Saffire Persian
Now you see me...
This is just a short Pokemon one-shot (Rated PG). It's of the Fantasy Genre. This was a chapter out of another story of mine.. but I turned into a one-shot, as I doubt I'll ever post the story in its entirety here. As always, all comments, criticism, etc. are greatly appreciated.
The smell of ash and smoke choked the cool evening air, fogging up the beautiful orange and violet sunset that lay so close, yet so far into the distance. Yet, this only amplified the melancholy air that pervaded the tense atmosphere -- a kind of beauty that could only be wrought in a situation such as this. A situation of the most dire nature, with death as much a common thing as grass that lay under one’s feet. The screams of anger and pain, and the cries of triumph intertwined together in a song that was almost a palpable thing.
A cloaked figure stood upon the grassy hill, as silent and stoic as the stone dragons that lay scattered about the grassy terrain. His eyes were hard and cold, but filled with a desperate sort of determination found only in the souls who have nothing else to lose. Joel’s gaze wandered over to where the epicenter of the battle lay, some one fourth of a mile away from where he stood. Plumes of fire and lightning occasionally lit up the area, while spreads of black darkened it. It was obviously a losing battle: of course he had known this from the very start. It as a nightmare birthed into reality.
A spectral bird was in the midst of the battle, flying higher into the fiery heavens with every thrust of its rainbow colored wings. It glowed with all the majesty of a God, trilling melodically before sending the very fires of retribution raining down upon the blackened land and its inhabitants. Even from this great distance, Joel could see the tiniest detail of the bird, even if only perfectly in his mind. It was watching him even now with those malevolent eyes, cold and mocking. He was sure of it.
It was laughing at him.
Joel jerked his gaze away, gritting his teeth in anger and frustration, his hands finally coming to rest upon his sword hilt; the temptation to jerk it out of its sheathe and swing it at the nearest object was great. But now was not the time.
A figure was dashing up the hill toward him, at an almost inhuman speed. Joel recognized the figure immediately, a sudden glimmer of warmth coming into his green eyes. The approaching form was a haggard one, despite looking to be in his early twenties. His clothes were spotted with blood, and his boyish face was pale and worn, though it still retained a kind of youthful cheerfulness found in the faces of teenage youth. Both men made eye contact with one another, and the younger one’s pace slowed.
He approached Joel, his face drawn and tired. He was breathing hard, and was obviously nervous, looking back over his shoulder every few moments. The cloaked man nodded slowly, allowing his companion a moment to regain his composure and breath. He could already guess what was going on in the element-strewn battlefield, without even having to look. He had seen it all before, in dreams, as well as reality. He knew the true power behind the rows of gleaming feathers and savage talons.
Finally, once he deemed his friend had regained some of his strength, he spoke. “Did you get it, Conan?” he demanded, voice harsh and rough. His friend looked up, his boyish face looking rather indignant.
“Of course I did,” Conan replied, pulling out an object from the pocket of his own cloak, “wouldn’t have come back if I hadn’t.”
“I know.” Joel gently took the object from Conan’s hands, looking at it with unconstrained awe and reverence. For years – years upon years – he had been searching relentlessly for this item: it was a flute, looking centuries old, if not eons. Carved by hand and infused by magic by ancestors whose bones had long been put into the earth, Joel could feel the ancient aura radiating from this magical object. The pulse was strong and forceful, like a heartbeat - which was strange, coming from an object that looked so old and brittle that it might crumble into dust at the slightest touch. It was one of last of its kind, a memento of a time long forgotten, though few knew its true powers.
“It wasn’t the easiest object to find, you know,” Conan continued. His friend could never stand silence. “Had to steal it.”
Joel's eyes lingered on Conan’s face, taking in his friend’s attempt at lightening the atmosphere, before turning back to the Time Flute as he rolled it over in his hands, noticing the careful white Unown engravings running along the side. With another brief glance, Joel decided to humor him. “It couldn’t have been that hard to steal it from some old man –“
“Woman,” Conan corrected, flashing a rather wolfish grin. Joel’s eyebrows rose. “She’s still after my head. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, they say.”
A grin tugged at Joel’s lips, but he did not smile back. “Indeed.”
Conan sighed. “Listen.” Conan's look became a serious one as he looked anxiously over his shoulder again. “It’s coming, they won’t be able to hold it for much longer. Are you absolutely certain you want to do this? The Flute can only be used once.”
