Before the Great Calamity upended Anyilla, Canalhouse City had always been a relatively modest settlement known as Canalhouse Town that existed in the shadow of the Imperial capital on Conntow Island. For centuries, the town's defining features had been its construction on a series of islets separated by canals in a lagoon, along with its role hosting the secondary offices for the Company under its Imperial charter.
Over 25 years had passed since then, and in that time, the Company had bitterly split with the crown that once gave it legitimacy, and turned its attention towards building up the city as a capital from which to rule a reunited Anyilla. New islets were dredged, while shorter canalhouses were torn down and replaced with newer ones with more floors. The Mystery Dungeon that sat in the east of the lagoon was cleared and converted into a training facility for the Company's underlings, while satellite communities sprang up on the shores of the island like weeds and were settled with Pokémon from across the Company's territories.
Among the many changes that had come with direct Company administration had been a splurge on great works to grace the city. Some like the Company's headquarters had been put up for its own naked interests, while others like the expanded temple in Manaphy's honor were supposedly built for the public's benefit. Not all of these attempts to recapture the lost grandeur of Middleguard City had been completed, among them was a large arena built along the city's arterial canal, still ringed in scaffolding and surrounded with crude plank fencing plastered with posters bearing the date of an imminent grand opening. There in the dead of night, a pair of shadowy figures gathered just outside the fence around the perimeter, one with scales and a long, trailing head leaf while the other was a furry creature with a flat tail. The figure with the head leaf jumped up and clambered over the fencing, leaving its counterpart to walk up to the base of the fencing, which the light of the moon and stars revealed to be a Dewott, who looked around warily before peering towards the top of the fence.
"Osmund, are you
sure this is the right place to be sneaking in?" the Dewott asked.
The fence's planks rattled, as an unseen presence could be heard finding its footing and scrabbling back up the fence. Lyn stepped back as the sound of jostling wood rang out, and a Grovyle's head poked over the fenceline with an outstretched hand.
"Crystal," the Grass-Type answered. "Now hurry up, Lyn!"
Lyn threw his paw up and jumped as Osmund pulled him over the fenceline, landing in a crouching stance on the other side. After a quick spot check of their surroundings, the pair hurried along, ducking into an archway lined with wooden scaffolding that took them in a circular path along the unfinished stadium's perimeter. Lyn and Osmund went forward, passing murals of Pokémon with triumphant poses that glistened from still-wet paint when they found a crossway leading to the left, the pair making their way down it towards dim light coming from the end of a tunnel. One after the other, Lyn and Osmund headed over to the passage's exit, where they found themselves in an empty amphitheater lit up by the stars and the moon above.
The two carried along in dumbstruck awe down the steps towards the arena's pit. Even with scaffolding still clinging to the upper rows of seats where the canvas awning was still being erected, the amphitheater had a sense of grandeur to it. Every stone for the steps and stands was neatly fitted in place, the perches for the Pokémon that kept the spectators safe with Protect barriers at the pit's ring had been freshly installed, and the pit itself looked like it was big and deep enough to host a mock naval battle in it! After a moment to soak in their surroundings Lyn and Osmund approached a patch of scaffolding leading down into the arena's battlefield, the two clambering down into the pitch as the pair walked out, Osmund looking about with a wistful stare.
"I can't believe it's only a month before this place opens up," he murmured. "Mom and dad would've loved to see this…"
Lyn continued on, walking under the stars towards the other end of the field when he turned back with a small scoff.
"A month? You won't need to wait
that long," the Dewott retorted. "The Academy's hosting its annual tournament here in just four days!"
"Eh, it's not the same. The tournament's only attended by 'mons already in the Company," Osmund said, shaking his head. "They'll be lucky just to fill the bottom rung of the stands with an audience that size."
Lyn drew his scalchops from his waist, tensing his stance as he gave a small shake of his head back at the Grass-Type.
"Hrmph, I don't think it really matters," the Dewott replied. "I don't know about you, but
I entered the tournament for a shot at the big prize."
Lyn flicked his right scalchop up and spun it about his knuckles, before catching it and sweeping it wide. The Dewott looked back at his Grovyle companion, his muzzle tightened into a devious grin.
"Besides," he added. "We didn't come out here tonight expecting a big audience, did we?"
Osmund's leaves on his arms tightened up into blades, the Grovyle assuming an aggressive stance as he shot a teasing smirk back.
"Heh, well we didn't. Besides, I don't exactly
need an audience to kick your tail before the big day!" Osmund shot back. "Show me what you've got!"
Lyn and Osmund lunged at each other, the Grovyle bringing an uppercutting slash from one of his leafy blades at his Dewott opponent that was caught by a timely swipe from Lyn's right scalchop. The Water-Type swung at Osmund with his left scalchop, which found its mark on the gecko's flank. The Grovyle retaliated by jumping back and moving his claws towards his chest, pulling in a greenish swirl of wind that stripped flecks of light from Lyn's body and over to his, making the otter recoil with a sharp yelp. Osmund charged forward with a lateral slash, Lyn hastily deflecting it with the back of his scalchop, before rolling past Osmund and turning back with his scalchops drawn.
"Hah, you're too predictable, Osmund!" Lyn taunted. "I could see your blows coming from clear across the field!"
Osmund looked back over his shoulder, giving a sly grin back.
"Really now?"
Lyn swung at Osmund, making the Grovyle dart for the wall of the battlefield where scaffolding had been set up around a chunk that was still partially plastered. Lyn ran after the Grovyle, when the gecko suddenly clambered up the scaffolding, leaving Lyn to hang his mouth open in frustrated surprise.
"Hey! What happened to sparring?!" the Dewott protested. Osmund peered down, sticking a tongue back at his foe below.
"You
know the terrain gets changed up between rounds of the tournament, right?" the Grovyle chided. "You're not going to get a chance to fight on flat ground all the time anyways, so consider this practice!"
