A/N: Ah wow, over 10k words? Jeez! Haha but I guess this is a semi-apology for leaving you guys waiting for so long. Next chapter is the journey aspect of the story-and fair warning to all you readers, what I have planned so far is radically different from the game's canon events (though I think the AU in the summary was fair warning enough).

I did a quick check for grammar and spelling mistakes, but I won't guarantee that this chapter is 100% proof read. Big thanks to anybody who points out stuff that I missed!

Have fun reading!

I want to hurt him. I want to claw at him until he is raw and bleeding. I want to shove him down onto the ground and pull at his hair and scream and slam my fist into his pretty little face.

But something holds me back. Maybe it is the way the boy smiles at me. Or maybe it is because he is pale and thin and so damn young. He couldn't have been older than thirteen. And yet he is the king of Team Plasma.

Humans, I can't help but think, I will never understand how they think with those tiny brains of theirs. How could they have thought that placing a child at the forefront of a crime syndicate would be sensible or okay? It is obvious that the boy is being used as figurehead of some delusional dream.

"Hi," he says to me and I blink.

He can speak my language?

He swings his legs to and fro on the bench that he is sitting on and clasps the small green bag in his hands. The boy king looks up at me with a shy smile. "I'm N. What's your name?"

"I don't have one," I say to him with a frown. And it's true. The name that belonged to me when I was a legendary belonged to that body only. This human form has nothing to do with it.

The boy deflates for a moment before smiling again. "Do you want to be my friend?"

"No." I stare at him bewildered. What a strange human. "I just want my Pokémon back."

N frowns childishly, acting as though I have said something he does not agree with. "Nobody owns Pokémon. They're our friends—not our possessions."

"Well they're mine, no matter what you think," I reply, annoyed. "And if they didn't want to be mine, they wouldn't be here. I don't want Pokémon who refuse to listen to me."

"But—

"Listen here," I snarl, leaning down to his level with my arms crossed over my chest. "You don't have any right to tell me what's mine and what's not. I don't give a damn as to what you or your crappy little minions like to believe—those Pokémon you stole from me are mine."

The boy flinches and shies away from my glare, his back hitting the support of the bench as he tries to move away. "You're a legendary though," he says to me, voice shaking with nervousness. "Don't you think it's wrong to imprison your own kind?"

The fact that he knows about my past as a legendary doesn't surprise me. If it were any other normal human, I would have been stunned. But things are different when it comes to oddities like him.

I gesture to myself, fingers splayed over my human heart, and laugh wildly. "I'm not a legendary anymore you brat; I don't give a shit about morals now. All I care about is getting back to the Hall of Origin."

His fingers tug agitatedly at the fabric of the bag as he stares up at me with wide green eyes.

I'm sure he's disappointed. Disappointed that I didn't turn out to be the wonderful and idealistic legendary that he had expected. Well you know what? I don't give a shit about what this kid thinks of me. Not in the least.

I tell him exactly that.

N doesn't say anything for a minute as he lowers his head down to stare at his hands, curling and then unfurling them over the bag. His feet have stopped kicking.

"You need the Azure Flute don't you?" he says quietly to me, his head still lowered.

My condescending smirk falls and in its place is a tightlipped frown.

He continues, "I can help you. I can give it to you—

"Stop lying," I snap angrily. "The Azure Flute hasn't been around for thousands of years; you humans destroyed it during one of your petty, little wars for power."

He is opening his bag now, hands reaching in to grasp something and pulls it out; it is small and purple and red and riddled with holes and slightly cracked and—

"Give me that!" I practically shriek as I frantically try to grab the ancient flute from out of his hands.

N dodges and scampers away from me, flute in hand; I make to grab at it again but then I miss and crash down to the ground. My shins and elbows feel a stinging pain but I ignore it and push myself off of the ground. Instinctively I glare at the brat who is still clutching at the flute as though it is some sort of lifeline.

Like a hurt Pokemon, he shies away from me.

I won't get anywhere if I continue to frighten him, is the thought that hits me when I see him flinch as I take a step toward him.

Schooling my face into something peaceable, I say to him in a strained yet eerily calm voice, "N, I need that. Please give it to me. I'll…I'll do anything you want."

His face brightens but his clutch on the object tightens slightly. "Anything?"

"Yes," I say, gritting my teeth. "Whatever you want."

"Will you be my friend?" he asks with hope shining like stars in his eyes.

What's with this kid and friendship? He's acting as if he's never had one before.

The longer the silence stretches, the quicker his anticipative smile begins to fade.

"Alright, alright," I huffed. "Fine. Is that all you want?"

The king cocks his head to the side and smiles at me. "No."

I am about to burst in outrage at his inconclusive response but then, like a shift in the wind, three shadowy figures appear at his side. Startled, I instinctively take a step back; my eyes flit to each dark garbed figure with extreme distrust.

Have they been watching us all along?

As I think this, N hands the flute over to one of the figure's expectant hand; my eyes trail after the Azure Flute longingly until it is tucked away from my sight.

Then I scowl at N.

He walks to me now, with hesitant steps and wringing hands. "I want to change the world; I want to liberate my friends who have been taken captive by the cruel trainers."

"And what does that have to do with me?" I demand angrily, taking a step back as he continues to draw closer.

"Ghetsis says that I need to become the new hero of Unova, like the two brothers in the old legend."

My eyes widen at this. Brothers?

Flashes of faint, hazy figures blind me for a moment; I can hear laughter in the distance of those memories.

Then the laughter turns into angry shouting, vociferous crashes, and violent screeches.

A lone hand reaches out towards me.

Could he possibly mean…

I blink away the images when something soft and small touches my hands. I look down to see N weaving his fingers through mine, his head tilted up towards me; the corner of his mouth twitches in the faint image of a smile.