With Joel's right hand now clutching the Time Flute in a gentle embrace, his left strayed, coming to rest over the sheath where the sword rested, waiting to be withdrawn. Memories of a time long past surfaced involuntarily, as his hand lingered, making him wince, but they only made him more determined, resolute. His companion’s gaze was different, Joel noticed, as he stared at the younger man: he could see his friend’s faltering gaze, though Conan was trying to hide it.
It was Joel's turn to sigh.
“Even after all this time, do you still not trust me?”
The words had been harsh, harsher than he intended, but they had hit the mark. The young man was stung, and his gaze fell from his, but only for a moment. Joel knew that his question was unfounded, that his companion’s loyalty to him was absolute. Now, he wished he hadn’t brought it up, as the young man’s steely golden eyes met his. There was a tinge of anger in them, now, though the sorrow reflected in them was more pronounced. Of course, in times like these, when was there not?
“You know I trust you I – it’s just . . .”
“You just do not like my plans?”
The younger man winced, looking guilty. “It’s just . . . it feels so wrong. We’re toying with the threads of Fate, and if we’re not careful, we’ll end up strangling ourselves. I understand how you’re feeling, but I can’t help but wonder ‘is it really worth it?’”
“It is worth everything!” Joel snapped, face becoming savage. His mind would hear no argument. “Everything! Nothing else in this dying world matters! You understand just as well as I do why we’re doing –”
“I understand why I’m doing it. I’m doing it to help a dear friend who I would give my life for.” The golden eyes softened. “But I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be doing more harm than good. It’s like . . .” he paused. “It’s like taking away the Mightyena from a forest. The Stantler may flourish for awhile, but without the Mightyena to balance them out, they eventually die.”
“They will die, and everything else with it, if we allow things to go on as they are. Would you prefer to allow the world to be how it is now?” Anger abated, Joel sighed, the feeling of weariness draping over him like the cloak he wore. He allowed his body to slump against one of the stone dragons, and the flute to roll out of his hand and onto the dead grass. He then looked absently at his hands, covered with scars. They looked much too worn and callused for one of only twenty-nine. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the look of deep concern emanating from his friend’s eyes.
“I can’t accomplish this without you," Joel began. "If there was any possible way that I could, I would do so. But as things stand, I can’t. I need you with me, but I can’t have you questioning my every decision. One moment's hesitation, one single miscalculation can bring everything I’ve worked to achieve . . .”
Gentle laughter cut him off, and a hand was offered. He took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. Conan was also holding the ancient flute, glancing at it briefly, before offering it to its owner.
“I know that. I just wanted make sure you were certain. But what happens if your plan fails?”
There was a hint of humor in that last comment, so slight and subtle, most would have missed it. The atmosphere seemed to brighten in a small degree, and Joel allowed himself a thin smile. The ambience quickly darkened once more, as his emerald eyes spotted an elegant golden figure sprinting across the plain at great speed. The avatar of the east wind would reach them in a matter of minutes.
The time had come.
Joel didn’t answer at first, bringing the Time Flute to his lips. For a moment, time stilled as the melody, hesitant and wary at first, grew in volume at a rapid crescendo. It swirled and echoed through the atmosphere, its tune both jovial and melancholy at the same time. For a moment – a single moment in the eternities – the rest of the world sang with it, before ebbing away into a passing breath of wind.
A swirling mass was now appearing in the dusty sky just in front of him, twisting and writhing as it strove to take on a tangible form. Green and gold light emanated from the swirling vortex, the body emerging from it becoming more discernable as the moments – faster than they actually seemed – wore on. Finally, the glowing being took on a recognizable form, its body wavering into existence. It was faerie-like, with eyes as innocent as a newborn child, yet the aura that radiated around it was full of an ancient wisdom that could never fully be explored. In the background of it all, the angry roar of the feline, now running in a headlong dash toward them, reverberated. Joel could see its yellow eyes now narrowing into slits, while a snarl emerged on its muzzle as it reached the crest of the hill.
Joel turned to legendary creature as it hovered before him, looking about the war-torn land with a mixture of sadness and horror. It sensed his gaze, turning its head to stare at him, gossamer wings buzzing. For a small moment, the avatar of time was his to command.
Aid me. Take us back.
The faerie ascended into the air, just as the tiger let out a loud, thunderous yowl of anger and frustration. Joel’s eyes finally met with Conan's just as the scenery around them began to blur, now tinged with a golden light.
