Timeless, by Xuan Ying.

Author Notes:

I personally prefer to finish a chapter before I write what I want to say, but this time, I have to highlight an important thing. This story seems to end perfectly well at the end, but opinions may differ. Hence, I'm leaving it to all the readers to decide the fate of Timeless.

Disclaimer: Pokémon is a registered trademark of Nintendo (1995 - Present).

A personal suggestion, I know most of the readers do not know Chinese, but I'd like to recommend you listen to a song while reading. The song is 还是要幸福 by Hebe. Ifs just a suggestion, as I wrote the whole story while listening to it. Its melody is just melancholic enough to make tears come to my eyes.

Winter came early; ferocity empowered every single hail which it brought to the city of Alto Mare. The unyielding cold was as hard as a builder's iron chisel. Sleet covered every nook and cranny of the in-lands, leaving no spot vacant. Traffic was thin these days, apart from the market district. Most people preferred to stay indoors, where the freezing frost wouldn't hit straight on.

The situation made easier the needs of privacy. The boats were slight. This time of year was better used to mend nets, rather than casting lines. It wasn't often, but occasionally a gondola would pass through the waterways. Most fishermen never left the isolated island during winter. The weather defied logic in the seas, meaning that a calm breeze could turn into a huge, unrelenting gust in just a blink of an eye. People native to the island preferred to stay at home, wrapped in their warm blankets rather than bracing themselves in the cold winds outside. Tourists were rare, which wasn't really strange, considering the lack of attractions. The island gained income through events and natural beauty, whom only the most patient of journeyers would glimpse.

The draw for tourists was the recently over Tour de Alto Mare, the annual event which everyone could enter. The water chariot race was joined by trainers from all over the world. The viewers from all over the world rivaled those of the League Conferences. It was, in fact, fun in the best sense. Every trainer who owns a Water type could enter, regardless of age, gender, or qualification. The main event was a simple matter; the participant who crossed the finish line first would be the winner. The winner would be awarded a medal, one which depicted Latias and Latios, the Eons who guarded the city.

The city of Alto Mare mainly consisted of tight walkways. With buildings built so close that every gap had to be filled in. Even if there were spaces which were too compact for houses, there would be a stall or stand selling souvenirs. The disarray was indeed chaotic, yet it had a certain splendor to it. The footpaths were limited to the many riversides, where those who were unfamiliar with the city's geography remained. A trip through the back streets which adorned the majority of the city would mostly result in disorientation, something best avoided by tourists who simply wanted to see the sights.

However, it was in the alleys where one would experience the true beauty of Alto Mare. In one of the many alleys which coursed through Alto Mare, there was a thin amount of people wandering. Unlike most cities, Alto Mare did not have an advanced land transportation system. The infrequent bicycle, or if you were lucky, a motorbike was the most you would see. It was either the canals, or the walkways and alleys. Boats were a necessity for every family. Otherwise, the many tracks were your only choice.

The many footpaths were connected by bridges. The sturdy construction work meant that these were well built, never crumbling over the weight of the users. On one certain overpass, there stood a girl, wearing a plain green shirt. She watched the flowing canals, water flowing at a brisk rate. She almost seemed to be entranced by the lapping waves, nodding in unison to every sound emitted by the water. She was drawing, a mount held the board on which her pencil smudged upon. Every movement decorated the original white nothingness, and seemingly delineated the water canals perfectly.

As a boatman went by, he waved. The gesture was not returned. The girl seemed to be too engrossed in the rhythm of life to respond. It seemed to the boatman like the girl was spellbound, unknowing to everything unfolding around her. The cadence of life in Alto Mare was indeed captivating. It was as slow and free, the organized chaos of buildings further emphasized the adaptability of the inhabitants.

The girl's gaze never wavered from the board, unless it was to refer the background of her choice. She was wearing a green shirt, the collar of which was white, the color matched her skirt. Her shoes were pink, contrasting the culture which seemed to stay in the olden times. Her hair was drawn down, covering her cheeks. Yet the most distinguishing feature were the 'wings' on her hair.