"He says that I need to become friends with one of the legendary dragons in the story."

No. No. No…

"So will you fight alongside me to liberate the Pokémon?"

Despite the fervent 'no's that echo in my head, the logical side of me knows that this is the only way to get the Azure Flute. Without it, then these past five years planning and plotting my revenge will have all gone to waste.

I feel my breath catch in my throat, but I manage to choke out the words after a bout of strained silence.

"Okay," I say, completely resigned to my fate. My hands tremble as I say this to the small boy in front of me. "Okay."

o

Not too long after, I am taken to meet them.

With their richly colored and intricately patterned robes, they all look fit to be kings of a medieval world long gone. One look at their sharp and wizened faces nearly makes me spin on my heel in an instinctive act of flight; only the brat's tight grip on my hand keeps me locked in place.

Even in my human form I can feel the villainous intent that is emanating from the grandest and most powerful figure of the group. The other six elders seem to have mixed auras—though I have difficulty trying to discern the good from the bad. But that man…his is the easiest to read. It is as though, when I finally look him straight in the eye, I am blinded by his sins, his greed, his pride, and his insanity. All I can see is red.

And in the back of my mind, a traitorous voice whispers of how alike we are.

I shake my head slightly to dispel the nasty thoughts.

The man says something completely intelligible and gives me a smile—and even though I can't understand what he is saying, I still have to hold back the growl threatening to rip out from my throat. It is his smile (so full of sickly, sweet poison) that throws my world off its axis; it is his smile that threatens to kill me and roll me over in my grave three times over.

A base, animalistic instinct screams at me to rip his head off.

I don't though, no matter how much I want to.

The silence is so loud and deafening in my ears. I have no idea what to say. For once in my life, I regret not learning the human language.

N seems to notice my plight and hurriedly translates for me.

"He says: 'So you must be the infamous legendary that I've heard so much about.'"

Even with the translation, I still have nothing to say other than, "I guess."

N waits for me to say something more but when I don't, he turns back to Ghetsis and says something (and I'm pretty sure that he made it up because I know for sure that two words in my language doesn't translate into a lengthy monologue).

"My name is Ghetsis," N continues to translate for me as I watch the man gesture to himself in an ostentatious manner, his robes flaring out from the elaborate motions. "I am one of the seven sages that help guide our future king."

I give him a blank stare. Like I give a fuck about who he is.

Die. Die. Die. Die. Die.

After a moment of strained silence in which they all stare at me expectantly, waiting for me to speak but receiving nothing in return, Ghetsis gives me another smile—but this time I can clearly see the barely restrained anger behind it.

"What is your name, miss legendary?"

This time I reply. "I don't care. Call me whatever you like." As long as it's not something stupid.

"Alright then," a pause, then, "You must be tired from the long journey here. I'm sure that when you get good night's rest, you will be in a better disposition to speak with us. The Shadow Triad can show you to your room."

N immediately breaks off at this sentence and turns to Ghetsis. "I'll show her!" he offers, an eager grin spreading across his face. When he receives befuddled looks in return, he realizes that he has spoken in the wrong language and repeats his offer again in the words that are nothing but gibberish to my ears. I see him look up at Ghetsis as if to ask for permission.

Ghetsis answer is so sharp and final that I immediately assume that it is a 'no'. N's face falls at this, clearly disappointed beyond belief. The man ignores N's crestfallen face and continues to say something else before finally gesturing to the people behind us.

The boy king looks ready to protest but is stopped short when two women step up from behind to guide him out of the room.

Inwardly I sigh in relief; I honestly can't handle any more of his stupid chatter. If I hear one more word about freeing his friends, I will readily and violently punch someone—preferably N—in the face.

Unfortunately for me it wouldn't be the last time I would be seeing him for the rest of the night.

o

"Hey."

There is an incessant tug on my nightgown sleeve as the voice continues to chant. My eyebrows furrow in annoyance but I stubbornly keep my eyes closed, refusing to acknowledge that N is in the same room as me. On my bed poking me as if I'm a rag doll. In the middle of the night. While I'm trying to sleep.

Suddenly punching him in the face seems like a really appealing idea right then and there.

"Hey—

"What," I snarl with my eyes still closed.

The poking stops immediately. Then, "Which of the dragons are you?"

He doesn't use the small, hyperactive voice he says most things with when he asks that question. Instead, his voice is hushed and awed, as if he were placing me on a pedestal of glory.

I hate it.

I grunt angrily and turn myself onto my side so that my back faces him. "Would you quit that already?" I snap, tired and frustrated.

The bed springs squeaked slightly as he sits back, recoiling in shock. "Quit what? What do you mean?"

Of course he wouldn't get it; of course he would be too dense to actually realize what he had been doing all along. Arceus, why were humans so…so stupid? And what's with these idiots' tendencies to blindly follow? Why were humans so inclined to worship and please some higher being? Didn't they have any free will of their own?

I sit up swiftly and turn on him, my face leaning into his despite his subtle attempts in backing away. My hand snatches his arm and grips it tightly so that he won't try to run away.

"This," I start, sweeping my hand towards him. "You fawning over me like I'm some collectable item or…or a god."

"But," he falters slightly, eyes blinking a mile a minute, "You are a god. You're a legendary—

"I'm not!" I hiss, squeezing his arm, my nails digging into his skin. "That's not my title to flaunt or use anymore. If it was, then I wouldn't be here in the first place, stuck in this stupid human form!" My grip loosens when N lets out a muffled whimper. I look down at my hand only to find a thin layer of blood coating my nails.

My eyes avert from the boy. I don't say sorry though.

"This is me; detestable, weak, and human," I continue in a murmur, more to myself than anyone else. "'This is my punishment,' he told me. 'Make amends for your crime,' he said." I turn to look at him now and see a strange shadow of understanding flit across his childish face. "Whether you like it or not, I'm human. I can't help you with your stupid dreams of Pokémon liberation."