Lyn frowned sharply, before spitting up a jet of water at his sparring partner. Osmund darted out of the way, sticking his tongue out at the Dewott on the field below, only for another Water Gun to zip at him. Once again, the Grovyle jumped out of the way of the attack, and shot a taunting smile back down at his foe.
"You really need to get faster than that, Ly-!"
Before he could finish, the Grovyle was struck by a Water Gun that hit him in the face, knocking him back as he latched onto the scaffolding for support. As the Grass-Type fought to keep his balance, he accidentally knocked a nearby toolbox and bucket of plaster loose which fell to the ground with a loud
crash, which was quickly joined in by a ghostly-sounding snarl from the other end of the stands.
"Hey!
Wie is daar?! This is a restricted area!"
Lyn and Osmund blanched at the shout, turning around as they saw a Drakloak and a Flareon in Company lavenders hurrying over. Osmund hurriedly turned back to his Dewott partner, motioning at him to come over with a frantic wave of his hands.
"Gih! Sparring's over, time to go!"
Lyn quickly ran up to the scaffolding and let Osmund help pull him up before the two rushed into the stands. The pair looked back to see the guards making their way to their end of the stands, prompting them to duck down an archway into an unfinished corridor lined with scaffolding wrapping around the arena. After slipping into the corridor and hurriedly running down it, Osmund turned his head back over his shoulder, where much to his alarm he saw the guards had closed most of the earlier lead they'd had over them.
"Agh! Can't a 'mon get a break here?!"
Lyn turned around and spat up a Water Gun at a bucket on some nearby scaffolding that fell square in front of the pursuing Flareon, making her stumble back with a startled yelp.
"Ack!"
The Flareon slowed and struggled to keep her balance, as Lyn and Osmund ran ahead and clambered up the scaffolding wrapping the exterior of the arena. The pair hurried along as their feet thudded against the planks underneath, when a rough, ghostly voice bayed ahead of them.
"Hold it right there!"
Osmund and Lyn looked up to see the Drakloak floating out into their way and blocking the scaffolding. The pair hastily tried to double back, when the Flareon from earlier caught up, cutting off their escape with a low snarl.
"Game's up, you little runts!" the Drakloak snapped.
The two grimaced at the sight of the Flareon and Drakloak cornering them, Lyn looking around frantically and finding nothing but an obstructed archway to his right, and the water of a canal far below him to his left. The otter froze as the guards encroached on him, when he felt a sharp yank at his paw and yelped as he tumbled off the scaffolding with his feet kicking in midair above him. The Dewott looked down, seeing the blackened water of the canal quickly approaching, and frantically straightened his body out into a dive and screwed his eyes shut just before his head hit the surface.
SPLOOSH!
Lyn struck the water and felt himself submerge into it, the Dewott pulling his body up as he felt his feet brush silt underneath. Lyn cracked his eyes open, waiting for them to adjust to the dark around him when he saw the moon's glow from above. The Water-Type batted his tail and swam up, breaching the surface to see that he was in the middle of the canal and looking up at the unfinished arena. The Dewott let out a sharp sigh of relief and made his way over to the canal's edge, pulling himself out and onto the paved street and shaking brackish water out of his fur when he heard coughing come from behind him and saw Osmund's sopping form tiredly latched onto the wall of the canal.
"Hey! Whatever happened to helping a 'mon up?" the Grovyle piped. "You're not just going to let me flail around down here, are you?"
Lyn rolled his eyes, before giving a sharp frown down at his friend in the water.
"Just saying, you should be able to
manage this. And jumping from the scaffolding wasn't
my idea," the Dewott muttered.
"Well it was either that or making you climb further up the scaffolding after me," Osmund insisted. "So cut me some slack here!"
Lyn stooped down and took Osmund's hands, pulling him up as the Grovyle stumbled onto his feet. Osmund brushed the canal's water off his scales, before the sound of shouts in the distance drew the pair's attention back to the darkened upper levels of the arena.
"… I guess that won't be the last we'll hear of them," Lyn murmured.
"Oh come on, we can't be the
only Dewott and Grovyle from the Company in this city," Osmund scoffed. "What are the odds they'll know it was us?"
"Of
course it was you two…"
WHAP!
A pair of thick files fell against a low desk, reverberating off the walls in a small, windowed room overlooking passing Pokémon and watercraft in a canal outside. Lyn and Osmund flinched at the sound, looking down to see that each file carried their name, species, and a year label, before looking up to see a harsh glare coming from the Torterra who dropped the files in the first place from the other end of the desk.
"When I heard that a pair of our students had been caught trespassing in the new arena,
why on earth was I expecting it'd be anything
other than more of your childish antics?"
Lyn and Osmund shifted in their seats, the Dewott pawing at his shoulder as the Grovyle shot a teasing smirk back at the Torterra.
"Well, they didn't
catch us this time," he insisted.
Lyn tried and largely failed to stifle a snicker at Osmund's retort, which made the Torterra lean in across the table and shoot over a harsh glare. The pair hastily bit their tongues as their teacher said nothing for a long, scowling moment, before returning to a resting position with a sighing shake of her head.
"Look, I can yell at you until I'm out of breath, but that obviously won't accomplish much," the Torterra harrumphed. "So let's try a different tack… what sort of Pokémon do you two want to be after leaving the Academy?"
Lyn and Osmund traded askew glances with one another, before the Dewott of the pair turned back to the teacher with a skeptical frown.
"… Is this some sort of trick question?" Lyn demanded.
"No trick," the Torterra insisted. "Just slow down, take a breath, and give me an honest answer."
"Look out for my sister, stomp a tail or two, and get paid nicely for it," Osmund said. "Maybe not everybody's got a sister they need to watch over, but isn't the rest what everyone in this school wants once they're out?"
The Torterra said nothing in reply and stared back sternly, before turning her head over to Lyn.
"Perhaps. And what about you, Lyn?"
There was a noticeable pause, before Lyn shook his head and warily spoke up in reply.
