupils razor thin slits against a sea of angry red and trained on his prey. The frog remained steadfast, not moving an inch even when faced with a proper threat. This would be child’s play.
Simon snapped forward at the frog with jaws open wide, fangs ravenous, and eyes that smouldered with murderous intent, before he slipped on the soft clay he had been standing on. He tumbled harshly to the ground before the amphibian, who slowly blinked each empty eye, lazily hopping back into the lake without so much as a farewell.
Simon fumed at the humiliating fumble before his eyes snapped wide in horror. What the hell was that?! He seriously tried to eat that little frog because… It looked at him funny? Where did that even come from? He felt completely normal one moment, and the next it was like a switch flipped and he was an entirely different person! A shiver, not of cold, but of existential dread, ran down his spine.
He took a shaky breath as he untangled himself back into a seated position. It was moments like that Simon had been terrified about. Moments where someone else seemed to pilot his body without him realizing what was happening. It never happened to this degree though, only incredibly mundane things in comparison. He curled his small hands into fists, the digits digging into his palms. He had to be more aware of his sense of self in the future if that was going to become commonplace.
He wasn’t some animal, he was human.
Now what was he thinking about before he was so rudely interrupted? Oh right, behavioral changes. Simon lamented at how ironically topical that was. He grabbed the pebble he dropped and gave it a toss. Three skips this go around.
A new thing over the past two days he noticed was that he loathed the night. Human Simon was a night owl through and through. He often slept in well past noon and stayed up late into the night. It was why he preferred to work the nightshift at his job. But now the thought of being active in the dark, without the benevolent sun gazing down onto the land, was utterly undesirable. The woes of becoming a grass-type, he supposed, though it was most likely conducive to a healthier lifestyle than what he was previously leading.
Speaking of nights, they were critically cold here, and it wasn’t even halfway through autumn yet. Simon shivered slightly at the memories of the previous two nights nipping at his verdant scales. He felt like they shouldn’t be this harsh yet, but perhaps he was much more susceptible to the frigid climate due to his typing. Grass was weak to ice after all.
Another pebble, another toss. He had to wait as a group of ducks swam past his shooting range, each quaking at each other as they took turns diving down to snap up food. He felt good about this toss, and it didn’t disappoint with four skips. Perhaps he didn’t lose his touch after all.
Luckily for Simon, he had Miirym to keep the cold at bay. You would think that a reptile would lack the capability to generate body heat, but she was no ordinary lizard. No, she was a winged lizard that could summon bolts of lightning from the heavens. As such, as long as Simon shared space with her, the cold was tolerable.
Unfortunately for Simon, he had Miirym to keep the cold at bay. The dragonite, bless her heart, was a hugger and cuddler, and the Snivy was conveniently plushy-sized to the mighty dragon. She was also incredibly strong, and had very little in the ‘holding back’ department. Simon felt a small frown tug at the corners of his mouth as he gently rubbed his slightly aching ribs.
If that wasn't bad enough, she also snored. He struggled to even describe it as just a snore, it was more like a seismic event. Every deep, sputtering inhale, already loud and resonant on its own, was amplified by the echo of the cavern. It was a rhythmic, oppressive vibration that rattled Simon’s chest throughout the night. He was impressed she didn’t wake herself up at all. He’d be able to tell if she did, considering he woke up every twenty or so minutes. Perhaps he could find something out here to use as ear plugs.
He considered asking Miirym to make a fire for them, just to save himself from her death grip and deep sleep rumblings. It probably wouldn’t be hard to explain to the Dragonite what he wanted, and a cakewalk for her to gather enough wood for the night and just spit an ember into the pile. Something about the thought of open flames dancing away in close proximity to his sleeping form was rather discomforting to Simon though, so he never pulled the cord on that one. He’d have to suffer from murder hugs, he relented.
The fire idea, as much as it bothered him, still might be something he forced himself to try. At least have something burning during the day. Maybe someone out there in a plane or helicopter would spot the smoke and come investigate. Not that he’s seen any flying around so far, but it's a better idea than nothing.
Simon glanced back out over the lake in time for a bright red-orange figure to shoot from the depths, a catfish desperately attempting to wriggle out of her jaws. Miirym spiraled up in the air, snapping her wings out to the side at the apex, before she gently drifted back down to the water’s surface, where she turned to float on her back as she enjoyed a meal. Her jubilant expression was rather contagious, and Simon couldn’t help the wide smile forming on his snout.
She was still a mystery to him. One one hand, she seemed to remember little pieces of her past. Her unfortunate obsession of feeding Simon bugs similar to what he fed her, and her delicate head pats before bed proved she recalled those. But outside of that, she acted like she was a Dragonite her entire life, exhibiting mastery over her new body as if nothing ever changed.
She was clearly more intelligent; Simon was able to get her to understand what he said most of the time, sometimes it just took a little bit of explaining and miming. Likewise, while she couldn’t speak outside of gruff draconic vocalizations, she understood how to try to get her point across with gestures.
The sight of Miirym enjoying lunch made his stomach growl. Simon’s face grew aghast as he was haunted by recent memories. He would have to tell Miirym he was hungry. She would go get more bugs. He would have to eat those bugs, and she would make sure he ate it all. Simon shuddered. Even his subconscious writhed at the thought of eating such undignified food. No, there had to be a better way…
He could get his own food now that he was in the forest proper! Yes, an excellent idea.
The Snivy stood up and took stock of the options presented before him. He watched the various insects dance through the air, such as the dragonflies that zipped across the water’s surface in search of flies to hunt, or various Cutieflies visiting the last remaining wildflowers of the season to gather precious nectar. Most of the animals, aside from the lake dwellers, had vacated the area after Miirym’s display in fear of being her next meal. Occasionally Simon would spot a squirrel or a Zigzagoon as it crept towards the water for a sip or two before making a mad dash back into the underbrush.
Only one issue to the plan. Hunting was absolutely out of the question. Simon’s cheeks flushed at the thought of that mortifying failure from just a few minutes before. He doubted he could catch something, and even if he did, he wasn’t sure he had the guts to actually do the deed and finish the poor creature. The serpent in his mind would have to take the honors, and he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of letting it do what it wanted without his input.
That left foraging then. Simon wasn’t much of a boy scout in his youth, so identifying edible plants was basically gambling. Surely there had to be something obviously edible that grew around here, like an apple tree, or some sort of berry! The more he thought about it, though, the dumber he felt about the idea.
“Gah! No more Wurmples or Caterpies or any other wormy things! Please God, or Arceus I guess, or whatever’s pulling the strings, just let me have this one win,” Simon cried to the heavens, arms outstretched towards the empty sky. His pleas were met with the sound of rustling leaves and the song of a nuthatch. No divine intervention today.
Simon slowly sagged and resigned himself to his insect-consuming fate. He was moments from calling out to the dragon before a flash of rusty red across the river caught his attention.
It looked like a fox; its maroon fur accented with black tipped ears and paws. A mask-like motif surrounded its yellow eyes, and its large tail tufted outwards like a sack tied closed. A Nickit! More interesting to Simon, however, was the large yellow fruit patterned with green circles. He recalled that Pokémon liked to steal their food rather than gather it themselves, so it was surely edible. While he doubted he’d be able to stumble into the plant that fruit grew from, the fox Pokémon already did the hard work for him.
An idea slowly formed in his mind. Maybe he could follow it and see if it stashed any of its other pilferings? If there was some sort of food deposit in or near its den, maybe he could snag a few once the fox pokemon made its way back into the forest. He felt slightly bad for stealing food from it, but he was hungry, and the laws of nature cared not for fairness. At least this seemed more feasible for him to accomplish.
Simon glanced back at the red-orange Dragonite. She seemingly dozed in the water. Simon felt his brows raise in mild shock and wanted to laugh at the apparent carelessness on display, but decided that it provided the best opportunity for this to work. He grabbed one final pebble from the beach. Perhaps it could serve as a distraction if he needed one.
The Snivy jogged over to the river and hopped onto a fallen log that bridged the gap. The beaver from earlier popped its head above the water’s surface to take a look at who had clambered over his dam-in-progress. Simon waved, shouting a quick ‘sorry!’ as he continued towards where he last saw the Nickit.
His tiny legs scurried as fast as he could manage in an attempt to not lose the trail, leaves crunching and twigs snapping underfoot. He felt himself tilt forward, snout on point and chest almost parallel to the ground. His tail snapped this way and that, acting as a counter weight to prevent him from slipping.
His heart was pounding in his chest, but he felt… Good. More excitement than exhaustion. Simon wasn’t the most fit individual as a human, and especially let himself somewhat rot after getting a sedentary desk job. If he had his old body right now, he was sure he’d be huffing and puffing.
But now? He felt stronger and faster, even though he was one-third the size. It shouldn’t have been this much of a surprise considering he was a Pokémon. His speed currently might have been absolutely laughable compared to a ‘mon that was more experienced, but he was much further ahead of himself in terms of physical capability than he was two days ago.
Simon slid to a halt atop the fallen leaves in front of the clearing that the Nickit trotted into. He paused in search of any trail that the Pokémon might have left. It would be hard to tell with the colorful tapestry of fallen foliage that smothered the ground, but it surely left some sign of where it was heading.
He felt that presence, the serpent, stir in the back of his mind, admonishing him for yet another blunder. Simon cursed softly to himself. Of course there wouldn’t be any tracks - Nickit use their tails as brushes to remove their prints. Realizing he was wasting precious time, he dashed into the forest in hopes of catching a glimpse of the creature.
Being in the forest proper was both breathtaking and profoundly disorienting to Simon. The cascade of vibrant colors caused the landscape to blend together, the rustle of leaves was a potential threat waiting to strike, and every breath brought a myriad of scents that flooded him with information incomprehensible to the human mind. His leafy scales prickled with a sense of unease. Perhaps this was a mistake, maybe he should turn around…
The serpent, however, became agitated at the hint of the human giving up. Enamored by the prospect of this hunt, it urged Simon forward with fervor in his blood.
The Snivy continued to search for his quarry as he ducked under branches and leapt over stones, his eyes darted this way and that in an attempt to catch a glimpse. His efforts eventually paid off when he spotted the fox Pokémon. The Nickit’s bushy tail was a beacon of red and black against the forest, and it bobbed rhythmically as it deftly and effortlessly navigated the underbrush. A flash of yellow and green in its jaws confirmed that he wasn’t too late to find its den.
The serpent demanded Simon to slow; to creep and slither up on their target undetected. Learn from the Nickit, how its grace lets it dance through the woodlands as naturally as breathing, it demanded in a cold whisper. Simon wanted to learn, to adapt, but the sheer animalistic drive that threatened to swallow his mind felt too disturbing, too alien. He attempted to push it back down to the deep recesses of his subconscious, a frustrated hiss escaping his lips.