He stays silent but stares at me ponderingly. Bright green eyes re-evaluate me, as though I am some intricate formula to be unraveled.

Tired from frustration and pure exhaustion, I fall back onto the mattress with a thump and close my eyes, not wanting to see his face.

Why did being human suddenly start being so arduous?

"Tell me this, though," I say aloud and cover my eyes with my forearm. "How did you know that I was a legendary?"

"Word spreads quickly around the Pokémon world," he says softly. "And Pokémon never lie. They told me of how one of the dragons was sent into exile for letting Arceus' treasured human town get destroyed by a raging inferno. They told me how the legendary dragon had been turned into a human as punishment. Some of them have seen you and they can tell, you know. They can tell that you were one of them before, well, before the fire."

"Do you…," I wet my chapped lips, a sudden nervousness overwhelming me. "Do you know what caused the fire?"

"No. And none of the Pokémon know, either. But you know right?"

I can tell that he wants to know. But is it really my place to tell? Arceus and the other legendaries had wanted to keep the affair and details a secret. But did it matter if I told him?

I decide against saying anything. Instead I lift my leg and ram my foot hard into his back, violently sending him over the edge of the bed. I hear him let out an undignified yelp as the carpeted floor breaks his fall.

"Yeah, I do. So what? It's not any of your fucking business!" I can't help but growl angrily. But I wasn't angry at him. Not really.

No, I was angrier at myself more than anything.

The room becomes deathly silent after that, and I convince myself into believing that N left, scared of my volatile moods and childishly bitter over the pain. It is when I am about to embraced by sleep that a voice breaks into my waning consciousness.

"You never told me who you were."

I feel myself sigh irritably and say, "Does it really matter?"

"Well, I still don't know what to call you."

"It's not my name to use anymore."

"Well then I can help you think of new name after."

I don't want to tell him, I really don't. And even if I do tell him, he couldn't have called me by it anyway—I would've punched him hard enough to make sure of that. There wasn't any point in telling him.

And yet I somehow find myself doing the opposite of what I intended.

The name tumbles from my lips like they couldn't get out into the open fast enough. "Reshiram."

And somehow I feel as though a great pressure has been lifted off of my shoulders.

"Reshiram," he repeats slowly, carefully as though testing out the sounds. Behind my closed eyes, I imagine him smiling widely like an idiot. "The vast white Pokémon, huh?"

"Tch. Is that how you humans describe me?"

He continues, ignoring my snarky response. "How about white then?"

"White for what?" What does the color white have to do with anything?

"No, I mean white," he says, emphasizing the last word. "As in the name White."

What a stupid name. "Whatever. As long as it gets you off my back."

A still quietness. And then:

"But I'm not on your back."

I throw my arms up in the air, exasperated. "It's an expression you stupid brat. Haven't you ever used one before?"

"No," is his perplexed reply. "What's an expression?"

"You seriously need to get out more," is all I say before I bury my face into the pillow and fall asleep.

o

Somehow time manages to pass by slowly during my stay in N's castle. Every yesterday bleeds into the present, and I am forced to wear a mask of indifference in order to keep on their good side.

It's easy to trick N into believing some petty illusion of my contentment. But…but it's all so different when it comes to Ghetsis. It's like I have to claw myself out of the depths of the underworld in order to convince him that I'm willing to lay down my head for the sake of Team Plasma's "righteous cause".

I know that he can see through my mask—he knows that I know. And this strange feeling in my gut tells me to be careful—that he's dangerous.

But I need the Azure Flute.

And, well…he's holding my Pokémon captive. The morning after I arrived to the castle, the Ghetsis had forced me to relinquish my last Pokémon to him, taunting me with the promise of the Azure Flute if I behaved myself properly. He didn't speak to me in my language of course—N had served as translator once more. But seeing the flute clamped tightly in his fist was like having salt rubbed into an open wound.

N now claims that he goes to see them every day—hopefully he isn't filling their heads with useless drivel—and that they're being well taken care of. Of course, N being N, he continues to be ambiguous and refuses to tell me where they are.

Tch. Bastard.

And whenever I try to sneak out of room during the night to investigate the castle, the Shadow Triad is always standing watch outside of my door. What's really unnerving is the fact that they don't say anything and just move in sync to block the doorway. I give up trying to escape my room a week after my arrival at the castle.

N tells me that he wants to liberate all Pokémon from their cruel trainers. Actually, he says that rather frequently—at least twice a day, I think—and the numbers have climbed so high that everything that he says regarding that topic has slowly become a numb buzzing noise in my ears.

I had never truly understood why he was so adamant for Pokémon liberation; during my first few weeks in N's castle, I had merely passed it off for some stupid boy with an easily controlled mindset.

Oh, how wrong I was for thinking that—

Never in all the time during my first five years as a human have I ever felt any other emotion besides anger. But the first time that I am finally able to catch a glimpse of the darker aspects of that boy's life…something stirs in my chest.

I would've never expected it—as cruel and twisted as it was—but in a way, I'm glad that I was given the chance to see it. It helped me to understand.

oo

"Fuck," I hiss irritably, doubling over in pain when my knee slams into the corner of the reading table. My swearing echoes harshly in the silence of the library; the emptiness of the spacious and towering room repeats the word and throws it back at me in a taunting manner. It is nearing dusk, at least from what I can tell from the clock hanging above the double doors across the room—though it would be impossible to tell if I were to try look out through a window. The castle is buried away like a deadly, secret treasure beneath the mountainous home of champions—the Pokémon League. It's highly ironic that of all the places that Team Plasma could have chosen for a base, they chose to construct one right underneath the noses of their ultimate enemy. It's also strange that no one has managed to stumble upon the castle yet, especially when it is being built right under the League's nose. But honestly, I don't want to involve myself with the technicalities of human stupidity and drama.