"I'd like for my family to have the life we used to have when my dad was still sailing for the Company."
Osmund gave an uneasy tilt of his head over at Lyn as the Torterra remained quiet, before rocking her shell slightly and raising her voice to speak.
"Alright, and
how exactly will you two get that if you don't graduate from here?" she asked.
Lyn and Osmund froze, each tripping over their words as they each both tried to muster an answer that sounded convincing to themselves. Lyn was first to gather his thoughts, screwing up his face back into a defiant scowl.
"I'm sure we'd manage," he scoffed. "It wouldn't be the first time either of us have had to think on our feet."
The Torterra's frown deepened as she hardened her eyes back at the Dewott, with an expression that all but bored holes into his pelt.
"I remember your brother said something
very similar back when
he was in the Academy. He dropped out about a year later," the teacher replied. "You must keep in touch with Sevan, don't you? Just what has he been doing lately?"
Lyn twitched his whiskers and squirmed at the Torterra's question, the Dewott's earlier confidence melting into visible unease. The Water-Type shifted and gave an uncomfortable paw at his arm, his eyes darting away from her gaze.
"He… takes missions providing defense for different groups in the waters around the border regions," the Dewott muttered back. "I haven't seen him in a while, but he sends back money to help Mom and I get by."
"And do you really think he'd have to go so far off to earn a living if he'd stayed and graduated?" the Torterra asked, narrowing her eyes. "Is he better off for it? Are
you and Marina better off for it?"
Lyn said nothing after his teacher's mention of his mother. While his older brother had always tried to lend a helping paw, it was hard to argue with a straight face that him drifting along the seas from one job to the next as a sellclaw was
better for his family than if he'd just graduated from the Academy and gotten a normal job in the Company. The Torterra shifted in place behind the table, before closing her eyes with a tired sigh.
"Look, even if you two don't make it easy sometimes, the reason why I'm pulling you two aside like this is because I'm concerned for you," she explained. "Both of you don't exactly hail from well-to-do neighborhoods, and were we in Tidemill City right now, there wouldn't
be an Academy to give you a chance to have a life outside of them. You two are both at a point in life where it's still relatively easy to come back from your mistakes, and to open doors for the future."
The Torterra opened her eyes again, looking over the two younger Pokémon on the other end of the table with a shake of her head.
"I assume that's why you're both listed on the roster of entrants for the annual tournament, since even
you understand what placing well in it means for opportunities within the Company," the turtle said. "But even the most promising doors can get closed off from poor choices, and with the way you two have been acting at the Academy, it'd give 'mons pause even if you won the tournament outright.
If you got that far…"
Osmund tilted his head back, giving a puzzled raise of his brow back at his teacher.
"What do you mean by that?"
"I
mean that the tournament starts in three days," the Torterra insisted. "If I have to deal with you two here
again before it ends, I can't guarantee that you won't be pulled from the roster."
Lyn and Osmund gulped and fell silent, as the turtle leaned in across the table and continued on.
"Be
mindful of that. If it was up to Professor Gerhard, the two of you would've been expelled ages ago," she warned. "Don't go giving others an excuse to follow through. Are we clear?"
One after the other, Lyn and Osmund grudgingly nodded back to the Torterra, giving a quiet reply that came out in rough unison.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good," the Torterra harrumphed. "Now go back to your classes."
Osmund and Lyn got up and drifted out the door sulking into a hallway lined with windows on the other end. The pair hung a right and walked down a ways, Lyn's eyes drifting out into the plaza in front of the Academy's outer entrance, anchored by a large statue of a Haxorus that faced off towards a canal at the other end of the square. After walking far enough to be confident they were out of earshot, Osmund let out a sour huff and shook his head with a grumbling frown.
"Pah, what a pill!" the Grovyle complained. "Would it have killed her to lighten up a bit?"
Osmund grumbled and shifted the weight of his satchel on his shoulders, turning for the right as he peered off down the hallway.
"I've got economics courses right now, so I guess this is it for a while," he said. "Were we still meeting up after classes to hang out today?"
"Can't, I need to fill in at the shipyard this evening," Lyn sighed, prompting his Grovyle companion to raise a brow in surprise.
"Eh? You're scraping hulls now?" Osmund asked. "I thought that was your mom's job."
Lyn pawed at his shoulder uneasily, letting his eyes drift away and down towards the floor.
"She's been getting sick again."
He trailed off and fell quiet as Osmund waited on the Dewott to say more, giving his friend a worried look before he hesitantly spoke up to press the matter.
"Again? But she had been sick only a few months ago," the Grovyle said. "Are you two doing alright?"
Lyn bit his tongue and gave no reply at first, before tightening his muzzle into a brave face and shaking his head back.
"Tch, you worry too much, Osmund," Lyn insisted. "The head of our family was a Company Commissioner for crying out loud! It takes more than a little illness to beat one of us down!"
The Dewott followed with his Grovyle companion until they reached a fork in the hallway where they parted ways, Osmund looking after him for a moment before opting not to press the matter further. All the while, the brave face Lyn had summoned faded away more and more with each step as a palpable unease settled about him.
After classes let out at the Academy, Lyn made his way over to the shipyards around Canalhouse City's public port in the west where he spent the evening much as he had for most of the past few days, scraping scum and gunk off of the hulls of docked ships in the water. In normal times, it was his mother who would fill the role, with her larger frame allowing her to get more work done and take home more pay than what the Dewott could manage, who had only managed to get through a caravel and a schooner with his cleaning crew that evening.
Lyn collected his meager earnings for the evening before swimming his way north and east, dutifully sticking to the water where the salty tang and the sound of waves, passing Pokémon, and their watercraft would drown out the sounds and smells of taverns and eateries along the canals, lest they tempt him into parting with his few tin coins. The Dewott's course took him into a patch of islands that had been dredged in more recent years and crammed with short, stone buildings-
Drieboog, as the neighborhood was called.