She almost seemed to be mesmerized by the beauty. No mean feat, considering she was there every single day that went by. Everyone seemed to have work to do. Well, all except her. She never moved, and as people passed by, they never remembered the girl. She was just, normal. She carried herself with a verve which signified confidence, yet at the same time made her seem unmemorable.

Everyone who doubled back to see what she was looking at often found themselves staring into a sketch of the buildings. Even without paint, they saw the talent she had. The buildings curved and intersected perfectly, almost as if the city was built straight from this piece of paper. If they stayed, they would find themselves observing the process of coloring, in which the girl would use her paintbrush to decorate the emptiness. The veneer of paint smothered the surface, and thus came life to nothingness.

As the day wore on, nightfall was inevitable. The girl would eventually leave the alley which she haunted, returning home. However, she always made a stop into one of the small backyards which home owners kept. She would look at the straight water tap through the arch, dripping the final drops of the day. The sodden ground shone in the moonlight. It had a certain beauty, but one so slight that none would notice it. She spent only ten minutes there, but as she walked through the alleys, she disappeared. One would never know that she just entered a gateway, one which to the average passerby was just a wall of bricks and mortar.

One might wonder why she haunted the bridge. Perhaps she was searching for someone. No, waiting was more like it.

And that was right, for she was waiting. She was waiting for the one she loved dearly.

The guardian of Alto Mare entered her home, an unknown garden. This was where she acquired solace from the crowds. Admittedly, that wasn't really necessary these days. The lack of pedestrians made her free movement easier. Latias liked to stroll the streets as a human, living the lives she protected. Her waiting at the bridge and garden meant nothing to the observers. She simply looked like any one of the people who had nothing better to do. Her task was to guard Alto Mare. And she did so flawlessly. Yet these days, there were no problems which required her to intervene. She found herself with more free time each passing day. And she didn't like it one bit.

The secret garden was one built many years ago. For all she knew, it existed before she was even born. This was her home, and she loved it. She would never leave, such was the responsibility she inherited, to be the guardian of Alto Mare. That was her pledge, as it was to her parents before her. It was never to be exempted, no matter the motive. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't. The promises she made bound her to this place.

The garden was crafted by the ancient masons. The workmanship was impressive, the walls never cracked nor crumbled. She never knew how, but the enchantments placed by her ancestors made the garden seem otherworldly. It was unaffected by the change of climate. The flowers remained in full bloom, flourishing in the tropical conditions. Even the darkness did nothing to douse the lighting that kept the garden lit. The light was perfect, enough to illuminate but insufficient to break a good sleep. The shrubberies managed to look neat, even as they grew undisturbed. The air which hit Latias full on was warm, divergent from the howling winds outside. The walls seemed to insulate the entire patch of grass from the sheer cold.

In the large expanse of grass, there was a small lake. It was where she took her baths, and it was even used as a pool when Bianca was little. A clear path showed the way to the shrine which stood at the centre of the place. As she flew past the flowers, she breathed in; inhaling the fragrance which reminded her of the perfumes Bianca wore. The smell of life was impeccable. It echoed the lives of those who passed, and those who were born. There was a swing which used to be Latias' favorite place to play, but as time passed by, she outgrew the childish pastimes.

Latias and Bianca were the best of friends. They played when they were little, thus forming the tight bond which made them inseparable. Bianca would share her sorrows with her, and she would listen. No matter how minor the matter, she would always give moral support, getting Bianca through the stages of life. She witnessed the birth of Bianca, which happened shortly after the incident which killed her parents. She barely remembered what occurred those days, which lightened the burden of orphanage. Latios was the one who took care of her after the loss. Her brother was barely a year older, and yet he was forced to mature quicker. Latios soon learned that fun was for the young, and that the parents had to forgo it.

Thinking back, Latios changed a lot. He was more than a brother. And yet, now he was gone.