All I need to do is concentrate on my mission—nothing more, nothing less.

Wearily, I straighten from my crouch with a frown and rub at the stinging pain on my knee. The library had an eerie atmosphere at night—with its high, towering shelves, its long, sharp shadows, and its strangling silence—and I can't help shudder at the moving shadows being cast by the flickering candle light. By nature, I'm not a being meant for the darkness—born from flames, I lived and breathed fire. Fire meant light, it meant knowledge. But the darkness covered my vision with a veil of incongruity, and it felt as though I were being suffocated by its obscurity.

With a sort of desperation, I shove the library doors open and am met with a dim and seemingly never-ending hallway. "Well that's fucking fantastic," I mutter and glower at the dark, hazy end of the corridor. "I'm lost."

The hallways in this underground castle are all the same, damn it. The dim lighting doesn't exactly help my situation either.

I begin walking again, my feet dragging across the white marble floor,

I don't know how long I walk along the passageways, but it could have been for an eternity for all I know.

Up, down, left, right—the word direction seems to have lost its meaning at that point.

At last there comes a break in the never ending set of corridors; a door-less threshold at the end of the hall leading into darkness looms closer as the number of steps that I take grows bigger. The rim of the doorway is lined with gray stone and lightly splattered in a strange red color. I hiss involuntarily, my lips curling back, and bare my teeth. I recognize the origin of the red splatter, smell the strong odor of iron—what the hell happened here?

I step forward to touch the blood on the wall and pull back to find nothing on my skin. Dry blood, then. But how long has it been here? And nobody bothered cleaning the stain? In comparison to the restrictive cleanliness of the castle, with its shining floors and pristine rooms, the bloodied threshold was a jarring juxtaposition.

Maybe the blood was left there to provide an example or warning?

Furiously I shake my head to clear the morbid thoughts. It doesn't make any sense. Who, of all people in this castle, would need to be warned? As far as I can tell, all the people here were mindless puppets controlled by Ghetsis.

But…

A faint noise, sounding almost like a sob, catches my attention. Hesitantly, I peer into the darkness, allowing my eyes to adjust before realizing that there is a flight of stairs leading down into uncharted territory.

Is it worth investigating? For a moment I stand at the doorway, contemplating the pros and cons. And then I decide that I didn't have time to be mind-fucked by the sight of a little blood. Determinedly, I say aloud to myself, "I'm not scared."

I'm not, I repeat mentally as I quietly make my way down the stairs, hearing the sobs grow louder.

I—

From out of the darkness Ghetsis appears, wearing a decidedly sickening smirk on his face. I jerk to a stop on the last step and I see him pause in his footsteps before resuming his walk in my direction.

"Ah miss legendary," comes the string of gibberish. I blink rapidly, uncomprehending. He gives me a fake smile and continues, "How nice to see you. I hope you've been treated well during your stay here as so far. Unfortunately I don't have time for a talk." He smirks deprecatingly. "Not that you would understand what I say to you anyway, you stupid monster."

I narrow my eyes at him in suspicion—what the hell did he want from me now? Why was he still here talking to me?

"Anyway, don't go looking for trouble," he adds dismissively and attempts to go up the stairs. But I am still standing at the last step, openly glaring at him now.

The façade of good-naturedness has fallen away; in its place is a look of complete and utter disgust with an acidic glare thrown into the mix. He says darkly, "Move."

My scowl deepens.

"I said move."

We stand there in silence, locked in a heated glaring contest until finally he loses his temper, shoves me into the wall, and storms past me in a fit of rage.

My arm throbs in pain but the fury I feel overwhelms the stinging ache; my head whips back to look up the stairs, but I see nothing but darkness—Ghetsis is gone.

Let it go, I tell myself. Just forget about it.

At last I pull myself off the wall and begin to maneuver through the dark corridor; a faint glow illuminates the edge of the hall's end, and I mentally brace myself as I step out into the domelike room.

In the center is N with his back turned towards me. But his small, shivering figure is not what I notice first.

It is the long trail of fresh blood that spills like a river across the floor; small thorny outgrowths of the blood trail have branched out from the main body, bloody spider like fingers greedily covering the stone floor with no remorse. The stench of iron is overpowering.

But the trail is not the only form of blood in the room; all along the walls and spattered across the floor like a mad artists' life work, is a messy jigsaw puzzle of violence and horror. I think back to the dry blood at the staircase's entrance—this mess had occurred long before I stumbled upon N, most likely growing and spreading like a disease over the course of many years.

It is the first time that I feel a sense of dread and dismay—the first of many to come. With a sort of passive horror I step forward, making sure not to step in the fresh blood, and softly call out to N. I see him shrink in fear before slowly standing up and turning around to face me. My eyes focus on the droplets of blood spilling on the ground below him before snapping back up to meet his eyes.

"N? What…," I stop, not quite sure as to whether or not I truly wanted to hear his answer. I forge on in spite of it. "…what happened?"

He sniffles and bravely fights back oncoming tears; when he finally musters the strength to answer me, his voice sounds hoarse, as though he has been screaming on for hours on end. "M-my friend," he stops to shift the small bundle in his arms and I have to bite my tongue to force back down the bile threatening to rise, "he's hurt."

"Arceus," I can't help but say. "Where the fuck did you find him?"

"Ghetsis brought him to me."

Well that explained everything. Leave it to the bastard to go around scarring children for life—at this point, I'm not even surprised anymore.