This internal feud would prove costly. He tried to mimic the soundless movements of the Nickit, but in the battle with himself Simon failed to spot a divot in the earth. The Snivy crashed into the ground and the desiccated leaves crunched and crinkled under his form like thunder.
The Nickit froze, its head cocked towards Simon’s direction. Its sharp ears twitched and masked eyes searched, but eventually found nothing. It huffed past the fruit in its mouth and turned back to continue down its path. Simon heaved a relieved sigh that he hadn’t messed the entire operation up.
His body had acted in the blink of an eye before he could fully process his tumble. He found himself frozen, flat against a moss-covered stump and instinctively relaxed to allow his verdant scales to camouflage with the environment. The serpent gloated in his mind as if to say ‘you’re welcome’, to which Simon begrudgingly conceded as he brushed bits of autumn detritus off himself.
Simon returned to tracking. He allowed the serpent to guide his steps, but remained hyper vigilant of any attempt to extract him from the driver’s seat. A fragile balance to hold, but hold it did as he caught up to the fox Pokémon again in time to watch it disappear into the base of an old, gnarled oak. Simon ducked into a bush to catch his breath and attempted to assuage his heart that hammered against his chest. He finally found the den, nestled under the roots of the massive tree, now to wait.
After minutes of excruciating anticipation, Simon saw the fox Pokémon poke its snout out from the depths of the den before it hopped out. Its head swiveled as it observed its surroundings before it stretched its limbs and lumbered back out into the forest, luckily in the opposite direction of where they had come from. Towards the looming mountain that Simon had not realized had become so close, as a matter of fact. Simon wanted to creep towards the den, but the serpent demanded he remain and wait before doing so.
The Nickit did not return, and the serpent let Simon go, satisfied that the human would not screw this up more than he already had. He tiptoed towards the opening and peered inside. It was rather small, though considering his short stature he could easily slip inside. The dirt was cool beneath his feet as he invaded the sanctity of the other Pokémon’s home.
Immediately the stench of animal struck his nose, and Simon scrunched up his snout. Inside he spotted what seemed to be some sort of nest constructed with various sticks, plants, loose fur and dirt. Scraps of food were left here and there, mostly fruit, though some small rodent remains were spotted. Eventually he found a sort of covering made from weaved vines and leaves that was placed over a small hole in the corner. Jackpot, a cluster of stolen fruit.
The serpent’s greed wanted Simon to take it all. The human, however, only grabbed the yellow-green fruit that the Nickit just stored. It was the freshest, he figured, and he did honestly feel somewhat bad about this. It was too large to just carry in his hand, he had to cradle it in his free arm. Enough food to fill his belly for today.
Simon exited the hole in the ground and beamed at his successful heist. He began to walk in the direction of the lake, but failed to hear the rapidly approaching footfalls behind him. Simon felt as if he was struck by a charging bull as he flew through the air. He tumbled into the ground, rolling over himself twice before skidding to a stop. His entire body ached, and the back of his left ribs screamed when he tried to move.
Fearfully, he glanced back. The Nickit wore a baleful expression and bared its fangs at the Snivy in a low, dangerous growl. Streams of silvery mist seemed to evaporate from its fur as it began stalking towards the thief. The serpent writhed in rage as it demanded blood in kind, but Simon chose flight.
He staggered to his feet and gripped tightly to the food. He groaned in pain as he dashed into the woods as fast as he could. The serpent screamed at him to turn around, calling him a coward. Simon was a coward indeed, but he wanted no part of the serpent’s bloody plan. He kept running.
The Nickit wouldn’t let him slip away so easily. It caught up to the stumbling Pokémon in mere moments and pounced through the air, claws outstretched and maw wide. Simon, in complete and utter desperation, spun around and rocketed the pebble he had been holding onto towards the lunging figure. It screamed through the air as if pitched by a professional baseball player, and through sheer, dumb luck it landed directly in the Nickit’s eye.
It was the fox’s turn to take a tumble. It squealed and yowled in agony as it rolled onto the forest floor and pawed its face. Simon wasted no time pitying the creature and returned to his mad dash, chest heaving in pain and panic.
He staggered through the foliage, his one-track mind focusing only on the escape. Luckily he was cognizant enough to recognize some landmarks, and soon he heard the faint gurgling of the river. Simon glanced back, relieved to not see any signs of the Nickit. He shouted for Miirym with all the breath he could muster.
He saw a flash of ruddy red from the tree line above and his heart soared in alleviation, only to receive a powerful kick in the head. The fruit flew into a nearby tree as Simon found himself in a desperate grapple with the fox Pokémon. It snarled and snapped towards his throat, its breath hot against his face as he held it back with his last remaining strength. Deathly black energy seeped from its fangs, and its furious expression promised that this matter was now personal, that it would not be satisfied with just taking its food back. The Nickit’s remaining eye blazed with rage while the other was still screwed shut in agony.
Even with the serpent’s desperate determination, Simon felt his strength rapidly waning. The jaws of this predator grew closer to his throat as he felt its fangs glance off his scales. His heart dropped and he shut his eyes as he resigned himself to his fate.
And suddenly, he felt the fox’s oppressive weight lift. He took a shuddering breath and dared to peek. Miirym’s large form stood before Simon, imposing like a malevolent mountain. She held the Nickit by the tail in one paw, dangling it so that its face met hers. The look of pure, raw fury on the normally playful Dragonite made Simon’s heart skip a beat. Her muzzle twisted back in a disgusting snarl as flames that desperately wished to be released flickered between her fangs. The atmosphere became thick with an oppressive, physical pressure that promised violence.
The Nickit, who had struggled briefly upon being snatched, became deathly still. Had it no fur, it would have looked like a ghost as all the coloration of its skin drained away. Simon staggered to his feet as Miirym drew the fox closer, snorting smoke into the petrified creature’s face.
A part of him wanted this to just play out. Eye for an eye. That’s what the serpent wanted. Hell, even Simon felt some vindication from the possibility of it getting torched. But Simon knew the Pokémon wouldn’t be in this situation if not for his own actions. That wasn't fair to his human sensibilities.
He gently pat Miirym’s leg. The dragon slowly ceased her snarling as she glanced down at the small Snivy. He gave her a worried, but disarming look, both hands pushing downward in a ‘calm down’ gesture.
“Miirym, it’s ok, I’m ok. Just put the Nickit down, the poor thing looks like it’s about to have a heart attack.”
Miirym frowned at Simon, brows furrowed in confusion, but she relented and not-so-gently tossed the fox onto the ground, crossing her arms and glaring. The Pokémon dared not move, wide eyes trained on the Dragonite as if she would change her mind and grind him into dust.
Simon limped over to the fruit and grasped it in both hands, gritting his teeth with every heavy step. It was fairly bruised on the side that collided with the hard bark, but was luckily still in one piece. The serpent fumed at his earlier decision, but he would end this in a way that would satisfy them both. The serpent seemed confused as to what he meant, but quickly caught on, mildly impressed the human was capable of concocting a plan such as this. It offered to lend a metaphorical hand, which Simon accepted.
He turned back around to regard the two. Miirym still with her death stare, and the Nickit still frozen in terror. Simon cleared his throat which caused him to wince at the sharp pain in his side, but remained steadfast. He stood above the Nickit, snout held high in the air and glowered at the fox from the corner of his eye, as if it was barely worth his time. His tone of voice filled with the steely authority and pompousness of a monarch.
“You impress me with your tenacity. However, you made the grave mistake of raising a claw against a prince. Given the circumstances of our meeting, I will let this slide once, but I doubt my associate here would be satisfied with just a metaphorical slap on the wrist. Your den is within the shadow of the mountain, therefore you are within our kingdom. You seem the intelligent sort, so I’ll give you a proposition, which I strongly suggest you accept considering I spared your life.
“Put your skills to use and provide tribute in the form of fruit such as this at the great rock’s base. One by sundown each day. Don’t worry about specifics, we will find it, but do try to make it consistent for your own sake. Accept, and you may continue to enjoy my benevolence. Refuse, and well… I’m sure Miirym here has room for seconds.”
Miirym gawked at Simon in curiosity. The Nickit stared like a deer stuck in headlights. Simon bent down and snapped a finger in front of its face.
“Do you accept?”
The fox snapped out of its reverie and ever so slowly nodded.
“Good. You may take your leave now. Be quick, I doubt Miirym has any remaining patience. But, as a show of good faith, take this first.”
Simon grasped the fruit back in both hands and pulled. The fruit split into jagged halves, juice dripping down his digits onto the ground. Notes of sour tickled Simon’s nose as he handed one of the halves to the Pokémon. It gently grabbed the half in its mouth so as to not make any sudden movements, before it shakily got to its feet. It looked between the Snivy and the Dragonite before it turned around and walked into the underbrush, pausing to take one last bewildered glance before disappearing.
Simon deflated as the icy tendrils of the serpent receded to the back of his mind, satisfied. The dull throbbing of his bruises sharpened as the adrenaline in his system faded which caused the Snivy to cringe. Miirym gazed down at Simon, claw scratching her chin and face scrunched up as she pondered at what just happened, but he just gave her a sad smile.
“Thanks for the, uh, save…” he panted out. He gingerly sat down and continued, “I’m sorry I ran off, that was really, really stupid of me. Totally understand if you’re upset. I just… I don’t know, I felt like I had to prove to myself that I wasn’t completely helpless, you know?”
Simon barked a laugh and shook his head in disbelief, “And look where that got me. Almost six feet under with my throat torn out, and I still needed you to bail me out. I'm sorry, I keep making these same mistakes like always,” he murmured.
The ground shook as Miirym sat next to the dejected Snivy. She reached around him and pulled him close in a comforting hug, before she lifted him up and placed him onto her lap. Simon peered up into the Dragonite’s large eyes. She didn’t look upset, rather a mixture of worry and… pride? She smiled down at him, before gesturing between the two and punching into her palm, a universal sign of ‘combat’.
“You want us to fight each other? No offense, but after today I don’t think I’m willing to put myself in the meat grinder again,” Simon dubiously chuckled.
Miirym rolled her eyes and shook her head no, before mimicking the same set of gestures. She added a tilt to her palm side to side and a tap to her temple. Simon raised a brow before he took a guess.
“You want to… sort of fight… so I learn something? Oh, you want to train me how to fight! That would, uh, be good, yeah.”
Miirym smiled and nodded, glad that he parsed what she tried to convey. Her expression then hardened as she jabbed a claw at Simon, then in the direction of his adventure, and shook her head no. Oops, he was still in trouble. He sighed and accepted his looming fate.
She scooped him back up and sauntered over to the lake. For as much that seemed to happen today, the sun had only barely moved across the sky, marking it as around early afternoon. Simon looked down at the sticky fruit half he held, his prize. His stomach, as if it remembered what that entire quest was for, rumbled in anticipation. He brought the half to his snout and took a large, decisive bite. Immediately his mouth puckered as an intense tart flavor smothered his tastebuds. It was like he ate the world’s sourest candy. He stifled a cough as he chewed and screwed his eyes shut as they watered.
