This world is inhabited by creatures that we call pokemon. People and pokemon live together by supporting each other, but now the scourge threatens the safety of the entire region. Kohaku has become a dangerous place, where children stay at home and only brave souls go adventuring.
Welcome to KOHAKU. Come for the nightmares. Stay for the tea and crumpets.
The season is SUMMER. It is easy for survivors to forage for food from the land, as there are entire abandoned farms ready for harvest. On the downside, you can smell the corpses.
swarms
GRAND OPENING !
Welcome to KOHAKU REGION's grand opening! If you're interested in joining, come check out our grand opening giveaway!
He doesn't dream much, nowadays. The only thing that's prevented him from dreaming at all is the constant push that he feels at his back, an imaginary force that's always one step closer than his shadow. It's when he finally, finally lets that little voice in his head (whispering doubts, curses and regrets of the past) through that the idea of being afraid to dream ingrains itself, and like a weed, it blooms out of control in no time at all and refuses to be stopped.
Part of him wants to grab two pokeballs and clutch them tight in his hand, force two pokemon together because that's what he always did before: and if the pokemon on his team have one thing in common its the knowledge that he doesn't break protocol. But he's tired, too tired to argue against them and the pride that's gotten him into trouble all through life rears its ugly head again, dares him to strike back knowing that he can't.
Litwick is small, insignificant, flickering in and out of reality like a weak flame trying to survive. Roselia is calm on the outside, but months of getting to know his own fears allows him to see the way it bends its legs nervously, rose petals fluttering. They are young, indecisive and if it were him, he would've taken them in this misty field of something between dreaming and reality and taught them one on one, made them strong before meeting each other. But fate doesn't work the way he wants it to, and it's up to him to find a compromise, because they certainly aren't going to.
They're not the veterans he's used to working with, and his inexperience with them bleeds through the cracks and rifts that have emerged on his surface when he snaps and they jump, gazes frightened, nervous, but still on him, as they've been from the beginning. Jayden coughs, gestures to roselia, then points at litwick.
"Catch it. We'll move on after you do." And, he thinks, there's no chance that this is where they're stopping, because his inner pride has bared at him a challenge, one that he has no intention of turning down.
Fear doesn't have a place in his heart. He needs to find its roots and pluck this flower before it grows out of control (or perhaps, it already has, he doesn't really know).
"into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely."
They are here when he dreams this time - poised, ready, alert, three pairs of beady eyes focused anywhere but where they should be. He grinds his teeth, whistles once in a long practiced motion, loud and clear, and when their heads snap around to train on him he finds himself more relieved than irritated, like he usually is(like he should be).
Previously, there have always been trees. He's under the impression that his mind isn't creative enough to come up with something else, and what works will continue working until he makes it not. Lately, there's been nothing but patchy, misty fog and gray dirt that feels icy to the touch, maybe a few stumps, if he's lucky. But he's realized that he doesn't need trees, doesn't need anything but three strong pokemon that are willing to do whatever it takes to gain strength.
"Go at each other." Skarmory flaps its wings, raises its beak into the air and gives a shrill war cry, and there's a gleam of anticipation so bright in Zebstrika's eyes that it almost cuts a path through the heavy fog. "Support them as you see fit." Xatu, graduated, knowledgeable, strong, spreads its wings in a wordless gesture of affirmation, but Jayden's gaze hardens on it, if only for a split second. "Don't pick sides."
And when he steps back and nods they go at it, sparring and sparring and sparring until the dream wears thin yet he still wonders - is it enough?
Add, adding, multiplying. It doesn't matter how they do it, and he really doesn't care - what matters is that they have gone from one to two to three, and part of him hasn't even realized it yet, until now.
They are the same, yet different each time. Litwick is still barely visible, insubstancial, but the flame on top of its head seems to glow a bit brighter today, flaring up stubbornly, determined. Roselia's calm seems more genuine, as well - perhaps, he thinks, it's attention is more focused on the newcomer, distracting from self-worries, self-doubts. None of them tremble, not even the newcomer, and part of him finds the ability to still be grateful for that much. It's a start - not a big start, but a start, and he'll take it, because that's all he's going to get for today.
"Introduce yourself." Chansey blinks at the stare Jayden throws its way, then lifts the egg out of its pouch and smiles, like a child. "You two, attack as you see fit." Litwick stays silent, but roselia nods its head, roses poised and ready. "Don't hold anything back."