I find myself crouching down and holding my arms out to him. "Come here," I say and as I watch him stumble towards me like a newborn Ponyta, something warms and tickles my chest, a strange unknown feeling that I am too afraid to decipher. I catch him by the arms and pause momentarily to watch his face. Shadows slash across his eyes and cheeks, making his skin look sunken in and ill; I can see the beginning traces of worry lines starting to form, and I can't help but think that at this age, N is much too young to be turning into an adult. But then I peer into his bright green eyes and am hit with a strange sense of wonder-there is pain, but underneath it is a certain untainted innocence that not many humans have anymore.

"Let's go get you cleaned up," I find myself saying.

N's lower lip trembles slightly. "But my friend-

"We'll take care of him first then," I cut in. "Come on, let's get out. It's starting to smell like death in here."

...

The fact that N isn't actually injured is a small blessing because now at least I don't have to struggle with attempting to give him first aid.

"Stay still," I demand, one hand clamped onto his shoulder to keep him still and the other hand scrubbing at his face with a wet cloth. N squirms, as if unused to the attention, and makes a grimace when I roughly rub at his blood covered cheek. "Ow! That hurts-

"No pain, no gain," is my irate reply as I harshly wipe at his forehead and nose. "I said stay still." The cloth moves to cover his entire face for one last wipe and he yelps helplessly at the sudden action.

Finished, I toss the bloodstained cloth to the floor and survey my work; N sits on his bed unhappily and gingerly touches his reddened cheeks, wincing when he presses the newly scrubbed skin too hard.

"Oh man up already," I grumble with a halfhearted glare.

He ignores my jibe and turns to the small bundled form resting on the bed beside; his hand reaches out to stroke the creature's charcoal gray fur, clean of blood and grime. In an involuntary response, the Pokémon shifts slightly and nuzzles the warm hand, its ears twitching at the strange sensation.

I move closer to examine the Zorua, silently mulling over the strangeness of the situation. Why did Ghetsis even bother to bring a badly wounded Pokémon to N? It wasn't as though N had any medical training to treat the wounded-far from it. And how did the bastard even manage to get his hands on this Zorua? Did he forcibly take it from its trainer or had he found it in the wild? My mind hit another unanswerable road block—why did Ghetsis bother to bring the wounded Zorua back to the castle? From my impressions of him, he was the type of person who wasn't afraid to manipulate and hurt others for the sake of self preservation and gain—he most definitely wasn't the kind of person to bring home beaten and downtrodden Pokémon with the intention of nursing them back to health.

N turns to look at me with something akin to trust. He asks, "Will Zorua be all right?"

"Probably; I've closed up his wounds as best as I could. Some of the cuts were really deep though, so I'll need to treat the wounds everyday for a long while. I can't guarantee anything though, I'm not a doctor. I only know the basic medical techniques."

Strangely enough, the flimsy promise seems enough to erase all of N's worries; his eyes brightens considerably and his shoulders sag in relief. "Good," he breathes out and smiles. "That's great—maybe this time I can save one of my friends."

The statement strikes me as odd. 'Maybe this time'? What exactly did he mean by saying that?

"What do you mean? Has this happened before?"

"Yeah." He swings his legs absentmindedly at this simple admission, acting as though it were normal to have half-dead and bleeding Pokémon dumped on him on a regular basis. For a second I feel my heart stop beating at the horrifying images swimming through my head. How could someone like N remain sane and innocent though all of that? "Ghetsis always brings me wounded Pokémon," he adds and then suddenly the small smile disappears from his lips. N is silent for a long while, biting his thumb while I wait in half anticipation and half dread. I become so used to the silence that I nearly miss the softly whispered words that come out his mouth.

"They…they always leave me in the end though."

Heart hammering, I jerk my head to the side to look at him. Small, pitiful, and vulnerable—the image of him curled in on himself, a tiny child against the horrors of the world, is enough to make a regular human with a semblance of a working heart, cry. I don't cry though, Arceus forbid; but I do fall to crouch in front of him, and peer up at his covered face. "N?"

His fragile, birdlike shoulders begin to tremble and I have to fight the urge to reach out to him in comfort.

"They died, White," comes his strangled whisper. "They died and I couldn't do a thing to save them."

oo

Ghetsis brings wounded Pokémon to N to show him the cruelty of humans—trainers especially. But he only brings the ones that he knows are close to dying and cannot be saved by the clumsy hands of a mere boy. The reason for this is obvious to me now; allow for N to hold the dying Pokémon in his arms, let him become overcome with grief and helplessness so that way he will be empowered by his flawed sense of justice to fight for a foolish cause. The blood of the many dead creatures sends a message to N, loud and clear: Humans are evil and the Pokémon must be liberated from their control. It is a clever and key factor in the success of his manipulation of N—and some twisted part of me applauds him for his cruel genius.

I don't stop this from happening though.

There is an unspoken rule among the legendaries that forbids the outright involvement in human affairs; there have been many cases of this rule being broken, especially among the softer, more kindhearted legendaries, but for the most part we—or rather they, since I am not a legendary anymore, uphold the rule to the best of their abilities.

However, I silently make a promise to myself to step in and stop Team Plasma's ridiculousness if I think the situation calls for it. A call for the prevention of mass destruction would be one of the appropriate reasons, I believe.

Though I doubt that such a small crime syndicate like them could actually create a wave big enough to be noticed by society.

ooo

The years begin to pass, some days melding into others while other days standing out from the others with a harsh clarity; slowly but surely N begins to grow, his face losing its cherubic qualities and sharpening into a sort of stunning image that most human girls would call handsome. By the age of thirteen, he decides to let his hair grow long; it becomes a long unruly mane that unnerves me to no end—which, I suspect, is one of the reasons why he adamantly refuses to cut it into a likeness of orderliness. By the time he turns fourteen, he has exhausted all of his tutors, becoming a genius in his own right and therefore obtaining an obnoxious ego for it. In an attempt at keeping his head in place, I have taken to pointing out his flaws and stupidity whenever I can—it is the only way to prevent him losing all semblance of humility.