I might have tasted like battery acid, but that was the taste of victory to Simon.
Ch4: Strength and Duty
The midnight air was a thick mire of smoldering smoke and ash. It was a harsh, acrid poison that punished every ragged breath. The stench was too overwhelming to discern, but the taste had a heavy tinge of metallic tang that could only be spilt blood. The still silence of death was only broken by the crackle and snaps of dancing flame.
A Dragonite limped themselves through a graveyard in a trance. Was this place their home? It was, or had been, now twisted and scorched like the very hells had erupted here. A heavy drag-thud rhythmically echoed in the dreadful quiet as their legs struggled to carry their bulk. Their vibrant orange hide, once meticulously pristine, was now a tattered canvas of soot and grime, weeping gashes, and blistering burns. Something rattled inside their mouth. A tooth, loose and broken. They tried to spi it out, but the fang just stayed there, clicking with every step.
The dragon’s eyes were devoid of luster as they regarded the nightmare the forest had become. The only light came from the flicker of yellow and orange of a dozen dying flames. The fire light made the shadows stretch like grasping fingers that pulled at the ground. The husks of trees had faces, all of them screaming in rage and sorrow. Occasionally the wind would bring a flurry of angry embers. Shooting stars that only uncovered massive smoking craters, the very land savaged by draconic flames, beams of pure destruction, and explosive meteors.
A hissing whisper came from the smoke. This was their fault. The Dragonite’s heart ached at the truth.
One simple belief guided their life, ingrained into their mind as soon as they broke through their egg as a small Dratini runt by cruel teachers. To take what you want, to seal your name in history, to defy fate itself, one has to hold the power and ruthlessness of claw and fang. The strongest ‘mon is only meat afterall. To surpass it, one must merely become the strongest butcher.
A harsh, selfish lesson. Too harsh in the Dragonite’s opinion, who viewed the arrogant elder wyrms as nothing short of evil. But that dogma pushed them to become the undefeatable warrior-king they were today. One that commanded both respect and fear.
Yes, a warrior felt the more appropriate title. A guardian of their territory and those that lived within, protector of the meek, keeper of the peace. Someone to rise up against challenges that threatened the careful balance of this place. They weren’t the savage monster their parentage wished for.
They had become the strongest through years of grueling challenges, painful lessons, and dangerous foes. This mountain was theirs to rule and stand vigil over; the valley it occupied, the lakes and rivers that snaked through, everything that bore their insignia was under their careful watch. Challengers would come, hopeful usurpers believing themselves to be the one to topple the king. They would leave with a painful lesson of their own, and the dragon would be fed in experience, prowess, and pride.
Only now it felt like a cruel joke. Their strength was not their shield. They had become too comfortable, too lax, too arrogant to think they or their territory could ever be threatened.
The silence was the worst part. The once vibrant forest, full of life and activity even in the late hours where only the moon and the stars shone, was well and truly extinguished. No chirps or screeches from Murkrow or Zubat as they danced through the canopy, no scurrying and chattering from Rattata or Pachirisu as they foraged in the underbrush, no buzzing or crying from Nincada or Venonat as they called out to potential partners. All gone. All sacrificed on the altar of the dragon’s false power, an altar of lies.
The Dragonite spotted the bodies, caught under the rubble of the cataclysm. Every single one checked, only to confirm the dark truth they desperately wished wasn’t true. But the corpses did not lie still in death. They watched. Dead eyes seemed to track every move, maws agape in snarls at the one who let them die. The dragon tried to look away, to run, but their heavy legs just kept marching forward, pulling them closer, ever closer to oblivion.
They could hear the angry spirits shriek. False king, false protector, a curse upon you, the corpses sneered into the wind. The Dragonite stumbled as they tried to pick up their pace.
A sharp, blood-red edge pricked their clenched fist. The Dragonite opened their claws, wincing as the brunt skin stretched, and regarded their ‘trophy’. A jagged shard from the hammerhead’s cruel scythe, broken off in the final, desperate clash. Vestiges of that sickening dark pink aura that had coated that monster’s form still gently slithered off the shard and into the air. A power uncomfortably similar to the energy that buzzed through the forest, but somehow condensed into something tainted and corruptive.
That monster’s form was a grotesque caricature of what the Dragonite knew was normal for its species. It moved like no ‘mon should, broken and sick-like yet pushed far beyond natural limits, and had no regard for itself or others. Its harrowing screams of pain and madness had smothered the valley in its quest for blood. The Dragonite shuddered at the fresh memory of its titanic, raw strength and the boundless well of its soulfire. Whatever happened to it, it allowed a titanic strength even the Dragonite had never witnessed before.
That was a true butcher. The dragon’s ancestors would have hissed words of praise for the creature.
In the end, the Dragonite had shattered its occult power, but was unable to finish the job, the creature vanishing into the ash-choked night. Now they were left in the ruin it helped create. The Dragonite stumbled to a halt, the smoke, injuries, and despair finally overwhelming, and crashed down onto their knees.
The exhaustion was becoming too much to be burdened with any longer. They were ready to simply lie down in the ash and let the embers take them and be done. Erase their soiled name from the earth, for they deserved no less. What was the point? Everything and everyone was gone. They failed their one, single purpose.
They teetered on the edge, about to fall. Then, a movement. It was so small, they thought the smoke was playing tricks on their eyes. A flicker of gray fur beneath the burning skeleton of what was once a mighty oak.
Heavy as a boulder, the Dragonite's head swiveled in its direction as disbelief flashed on their face. It was no trick. A tiny, singed form, almost completely buried in the soot, its chest only just expanding in short, fluttering breaths. A young Poochyena. Its eyes were squeezed shut, face scrunched in pain, but it breathed and was alive. As if sensing the dragon’s presence, it cracked a crimson eye open and lifted a trembling paw, letting out a quiet whimper in a desperate plea to who was supposed to be the guardian of this place, before collapsing again.
It was a miracle. That was the only thought bouncing in the Dragonite’s desolate cavern of a mind. After all this death and destruction. After finding no signs of survivors. A single, guttering flame of life.
The armor of their warrior’s stoicism shattered. A massive, choking sob ripped from their chest, more painful than any wound they suffered this night. They forced themselves back onto their feet even as their body cried out that it had no energy left to give, but they didn’t care. Tears cut clean stinging paths through the dried blood and grime on their face as they slowly lumbered to the youngling.
Gently, ever so gently that it was agony against their torn muscles, the Dragonite knelt down and extended their claws. The same claws that once rent the earth open with unrivaled confidence now trembled as they tenderly slid underneath its tiny body. The dragon scooped the pup up. It weighed nothing, but it felt like the heaviest thing in the world. The Poochyena whimpered again in a weak protest before instinctively nuzzling into the warm palm it found itself in, seeking a safety it sorely missed.
They brought the Poochyena to their chest, curling their massive body around its tiny and fragile frame. The Dragonite winced as its fur brushed against burns, but it was a good pain. The void that threatened to swallow them wasn’t gone, but it had a new fiercely bright center.
They regarded the ground once more, spotting the still corpse of a Mightyena close by, laying in such a way that suggested it spent its last moments shielding its pup. The Dragonite closed their eyes, an apology uttered to the spirit that had long passed on, and a promise to not let that sacrifice be in vain. The corpse seemed to nod, satisfied, before it turned to ash, blowing away with the wind.
The Dragonite staggered back to their feet, their limp more pronounced but their direction now certain. They would not die here. Penance was not about dying, but living for the one thing they managed to save. A singular chance at redemption.
They made a new unbreakable oath, a new dogma to follow. I will protect you. I will teach you so that when I inevitably fall again, you may rise up even further.
And you will be strong.
The Dragonite turned from the crater of their old life and limped into the dark. To where? They did not know. Fate would guide them and call their name.
Their name…
Yes, they thought they heard it. Faintly over the wind. Someone or something calling it again and again.
“…Miirym…”
“Miirym.”
“MIIRYM!”
Miirym’s eyes snapped open in panic as she took a long, startled breath. She glanced around her surroundings in a frenzy as her eyes readjusted themselves from the fog of sleep. She was profoundly confused as to where she was, surrounded by a blur of shadow and stone and not… Where did she think she was supposed to be? Visions flashed sharp as glass in her mind briefly, yet disappeared into the ether mere moments after.
She felt something struggling against her chest. Mirrym gasped as she looked down at the small individual she tightly held, briefly befuddled that they were not who she expected. The Snivy regarded her with wide, desperate eyes as he choked and sputtered, trying to worm his way out of her grip.
“MIIRYM, LET GO, YOU’RE CHOKING ME!” Simon wheezed out as he attempted to push her strong arms away.
The confusion vanished as Miirym’s mind finally corrected itself from its strange dreamscape. She gasped and quickly released her death grip. Simon slid off her scales into their nest of dried leaves, pine needles and packed dirt. He lay there for a moment, harshly coughing as he took in deep gulps of precious air. Miirym slowly sat up fully, her own ragged breathing calming down. She felt a hot flush of embarrassment as she nervously clicked her claws together. She gave an apologetic look to the Snivy.
“You gotta do something about that habit of yours,” Simon grumbled, rubbing his sore ribs as he turned to face the Dragonite. “One of these days I’m actually gonna choke to dea-”, complaint dying on his lips, the Snivy's annoyed expression melted instantly into one of concern.
“Miirym? Are you ok?”
Miirym tilted her head, confused at his sudden shift. What did he mean?
Simon gestured to his face, “You’re crying…”
Miirym’s eyes softly widened as she brought a claw to her snout, brushing the scales beneath her eye. It came away wet. Oh, so she had. Miirym hadn’t even felt the tears. She quickly rubbed her eyes with her forearm to dry her scales, unsure as to what she saw in her dreams that could have provoked such a reaction from her.
Simon wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He’d seen the normally jovial Dragonite upset before, but not distressed. Unsure what else to do, he patted her side with his small hand. It was a tiny, almost unnoticeable gesture considering how much larger Miirym was, but she appreciated it, leaning down to nuzzle him atop the head. Simon felt himself leaning away from the massive dragon, instinctively uncomfortable with being doted upon so frequently by the giant, but begrudgingly allowed her to continue.
A low groan escaped Miirym as she pushed herself to her feet, her popping joints softly echoing against the cavern walls. A glance outside the cavern’s mouth revealed that it was much earlier than the two typically woke up. The sun’s light barely crested the horizon, a sliver of red that harshly illuminated the edges and underbellies of far away clouds. The forest was still steeped in the dark of night, and its nocturnal denizens were slowly preparing to seek their slumber.