After pulling himself out of the canal next to a rickety bridge, Lyn shook himself dry and made his way down a street lined with sorry-looking hovels with windows and doors fashioned from odds and ends with a couple of the shacks missing one or the other entirely. The Dewott eventually came upon one of stone houses that had a crude wooden door at the entrance and oiled papers for windows, before raising a paw and sharply knocking at it.
"Mom, I'm home!"
Lyn pried the door open and entered, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. On the right side of the room was a fire pit over which he and his mother usually boiled their water and heated their meals, along with some clayware and meager foodstuffs. To the left was a mat and a wobbly low table with four tatty red cushions set out that in parts seemed to be little more than a mass of patches, and a small dresser in the corner in which an old sea scope had been left on top of it.
An undyed cloth covered an entrance to a room in the back, which slipped to the side as a visibly gaunt female Samurott emerged with prominent bags under her eyes, the mother otter looking down with a small smile.
"You look tired, Lyn," Marina said. "Work wasn't too hard today, I hope?"
Lyn shook his head, throwing his satchel next to one of the cushions before sitting down and pawing through its contents.
"Hrmph, it's nothing that I can't manage."
The Dewott pulled out a small pawful of tin coins and slid them onto the table. Marina looked down with an uneasy grimace as she sifted through the coins, prompting Lyn to paw at his shoulder and look away with his ears folded back.
"I was hoping to work later to make a bit more, but they said they didn't have anything else for me to do after the last ship I worked on," he sighed.
"It's alright, dear. There's no need to wear yourself out like that," Marina reassured. "Once things are back to normal, it'll be my duty to-"
Before Marina could finish, she broke out into a deep cough. The Samurott's coughing drug on, making Lyn jolt up from his seat wide-eyed in alarm.
"Mom!"
Lyn ran up and patted at Marina's side, the Dewott's paw running across her hide when he noticed he could feel his mother's ribs, a sign that her illness was making her lose weight again. The Samurott's cough subsided, leaving her to gasp for air for a few moments as she shook her head.
"It's- It's alright, I think that I'm good now," Marina wheezed. "I just need a little water."
She started to make her way over to the other end of the common room where the clayware was kept, only for Lyn to dart ahead of her and snatch a pitcher and a cup from the shelf. The Dewott set the cup on the table and poured it out, staring back worriedly at his mother as she hesitated a moment, before going over and accepting her son's generosity. As the Samurott drank, Lyn hung his head, giving it a low, grumbling shake.
"I just don't understand why this is happening," the Dewott muttered. "You'd just gotten over this same sickness a few months ago, and now it's back and bad enough that you can't even work!"
"I beat it before, didn't I?" Marina insisted, smiling back at her child. "I'm sure this time will be no different with your help. And Sevan has been doing his part as well."
She took a satchel from a nearby drawer and pushed it onto the table. Lyn sighed in relief, recognizing it to be the money that his older brother sent back from his earnings as a mercenary to try and help out. With how tight things had become since their mother had fallen ill again, the money he sent back had been a veritable lifeline… except, when he picked up the satchel Sevan had sent this time, he immediately noted that it felt amiss in his paws.
"… Is it supposed to feel this light?"
Lyn loosened the strings about the bag and poured it out onto the table, where much to his alarm only a small pawful of Poké coins fell out. The Dewott blanched and counted up the gold-colored coins based off their value, before shaking the bag again and pulling it inside-out with a startled stammer.
"H-Huh?! There's supposed to be more than this!" Lyn cried. "Sevan sent almost double this amount last time!"
"… Sevan sent a letter explaining that he'd been having trouble finding work this month, and this was all that he could spare," Marina explained. "He said that he'll send out another parcel for us as soon as he can find another job to take."
Lyn grimaced and let his eyes fall towards the ground, the Dewott holding a paw to his forehead as his breaths came out anxious and shallow. The mother Samurott sidled up, pawing reassuringly at her son's shoulder.
"I'm sure we can make it work, dear," Marina insisted. "And I know your father is out there working hard, he's surely looking out for us right now."
Lyn's mood soured after Marina brought up his father, the Dewott getting up and pulling himself away from his mother's grasp as he shot back an annoyed scowl.
"I'm not holding my breath on him," he growled. Marina drew back with a worried look, before leaning in to try and reassure her child.
"Lyn, your father's always-"
"Dad literally left us in the middle of the night with a note and his stupid scope on the table saying he was taking an off-the-record mission for the Company," the Dewott snapped. "We haven't gotten so much as a letter from him in the
two years since then! If
that's his idea of trying to look out for us, then I never want to
see him again!"
Lyn stormed off for the rear room, which was a spartan chamber that served as his and his mother's bedroom. Piles of straw bedding had been set out on the left and right sides, with a small chest crammed under a lone window in the middle of the back wall. Marina's bedding consisted of a heap that sat on the left near the window, with another smaller pile sitting on the opposite side of the room that her child used. A pair of seamitars hung on the wall above Marina's bed and a pair of scalchops over Lyn's, the smaller secondary blades their kind wielded in a pinch that both mother and child had dutifully grown after their evolutions by shelving their main blades one at a time. At the entrance, there was another pile about the size of Lyn's that had been set out for Sevan in the blue moons that he managed to return, along with another, larger pile on Marina's end that had gone unclaimed for what felt like an eternity in spite of being dutifully tended to.
Lyn stomped up to his straw bed to the right of the room's window and flopped down on it, curling up and looking away as he heard Marina follow him in. His mother hesitated for a moment, before sighing and settling down in her own bedding, the straw crunching underneath as she shifted and tried to make herself comfortable to sleep.
The Dewott's features eased a bit, as he stared off into the night out the window, where above the lights of Canalhouse City, he saw the Guardian of the Seas' Traveller beginning its ascent over the rooftops. Lyn had never paid much mind to the folklore of Protectors and the like after his father had been disgraced from the Company, but that night, he couldn't help but wonder if the old gods' spirits in the sky really did watch over the world below…
And if they really
did, why did it feel like they were doing their best to ignore him and his family's plight?