Six months before his fifteenth birthday, N finally catches up to me in height. It feels strange to actually be able to look him properly in the eye now when all those years before, I merely had to tilt my head down slightly to look at him. Sometimes I catch myself looking down whenever N talks to me—he always laughs at me for doing that and I always give him a hard punch in the arm when he does.

He looses all image of frailty one month before he turns fifteen, his shoulders broad and not so bony anymore and his hands large enough to swallow my own hands whole. His eyes though…his eyes remain the same-still as bright and expressive as the first time that I met him.

ooo

"N!"

The fifteen year old pauses in his climb up the pecha tree, his hair fallen loose around his shoulders from the strong winds, and gestures at me to keep quiet.

"What the fuck are trying to do up there, N?" I demand angrily and in a fit of annoyance, kick at the tree. "Get your ass down here!"

From up above me, stuck between the foliage and branches, N mutters, "I can't believe I let you convince me to teach you how to curse in the human language. You really should wash that mouth of yours with a bar of soap—

"Oh go fuck yourself—

"I'd rather not."

All at once, N pushes his body forward on the large branch and grabs at a hidden object hidden within the leaves; he nearly whacks himself in the face with another branch and almost falls off his own perch for all of his troubles. I can't help but let out a snort of amusement at this. But then he is straightening up from his crouch, shaking the loose leaves out of his hair, and holding up Zorua like a victory prize. "I finally got you," he says to the Pokémon with a wide grin; in his hands, Zorua struggles to free himself but fails miserably when N pulls him closer to his chest. "Now its time for your bath."

Zorua howled in horror at the word and bumped his head against N's chin in protest. "Let me go! I don't need a stinking bath—

"No. You reek. You're getting one whether you like it or not."

"Are you two done up there with your lover's spat or do I have to climb up there to kick both of you down myself?" I cut in impatiently. N rolled his eyes at me and said, "Calm down already, White. Look, I'm coming down now. There's no need to—

As he says this to me, his foot misses one of the tree's boughs and steps onto thin air; I see N's eyes widen when he realizes his mistake and suddenly gravity takes over with full force, sending him and Zorua tumbling down the tree with a thundering crash.

I open my mouth to scream as I watch his body fall down—

—and slam into me.

"Fuck!" is all I manage to say when I finally regain the ability to breathe properly. My head and back throb painfully when I try to move, and I'm mentally screaming for retribution when N cuts into my mental rampage with a groan.

Annoyed, I shove him off my stomach and send him rolling into the tree's trunk with a mighty thwack!

"That was completely unnecessary," was his muffled response from the ground.

"You know what's unnecessary? Being an idiot and deciding to climb up a tree," came my retort. "I don't have time for this, so cut the crap. I'm already going out of my way for Anthea and Concordia by dragging you back down to the castle."

I let him rest for a moment, watching as the patched shadows of the tree drift over him and listen as the wind whistles through the air, softly brushing back stray green locks of hair from his forehead. The scene before me seems so calm and peaceful—and for some reason it feels right.

I ruin the moment though, when I pinch his ear between my fingers and drag him up form the grass. N winces in pain and gripes, "Why yes, my ear is attached to my head! How did you know?"

I let go only to smack him lightly upside the head. "Don't be a smart ass. Let's go already."

He grumbles but follows me into the forest; eventually, after weaving through enough trees and dodging brambles, we reach a narrow opening in the ground, a sort of brown, rugged path that slowly descends into the ground. We are currently on the outskirts of the Pokémon League headquarters, hidden within the surrounding forest area, but once we enter the tunnel we will be walking through one of the many tunnels that wind through Champion Road constructed by Team Plasma's hands. The tunnel we are at would eventually spit us out into the area near Anthea's and Concordia's living quarters, which is convenient for me since I don't feel like playing chaperone for much longer. "We have to hurry," I tell him stepping walking downwards and entering the underground tunnel. "You need to get ready for your ceremony."

Darkness enveloped us.

"I don't need a ceremony to know what I have to do to liberate the Pokémon," N's voice echoes throughout the tunnel. "Ghetsis should just let me go to challenge the gym circuit instead of starting up a fuss with this ceremony."

I roll my eyes despite knowing that he can't see my expression and turn on the flashlight in my hand. "Stop with the Pokémon liberation shit already, would you? I'm so sick of hearing that bullshit."

"It's not bull—

"Yes it is," I interrupted, already knowing how this argument will end. "It's so obvious that this Team Plasma debacle is full of crap—but you're just too blind to see it."

"I can see perfectly fine," was his retort.

Idiot.

"You know what I mean," I snarl and spin around to point the beam of light at his indignant face. I wave the flashlight at him and continue, "I don't understand why you let yourself to be so caught up in all of this—I don't get why you let that bastard play with your mind and control you like a puppet, but I know you, N. I know you. You're going to become someone great one day—you're highly intelligent and you have charisma, but…but I only wish you would learn how to become a good person, instead."

I can see from reading his face that he doesn't understand what I am trying to convey to him; and so I give up for the time being, sighing and turning back around to continue our trek back to the castle.

Even after all these years, I still don't believe that Team Plasma is as wonderful and honorable as they claim to be; I don't have solid proof for my misgivings, but I definitely can't trust them—no matter how good N claims their intentions are.

N is too kind for the likes of Ghetsis and Team Plasma…if only he could see that there is another way to obtain his wish.

Involuntarily, I let out a discontent sigh. Well, if N refuses to accept what I have to say about the whole matter, then it isn't any of my business with what he and Team Plasma do.

ooo

It's so fucking cold in this room.