Not a problem in the dragon’s opinion. In fact, it was ideal. Today was to be a more involved day. Training. She glanced down at Simon, who meticulously brushed bits of leaf and small smudges of dirt from his verdant scales. The little troublemaker showed potential, though there were many hurdles he would have to cross.
As far as Miirym could tell, the Snivy was essentially at step zero. Miirym had never seen a ‘mon so completely unable to use a single technique. Even fresh hatchlings had the raw, basic instinct for one. An odd situation, but she promised to help him become strong. And he would.
Miirym exited the cave and stood on the wide cliffside edge, taking a deep, cleansing breath of the chilled air. It bit at her scales, a refreshing shock from the strangeness of her slumber. Behind her, Simon looked hesitant to leave the nest, a slight frown on his face as he rubbed his tiny arms in an attempt to stave off the cold. Miirym’s gaze softened.
The poor grass-type would have a rougher time of it with the seasons soon to aggressively change. Miirym could sense that the winter would be brutal this cycle. She should find a way to keep the cave warmed. Could always just keep a fire going through the snowy months.
…Something about that made her strangely uncomfortable in a way she couldn’t quite pin down.
She shook the feeling away as another gust of wind slid across her scales. A puzzle for later, they still had time. She did feel bad about the poor Snivy’s tail, though. It had been pristine just a day ago, but she supposed the creeping bite of the chill was causing the edges of his leaf to turn a slight sickly yellow. Simon kept fussing with it the moment he noticed, and she tried to reassure him best she could.
Regardless, they had work to do. Miirym gestured to Simon to leave the cave with a tilt of her head, a clear ‘come on’ command. He remained rooted, a pensive expression on his snout, considering which was worse: the cold or her irritation.
“So… I know we were going to do the whole training thing today,” he finally called from the nest, huddling down slightly, “but could we maybe wait until it's a little warmer outside? Fairly certain I’m going to literally wilt.”
Her irritation then. Miirym sighed a puff of steam from her nostrils and crossed her thick arms, sending a stern glare at the Snivy. He tried to glare back, it was almost adorable, but she could see the internal conflict behind his eyes. Eventually he stood up with a dramatic sigh of his own, brushing a pine needle off his yellow collar, and padded outside. He grumbled all the way to her side, pressing up against her in an immediate attempt to leech some of her warmth.
Miirym nodded, before his shivering gave her an idea. She scanned the ledge before she leaned over to pick up a small stone between two claws, inspecting it to make sure it wasn’t cracked. Satisfied with what she saw, she pulled at the energy that buzzed in her blood, condensing a familiar heat into her throat. She softly blew a tiny, controlled jet of flame onto the rock.
Simon’s grumbling was forgotten as he watched curiously at Miirym toasting the stone, not quite sure what she had planned. “What are you doing?” he simply asked.
The Dragonite cut the flame off and let the darkened stone roll onto her palm. To her thick scales, it was just barely warm, but that would be more than enough for Simon. She crouched down and held out the stone to the Snivy.
Very hesitantly, he reached a hand out and hovered it above to test the heat. Encouraged that his scales didn’t peel off, he lowered his hand. Simon instinctively jerked it back slightly as his fingers brushed against the rock’s surface, but then gingerly picked it up. It was hot, but not scorching enough to burn. Simon held it in both hands before he brought it to his chest, a small sigh of relief escaping his lips as the heat seeped into his body.
“Like one of those handwarmer things. I… thanks. I’ll probably ask you to warm it up a few more times before the sun fully rises.” Simon murmured and gently smiled up at the Dragonite.
Miirym brightly smiled back, happy to make him feel better. She rolled the kinks out of her wings before looking over the forest below in thought. The lake. In all honesty, it would be the best spot to train. It was fairly open, enough to practice techniques without having to manually clear an area beforehand. It being familiar ground would also help, as it would be easier for Simon to focus in such an environment. Finally, and most importantly, easy access to food and water. She knew this type of practice quickly worked up an appetite.
The thought of food made her smile fall, reminded of what Simon insisted they do before starting anything else.
That… little fox bastard! The nickit was tasked with providing tribute every sundown. Oh just thinking about that ‘mon made her blood boil as her tail lashed behind her. Miirym was floored when Simon refused to let her obliterate the thing, but that pressure he exerted, that cold authority in his voice when he spoke down to his assailant. The way the Nickit held on to his every word… It was somehow familiar in a way she couldn't place, but it practically radiated potential. It was half the reason why she agreed to start training the Snivy earlier than she had planned.
She snorted, another cloud of steam briefly obscuring her vision. ‘Somewhere at the base of the mountain’. You really couldn’t have been more specific, Simon? Still, from what he told her about where the Nickit’s den was located, she figured there was a good chance it stashed the berry conveniently in the direction they would leave for the lake. It wouldn’t be too hard to track it down, though. Miirym committed its cowardly stench to memory, so she would just follow any tracks it left near their great stone monolith.
No more wasting time. In one fluid, practiced motion Miirym scooped up Simon and took off. This time he expected such and gave no shout of surprise, though he did attempt to bury himself further into her grasp to escape the sheer of the rushing wind as they flew. Mirrym did her best to shield him with her body.
“That Nickit better not have skimped out on getting us that fruit!” Simon shouted over the roar of the wind.
Miirym couldn't help but roll her eyes. Simon had been far too excited at the prospect of a steady source of berries the night before. Miirym strongly felt that the Snivy needed fresh meat above everything, especially if they were to train properly. It was what she was raised off of, and she was more than plenty strong. Still, she would relent if it helped improve his mood.
She grinned with a glint of grim satisfaction. She still expected him to eat his Wurmples.
She descended, wings gliding in the wind as she spiralled towards the base of the mountain. Miirym took long, deep breaths to try to catch the Nickit’s scent. It took several minutes of weaving through the dense trees, knocking a few branches down to the forest floor. She had to sift through a myriad of other scents, such as the damp earth, sharp pine, and the distant scents of other creatures and pokemon, but she eventually caught a hint of it.
She landed with a soft thud onto the mossy ground at the edge of the treeline and began to stomp towards a small rocky outcropping, loose stones crunched underfoot. Her nostrils rhythmically flared every so often to keep the faint trail.
Soon enough another scent, floral with a bright tinge of tartness, intermingled with the one she was following as it managed to cut through the musty smells of the forest. At this point even Simon seemed to tell they were on the right track; the Snivy’s forked tongue darted out to taste the air. Miirym came upon a young, thin birch that defiantly grew from a large crack in an otherwise solid boulder.
She circled around it once, her large frame dwarfing the small tree, before peering into the narrow break itself. Sure enough, a yellow and green berry identical to the one from yesterday was stashed away inside. The fox-thief pokemon even placed a deliberate cut along the fruit's flesh to allow its scent to carry more easily. Cowardly, but smart, Miirym conceded with a low rumble in her chest.
“Oh thank god! I was honestly afraid it was just going to run away, as dumb as that decision would have been for it…” Simon exclaimed from within his perch in Miirym’s grasp. “No more bugs, no more bugs,” he quietly chanted to himself.
Miirym barked a deep laugh at that. Oh little Snivy, you can’t escape proper nutrition that easily. The Dragonite reached a single claw into the crack and plucked the berry from its hiding place. She held it for a moment before easily rending it in half with a quick, decisive flick of a finger, the skin splitting with a wet pop. She passed the pieces to Simon before curiously sampling the bright yellow juice that stuck to her claw.
Miirym’s snout immediately wrinkled, and she stuck her tongue out in disgust. He actually enjoyed this? It was grossly sour, smotheringly so. She was reminded why she hated these and preferred the intense yet sweet heat from those red berries with the looping stems instead.
…Did she? Was this not the first time she’s tried any fruit? The memory of knowing she preferred those red berries was suddenly, inexplicably, there.
Oblivious to Miirym’s momentary confusion, Simon gladly munched away. He was beginning to actually enjoy how intense the tartness was. The sharp zing on his tongue sure as hell beat the earthy taste of bugs. He hummed in satisfaction as he quickly devoured the first half. He almost started eating the second, but he paused and looked up to the Dragonite, holding out the piece in silent offering.
Miirym politely declined with a soft rumble and a shake of her head, trying to clear the strange memory. She would get her own meal once they arrived at the lake. Simon shrugged, satisfied that he made the gesture. More for him, then.
With their morning errand completed, Miirym once again took to the sky to fly to their vista for the day. The air was a fraction warmer now. The sun had climbed slightly, now able to properly send its first true morning rays across the forest in golden spears. As they flew, Simon wriggled in Miirym’s grasp and allowed his tail to hang free to her side, angling it to catch the precious light.
The lake was just as serene as it was yesterday. There was much less activity given the earlier hour, but Miirym spotted hints of life here and there. A distant splash, a rustle in the undergrowth, the forest creatures all ducked and hid away as her massive shadow passed over, startled by the approaching potential predator.
She did spot what seemed to be the black and blue of a Corvisquire desperately fluttering its wings in a flurry of black feathers as it less-than-gracefully tumbled through the air, before catching itself on the branch of a tall pine. Strange, but not her problem. It was probably diseased, she assumed. The Dragonite turned a blind eye and landed on a grassy beach within a sizable clearing. This seemed like a good enough spot.
She knelt, and Simon immediately leapt out of her grasp onto the soft, dewy grass. He rubbed the warming stone a few times before holding it up to Miirym, which she dutifully took to reheat with a small puff of flame. While she did, Simon stepped back and tilted his head up with shut eyes, focusing on the sunlight that struggled to cascade through the overlapping treeline.
She returned the stone to a grateful Simon, who rolled it around to warm up his small hands. He glanced up at the Dragonite, his expression expectant, before asking, “So, what’s the plan? I’m not exactly sure how you guys go about learning this stuff.”
Miirym was, for a moment, slightly stumped as well. How do you explain how to tap into your soulfire, your well of inner power, to someone who cannot consciously do so? It was like trying to explain how to breathe. The Snivy clearly had it; the pressure he exerted on the Nickit all but confirmed the power was there. If he could just access one technique, then the rest should be easier to learn. Perhaps a demonstration was in order.
Miirym gestured for Simon to sit and pay attention.
She held out one of her large, clawed paws, her eyes shut in concentration as she bid the energy to manifest. She called upon familiar emotions of battle, righteous anger, and most importantly, a deep and unshakeable pride, all the ingredients for the purple draconic fire-rage. It roiled under her scales at her call, an intimate heat, before it slowly seeped from her skin to wreathe her claws. A low, vibrating hum filled the air, before an ethereal snap and crackle grew. The purple aura coated each digit evenly before growing into a ghastly, hungry flame that billowed with the need to strike something down.
She opened her eyes as she slowly exhaled and looked at Simon. His sight was glued to her dragon claw. She lowered her paw for the Snivy to get a better look.