As she reached the end of the trail, she saw the holy place. Its origin happened at the same time as the entire garden. Etchings embroidered the walls and tapestry. It told of the legends, an evil monster's appearance threatened the city, and meteors come down on Alto Mare like drops of rain. As the meteor shards strike the city, the buildings and walkways of the city begin to be possessed. The guardians, Latias and Latios, with the mysterious light surrounding them, defended the city. Many Latias and Latios appeared and together, they defeated and destroyed the evil monster. The power the Latias and Latios conjured was the Soul Dew, which is given to an elderly couple in the form of a glowing, transparent blue orb. Alto Mare became peaceful again, and the Latias and Latios left the city. It is revealed that the Latias and Latios will appear where the Soul Dew is present, and that the city was never attacked again by the evil monster.

And here she was, right where the Soul Dew was. Yet this was not the same one that was conjured that day. This one was another, forged through the sacrifice of her brother. It radiance pierced the darkness, and the waters flew from here. The orb's glow was the very same blue which cloaked the body of her brother. As she began to reminiscent, the evocative images of the day came charging forth, breaking the barriers she raised to hold back the tears.

It happened seven years ago. Two thieves arrived to the city, attempting to steal the Soul Dew. They succeeded, and activated the Defense Mechanism of Alto Mare, which was meant to be the last resort during an attack which threatened the well being of Alto Mare. Their naïve notions caused the Soul Dew to die. Drained and volatile, the Soul Dew caused the beginning of a cataclysm.

The final spark caused the waters to retract, flowing back to the sea.

What happened next was dreadful. The waters returned, but as a tidal wave taller than the highest of towers, faster than the swiftest of jets.

The Eons, as guardians, had to protect the city. She still remembered that day vividly. Latios was marred, having been used as the source of power for the Defense Mechanism. Both of them felt a calling in their souls, instructing them.

Flying to the tip of highest clock in Alto Mare, they veiled themselves in light. As they charged, Latios left her a final wish, one she didn't take seriously at the time. Both she and Latios smashed straight into the wave, causing the wave to split, and then crash back to the earth.

Take care, sister.

Latias' eyes were now watery. The droplets which hit the pond splashed back, causing disks to form in the pond. They saved the city, but at what cost. She was now alone, Latios was gone. Was it worth it?

Lorenzo always said that Latios would stay in their hearts forever, but was it true? Both Bianca and Lorenzo never cried after a year. Latias knew better than to burden both of them with her grief. She learnt to drown her sorrows in solitude.

It was hard to accept the loss, but the tears eventually dried up. She was on her own now, learning to mature as Latios did.

The loneliness was harder to bear with every passing day. Bianca eventually left the confines of Alto Mare, chasing her dreams of drawing. She had already succeeded in having her first public display, and was on her way to becoming world renowned. She barely had time to explore the places she visited, let alone return home.

Lorenzo was not faring well. The attack of the thieves caused him to have injuries which weren't healed over time. The fractures were impossible, resulting in a limp that evolved into lameness over time. He was now sick, nothing out of the ordinary for a man of his age. His affliction was killing him, and only time would tell the outcome.

Forlornness filled every gap in her heart. Her seclusion was like a tumor which grew larger over the years, the heartaches only got worse. It was hard to ward the withdrawal which suffused with her. The isolation was now a part of her, growing with her, sharing pain with her. Over the years, she attempted to talk with her brother. Yet her willpower was never rewarded. The conduit from which she shared her spite and sorrow was now gone, forcing her to take in the helplessness.

She matured, but only due to the conditions. She was no longer playful, no longer happy with every forthcoming daybreak. She only felt emptiness, and took the loss of her brother with dignity. The waters within no longer flew true to her emotions.

Sometimes though, she could feel the beads of moisture flowing down her face.

Lorenzo struggled to walk; having a hollow leg did nothing to help. He could have gotten a wheelchair, but that would make him seem weak. The crutches were fine, if slightly inconvenient.

His internal clock was messed up. Thanks to his sickness, he slept through the mornings and awoke at night. He walked past the barren streets, it was barely past midnight.

He felt an urge to check on Latias. She has been acting strange lately. The coltishness and liveliness seemed to have died within the girl. As Lorenzo walked past the alley, he noticed the statues of the guardians. Both Latios and Latias were there.