Desperately, I rub my hands together to create some kind of warmth but to no avail. Around me, hundreds of grunts and servants mill about the throne room chattering about nonsensical things as they wait for the coronation to begin. The stiff dress that I was forced into earlier feels constricting, giving me the sensation of being chained and tossed into storming sea to drown, so I move through the crowd, bypass the marble pillars, and hide in a dark corner so that I can have some sort of peace as I rip the fabric around my collar.

Someone titters at me from behind once I free myself of the collar; surprised, I spin around to face the person and find myself face to face with Concordia.

"Uh," I say intelligently.

Concordia merely smiles in slight amusement and shakes her head at me. "You could have asked for a different dress, you know."

"And where would the fun in that be," I mutter sarcastically. "Whatever. The dress looks better like this anyway."

"Lord N will be disappointed to see that you ripped his present to you so soon."

"Che," I cluck my tongue impatiently at her and wave her off with the wave of a hand. "Who cares what that idiot thinks."

The woman tilts her head to the side innocently and replies, "Don't you?"

I choke on my own saliva and stare at her incredulously. "What the-

Concordia immediately motions for me to lower my voice.

I flush—out of anger or embarrassment, I'm not entirely sure—and turn away, saying all the while. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"Hm, all right then," she hums and moves forward to take my arm in hers, tugging me through the congregation of people and settles us at the front of the room where we are closest to the throne. "Hush now, though; the coronation is starting in a minute or two."

I glance up towards the steps of the throne, my eyes sweeping across the seven sages gathered together there; today, they are all dressed more elaborately than usual, their rich, silk garments lined with gold and pressed to perfection.

Looking at them makes me sick to the stomach—and yet somehow I can't bear to turn my head away. My gaze lingers on Ghetsis for the longest time, watching his every motion like a hunter to its prey. Though, I wonder in this situation, who the true prey is.

One by one, six of the sages trail out of the room and leave Ghetsis at the steps to begin the ceremony; he signals with one hand at the crowd to be quiet. The room and its inhabitants cease speaking and turn their full attentions to Ghetsis, watching eagerly as he lifts an intricately detailed gold crown from the small podium in front of him and begins his speech.

"For centuries now, the world has been plagued and riddled with humans and their sickening poison of greed and cruelty; for so long, trainers have been enslaving the pure hearted creatures of this earth and using them for humanity's selfish purposes. They have infiltrated these Pokémon's homes and have torn these poor creatures from the safety of their homes-and for what purpose? To pit them against their own kind and fight until they faint or die!"

Many of the grunts behind me and murmur in assent, all of them agreeing blindly with Ghetsis's assertion that all human trainers are evil beings. I want to scoff and shake my head, but at the last minute, I stop myself from doing so, so as to not draw unwanted attention.

Ghetsis smiles, lapping up the admiration and attention, and forges on passionately, "For so many years, Pokémon have suffered at the hands of a cruel fate; and not once has any person stood up against the norms of society to stop this maltreatment. But today-today marks the start of a new era! For these past fifteen years, we have slowly built up our forces and gathered support from all across Unova, all for the sake of creating a better world for Pokémon to live in. And today is the day that we, as Team Plasma, will begin to make our move towards the goal of Pokémon liberation." Here he beams with great enthusiasm and excitement and announces to the crowd, "And what better way to brand a new beginning into history than to view with great joy, the coronation of our new king!"

All around me, people shout with exuberance, all of them getting caught up in the moment, all of them truly believing that the cause they fight for is genuine. They clap, shout, cheer, and stomp their feet against the floor in order to convey their approval of Ghetsis's words. The uproarious clamor continues to an unbearable volume until finally Ghetsis lifts a hand as a signal for everyone to quiet.

The air is full of electricity, static caused by the brimming excitement of the room's inhabitants.

The throne room door opens to reveal N, clothed in brilliant gold robe that is longer than he is tall and has to be held up by the six sages behind him. The procession goes at a languid pace, smooth and orderly just as Ghetsis likes. I stare at N openly as he gradually makes his way up to the steps where Ghetsis stands, memorizing the angles of his jaws, the hope and determination in his eyes, and the firm set of his lips as he stares on ahead.

I want to remember this moment—I want to be the one who can recall this event with full clarity when it all falls apart.

"Why?"

N looks up at me. He is twelve now; he is older but for some reason it feels as though he hasn't changed much at all from the childish ten year old I met on the park bench that fateful day.

"Why what?"

I turn my back to him and pretend to examine the titles of the books in front of me—I refuse to allow him to see my frustration and confusion because that would be taken as a sign of weakness. When I pull out a book from its place on the shelf, I finally speak. "Why do you care so much about Pokémon liberation?"

"Because Ghetsis has shown me how cruel trainers are to Pokémon. Do you remember when we first met Zorua? He was whipped and tortured by his original trainer, forced to fight in a series of Pokémon battles until he collapsed. And all for what?" N scowls deeply at the thought. "All for a single Master Ball, which would then be used to forcefully enslave another Pokémon!"

I feel the beginnings of a frown making its way across my face and I am glad that N cannot see my expression lest he question my displeasure. Desperately, I flip open the book in my hands to a random page and pretend to be engrossed with the text; to be honest, I can barely keep my attention concentrated on the words for long, only managing to absorb the first few sentences that I read before snapping the book shut again in agitation.

When we are confined and taught only one set of ideals, we become mere birds in a cage-captives to the workings of a certain society. If we are not allowed to experience for ourselves, then who are we to say what is right or wrong? Who are we to decide that what we believe to be true is exactly that—true?

The sentences echo hauntingly in my mind and shudder at the accurateness of it. I glance at the title, take note of the word 'philosophies' in the long title, scoff at the irony, and then shove the book back in its original place.

The room itself is gargantuan to ridiculous proportions, and could easily house over five hundred people if the situation called for it. Above my head hangs a glimmering chandelier, its light casting a honeyed yellow light over the entire room and bathing the occasion in its bright cheer. The crowd has divided cleanly into two sections, leaving one long path covered by a lush ruby carpet that leads to the ostentatious throne at the forefront of the room.