He was instantly on his feet, all traces of cold forgotten, examining the technique from every angle. He attempted to reach out to touch the fire-rage, but Miirym swatted his hand away with a quick thwack from her tail, giving him a stern look to not do something so foolish. He gave a sheepish apology, rubbing the back of his head.
She slowly released her unconscious hold on the pressure of her soulfire. The air became thick and oppressive with her aura, even with such a small amount. Simon took notice immediately, flinching slightly at the sudden feeling of danger he instinctively felt, glancing up at the Dragonite in confusion. If he wanted to become strong, to hold the true strength of kings, he too would need to learn to keep his pressure at bay. It was the polite thing to do.
The growing desire to strike and rend was becoming too much for Miirym to hold in check. She let the technique dissipate into the air, the aura unraveling and snaking away into thin, oily wisps that Simon followed with his gaze. He turned his head up to the Dragonite with a questioning, but almost frustrated look on his face.
“I get that pokemon use special energy for moves, I just… I don't know how. Or what it feels like to even tap into that,” he said, crossing his arms before quietly grumbling to himself, ”not that the damn serpent is being any help either…”
Miirym cocked her head, her hearing sharp enough to catch that last quip. Serpent? What was he talking about? Miirym filed the strange comment away. Focusing on the task at hand, she tapped her chin in thought before coming to the conclusion that she had to explain that emotion was the center of it all. She attempted to convey that by tapping a paw against her chest, right above her heart.
“I- Yeah, I get that it comes from inside you. That doesn’t really help.” Simon complained, frustration growing.
Miirym rolled her eyes at the Snivy’s whining. Miirym quickly realized this form of communication would make this task infinitely more difficult than it really should. She huffed, pacing around the beach before coming up with another idea. She copied the same gesture, before launching into a series of exaggerated mimes to convey different emotions. She deeply snarled for anger, dropped her whole body for sadness, puffed her chest for pride.
Luckily this time, something clicked for Simon. “So it's based on emotion?” he asked, face still askew as if he still wasn’t entirely sure. Miirym nodded emphatically, letting out a relieved sigh.
“Alright… next question then. What do I need to be feeling to do just a basic, easy move? Like, I don’t know, tackle? That has to be the most basic one to learn.” he asked, tilting his head.
Miirym blew out a steady breath. How to convey this… Through another series of gestures, she tried to explain that he just needed to feel the desire to battle. The simple, focused want to hit an opponent, to do violence. It took an agonizingly long while, and a few demonstrations of tackle against a poor boulder that was all but obliterated, but eventually he got the idea.
It was Simon’s turn. The dragonite crossed her arms as she intently watched the Snivy. He stood before the mottled and battered stone, eyes shut in deep and intense concentration plain to see on his face.
His crimson eyes eventually snapped open and regarded the mottled rock like it was a great and terrible foe. Miirym had to stifle a laugh at how cute she found it, not wanting to distract him. He looked so serious! He took one step, then another, before launching into a full tilt sprint, his little legs blurring. Miirym watched closely for any signs of the silvery aura that should be present with a successful standard-battle technique.
There! A wisp, so small and delicate it was almost a trick of the eye, but it manifested for the briefest of moments. Then another. Miirym leaned forward, hope rising in her chest. Was he going to do it?
Simon launched himself at the rock with a tiny shout… before coming to a complete halt in an unwanted full-body hug with the cold stone. Simon fell down in a heap, loudly hissing.
Miirym grit her teeth, wincing in sympathy. That probably hurt. But it's a start, she supposed. He did manage to tap into his soulfire, even if it was for the briefest of moments. That meant this was possible. Tackle was extremely basic; she wouldn’t be surprised if he managed to pick it up within the next few tries.
Miirym began to walk over to Simon, who still hadn’t moved, before startling when the Snivy angrily shouted, talking the top of his head with a fist.
“Shut up, shut up! Stop laughing at me, you stupid snake! You wouldn’t be sharing the pain if you got off your scaly ass and helped for once!” he bellowed, loud enough to echo across the clearing and scare off a songbird or two from the edge of the trees.
Miirym paused, completely baffled as to who he was talking to. She hoped he didn’t hit his head THAT hard… She figured he would have been tougher, like she had as a young Dratini. Maybe she should find a softer target, like a pile of leaves.
While Simon seemingly argued with himself, Miirym looked up to see the sun had risen close to its apex. Already? It felt like they just started. As if realizing she hadn’t eaten anything today, her stomach growled in protest. She shrugged to herself. This was as good a break point as any, she supposed.
She went over to check on Simon, who insisted he was fine and batted away her attempts to inspect him for any wounds, clearly more embarrassed than hurt. She pat him on the head, gently enough to not aggravate any head injuries she still suspected he had, then gestured for him to take a breather, which he gladly accepted.
She moved to dive into the river to catch more of those delicious fish, but turned on a heel giving a stern glare and pointing down at the beach. An expression that screamed ‘don't you dare move from here’.
“Yeah, yeah, no adventures. Don’t worry, I don’t want to get my butt kicked like yesterday” Simon replied, waving her off wearily.
…
Simon rolled onto his stomach in the soft grass once Miirym left, finally letting himself wince at the failed attempt at tackle. A dull ache spread from his shoulder and snout. Why was this so hard? This was a level one move, he did everything she told him to! He really, really wanted to hit that rock!
The serpent’s laughter echoed in his mind, cold and mocking, clearly taking great amusement in his struggle to do something so basic.
Oh shut up, Simon bit back with as much venom as he could muster. He reminded the serpent that it hadn’t been able to use any fancy moves against the fight with the Nickit yesterday, and that his toss with the pebble was likely the reason they got away without major injury.
A spike of indignant rage lanced through his mind. The serpent hissed, furious that lowly Simon would dare blame it for that disaster. If he had not actively stifled it, it would have shown him how to do more than a hatchling’s clumsy attack.
Simon frowned as his own simmering rage boiled over, gritting his fangs as he shoved the pompous jerk back down into the quiet subconscious where it belonged. He didn’t need its help, he would figure this out on his own.
He let out a long sigh, the tension leaving his body. He wriggled in the grass to find a more comfortable position. The sun was finally high enough to fully shine down into the clearing, allowing him to soak up the precious light with his tail. He glanced back at the leaf. The yellowish tint at the edge was faint, but it was all too noticeable to him. He really hoped the discoloration wouldn’t be permanent. It was an eyesore against the perfect green of his scales.
Oh no, would it get worse as winter came in? That wouldn’t do, not at all. He had an appearance to uphold.
…Gah! He rubbed his eyes, not realizing his grip on the serpent loosened. Its vain, aristocratic thoughts bled into his own. He mentally clamped back down, harder this time, ignoring its ethereal hiss of annoyance.
After a few minutes, he stood, feeling most of the tenderness from his failed attempt had passed, and turned around to face the boulder once more. He took deep, calming breaths as he attempted to center himself. He focused on that strange, fleeting feeling before his unfortunate collision, trying to recall how it felt. It was like a… bland buzzing flowing through his veins. A current of something that weakly responded to his wish to do violence.
That was normal type energy, right? The power that Miirym showed him?
He slowly crouched and planted his feet firmly in the grass, wanting to get a proper start this time. Perhaps form was as important as intent. He thought about striking the boulder. He wanted to strike the boulder. He would strike the boulder. The energy slowly manifested from his chest, from his heart, but it weakly sputtered through his body like a damp match, before it died out.
Was that not enough emotion? Was his intent that weak?
…What was something that he would truly, genuinely want to hit? Maybe that’d provoke a stronger feeling to work with. He pondered for a moment, before a perfect, vicious idea came to him.
In his mind, there was no longer a boulder. He was looking at a large, regal, coiling snake. A Serperior. One with its head held high, looking down on him in complete, utter contempt. Its crimson eyes dripped that same infuriating arrogance he felt slithering in his head. It goaded and jeered at him with the most punchable face on the planet.
Simon felt his heart start to race as pure anger mounted within. Now this was someone he wanted to inflict violence upon. His snout contorted into a snarl as he bared his fangs, letting a steady hiss escape him. That buzzing normal type energy from before returned, but now it was a hot, thrumming current that swirled through his body, through his limbs. He felt its warmth seep through his scales. He felt powerful. He knew he was ready.
Simon’s eyes snapped open, pupils contracting into dangerous slits. He launched himself from his position across the clearing like a green blur. He saw the Serperior snap its tail in a dismissive taunt, daring Simon to strike it down. The Snivy flew, the clearing and the lake becoming a smear as he focused singularly on his target, his prey, ignoring the audience of one he had attracted.
With a rasping hiss, he launched himself head-first at the Serperior.
The strike was solid. The mirage melted away as his head slammed into the rock, which buckled under the intense force and cracked like a spiderweb, but not enough to fully break. Simon planted his feet against the stone and kicked off, skidding to a halt a few feet away as he took in deep, exhausted breaths.
His vision returned back to normal as the energy began to wane. He caught the thin wisps of white aura as they melted off his body into the sky. Was… Was that it? Did he use a pokemon move? His eyes widened in shock at the sight of the damage he caused. He had! A giddy, breathless shout of joy burst from his lungs as he pumped a fist into the air, quite literally jumping for joy.
His heart pounded in excitement. That was exhilarating! And he did it without the help of that damn snake! Simon shoved it in the serpent’s metaphorical face.
The serpent, which had been unusually quiet during the entire process until now, finally responded. He heard it hiss, sarcastically congratulating the human on achieving what infants inherently knew. What a grand achievement, it mocked.
Simon growled and was about to bite back when he heard clapping from the shoreline. He turned, finding Miirym standing in the shallows with the brightest smile he’d ever seen across her snout, a look of pure pride in her eyes. His anger at the serpent instantly melted away, replaced with an embarrassed grin and a swell of pride of his own as well.
It’d been such a long time since he’d actually felt proud of something he accomplished, even as a human. It was almost an alien feeling, a warmth in his chest he’d nearly forgotten. But now that he felt it again, he knew it was something he didn’t want to forget.
He walked over to the Dragonite as she exited the shallows, flinging the water stuck to her scales onto the grass with a great shake. She knelt down, reaching out to pat his head. This time, he didn’t flinch away. He accepted the praise, even leaning into her gentle touch.
He beamed up at her. “Thanks… I don’t think I would have figured any of that out without you.”
Miirym preened under the praise, her own satisfaction palpable. She wouldn't be able to call herself a proper wyrm if one of her charges couldn’t even use a single technique. Her mind raced in anticipation as she thought of what to teach the Snivy next. Perhaps some sort of ranged technique, considering the trouble he got himself into yesterday.
But before she could even begin to form an idea, a loud, panicked squawking, mixed with the sound of rapid, desperate splashing echoed from further down the lake, towards where the river exited the large body of water. The combination of the two seemed to spark some deep instinct within the Dragonite. Her head snapped towards the noise as her entire body tensed. Someone was drowning, it was happening down stream!