Not really true in the present.

He shook the thought from his mind. He didn't need Latias to hear his thoughts, especially when he wanted to cheer her up.

As he entered through the illusion of a wall, he saw Latias at the shrine. As he approached, he noticed the wilt of a nearby flower. The brown shell of what used to be a sign of life fell slowly downwards. Lorenzo caught the flower with his free hand; he found it to be hard and cold. The garden was supposed to be immune to any climate changes. How did the wilting happen? He found Latias sleeping at the shrine, unmoving. He wanted to wake her up, but changed his mind once he saw her face. It was one of pure hurt, tears seeping out of her closed eyelids.

Lorenzo decided against his original plan, choosing to leave quietly instead. Perhaps Bianca should be the one to talk to her.

The seasons came and went, snow melted and plants blossomed in spring's first gust. The cool weather and rainy afternoons went and then came the scorching sun of the summer. What never changed was the presence of the girl on the bridge. Whether rain or blazing hot, the teenager would always be there. Waiting endlessly.

Latias looked outwards, seeing the boats come and go. The waves made an almost hypnotizing sound, making her stay. She drew the canal for the thousandth time, making touches where she saw fit. Whether a Pidgey on the roof, or a Mantine on the water, all the little details which people missed.

She never strayed from her routine. She was always there, without fail.

It gave her something to do, which kept her mind off the pain and hardships of life. Every wave of the brush seemed to delay the inevitable breakdowns. Every stroke on the easel seemed to force back the sadness which steamed within. The despair manifested itself as the watercolor on the canvas, drawing itself away from its host.

Sadly it wasn't to last. The desolation could only be suppressed, but never destroyed completely.

Wounds heal, but there will always be scars. That was true in a sense. The few gashes Latias got on the day of her brother's demise still seemed clear, even after years of rejuvenation. What the saying didn't note was that a broken heart would never heal, ever.

Ash.

The images of the boy with the Pikachu riding on his shoulder never left her. Every time she thought of him, the memories of her feelings for him would plough straight through the defenses she so difficultly created. The way Ash rescued her from the thieves; the manner he treated his friends; the determination he had to finish the hopeless Tour de Alto Mare race; the fortitude he had to save Latios; the gullibility which made him so dense; the childishness in his demeanor; the way he looked at her when she first met him.

And the way he was rooted to the spot when she kissed him.

Latias noticed the dots on the ground, her tears damp. She felt the sourness in her eyes. The fortifications broke down, and the flood came. She struggled to impediment the torrents, but it was all in vain.

The candor and honesty within was all that kept her from following the group. She had to protect Alto Mare. Sometimes, she actually begged for a crisis. At least it would get her mind off her the boy. The adulation she felt wasn't normal. Deities didn't love subjects. And most Pokémon didn't love humans.

Even as the heartache returned, she continued to slather colors onto the canvas. The easel stood firm as the combination of hard swipes and soft strokes turned the drab void into a world. The hue of white eventually turned into a colorful iridescence. Every pigment of paint made the picture more vibrant, dabbing the shapes with their dye. The colors were distinct, a sign of familiarity which came with years of experience. Yet what made the picture fascinating were the flaws. The shades of color felt oversaturated, too murky in the dark spots and too bright at the exposed areas. The painting retained its beauty through uniqueness. The imperfection emphasized the remembrance everyone had to it.

It reminded her of Ash in the best of ways. He was perfect through imperfection.

For too long, she has looked upon the world with eyes which saw the best in people. Even the lowliest of scum had a chance of redemption, rarely has she seen a man who deserved the punishment of imprisonment. That came with the immaturity in her, which held her back on many occasions.

One of them was the time she kissed Ash.

Why didn't she just reveal her true form? Why did she pretend to be Bianca? She thought it would be obvious, until Ash's companion Misty voiced her thoughts.

So, was that Bianca, or was it Latias?

Only after that did she learn of her mistake. Admittedly, she had the company of more Eons. They managed to fill up the hole in her heart, but not heal it. They were in Alto Mare for two days, and offered to stay behind to help.