N has covered about a third of the room by now and has no intentions of stopping.

He is thirteen.

Young enough to believe that everything should be categorized into merely two categories of black and white and not old enough to know to take everything said to him with a grain of salt.

He is still a child.

He is still so very foolish.

His hands feel so small in my own—so smooth and fragile, like porcelain.

I allow him this one time to hold my hand, because it is his birthday-it is the only concession that I will make today for him.

When we finally arrive at my room, he still holds onto my hand and smiles at me.

"One year closer to my coronation," he says to me, eyes glinting with childish glee. He bounces up and down on the balls of his feet, high off the sugar from his birthday cake. "I'm almost there."

"And what do you intend to do once you're there?" I mutter dryly.

He tilts his head up slightly in a somewhat haughty manner.

"I plan to start a revolution of course. And you," here he lifts my hand and rests his forehead against it, closing his eyes, "you'll be there to help me."

'How can I help if I'm only a mere human, now? And what makes you think that I want to help?' is what I want to ask.

Instead I say, "Of course I will."

He is half way up the aisle now.

I feel a thundering from within my chest as he strides closer to where I am.

Fourteen.

He likes to believe that because he is older now he is that much wiser.

I laugh at the foolish thought; I beg to differ.

He thinks now that he can speak to me at exact eye level, he is my equal. But what does a mere fourteen years have on an ex-legendary like me, who has been alive for as long as Unova has been in existence?

What does he know?

"I love you," he professes.

I laugh in his face.

"That's hardly the case, N."

"It's true!" he protests but then falters when I give him a withering glare. "White-

"What makes you think that you know what true love is?" I chide him. "The only person in this castle that you've ever had a proper conversation with is me—you can't know for sure that you love me if you don't have anything to compare your feelings to."

"I'm fourteen now—

"So?" is my biting response. "I've been alive for longer than you have been, and in all my years on this earth, never once have I found a person that I could hold in high regard."

I see him shrink back slightly, hurt lingering in his expression as I blatantly shake off his confession with a frosty stare. His mouth twitches as he tries to form his next words, attempting to salvage the situation and hide his embarrassment. When he speaks to me again, his voice is harsh and spiteful, proof that I have hurt him more than he has let on.

"Can legendaries even fall in love?"

The question gives me pause.

"Who is there to love but yourself when you're a god?" is all I say before brushing off his hand and leaving him to his thoughts.

He is so close to me now. As he passes the last row where I stand on the outer edge, he finally shifts his gaze from the throne and glances at me.

He gives me an eager smile.

Look, his eyes seem to say. Look at me, White.

I am, I want to say back. And all I can see is a fool.

Fifteen.

And he still has such a long life ahead of him—but his future is uncertain as long as he continues to involve himself with Team Plasma.

Why can't he just realize...?

"The coronation will take place in two months," he mutters, twisting the crown in his hands like a disposable toy to be ruined and tossed away. "It's a good way to up Team Plasma's spirit and enthusiasm, but I feel like it's wrong somehow."

Not even bothering with a response, I roll my eyes as I position my queen five spaces directly in front of his king and say, "Check."

"You've fallen into my trap, you know?" he asks in a rhetoric sense and sighs at me with a look of admonishment. "Don't rush so quickly into things, believing that you've cornered your enemy and won the war-because that will only end in your demise."

I give a dismissive snort and rudely gesture at him to move his piece.

He moves his knight to overtake my queen, snatching the chess piece off the black and white board without batting an eye; for a moment, he forgets about the crown in his lap and twists the new toy in his hand, scrutinizing it from every angle. "Your queen is your most powerful piece, but at the same time it can be your most deadly enemy if you rely too heavily upon it. You should be careful how you use it."

"And you should do well not to underestimate my abilities," I reply just as haughtily.

With the knight too far away to rescue his king, my pawn takes advantage of the cleared space and moves up to face the king diagonally; it has been my plan all along to distract his knight with the bigger prize—my queen—and divert his attention away from the creeping movements of my pawn toward his king. And I laugh when I see N's eyes widen as he finally takes in the scene on the chess board below him. There is no where else to move now; I had long since forced N's king into a corner and positioned my two bishops and knight in its path so as to cut off all routes of escape.

"Huh," he murmurs. "I wouldn't have expected for a pawn to overtake my king."

"Sometimes the greatest power comes from the weakest fighter in war."

"It's only a game, White. There's no need to be so melodramatic."

In a spiteful gesture I take his king and toss it somewhere far back behind me.

And then instead of 'check', I say, "Fuck you."

"I can never win against you can I?" he says wryly.

"You were never a very good fighter, after all," I reply. "And really, what's the point of trying to win a game that you know you've already long before you've even started playing?"

It happens much too quickly.

N stands in front of Ghetsis with his head bowed slightly to accept his damned blessings and shoulder an uncertain future.

I don't watch N though; no, I keep my hardened gaze on Ghetsis and watch as a poisonous smirk crosses his face before smoothing out into something soothing and proud. I see past the man's seemingly good intentions-he thinks he has the whole world fooled, but that's not true at all. My eyes pierce through his farce and lies, his mask of benevolence, and his candy-coated words of promise.

But why can't anybody see the truth besides me?

The boy-king straightens and turns to the crowd behind him; Ghetsis addresses the congregation now, his voice booming like thunder throughout the hall.

"Let our king, a legendary hero chosen by the ancient dragons of Unova, guide us towards our cause for a brighter future for Pokémon!"

And when N raises his hand to the crowd, the noise is deafening, the air vibrating with righteous demands for an unneeded justice.

I desperately close my eyes and try to drown out the noise.

What has this world come to?