“If my plan fails,” he replied levelly, “then death will be my apology.”
As always, reviews are appreciated.
Transcending Destiny
By Saffire Persian
By Saffire Persian
The smell of ash and smoke choked the cool evening air, fogging up the beautiful orange and violet sunset that lay so close, yet so far into the distance. Yet, this only amplified the melancholy air that pervaded the tense atmosphere -- a kind of beauty that could only be wrought in a situation such as this. A situation of the most dire nature, with death as much a common thing as grass that lay under one’s feet. The screams of anger and pain, and the cries of triumph intertwined together in a song that was almost a palpable thing.
A cloaked figure stood upon the grassy hill, as silent and stoic as the stone dragons that lay scattered about the grassy terrain. His eyes were hard and cold, but filled with a desperate sort of determination found only in the souls who have nothing else to lose. Joel’s gaze wandered over to where the epicenter of the battle lay, some one fourth of a mile away from where he stood. Plumes of fire and lightning occasionally lit up the area, while spreads of black darkened it. It was obviously a losing battle: of course he had known this from the very start. It as a nightmare birthed into reality.
A spectral bird was in the midst of the battle, flying higher into the fiery heavens with every thrust of its rainbow colored wings. It glowed with all the majesty of a God, trilling melodically before sending the very fires of retribution raining down upon the blackened land and its inhabitants. Even from this great distance, Joel could see the tiniest detail of the bird, even if only perfectly in his mind. It was watching him even now with those malevolent eyes, cold and mocking. He was sure of it.
It was laughing at him.
Joel jerked his gaze away, gritting his teeth in anger and frustration, his hands finally coming to rest upon his sword hilt; the temptation to jerk it out of its sheathe and swing it at the nearest object was great. But now was not the time.
A figure was dashing up the hill toward him, at an almost inhuman speed. Joel recognized the figure immediately, a sudden glimmer of warmth coming into his green eyes. The approaching form was a haggard one, despite looking to be in his early twenties. His clothes were spotted with blood, and his boyish face was pale and worn, though it still retained a kind of youthful cheerfulness found in the faces of teenage youth. Both men made eye contact with one another, and the younger one’s pace slowed.
He approached Joel, his face drawn and tired. He was breathing hard, and was obviously nervous, looking back over his shoulder every few moments. The cloaked man nodded slowly, allowing his companion a moment to regain his composure and breath. He could already guess what was going on in the element-strewn battlefield, without even having to look. He had seen it all before, in dreams, as well as reality. He knew the true power behind the rows of gleaming feathers and savage talons.
Finally, once he deemed his friend had regained some of his strength, he spoke. “Did you get it, Conan?” he demanded, voice harsh and rough. His friend looked up, his boyish face looking rather indignant.
“Of course I did,” Conan replied, pulling out an object from the pocket of his own cloak, “wouldn’t have come back if I hadn’t.”
“I know.” Joel gently took the object from Conan’s hands, looking at it with unconstrained awe and reverence. For years – years upon years – he had been searching relentlessly for this item: it was a flute, looking centuries old, if not eons. Carved by hand and infused by magic by ancestors whose bones had long been put into the earth, Joel could feel the ancient aura radiating from this magical object. The pulse was strong and forceful, like a heartbeat - which was strange, coming from an object that looked so old and brittle that it might crumble into dust at the slightest touch. It was one of last of its kind, a memento of a time long forgotten, though few knew its true powers.
“It wasn’t the easiest object to find, you know,” Conan continued. His friend could never stand silence. “Had to steal it.”
Joel's eyes lingered on Conan’s face, taking in his friend’s attempt at lightening the atmosphere, before turning back to the Time Flute as he rolled it over in his hands, noticing the careful white Unown engravings running along the side. With another brief glance, Joel decided to humor him. “It couldn’t have been that hard to steal it from some old man –“
“Woman,” Conan corrected, flashing a rather wolfish grin. Joel’s eyebrows rose. “She’s still after my head. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, they say.”
A grin tugged at Joel’s lips, but he did not smile back. “Indeed.”
Conan sighed. “Listen.” Conan's look became a serious one as he looked anxiously over his shoulder again. “It’s coming, they won’t be able to hold it for much longer. Are you absolutely certain you want to do this? The Flute can only be used once.”