Without a sound, Miirym grabbed Simon, who shouted in surprise at the sudden movement. In the next second she was airborne, rocketing towards the commotion. Simon was confused, trying to pinpoint what had set her off, when he heard it too. Mixed with the bird-like cries and splashing water was another sound. A sound that shouldn’t exist here. His blood froze over at the utter surprise of what he heard.
A person. A human voice. Someone was yelling for help
Ch5: The Knight and the Squire
The forest landscape smeared into a tunnel of green and brown as the massive Dragonite rocketed between the trees. The faint caws and cries grew louder, a crescendo of panic that pulled her forward like a hook on a line.
She squinted her eyes as branches whipped against her, snapping like dry bones while she barreled through the undergrowth. Her heavy scales shrugged off impacts that would have flayed a lesser creature, causing an annoyed hiss to build in her throat. Wildlife scurried into the ferns or took to the air, terrified of being trampled by this orange streak of unstoppable momentum. Simon’s startled cries were reduced to mere whispers against the roar of the wind as her mind drowned out everything but her target.
It was strange. As the adrenaline flooded her system, Miirym did not understand why she had become so singularly fixated on playing the hero for this stranger. Yet something deep, something primal beckoned, no, demanded her action. Was it something as simplistic as to do with her Dragonite nature? Or was it something woven deeper into her flesh and soul, a remnant of a foggy past she couldn't quite recall?
It mattered not. The blood was thrumming in her ears, and the command to save was absolute.
The pleas grew distinctly deep, scratchy and warbly, an uncanny ‘Help!’ and an avian caw interspersed with the violent sounds of thrashing water. The river roared here. There must be a stretch of rapids, a churning gauntlet that this poor sod managed to get stuck in. Miirym thrust her wings back with a mighty, synchronized pump, the force jetting her through the final precipice of trees and into the river-carved clearing. She squinted, her vision briefly bleached white as the sun, no longer blocked by the canopy, bore down unabated onto the world.
Miirym righted herself in mid-air, tucking her wings tight to her body as she dropped. She landed roughly on the mossy bank, her claws digging deep, jagged furrows into the soil to arrest her immense momentum, stopping just inches from the water’s edge.
She quickly placed a dizzy Simon on the ground. The snivy wobbled slightly on his feet, his face a shade of paler green as he fought the nauseous urge to purge the contents of his stomach. Miirym ignored him for the moment, her gaze sweeping the water. The river that snaked through this region churned violently through vertical drops and over and between large rock gardens that held steadfast and stood proud against the current's might. White foam thundered, sprayed and hissed against the stone in boiling swells, sending an icy mist in all directions that made the pungent wet clay of the bank glisten.
She furrowed her brow in both concentration and frustration. The cries had cut short the moment she landed. Silence was bad. Silence meant they were somewhere stuck in this aqueous clash, and they were running out of air.
A deep growl ripped from her throat as she took back to the sky, her powerful wings beating against the ground to hover up, flattening the grass below as she searched above the churning chaos. She could rip the boulders from their ancient resting grounds as easily as one would flick a pest, but she couldn’t risk crushing whoever was trapped below in the process. Her heart hammered, that ancient need pleading with her to do something. Where were they?!
“Miirym!” Simon’s voice cut through the roar of the water. “There! I think I can see something! Looks like a beak poking out of the water between those two rocks!”
He pointed a shaking hand over towards the rapids to her left. It was a trivial thing to miss in the white-capped violence, but indeed, a metallic blue beak was jutting just inches above the surface, taking in desperate, gurgling gasps of precious air before being swamped by another icy wave. Miirym wasted no time. She folded her wings and swooped like a guided missile of orange scales, plunging directly into the icy churn.
The shock of the cold was instant, and the roar of the water was deafening. She grit her teeth as a dull pain flared up from her leg. Must have clipped a rock during her dive. She ducked her head underwater, blinking against the murk to assess the situation.
The individual in crisis was a sizable Corvisquire, pinned helplessly against the upstream side of a boulder. The sight of it tickled a sense of familiarity in the Dragon’s mind. Was this the same wobbly Corvisquire from this morning? Its wing was wedged tight between two shifting rocks. Miirym figured it could extend the appendage to reach the surface for air with enough effort, but the fury and chill of the river became too much. Its legs kicked frantically and wildly, instinct demanding it exhausted itself in a futile attempt to break free from its watery grave.
Their eyes met through the distorting lens of the current. Stark, terrified and animalistic red locked onto her turquoise blue, a plume of bubbles escaping its open beak. The plea was nonverbal, but the relief and distress were palpable before the bird slowly stilled.
Miirym planted her feet on the slippery, sludgey riverbed that squelched between her claws, finding purchase where there should be none. She reached over with her powerful arms, the water dragging at her limbs, and placed her palm against the stone wedging the bird’s limb. She pushed.
The boulder shuddered, grinding against the riverbed before slowly tilting. A swell of silt exploded from beneath it, blotting out her sight as the current ripped away the newly revealed earth. She continued regardless, relying on touch, careful not to crush the fragile avian bones. With her other hand, she reached into the cloud of silt, taking a firm but delicate grasp of the bird's torso. She pulled.
The moment she felt the bird come free, she released the rock, letting it groan back down with a muffled thud. She coiled her legs and kicked off the riverbed with explosive force. The surface of the water broke like a geyser as she leaped toward solid ground, the dripping Corvisquire clutched safely against her chest.
Simon was already scrambling over the moment the dragon’s claws touched the ground, his face contorted in frantic worry. Miirym knelt, gently lowering the sodden bundle of black and blue feathers to the ground. The poor bird was an utter mess, feathers slick and matted, its limbs limp as a ragdoll. Water pooled beneath it, staining the soil dark, but the Corvisquire remained terrifyingly still.
She waited with bated breath, her head hovering inches away from the avian, waiting for any sign of life; a twitch, a gasp, a shuddering breath. But the bird remained still. A cold knot of dread coiled and tightened in her chest. She nervously chewed on a clawpoint, her heart hammering against her chest. She got them out, she saved them from the icy depths of the river’s rage! Why weren’t they waking up? What else was she to do?!
Simon slid to a halt beside the blue and black avian, tapping an open palm against his head, his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to dredge up an old memory to the surface. When they snapped open, his large crimson eyes locked to the bird’s limp form with intense urgency and a hint of uncertainty.
“Shit. Ok. They’re drowning in their own lungs. How do you get something unstuck from someone’s airway? Heimlich maneuver…” the small Snivy mumbled to himself, voice wavering. “We have to get all that water out of their airway, but how the hell do you even give a bird the heimlich maneuver? Can you even do that with birds?!”
Miirym stared at him, blinking. She didn’t understand what he was talking about, only the word ‘drowning’ ringing resolutely in her mind. Whatever this heimlich maneuver was, she did not know, but she was willing to try anything if it meant saving the Corvisquire. She gestured sharply with a claw for Simon to continue, expression pleading in hopes he would explain. Simon gently shook his head, as if trying to figure out what he had meant himself, but a wet, rattling gurgle snapped him back to the present.
“Uh, ok. Dammit… Gravity. We gotta use gravity. Hold them upside down, let gravity help pull the water down. Then you have to firmly yet gently, GENTLY, push in and upwards against the chest to compress the lungs.”
Miirym nodded once in confirmation and reached down to the drowned bird, gently picking it back up, her movements agonizingly slow despite the urgency. Enveloped in her claws once more and inverting it, the poor thing hung limply, completely wretched and waterlogged, its head lolling sickeningly in unconsciousness.
Following the Snivy’s instructions as best she could, she positioned her thumb against the keel. She hesitated, afraid her brutish strength would for once be her downfall. She could crush boulders. Shear through tree trunks. Regardless of how tenacious a pokemon was, an avian’s bones were still hollow. She knew she could easily snap them like dry twigs.
She steeled herself, brows furrowing in resolute concentration.
One compression. She winced, expecting to feel a sharp snap. A second compression. Nothing happened, good or bad. Emboldened to continue this rhythm, Miirym continued with a third. She fought the rising, desperate urge to shake the bird, to force life back into its body. Still it was silent, save for the roar of the river.
The fourth, the fifth, the sixth. Finally the seventh. A convulsion ripped through the corvid’s body. A deluge of river water spilled from the open beak of the Corvisquire, splashing onto the ground below, immediately followed by a hacking, shuddering gasp. It was the sweetest thing Miirym had ever heard in recent memory.
The fresh oxygen acted as a shock to its limbs, reanimating its deadweight limbs and snapping them into sudden action. It thrashed in wild, blind panic in an attempt to get free, beating its wings uselessly against Miirym’s hold. She quickly lowered it down and took a step back as it flopped into the grass. The Corvisquire heaved, its chest rising and falling in jerky rhythms, interspersed with wet coughs as it dislodged the last dregs of the river until its racing heart rate finally began to slow.
Miirym let loose a tremendous sigh, relief flooding through her veins. She collapsed backwards, sitting down with an earth-shaking thud that shook the riverbank as the extreme tension in her body finally uncoiled. It seemed Simon felt similarly, as he flopped bonelessly against her thick leg, sliding down to the grass and releasing a breath that was somehow louder than her own.
Together, they both observed the bird, allowing it a moment to regain its bearings. The Corvisquire’s red eyes swiveled wildly, darting from the rushing water to the green trees and the cloudless blue of the sky, worried the dry ground and open air were cruel illusions its dying mind had conjured in its final moments. Slowly, ever so slowly, it shifted upright, hacking one last time as it looked toward its saviors.
Miirym tilted her head, her expression soft, silently asking the Covisquire if it was alright. Its gaze was exhausted, eyes glazed with the last vestiges of fear, but it managed a weak nod of thanks. Miirym gave it an apologetic smile, happy that the crisis was averted. It gathered the strength to shake its feathers free of the river’s remnants, a spray of droplets flying as it puffed itself up to invite the sun to dry its drenched form.
Simon sharply inhaled, about to ask something of the bird, but the words died in his throat as the two heard a shrill cry crescendoing behind them. They whipped their heads towards the treeline, confusion and caution plain on their faces. The sound wasn’t a predator’s roar, but it was loud enough to be alarming. Miirym tensed, claws digging into the dirt as she stood back up, half ready to jump back into action when a shouting flash of white feathers careened through the bushes and exploded into the clearing.
“I HATH RETURNED, SQUIRE! FEAR NO LONGER, FOR I HATH FOUND A BRANCH OF MOST STURDY CONSTRUCTION FOR THINE TIMELY SALVATION! HARK! FOLLOW THE SOUND OF MY VOICE AND REACH FOR THE-”
The white duck creature’s shrill, feminine declaration ceased as she skidded to a halt, her large, yellow webbed feet carving tracks in the mud. She froze, her gaze sweeping over to the group. Miirym stood tall, hands on her hips with a stern gaze. Simon peeked out from behind the Dragonite’s leg, his jaw slightly dropped with the most utterly incredulous look on his face, reeling from the whiplash of the situation. Finally, the newcomer’s eyes landed on the Corvisquire, who was lazily staring back with an expression that transcended exhaustion and settled into almost comedic annoyance.