She prominently declined.

She would be fine alone, or at least, she thought so at the time. The fissure that opened up never recovered. Bianca's departure further enhanced the pain in her heart.

The painting was just about finished. Its depiction of the alleys seemed to be, sadder, than what it really was. This was caused by the darker tint of all the colors. Latias mixed the other watercolors with black paint, giving the painting a look of despair.

Every masterpiece an artist creates reflects the artist. And this represented the hollowness within her.

The leaves fell, signaling autumn's arrival. Lorenzo's illness came and went, adding to his time. He stood on the docks one day, awaiting the arrival of his beloved granddaughter.

The ship docked, and the passengers came walking down. In the crowds, he saw the unmistakable shadow of his granddaughter, his only family left.

As Bianca ran over, they hugged. She was no longer the girl who lived through loss after loss. Her parents passed away in a boat sink, the same one which took Lorenzo's wife away. They were survivors, living through the storms life threw at them. Perhaps it was time for Latias to move on.

Latias packed up the easel. Rolling the canvas into a circle, she began to walk to her next destination, the leaking pipe. This was the precise tap from which Pikachu sought water. She helped the little mouse, never knowing what she would see next.

Was this love at first sight? That was what she thought at that very moment. The boy who wore his cap with a confidence was not a striking one, but somehow, Latias fell for him. He wasn't attractive, and he wasn't the brightest. How did she fall in love? Well, she wanted to know that too.

It seemed to be the natural reaction, one she dismissed at the time. She ran off, wanting to play with him. And she never thought that the thieves would strike at that day.

Ash was the one who rescued her, and that cemented the flame of love she felt. She found herself thinking of him every single moment, if not seconds. She never knew that once he went, she would have lost the chance of her life.

Love can be the strongest of emotions, healing a soul, but also destroying one. Maybe it was time to let go.

She approached the water spout, the one which always dripped. It never seemed to be closed properly, water seeping out endlessly. She put her hand on the valve, and turned anticlockwise. She was reluctant, but life would have to go on, with or without the memories.

The flow of water finally stopped. After the eight years, it finally stopped.

As the final droplet smashed into the soil, her barriers broke. She started to cry. Thankfully, there was no one there to see her, which made her more comfortable.

Suddenly, she felt the warm touch of a human's hand on her shoulder.

Turning around, she saw Bianca. She's grown after the many years of travelling. Latias' human form was Bianca's younger self. It used to be awkward, almost as if Bianca was talking to herself. Now, it just looked like an older sister comforting her younger sibling. Bianca has long since thrown the shirt she wore when she was young. She now wore an overcoat, which still remained the same color as her original clothes. Her hair was no longer an imitation of Latias' wings. Instead, it was now a long ponytail, long to the waist.

Bianca pulled Latias along, taking her to a more isolated spot. The talk they were about to have was going to take time. "You're still thinking of him, aren't you?"

Bianca seemed to know her inside out, never failing to surprise her with her ability to read her like a book. That was the bond they formed throughout the years at work. Bianca brought her to a staircase, on which they both sat down. Latias nodded, and let the tears flow. She would only trust Bianca, and was not ashamed in the least.

"You know, he might still be thinking of you." Bianca took out her handkerchief, and then used it to wipe the teardrops on Latias' face. "Who knows, he could be coming here right now."

Latias shook her head, it was over. Tuning off the tap meant that the memories would die off too. Why did Bianca bring it all up now? Why?

"I know you're trying to forget, Latias." Bianca talked with an edge of intelligence in her voice, one that was built over years of destitution. "But you know, you never will forget your first love." Latias turned to face her childhood friend, was this true? Bianca didn't leave a long lacuna for Latias to think.

"Ash would have made a great friend, I think so." Bianca was looking towards the sky, seeing the Pidgey fly. She almost seemed to be searching for inspiration, which was important for an artist. As the last bird of the flock disappeared beyond the buildings, Bianca turned to her.

"I know you think so too."