Three days later, Lyn pulled himself out of the water just outside the
Strandmeer Arena and ran in, the Dewott skipping his normal pause to brush himself dry as he hurried in still dripping brackish water. The fence around the arena had been removed since his last jaunt there, as had some of the scaffolding cluttering the hallways into the stands. Otherwise, little beyond added daylight had changed from the path Lyn took to the arena last time. There was one audible exception, as his ears picked up a churning burble that grew louder and louder as he neared the exit of the corridor out into the stands.
When he emerged into the sunlight, the source of the hubbub became clear. There, the entire lower tier of the arena was packed full of Pokémon donning lavender scarves. Lyn stopped to catch his breath for a moment before he made his way about, noticing that most of the Pokémon present wore scarves bearing the unmarked design of students from the Academy, while some bore the ranked designs of those who already had positions in the Company.
The team of Protect users that was tasked for hemming attacks from the day's matches had already taken their places and begun practicing their barriers in preparation for the day's events. At the same time, a few Pokémon were going about the stands to poles with badges affixed to them that had been set up in strategic locations for the audience to better hear announcements in order to perform final sound tests. Down in the arena pit, a wooden podium had been set up with decorations bearing the Company's sigil when Lyn noticed Osmund up ahead seated in an emptier row, prompting the Dewott to approach and sit down beside him before flattening out his ears.
"Would it have killed them to make it clear that morning announcements
weren't going to be on campus today?" Lyn grumbled.
"Eh? I thought it was obvious when they said that announcements were going to be held at the venue today," Osmund said. "The tournament's always been an all-day event for as long as it runs."
The Grovyle curled his mouth up into a teasing smirk, before giving a playful jab with one of his claws at Lyn's shoulder.
"But hey, you could've always hung around with the underclassmons and others who skipped the tournament," he teased. "You remember that
card tournament that we entered last year while the school was busy with the normal one, don't ya? Not
every 'mon gets another chance at the big prize there."
Lyn turned back to Osmund, narrowing his eyes into an unimpressed scowl.
"… Wasn't that just a foiled Charizard card?" the Dewott asked, prompting Osmund to fold his arms with a sly grin.
"Well, I didn't say it was a
comparable prize, did I?"
Lyn rolled his eyes in reply and curled his mouth down into a pouting frown, when he noticed the audience had abruptly quieted and turned their attention to the podium in the arena pit. Lyn followed their gaze just in time to catch an Alakazam in a Third-Rank scarf ascending the podium and fiddling with a badge affixed to his scarf, before glancing about the audience and speaking up in a voice that carried out into the stands.
"Okay everyone, welcome to the annual tournament," the Alakazam said. "It should go without saying as to who I am, but in case anyone's been living under a rock, my name is Professor Gerhard."
Groans and grumbling murmurs went about the crowd as Lyn and Osmund too found themselves joining in. Rather than an instructor at the Academy that was actually
liked by his students, the Academy opted to let its head - known for his ego, his intractable personality, and his tendency to publicly humiliate his students - open the ceremonies instead.
"Ugh, of course
he had to give the opening speech," Osmund groaned.
"In the years that I've led the Academy I've seen two types of Pokémon graduate from here, who are much like Pokémon who try to climb the tallest mountains they can," the professor continued. "The first are the types that make it to the top of Mount Diadem on Shennow Island, the tallest mountain in the entire Cradle. These are the Pokémon that go on to become the Company's best and brightest."
Gerhard paused for a moment, waiting on his audience to speculate to themselves what the other type of graduate might be, before the Psychic-Type shook his head with a dismissive smirk.
"Don't even bother setting your sights that high," Gerhard harrumphed. "Most of you simply lack the strength and willpower to even get close to that level."
The professor's words drew quiet huffs and complaints from the students, as even Lyn and Osmund couldn't help but sulk at the Alakazam's unsupportive tone before he carried on with his speech.
"The second type of Pokémon, the ones that I see graduating from here more commonly, are the ones who make it to Mount Starfall on Gestirn Island, the tallest mountain here in Anyilla," the Psychic-Type said, nodding to himself. "Now
that is something most of you
can do. All it takes is the right motivation, the right knowledge, and the right guidance… from the right person…"
Gerhard puffed out his chest proudly and brushed the Third-Rank scarf about his neck, before looking expectantly at his audience. The Alakazam waited for a few brief moments when he realized that the students weren't reacting to his prompt. The professor stared wordlessly for a moment and let his features fall down into a sour frown, before continuing on in an audibly unimpressed and deflated tone.
"And of course there are those who fail to graduate because of their laziness or ineptitude," he scoffed. "We don't need hopeless cases like that here in the Company, so
good riddance. Luckily that
shouldn't be an issue for anyone present here."
Gerhard raised his left hand, pointing off at a glistening, golden cup with a prominent base and handles on each end that sat on a temporary display safely enclosed in a glass case. The audience's attention seemed to move along with the tip of the Psychic-Type's finger towards the tournament's trophy as enraptured stares and excited chatter broke out.
"As always, the winner of this tournament, the Pokémon who will
actually make it to the top of Mount Diadem, will be guaranteed a promotion to a Second-Rank position after graduation," the Alakazam said. "However, this tournament is an opportunity for the rest of you as well. Prominent members of the Company will be watching you, including the Board's latest member, Administrator Farn."
Gerhard motioned off towards his right towards a large box stand built overlooking the dividing line of the battlefield. There, the form of a Luxray walked up and looked out over the stands with a stern frown, Lyn and Osmund looking up as the Grovyle blew a small raspberry and frowned.
"Yeesh, I can tell she's a real pill just by
looking at her," he remarked. "Can't she put on a smile
now of all times?"
"I dunno, don't Administrators need to come off as imposing to some extent?" Lyn asked. "She definitely isn't lacking on
that front."