With Joel's right hand now clutching the Time Flute in a gentle embrace, his left strayed, coming to rest over the sheath where the sword rested, waiting to be withdrawn. Memories of a time long past surfaced involuntarily, as his hand lingered, making him wince, but they only made him more determined, resolute. His companion’s gaze was different, Joel noticed, as he stared at the younger man: he could see his friend’s faltering gaze, though Conan was trying to hide it.
It was Joel's turn to sigh.
“Even after all this time, do you still not trust me?”
The words had been harsh, harsher than he intended, but they had hit the mark. The young man was stung, and his gaze fell from his, but only for a moment. Joel knew that his question was unfounded, that his companion’s loyalty to him was absolute. Now, he wished he hadn’t brought it up, as the young man’s steely golden eyes met his. There was a tinge of anger in them, now, though the sorrow reflected in them was more pronounced. Of course, in times like these, when was there not?
“You know I trust you I – it’s just . . .”
“You just do not like my plans?”
The younger man winced, looking guilty. “It’s just . . . it feels so wrong. We’re toying with the threads of Fate, and if we’re not careful, we’ll end up strangling ourselves. I understand how you’re feeling, but I can’t help but wonder ‘is it really worth it?’”
“It is worth everything!” Joel snapped, face becoming savage. His mind would hear no argument. “Everything! Nothing else in this dying world matters! You understand just as well as I do why we’re doing –”
“I understand why I’m doing it. I’m doing it to help a dear friend who I would give my life for.” The golden eyes softened. “But I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be doing more harm than good. It’s like . . .” he paused. “It’s like taking away the Mightyena from a forest. The Stantler may flourish for awhile, but without the Mightyena to balance them out, they eventually die.”
“They will die, and everything else with it, if we allow things to go on as they are. Would you prefer to allow the world to be how it is now?” Anger abated, Joel sighed, the feeling of weariness draping over him like the cloak he wore. He allowed his body to slump against one of the stone dragons, and the flute to roll out of his hand and onto the dead grass. He then looked absently at his hands, covered with scars. They looked much too worn and callused for one of only twenty-nine. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the look of deep concern emanating from his friend’s eyes.
“I can’t accomplish this without you," Joel began. "If there was any possible way that I could, I would do so. But as things stand, I can’t. I need you with me, but I can’t have you questioning my every decision. One moment's hesitation, one single miscalculation can bring everything I’ve worked to achieve . . .”
Gentle laughter cut him off, and a hand was offered. He took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. Conan was also holding the ancient flute, glancing at it briefly, before offering it to its owner.
“I know that. I just wanted make sure you were certain. But what happens if your plan fails?”
There was a hint of humor in that last comment, so slight and subtle, most would have missed it. The atmosphere seemed to brighten in a small degree, and Joel allowed himself a thin smile. The ambience quickly darkened once more, as his emerald eyes spotted an elegant golden figure sprinting across the plain at great speed. The avatar of the east wind would reach them in a matter of minutes.
The time had come.
Joel didn’t answer at first, bringing the Time Flute to his lips. For a moment, time stilled as the melody, hesitant and wary at first, grew in volume at a rapid crescendo. It swirled and echoed through the atmosphere, its tune both jovial and melancholy at the same time. For a moment – a single moment in the eternities – the rest of the world sang with it, before ebbing away into a passing breath of wind.
A swirling mass was now appearing in the dusty sky just in front of him, twisting and writhing as it strove to take on a tangible form. Green and gold light emanated from the swirling vortex, the body emerging from it becoming more discernable as the moments – faster than they actually seemed – wore on. Finally, the glowing being took on a recognizable form, its body wavering into existence. It was faerie-like, with eyes as innocent as a newborn child, yet the aura that radiated around it was full of an ancient wisdom that could never fully be explored. In the background of it all, the angry roar of the feline, now running in a headlong dash toward them, reverberated. Joel could see its yellow eyes now narrowing into slits, while a snarl emerged on its muzzle as it reached the crest of the hill.
Joel turned to legendary creature as it hovered before him, looking about the war-torn land with a mixture of sadness and horror. It sensed his gaze, turning its head to stare at him, gossamer wings buzzing. For a small moment, the avatar of time was his to command.
Aid me. Take us back.
The faerie ascended into the air, just as the tiger let out a loud, thunderous yowl of anger and frustration. Joel’s eyes finally met with Conan's just as the scenery around them began to blur, now tinged with a golden light.
“If my plan fails,” he replied levelly, “then death will be my apology.”
++End++
As always, reviews are appreciated.
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