Latias still had tears in her eyes, and slowly pulled them back in. Bianca hugged her; they both lost something that day, not their lives, but something just as much.

They lost their ideas of the sturdiness of life. Life, in truth, was fragile. Sometimes a push was all it took to destroy the hourglass which counted down, hours becoming minutes. Yet at times, the life would destroy itself. Seeing Latios die that day made her understand that lives weren't meant to be forever.

Bianca was now twenty one, Lorenzo was eighty one. If Lorenzo had three years left, that meant Bianca would live for another sixty four years. As they both left, Latias would be the only one left. The cons that came with immortality far outnumbered the pros.

Bianca looked at her friend, she was deep in thought. A sign that what she said got into her. She admitted, Ash was somebody you could instinctively trust. He was cute too. It was no wonder that Latias fell for him, everyone would.

What made Latias' crush different was the fact that Latias had deep feelings. She fell further down the love trap than most people would. She wouldn't be able climb back out for a long time, perhaps never.

Bianca tread carefully, it was hard to remain in the perimeter of safety. Numbness to love would subside after a certain period of time. After that, the future would be uncertain. One might forget about the events that happened before, or they would give up entirely on love. The latter wasn't necessarily worse. Bianca remembered the words Lorenzo used to quash her sorrow after the death of her parents.

"Its natural, Latias, to feel bad." Bianca tried her best to sound like her grandfather, who effortlessly made everything seem okay. "We never know how to cherish the things we have, only once they're gone do we see their importance in our soul." You would never feel the loss of a loaf of bread until you desperately needed it to quench the hunger in your burning stomach. The same principle applied to everything else, let it be things, feelings, emotions, friends, or loved ones.

Especially your loved ones.

With Ash's departure, Latias may have lost a portion of her soul. Ash unknowingly stole her heart, and never knew the implications of unreturned feelings. Such was the sheer might of first love, you never know how to hold back. Hence the hurt, all the suffering and the aftermath one would face.

Giving up was hard, yet it would never be the best course of action. Accepting the fact that her beloved was gone was better. Letting her wounds heal over time was preferable over squeezing the gashes shut. The former would only hurt more, while acceptance was only limited to a night of tears.

Latias continued to cry. Bringing up Ash may not have been the best idea, but it was a necessity. It was normal to cry. When one tried to block a stream of running water, it would adapt, finding another path. Melancholy was the same. Bianca said what she needed to say, and now it was time for Latias to face her fears.

As Bianca got up and left, Latias was left alone again. However, there lay a roll of canvas right where Bianca sat. It seemed old, yellowish shades were a sign of degrading. Maybe the picture had an age of more than five years. Latias unrolled the picture slowly, avoiding crumples as much as possible. As the work of art was unveiled, so were the curtains which kept the tears at bay.

It was a sketch of Latias and Ash, playing together on the swing in the secret garden. Ash's confused look was one Latias would always remember. He looked surprised by the revelation that 'Bianca' was actually Latias. Bianca perfectly encapsulated the exquisiteness of the moment, outlining the perfect moment. Every line seemed to reverberate with life, giving the dense outlines an opaque presence. It almost seemed like the picture moved, the blanks filled in by the recollection of the day.

Ash's uncombed wildfire of hair, Pikachu's confused look, the angle of swaying, all of them merged together perfectly to form a perfect imprint of that day.

Latias got up, and began to walk back to the garden. She was now reborn, with a strong fortitude to fight the timeless pain she faced.

Bianca stayed in Alto Mare for a quarter of a year. It was partially to keep an eye on Latias, who might do something hasty. Nevertheless, the main reason was to keep Lorenzo company. It was difficult, to say the least, when fate toys with you. Lorenzo was dancing with fire, his time was short, and every day meant less time for him. Sooner or later, Lorenzo would fall prey to the predator which was slowly gaining on him.

Latias didn't mind. She may have been slightly envious of the companionship Lorenzo had, and longed for a friend to spend time with. However, spending time with Bianca was not exactly fun; laxity wasn't what she wanted either. Lorenzo was focused on the restoration efforts of the museum, which made sure that Bianca was unavailable to play with Latias. Either way, Latias still hated going to the museum, it was where the events of the day killed Latios. It still hurt whenever she got near the Defense Mechanism of Alto Mare.