The pair's attention drifted back to Gerhard, who tapped at the badge on his scarf and looked back up at his audience.
"Anyway, does anyone have any questions?"
The Alakazam was answered with silence barring an occasional stray cough. The Psychic-Type scanned the seated students, and saw a few noticeably avert their gaze from him, prompting him to frown and shake his head with an unimpressed huff.
"Hmph, since everyone's in such a hurry, let's get started then," he harrumphed. "You can find the matchups on the board in the foyer."
Gerhard watched as the students in the audience began to make their way for the exits from the stands back out into the hallway, leaving him to brood and glance up at the box seat overlooking the center of the arena. The Psychic-Type closed his eyes and entered a state of focus, before vanishing in a flash of light. When Gerhard opened his eyes again, he found himself in a shaded area lined with low furniture set up with lavender cushions and matching curtains, where a Luxray reclined on a couch looking out over the stadium. The Alakazam approached, grumbling to himself all the while over his disappointment with how his opening speech had been received.
"The
lack of initiative with these students," the Psychic-Type scoffed. "Nobody bothered to ask what mountain
I made it to."
"Hmph, don't worry about such trivial things, Gerhard," Farn said. "There's more important things at hand."
The Luxray raised her head and turned her attention past the railing of the stadium box, peering out over the remaining students exiting the stands with an idle bat of her tail back and forth.
"I'm not helping to oversee this tournament just for my own amusement," the Electric-Type continued. "I'm still settling into my new position, and one of the things that I need to take care of is filling my newly-opened positions with fresh blood."
"Well unfortunately, this is the best we can offer this year, Administrator Farn," Gerhard sighed. "Perhaps you might have more luck asking for referrals from your old colleagues."
Farn glanced about the field, her vision briefly settling on a group of students that had gone up to check the listing of matches with Lyn and Osmund at their fore, leaving her muzzle to curl up into a small smirk.
"We'll see. Though I think there's some more promising candidates in this batch than you think."
"Have at you!"
An hour later on the pitch of the
Strandmeer Arena, the field had been set up to be a marshy mire where water and muddy grass intermingled with each other. There, Osmund braced himself as a visibly worn-down black and white Linoone ran at him in a zigzagging pattern. The Grovyle tried to stay on his toes when the Dark-Type lunged at him with a slash trailing shadowy wisps, as the Grass-Type attempted to duck out of the way, only to feel the Linoone's claws rake his left arm.
"Ack!"
Osmund quickly checked his arm to see a ruddy streak just above his leaves, the gecko gritting his teeth with a harsh glare as he quickly hopped back. The Linoone whirled about to give chase, when Osmund suddenly lunged at the Dark-Type and swung the blade of his right arm at the Linoone, catching her in her side.
"Gnrk!"
The Linoone lost her footing and flopped into the marshy mud with a wet splash and a pained groan to the roaring delight of the crowd. Osmund steadied himself for his foe to spring up, only to see the Dark-Type remain still beyond her chest weakly rising and falling. Cheers reverberated around the arena, making him fan the leaves on his right arm back out and look around as the spectators applauded him.
Osmund gave a bow, and watched as a Hattrem and Wigglytuff in red medics' scarves helped the Linoone start to limp off the field, before starting to make his way off for a corridor built into his end of the battlefield where a grate was being winched up. The gecko slipped into the shade as the roar of the crowd began to die down, and let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. There, Osmund saw Lyn leaning against a wall, waiting on him and giving a few sharp, slow claps with his paws. The Grovyle slowed his pace as his companion got up and walked forward, giving a skeptical tilt of his head back.
"Fight kinda dragged on a bit there, don't you think?" Lyn asked.
"Meh, it's a sign that the 'mon was actually trying," Osmund replied. "Though she should've known better than to try and mess with a Grovyle's leaves like that. It's not the sort of stunt we take lightly."
Lyn snatched his right scalchop with his paw, idly spinning it about his digits before grabbing onto it and stilling it, casting an aside glance back at Osmund.
"Eh, I wouldn't complain about my opponents
here being easy to beat," he retorted. "It'd just move me along quicker to the
real challenges."
The Dewott's ears twitched after hearing his name get called out from the arena and turned towards it, where even with his kind's nearsightedness, he could make out the Protect users at the edge of the pit practicing their barriers and spot the form of a Castform idling along the side of the battlefield. Lyn shook his head, before sheathing his scalchop and looking back at Osmund.
"I guess that's my cue," the Dewott said. "This next match is mine for this round."
Osmund leaned in and pat Lyn's shoulder, the Dewott seeing the Grovyle's face had curled up into a playful smile.
"Heh, knock 'em dead out there!"
Lyn smiled back before heading down the corridor towards the battlefield. He made his way along, hearing the grate shut behind him as he felt the marshy sedges and muck underfoot. The Dewott slowed his pace and looked about the field, where he saw neither hide nor hair of the opponent he was supposed to face.
"Eh? What's taking so lon- Ack!"
Lyn pratfell into the field's marshy water as he felt a warm jolt run up his left leg. The Dewott whirled and looked over to his left, where he saw a flat, brown fish with eyes on top of his head slip past with a taunting sneer.
"I didn't think it'd
that easy to catch you off guard, Dewott," the Stunfisk sneered. "You might as well just give up now if that's all it takes to trip you up!"
Lyn glared, before getting up and walking forward to take his place at the battlefield, the Stunfisk doing much the same at the other half. The two Pokémon faced each other down, as the Castform referee approached from the right side of the battlefield, and after taking her place at the field's midpoint as the stadium began to chant a countdown.
Three…
Two…
One…
The Castform fired a Weather Ball into the air with a sharp
"Go!", kicking the match off much as she had many times earlier that day. At once, Lyn spat up a jet of water from the back of his throat and struck the Stunfisk square in the face. As the Ground-Type flopped to and fro stunned, Lyn ran forward, readying his scalchops to press his advantage when the Stunfisk abruptly jumped up and spat up a glob of mud at Lyn.