The Sirfetch’d blinked once, then twice. She was holding a jagged branch from a pine tree, almost as long as Miirym was tall. She used it to point towards the group.
“Squire! By the Heavens! Haveth these fine folk rescued thee from the icy clutches of this devilish river whilst I was searching for the proper tool to your rescue? Fantastic! Verily, a miracle!” She tossed the long branch to the side without a second thought, trotting over to the corvid pokemon with an animated, bouncing step. Simon and Miirym’s eyes remained glued to the white duck, who blatantly ignored her friend’s benefactors entirely as she bustled past them.
The Sirfetch’d stopped before the Corvisquire and crossed her wings, puffing out her chest. Her beak was pulled sternly taut and brow furrowed in a look of profound seriousness. “Let this be a lesson, Squire, to heed a knight’s advice closely!” She boomed, before gesturing wildly to the sky. “I knoweth thou art a foolhardy featherbrain, but I understandeth thine desire to prove thy ability and ascend to enjoy the open skies! However! To accelerate thy progress is to accelerate thy doom! The freedom of flight is most tantalizing, aye, but as thou hast now learned, the seductive whispers of the sky betray its danger!”
Squire released a low, long-suffering grumble, rolling his eyes and shaking his head as if this was a daily occurrence. The Sirfetch’d gave a sharp ‘Hmph!’, turning her beak upwards in exaggerated disappointment. Then, flipping an internal switch, she spun in her heel to face the duo she had largely ignored, eyes sparkling in the light.
She struck a pose. Her back was ramrod straight, one wing placed dramatically against her chest, the other extended in a welcoming gesture, and she radiated an air of regalness that her small stature couldn't quite support. Sensing its purpose in the moment, the very breeze picked up to billow an invisible cape. “A thousand apologies, good friends! Where are my manners?! I am Ser Valerie, Knight, and Lance of the Poet! At your service!” she bellowed, her words hanging in the air grand and booming like great church bells echoing on a Sunday morning.
And hang her voice did. Simon and Miirym remained absolutely silent; The Snivy’s earlier expression had changed little from Valerie’s initial entrance, while the Dragonite blinked slowly, grinning in amusement. What was this silly duck talking about? The small ones were always so boisterous. She was tiny, maybe a hand taller than Simon, if that. So cute, Miirym thought, suppressing the urge to coo at her. It was like watching a hatchling pretend to be a Gyrados.
The only accompaniment to Valerie's echoing shouts was the roar of the river, the ever-present rustling of the flora, and the distant calls of fauna deep within the woods. Squire, for his part, squeezed his eyes shut and tried to tune it all out, praying for a modicum of peace after his near-death experience.
Valerie faltered at the lack of response. Her chest deflated slightly, and her wings drooped. She looked between the two confused faces, her beak twitching as she desperately tried to salvage her grand introduction.
“A-Ah! Twas not expecting silence. And I practiced for so long,” she laughed nervously, a high-pitched sound. “Thou must be in shock! Yes! Verily, that would explain the stillness of thy tongues. Fear not! Meeting a proper Knight of the Realm often hath that effect on the common folk. It shall pass! Or…” her eyes narrowed suspiciously, glancing down at her empty wings. “Or perhaps you are dubious! Perhaps you doubt the veracity of my station! We are still strangers, after all! Rest assured, retrieving mine equipment shall assuage that worry forthwith!”
The Sirfetch’d spun around and trotted over to the treeline, stopping to violently rummage around in a large, dense bush. “Oof! Unhand me, bramble! Have at thee!” she cried, the bush shaking as she wrestled with a thorny branch that struck her face like it was a venomous snake.
Her misfortune raised a response from Squire, who opened one eye and chuckled to himself in a deep, raven-like rumble of dry amusement. “Dunderhead,” he mirthfully croaked. After a moment of thrashing, Miirym heard a triumphant ‘A-ha!’ and Valerie emerged.
She withdrew a shield woven from vibrant, sturdy green leaves, and in the other hand, she gripped one of the largest leeks Miirym had ever seen. The stalk had been sharpened to a fearsome lance-point, and the whole thing was easily two-and-a-half Valeries tall, counting the proud crest of feathers sticking up from her head.
However, the majesty was undercut by the small, brown field mouse currently gnawing contentedly on the end of the vegetable-weapon.
Valerie gasped, horrified. “Uncouth vermin! Mine blade’s purpose is not to sate thine hunger!”
She began shaking the leek wildly, her entire body vibrating in an attempt to buck the mouse. For its worth, the rodent held on with impressive grip strength for a good fifteen seconds, its little body whipping back and forth like a flag in a hurricane, before it finally lost purchase and was flung into the woods beyond with a startled squeak. Simon followed the animal’s arc, feeling a strange pang of hunger as it sailed out of sight.
Valerie composed herself instantly. She turned on her heel, posing once more now that she held her knightly armaments. “There! Behold!” she declared, brandishing the leek. “A proper knight’s visage! No knave or blackguard would possess such fine equipment as this! I knew something was amiss in our parley. I apologize for any misunderstandings my initial greeting caused!”
Miirym, charmed by the performance, gave the knight a friendly wave and a deep, rumbling greeting. She glanced down at Simon, who still had the look of someone fighting a difficult internal battle, trying to reconcile the knight-duck with his sanity. She gently nudged him in the back with her tail, causing the Snivy to stumble forward a step.
He snapped back to reality, shaking his head rapidly from side to side before awkwardly raising a hand.
“Uh. Right. It's… good to meet you?” Simon stammered, clearly trying to find the right words. “Sorry, I just… I wasn't expecting all that… I’m Simon. Uh, no title, I suppose." He winced as the Serpent raged in indignation at that. "...And this is Miirym.” He paused, looking up at the towering red-orange wall of scales next to him, and improvised. “...Wyrm of the Peak?”
He gestured awkwardly to the Dragonite, trying to play along with the stranger’s strange antics. Miirym, for her part, loved it. ‘Wyrm of the Peak’. Ha! Better than just ‘Warrior’, she supposed. She preened under the spotlight, puffing out her chest, posing, and flexing a bicep that was thicker than Valerie’s entire body. Squire let out a low, appreciative whistle. Miirym shot the bird a cheeky smirk.
“Well met! Well met, indeed!” Valerie shouted, her face splitting into a bright, beaming smile that seemed entirely too wide for her beak. “After encountering naught but witless beasts and savage creatures for these past few days, 'tis a boon most great to finally encounter other individuals sane of mind!”
Simon’s smile twitched, a manic laugh threatening to bubble up as he forced himself to maintain his demeanour. Sane of mind? He looked at the duck holding a vegetable like an oversized spear playing pretend, then to the drenched, grumbling bird that he was beginning to have doubts of being a former human, and finally internally at the demon slithering around in his head. He wouldn’t quite put it like that. In fact, he was pretty sure the sanity bar was currently lying on the floor, decaying among the leafy detritus. At least Miirym seemed level headed enough. Maybe.
She approached Simon, resting the base of her massive veggie-lance on the ground and leaning it against her shoulder with practiced ease. She reached out an open wing, the white feathers bristling. Sensing the invitation, and not wanting to be rude to the armed maniac, Simon reached out. He clasped her hand for a shake.
His eyes immediately bugged out.
Her grip clamped down like an iron vice around his tiny leafy fingers. Before he could even register the crushing pressure, she gave a few hearty, enthusiastic pumps that jarred his entire skeleton. His head bobbled back and forth like a loose spring, and his teeth clicked together audibly.
She guffawed heartily at his shocked expression before finally releasing him from his momentary torment. Simon stumbled back a step, gingerly rubbing his throbbing shoulder and checking to make sure his arm was still attached to the socket. He muttered quietly to himself, staring at the grass as he zoned out, reevaluating his life choices.
Valerie, undeterred, turned to offer the 'Wyrm of the Peak' the same courtesy. “And to thee, mighty dragon!” she proclaimed.
Miirym settled for offering a single, massive claw. As Valerie’s white feathers wrapped around the ivory point, their eyes met, and a silent, impromptu test of strength ensued.
Miirym wasn’t caught off guard, rather she was impressed. She had expected the fragility of a bird, but she was met with the density of a boulder. There was raw, condensed power behind Valerie’s diminutive frame. It wasn’t quite enough to pull the Dragonite off balance as it had the unfortunate Snivy, but it was enough to make Miirym’s eyes widen in genuine pleasant surprise.
Obviously, the Dragonite had been planning on holding back from the start, treating the knight as she would a child to avoid wrenching her off the ground and ragdolling her around. But as Valerie squeezed and stoutly shook, Miirym realized her caution was misplaced. She firmed up her muscles and matched Valerie’s intensity with gusto.
Valerie held a wide, smug grin the entire time, her chest puffed out, clearly immensely proud of the look of astonishment that had flashed across the dragon’s face. She had made the mountain move, if only a little. A proper introduction out of the way and a blossoming respect between the two, Valerie released her grip on Miirym’s claw satisfied.
Simon shook the last of the tingling feeling out of his arm. “Knight? More like bird-brained berserker…” he muttered under his breath. Valerie didn’t catch it, but Simon thought he heard Squire snort in response. He took a deep breath to recenter himself, preparing to ask the Sirfetch’d how the two arrived in the forest, but something caught his eye and demanded his attention.
A stray beam of sunlight piercing through the treeline struck Valerie’s chest. There, partially hidden beneath the fluff of her pristine white feathers, something glinted.
It wasn’t metal, no, but clearly some sort of crystalline material, dangling from twine. Diamond? A possibility; it had the clear sparkle of one, but something was off. It was almost like a trick of the eye, but he swore he saw ghostly prismatic tendrils bleeding off its edges, thin ripples of color boiling across the air, like rainbows in an oil slick. It pulsed with a faint, rhythmic luminosity that made the object seem blurry, as if it were vibrating at a frequency reality couldn't quite handle.
No, this wasn’t sight, but some other sense that he couldn’t quite explain, yet the more he stared, the more he knew of this… power’s existence, the more obvious, beautiful, and tantalizing the eldritch colors became. He couldn’t look away. Brilliant blues melting into vibrant yellows which deepened into royal purples that liquefied and became incandescent greens which mutated into-
Simon shook his head, forcing himself to wrench his gaze to the ground. Reality snapped back. Where was he? The forest, the river. How long had he been trapped in that trance? Barely a second or two, but it felt like an eternity. A shiver ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the chill of the late autumn breeze, and yet in his heart a strange yearning took hold. He stole a glance back at the crystal. The colors didn’t roil like before, but the longer his gaze lingered the more those wisps licked at the air. It caused the Serpent to stir.