Instead, Latias returned to painting. The only difference was that she now went to the docks to gain insight. Her drawings were no longer the same canal every time. Instead, it was the rolling oceans which made their appearance on the canvas. Every day, the waves would be different, therefore complementing her skills perfectly. The ruins of the tidal wave added a ruined beauty to her paintings.

What made the change most significant was the fact that she now awaited, rather than waited for, the chance to meet Ash once again. She wanted nothing more than to glimpse the boy with the Pikachu once again. So she waited, and waited, and waited.

Across the ocean, a teenager was now looking towards the sea. He seemed deep in concentration, as if something big was troubling him. He was now travelling the world, getting a moments silence after the noise of fame, a small price to pay, considering he now held the coveted title of Pokémon Master. He trained for years, and now, he finally achieved his dreams. On the shore of Cherrygrove City in the Johto region, he now thought about his next destination.

His best friend and companion rushed to his side, sensing its trainer's disarray. They have been friends since day one, and were closer than anything else.

Ash noticed Pikachu's arrival, and picked him up, putting him on his shoulder. He sounded his thoughts out loud, for ease of understanding. A trainer should always respect a Pokémon's opinion.

"Pikachu, where should we go next?" Ash asked his yellow friend. Pikachu pointed towards the sea, at an island quite far off, but slightly viewable through the mist which shrouded the ocean.

Alto Mare.

"Mr Briney," Ash called to his latest companion, a boatman whom he met during his travels in Hoenn years ago. "Could we head to that island over there?"

The old man's head peeked out from the boat, and he looked straight to where Ash was pointing. "Ain't that the island of Alto Mare?"

Ash nodded, he knew that the island would be familiar to Mr Briney. He lived in the Hoenn region, which was also the region where half of Alto Mare resided. "So, how about it?"

Mr Briney was one step ahead of him, he already started the boat's engine. "Hop on."

Maybe, maybe Ash would meet his old friends.

Especially Latias.

This story is dedicated to Hiyawu and 穹风， the two most talented Chinese novelists of modern society.

How was the story? Its serious, but its me returning to my roots of Chinese writing. I always wondered how a Chinese novel would meld into an English one. This time, I attempted to work the style of Chinese writing into an English fanfic.

As for the finish, I still think that it ends well enough here, if any of you thinks otherwise, how about leaving a comment about that. I admit that I have more ideas for this story, but Altoshipping isn't that easy to write. Anyway, if the readers want more, I'll do my best.

About the inspiration, every story has its own source, and mine is a very short and discontinued fanfic called True Love Never Fades. This fic is not on , hence my reluctance to post a link in fear of banning. Anyway, True Love Never Fades only has five chapters, and is focused on Altoshipping. This fic was one I found last year, while surfing the site. I read this, and found it to be good, worth following. Or so I thought, a short scan through the comments and I concluded that the story was not going to be updated anytime soon, perhaps forever.

My story is inspired by its incompleteness; it only managed to center on the aching heart of loss. I never thought that I'd write one of my own, but here it is.

Timeless itself is a name that came naturally, the timelessness of an aching heart was the theme. I think I failed dramatically here, where I put more than one theme in a story. You name it, heartbreak, fragility of life, painting... All of those things seem to be too much, especially seeing as how the whole fic is around five thousand words (give or take). If you're intrigued by the style, it's how I write Chinese novels, except the theme spamming, that is.

I'd like to hear your opinions about the story itself, and the continuity of the whole thing. I will take into account the opinions of many, and write or change the story accordingly. Please review though, I'd like to hear your comments about the overall story, and my English, which is rusty.

And on a side note, the back story of Alto Mare changed between the Japanese version and the English one, I personally chose the Japanese one, which I hope you'll try to watch. It explains the presence of new Latias and Latios after the movie ends.

Hope you liked it,

Xuan Ying.