"Huh?!"
Lyn stumbled back and looked down to see mud coating his chest, the Dewott brushing his fur to flick some of it loose as he continued running forward. The Stunfisk slipped off and began to dart away in the water, making Lyn hurry after and raise a scalchop as he neared. The Dewott grit his teeth and readied his blade for a swing, when the Ground-Type suddenly dug his tail fins into the marshy earth.
"
Hé, hou je ogen open!" the Stunfisk jeered.
The Stunfisk abruptly popped up into the air and flung a glob of mud back at Lyn's face. The Dewott raised a paw to try and shield himself, only for his defense to come too late as the mud struck him and got into his eyes.
"Agh!"
Lyn reflexively reached for his eyes and attempted to brush the gunk away, when he suddenly heard a loud
crack and felt the hot, painful sensation of an electrical current flow through his body. The otter fell over and thrashed, gasping as the Thundershock's effects subsided and feeling started to return to his limbs along with the Stunfisk's mocking laughter pricking his ears.
"You're
really not helping your case here by falling for a simple trick like that!"
His vision still darkened, Lyn reflexively whirled around and swung his scalchop at where he thought he heard the Stunfisk, only to feel it sail through nothing but empty air. Another shock coursed through the Dewott's body as he cried out in pain, jolting back with a yelp as he heard splashing and the Ground-Type's taunts coming from beside him.
"But that's fine by me!" the Stunfisk sneered. "I'll be looking forward to wearing that Second-Rank scarf!"
Lyn shuffled and tensed up as he could hear the Stunfisk circling him in the marshy water. There was no way to even
begin to tell where the fish would be next, and every swing he made was a shot in the dark with no clue as to whether the blasted Stunfisk was actually in front of him or not! Why, there was no way to hit the fish unless he swam straight up to him!
… Though the more Lyn thought about it, perhaps he
could get the Stunfisk to do just that with the right ruse. Feeling his right foot submerge in water, Lyn pitched himself forward and gave out a forced cry from his throat.
"Gah!"
Lyn flopped into the water, quickly washing out his eyes before squeezing them shut. He lay there, holding his breath as he felt the water around him begin to churn, and a burbling voice reach his ears through the water.
"Hah! Piece of ca-"
Lyn shot his eyes open and swung a scalchop at the Stunfisk with a Razor Shell, finding his mark on the Stunfisk's face just as the fish discharged another Thundershock. The two both yelped and stumbled back, Lyn falling onto his rump back on land as he noticed the Stunfisk laying stunned and struggling to open his eyes. Lyn sprang to his feet, readying his scalchops as he lunged forward at his foe. Water began to wreath their surfaces, and swung them out with all the strength he could muster in an overlapping cross-shaped slash.
"Argh!"
The Stunfisk pinwheeled through the water before coming to a limp stop on his back in a muddy patch of grass. Lyn staggered up as static still arced on his fur, panting as he looked over at the fish for any sign of movement, only to see nothing but a few weak twitches from his foe's fins.
Roars of approval broke out in the stands as Lyn looked up to see the spectators cheering for him. The Dewott glanced around in a moment of disbelief, when he noticed the arena medics carrying the Stunfisk away. Lyn breathed out a sigh of relief and haggardly made his way back for the corridor out of the arena pit, the otter retracing his steps back into the hallways of the arena where there just past the doorway into the hall, a green set of claws with two fingers clasping an Oran Berry abruptly thrust out before his face. Lyn looked up, and saw Osmund to his side and shooting a wide grin over at him.
"Good show out there, even if it got a bit dicey towards the end," the Grovyle said. "Why don't you patch yourself up a bit?"
Lyn took the Oran Berry from Osmund's claws and tore away part of the skin, pressing it down against his wounds as he let the juices seep in. After a few wincing applications, the Dewott scarfed down the remains of the berry, and pawed at his shoulder.
"Thanks," Lyn replied. "Though I think I'd have managed fine just going over to the medic."
"Tch, and risk missing the afterparty from having to sit and wait on them for a little patch job?" Osmund chuckled. "What sort of host would I be to do that?"
Lyn stilled his paws and blinked back at the Grovyle, his whiskers twitching as he raised a brow back puzzledly.
"An afterparty? What did you have in mind?"
After the day's matches, Lyn found himself following Osmund's footsteps along a cramped waterway lined with dingy, older canalhouses, which a nearby bridge with small spires revealed to be in
De Spitsen. The pair passed a ratty corner store selling assorted gummis and produce to the walk-up of a tatty beige four-floor building with a gabled roof. After entering, the pair made their way up dim hallways until Lyn arrived at an apartment on the third floor where a Sceptile bade him welcome before heading off to tend to a simple stovetop.
Somehow, Osmund's apartment had always seemed larger to Lyn than the little house his family had out in
Drieboog, not that the presentation seemed to do it many favors. The domicile had been built with stone walls and wooden flooring that seemed worn enough to have been plucked straight from the sea as driftwood, with a common room upon entering and a shared bedroom laid out with straw bedding to the left. In the common room, a countertop served as a rough divider between a corner where the kitchen sat close to the hallway, and the rest of the room where a flat-topped chest surrounded by squat wooden stools served as a crude table and seating. Unlike his own home, Osmund's apartment, much like the others in the building, didn't even have a proper door to its name, with the entrance out into the hall being covered with cut-up strips of green cloth. Thick enough to block a view inside, but too thin to block out lingering chatter from louder neighbors down the hall.
Once they got settled in, the pair wiled away their time with glasses of berry juice and games of chance, as the smell of baking goods filled the air. After a while, the Sceptile bade Osmund over to come and help, leaving Lyn to look off through the windows, which had shutters instead glass or paper panes, and watched as sea Pokémon and small boats plied the canals below with a clock tower and the city center visible off in the distance. The otter's ears flicked at the sound of approaching footsteps, as he spotted Osmund setting a simple clay plate with golden-brown pieces of bread and a small bowl of sugar on the chest-table with a teasing smile.