Miirym, noticing Simon’s sudden stillness, cast a worried frown towards the Snivy. She saw his eyes sharpen, his pupils contracting into needle-thin slits that looked far too reptilian for his meek nature. His posture shifted, losing its casual slouch and becoming rigid, regal.
“Tear of the Maji,” Simon whispered.
The voice that left his throat was his own, yet it wasn’t. It was deeper, colder, vibrating with an ancient, forgotten reverence. Simon blinked rapidly, his hand flying to his mouth, attempting to catch the words that had just escaped without his permission. The others looked confused, Simon looked frustrated, frowning at himself and biting down on his lip with a fang hard enough for a bead of blood to well up.
Valerie tilted her head, her plumage ruffling in confusion. She glanced down at her necklace, then back at Simon. “'Tear of the Maji'?” she repeated, rolling the strange title around her beak. She reached into her feathers and pulled the necklace free, holding the shard up for inspection. “By the Poet’s Pages, a title most ominous! Dost thou know of this gemstone, Ser Simon?”
“I- Maybe?” Simon stammered, rubbing his temples as a headache bloomed behind his eyes. The Serpent roiled and coiled, yet left only a residue of knowledge behind. “I’m not sure. I just… I’ve heard tales. Old tales. Of prismatic stones that hold great and terrible power. But, I just- I don’t know how I know…”
“Is that so?” Valerie hummed, seemingly unbothered by the description of 'terrible power.' She dangled it back and forth, mesmerized by the shine. “I know not of its name nor its nature. 'Twas not I who discovered it, but my loyal Squire!” She gestured grandly to the Corvisquire, who was currently preening a wing and pointedly ignoring the conversation.
“He discovered it amidst the brush whilst practicing his aerial maneuvers deep in the woods just the other day! A lucky find, I declared, for it shines with the light of destiny, the colors of the Poet’s ink! Perhaps it is a sign of His will that mine part is of the protagonist in his Great Work! Nevertheless, it seemed fitting for a knight of His dogma to bear such a treasure.”
All this talk of a poet seemed strange and pointless to the Dragonite. Fate was directionless, it played no favorites. Miirym leaned down, her massive shadow engulfing the two smaller pokemon. The curiosity was eating at her. She brought her face closer, her large, turquoise eyes narrowing as she focused on the swirling chaos within the crystal, the growing kaleidoscopic display itching an uncomfortable familiarity within her as well.
“W-wait! Miirym be careful!” Simon shouted at the Dragonite. Too late, her attention was already enraptured, mind caught in the throes of the stone’s siren song.
It was beautiful. It was terrifying.
Then the sound of the rushing river vanished. The sunlight turned to stygian ash. The sky was burning. The air smelled of ozone and scorched flesh. A roar, a sound so loud and furious and primal it wasn't heard, but felt in the marrow of her bones, shattered the world. She saw its silhouette. The jagged, violet energy wreathing its scythe-like claws. The feeling of absolute, crushing helplessness. The feeling of being weak. The feeling of looming death.
The violet light from the memory merged with the prismatic light of the shard. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs, a war drum of panic. Her breathing hitched, stopping entirely.
“...rym? Miirym!”
A strong shove to her leg broke the spell.
Miirym gasped, stumbling back a step as the riverbank rushed back into existence. The colors faded. The butcher was gone. She blinked wildly, looking down. Simon was standing there, his hands gripping her leg, shaking her with surprising strength, small white wisps ghosting off his scales. His face was pale, his eyes wide with concern. Valerie clutched the shard close to her chest, afraid and ashamed of whatever she had caused in the Dragonite.
“Miirym! Hey! Snap out of it!” Simon yelled, his voice laced with panic. He pointed down at her hands.
Miirym looked down. Her fists were clenched at her sides, tight. Too tight. Her claws, sharp enough to rend stone, had dug deep into her own palms. Thick droplets of blood were welling up around the entry points, dripping steadily onto the thirsty green grass below. She hadn't even felt it.
Miirym let out a shaky breath through her nose and shot an apologetic look down at the smaller pokemon. She brought a massive paw up to her snout, her rough, sandpaper-like tongue lapping at the fresh wounds. The sharp, coppery tang of blood filled her mouth, a grounding taste that helped anchor her. She could sense Simon was about to press her, his mouth opening to ask if she was okay, but she waved him off before the words could leave him. She offered a firm, if slightly forced, nod.
Valerie sighed, her feathers deflating. Her voice softened, a far cry from its usual raucous, trumpet-like quality. “Apologies, good giant. Had I known that this treasure would cause such a visceral reaction, I would have stayed mine hand. ‘Terrible’ seems an apt description of it now. I shall not brandish it lightly henceforth.”
“It's alright now, I think. But... yeah. probably best you keep that stowed away,” Simon replied, his voice still carrying a tremor he couldn't quite hide. “There’s something clearly ominous about it. If it had such an effect on both of us, I can’t imagine what it might do to anyone else.”
He cast a paranoid glance around the clearing, searching the shadows of the trees for any other souls that might have been caught in the shard’s eldritch clutches. Fortunately, the forest remained indifferent to their drama; the only other witness was a bright red cardinal resting on the high branch of an old pine, watching them with beady, blank eyes.
Valerie nodded along solemnly. “Aye, thou speak the truth, as much as it pains me to admit it.” She turned her beak upward, addressing the clouds. “I apologize, great Poet! Thine gift has proven to be of a most grave importance we cannot ascertain as of yet! I must cloak its brilliance for the time being!”
With a theatrical flourish, she slipped the twine necklace back around her neck, tucking the shimmering crystal deep within the thick, white down of her chest feathers until the glow was completely extinguished.
The Snivy crossed his arms, his gaze lingering on where the shard had vanished before turning back to his guardian. The Dragonite had finished cleaning one paw, the puncture wounds in her scales already scabbed over, and was busy cleaning the other.
“Miirym,” Simon started, his voice quiet. “Are you... are you really feeling alright? You’ve been acting a little off ever since the start of the day. And then that happened.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry if that damn rock made anything worse.”
Miirym paused mid-lick, a low snort of amusement puffing against her injured palm. She looked down at him, her expression softening. She reached out and gave him a reassuring pat on the head, careful not to smear any stray crimson droplets onto his pristine green scales.
Silly little grass snake, she thought fondly. Always worrying too much for his own good.
The gesture seemed to assuage his fears, or at least convinced him to drop the subject for now. He leaned into the touch, exhaling a breath he’d been holding. Good. She pulled her hand back and offered him a brave, toothy smile. She wanted him to feel safe. She wanted him to not worry so much. That was her job.
Because beneath the scales, beneath the muscle and the bravado, Miirym was absolutely terrified.
The breeze picked up, whistling through the river rocks and sending a deep, biting chill over the group. Above, a puffy, solitary cloud drifted lazily across the sun, casting the clearing into a sudden, grey-blue shadow.
Simon looked upward, shielding his eyes to gauge the time. With the sheer density of events that had just transpired, it felt much later than the sun’s high position indicated. A pragmatic part of him argued that calling it quits this early would be a waste of precious daylight and a weakling’s choice, the Serpent no doubt, but as exhaustion began to catch up with his system, leaving him cold and sore, the logic of the season took over. The days were shortening as winter approached, and honestly, he didn’t mind the idea of returning to the safety of the cave long before the shadows grew long and the temperatures plummeted.
Clearing his throat, he addressed the others of his thoughts. “Well. It's certainly been an… adventure, I suppose.” He looked around at the ragtag group. “If it's all the same with everyone else, I think it’d be best to retire for the day. I’m sure Squire would appreciate a change of venue, away from his almost-watery grave. And I feel like the conversation we need to have would be better suited to a secure space… That is, if you two would like to join us?”
He turned his gaze upward toward Miirym, sending her a silent, questioning look, checking if she was alright with them playing host. Miirym simply nodded. It wouldn’t be difficult to ferry them all up to the mountain, and frankly, maybe the extra company would do her mind good, crystal be damned.
“Verily,” the Corvisquire rasped, his voice rough but grateful. Squire stood up, shaking out his mostly-dry blue and black feathers one last time before hopping over to join Valerie’s side.
The Sirfetch’d grabbed hold of her leek weapon once more, her earlier solemnity vanishing as a jovial, blinding smile spread across her face. “I, too, am in agreement! So many questions swim in my mind, as I am sure they do in yours!” Stars quite literally seemed to gleam in her wide eyes. “A true adventuring party! Huzzah!”
Miirym stretched her arms and wings, hearing a few satisfying cracks, before gesturing for everyone to gather up. Simon knew the drill at this point. He stepped forward, allowing the Dragonite to scoop him up into the crook of her massive arm with practiced ease.
Valerie gasped, letting out a gleeful, high-pitched squeak. She hopped from one foot to the other in vibrating excitement until Miirym scooped her up with the other paw. “And to soar through the heavens upon the wings of a dragon!” the white duck exclaimed, clutching her vegetable armaments to her chest. “Goodness me, 'tis a dream made manifest!”
Squire sighed, a long, rattling sound of resignation. This was humiliating. A bird, a master of the wind, needing to be carried like a sack of grain. But there was nothing to be done; his wings felt like lead, and exhaustion defined his very being. Ultimately, he didn’t mind the indignity as much as he normally would have.
As Miirym shuffled the duck-knight around to make space for the Corvisquire in the crook of her arm, Squire took a moment to glance back at the treeline. The unshakable feeling of being watched, which had prickled at his nape earlier as he tried best to ignore it, was suddenly overpowering. His scarlet eyes locked onto the splash of red against the green pine needles.
The cardinal sat perfectly still on a low branch, unbothered by the wind or the noise. Its black, bead-like eyes were boring into the group with an intensity that felt wrong. There was no twitching of the head, no preening, no shifting of weight. It stared with a hollow, mechanical fixity. Squire frowned, glaring back.
Another woodland creature acting as if bewitched. This forest was a strange place indeed.
He let loose a surprised squawk as Miirym finally reached down and tucked him firmly next to Valerie, who was giddily kicking her feet back and forth like a toddler in a high chair. Checking that her passengers were secured, the Dragonite spread her wings, blocking out the sun. She gave a few test pumps, stirring the leaves on the ground.
Valerie thrust her lance toward the sky in a dramatic salute. “Onward!” she shouted to the heavens. Miirym complied. With a grunt of effort, her mighty wings snapped down, creating a shockwave of air that flattened the grass. They launched into the open sky, rapidly shrinking into a speck against the blue.
Below, the cardinal did not fly away. It did not startle. It simply rotated its head, pivoting smoothly to track their movement until they disappeared beyond the canopy. Once they were gone, the cardinal sighed, offering its final breath. It fell lifelessly from the branch, hitting the forest floor with a soft thud, and a magenta flame seeped from its open beak and slipped into the woods.