"Hey, getting tired of seagazing on an empty stomach?" the Grovyle asked. "I've got some
wentelteefjes right here."
Lyn flattened his ears as the Grass-Type pushed the plate over towards his end of the makeshift table, giving a small frown back at his host.
"Osmund, you know that I usually eat at home."
"Yeah, well you're a guest here," the gecko insisted. "And considering all the stuff going on around home lately, are you
really going to turn down a little extra food?"
Lyn hesitated a moment and gawked down at the plate of sugared bread, reaching his paw out to take a larger piece at the center. The Dewott took the bread hunk to his mouth and bit down into it, chewing it slowly.
Wentelteefjes were usually made with stale bread by Pokémon on Vollezee, not that one would be able to tell from the sweet taste and the texture of the piece he was gulping down. After working his way through the bread hunk, the Dewott brushed a few crumbs off his muzzle, and turned back to his Grovyle host with a small smile.
"Give my regards to the chef," he said. "Your uncle made this, right?"
Osmund stopped and fell silent, the Grovyle looking off into the room as he pawed uncomfortably at his shoulder.
"Yeah, though it's my dad's recipe," he replied. "If he were around, he'd be due some thanks as well."
Lyn followed Osmund's gaze, where there on the wall was a small, crude painting of a pair of Treecko standing together with a pair of Sceptile in lavender scarves. In spite of looking much as it did the day whenever it was brought back from the Day Care it was sketched in, the little doodle had been obviously cared for and clearly held great value for Osmund and his sister as a reminder of a world now gone.
Lyn pawed uncomfortably at his shoulder and he glanced about the room. Why, Osmund's life was every bit as meager as his, if not moreso in some respects, and yet in spite of it all, he had trouble remembering times when the Grovyle
wasn't his usual happy-go-lucky self.
"Your parents died in the big raid, right?" Lyn asked. "How has your uncle managed to help you and your sister hold out like this? He's not exactly a spring Torchic himself."
Osmund sat down and grabbed a
wentelteefje off the plate, sprinkling some sugar over the hunk of bread before gulping down a bite and speaking up in reply to the Dewott.
"Well… being able to lie in the sun for some of our food helps," he answered. "But it's mostly because he didn't have to do things alone and had others to lend a helping claw in times of trouble."
Lyn grabbed another
wentelteefje from the plate and paused for a moment, before giving an uneasy twitch of his whiskers back at his host.
"Others to turn to-?" he started.
"Yoink!"
Lyn whirled after feeling something snatch his snack out of his paw. The otter heard footsteps darting back, seeing a Treecko looking back at him with his treat in her hands. After realizing what had happened, the Dewott shot up, baring his teeth with an annoyed bark.
"
Hey!"
The Treecko blew a raspberry and turned to run, making it a few steps across the room before Osmund caught up and snatched her by tail, letting the Treecko flail fruitlessly before looking back at the stern-faced Grovyle.
"Salvini, give it back," Osmund scolded, making the younger gecko give a pouting frown in reply.
"
Osmund," the Treecko whined. "Why are you such a killjoy?"
"Because that's what big brothers are for," he insisted. "Just like they're also there for
this."
Osmund pinned Salvini down and tickled his sister's sides and stomach, making her bowl over with protesting laughter. All the while, Lyn looked on, letting his eyes drift towards the wooden floor in uncomfortable silence.
Lyn's mind turned back to the time before Sevan left the Academy to go sellswording. In spite of how meager life had become after their father's alleged mission and subsequent vanishing, Sevan always had a playful, teasing streak much as Osmund did with his sister. Even amidst their hardship, Lyn still had fond memories from before he left. Taking him swimming through the canals, out in the sea, or to the quieter islands in the lagoon away from Canalhouse to gaze up at the stars.
The Dewott sighed as his attention drifted back towards the window, where he saw the orange evening sky had largely given way to dark blues as the sun barely lingered over the horizon. It wouldn't be long until the Lunar Healer's Traveller followed at this time of year, and it'd be well after normal dinner hours by the time he made it home again. Lyn's thoughts turned to his mother and her recent relapse with her illness. Surely it wouldn't do her health any favors to make her worry on top of everything. The Water-Type got up just as Osmund came back with a
wentelteefje in his claw, the Grovyle giving a puzzled blink as his guest spoke up.
"I should get going, Osmund."
"Eh? So soon?" the Grass-Type asked. "But it's still light out!"
"Maybe, but we've got matches tomorrow, and it wouldn't do any good to go into them unrested," Lyn insisted.
"Great, more
wentelteefjes for me!" Salvini cheered.
The Treecko hastily snatched the food back out of her brother's claw and darted out of the room. Osmund rolled his eyes with an annoyed sigh, before turning his attention back to Lyn with an insistent gaze.
"Are you
sure there's nothing else going on, Lyn?" he pressed. "If something's wrong and it's something I can help with, I'm willing to lend a claw."
Lyn fell quiet for a moment, half-considering whether he should ask Osmund for food to take back to his mother, before dismissing the matter and shaking his head back stubbornly.
"I'm fine, really, though thanks for dinner, Osmund," the Dewott insisted, grabbing another
wentelteefje off the plate. "I'll be looking forward to meeting you on the battlefield tomorrow."
"Hah, if you can
make it that far!"
Lyn got up and made his way across the room, ducking out of the cloth door for the building's central hallway. After letting his eyes adjust to the dim light of jars set out with blue glow-moss, he made his way along the creaking floorboards to a stairwell at the end of the hall. The otter started down the steps, only to hesitate at the sound of footsteps behind him, making him look back to see Osmund and Salvini at the doorway. The Grovyle of the pair waved him farewell, prompting Lyn to smile and reciprocate, before sighing and grudgingly continuing down the stairs.
(Continued in next post)