To their credit, they do as their told, all three of them, and he feels like something has finally been accomplished smoothly, for once.
Something is different today, and they, being the veterans, the strong, can feel it. He stares at them and thinks about the days long past, when sharp words and orders were all he needed to keep them on an unbreakable leash.
These days, all he has are whistles, snaps and the force of a bond that he doesn't understand. Regardless, they train their gazes on him at the gestures that have become almost routine, interest flashing in their eyes as the expression on his face morphs into something that isn't quite irritation. And as he opens his mouth and speaks, he wonders if they are the ones in control now, and he is just a bystander, looking in from the sidelines.
"We're working on strategies today." That catches them off guard, and he feels a brief thrill of victory that dies as quickly as it comes. Because they've passed him in strength, long passed him, and he needs to learn from them what they have learned from each other. "No messing around." What previously has always sounded sure sounds hollow, they know better, should know his words by heart, and he's relieved when they don't scoff at him and instead, nod, one after the other.
There's no trees, this time - no forest, no stumps, no dirt, no mist. Nothing but white space and solid ground to stand on, because they don't need anything else, not at this point, they don't.
He remembers a time when three was two and two was one, when the trees used to grow in regular, forest patterns and a river still existed, making the dream somewhat realistic. He remembers training that defined itself as being pushed to their limits until exhausted, strength as being the point when they aren't weak, teamwork as being the strongest, strong enough to lead them all without failing.
They are here again - the same three, they've made friends with each other, evident from the way they smile, shake hands and exchange glances even as they stare up at him. And the past him would've smirked, called them sentimental, weak for showing emotions. Today, he starts with a snap to get their attention, but can't find it in him to deliver a retort, because he discovers that he doesn't really care, and the reality of that makes him scowl, brow creasing.
"Train." And they understand, they've been here enough times to know the implications of that one word and take their places, going at each other in a way he's never seen nor taught before. Roselia attacks with flowers, litwick flits around nervously and dodges while Chansey attempts to distract them both with its egg bombs. It's not the realization that they've stepped outside of his methods that makes him stand up, take a step closer to watch, observe, learn. Roselia's attacks are missing litwick because it has learned to dodge, yet it seizes the opportunities that Chansey provides for it and creates new attacks, powerful attacks. They are maturing, each in their own way, and though he's never considered it before, perhaps this is also a form of strength, a stronger form of strength than he's ever known.
They are growing stronger. He can see it, with strength comes confidence and certainty, and as they stand there he can see it, see it in their posture, their movements, the deepest pits of their eyes. Yet they still stand in front of him, each with their own distinctive quirks and faults, staring and waiting for orders that he's not sure he still has the right to give.
He is not them. They are an open book, every emotion etched clearly on their faces because no matter how strong they are, they're still young, hatchlings with a trust that will one day get them killed. He hides his uncertainties behind walls and walls of defenses and convinces himself that this is who he is and not someone he wants to be, but can't.
"Poison it." Jayden gestures at Roselia, then Litwick. "And you. Return the favor with a burn." Chansey stands off to the side and stares at him. He expects them to protest, rebuff, downright refuse him. Roselia and Litwick turn to each other, and he swears he sees something invisible pass between them before they nod, but he has long passed the point of believing in sentiments, shakes it off without a second thought. "Attack each other." He twists around to Chansey. "Interfere if you want. Both sides, no exceptions."
A few seconds later, when they fight in front of him with flames and grass and explosions he watches, forces himself to watch even though something within his gut is clenching with a mixture of emotions that he doesn't recognize.
It doesn't take a genius to sense the change this time, not only from the three pokemon that stare up at him, but also from the atmosphere that is both brittle and bittersweet at the same time, flaking off like grains of sand. They are three but at the same time, not, because one of them has changed, grown stronger than the others without understanding how it's done what it has.
Roselia shifts about nervously, petals tightening up, perhaps sensing the shift in power. Chansey stands neutral between them, as it always has, but he can see things he hasn't been able to in the past, and the slight incline in its posture towards Roselia is not missed, not at this stage. Behind its glass casing, the Lampent - hovering on the opposing end -'s eyes take on an eerie glow, and the flame that is encased inside seems to swell to unearthly proportions, in preparation for what's to come. They're too familiar with this drill, the constant push and pull that is part of this game he plays with them without realizing it himself.
Jayden looks at them, looks at the uncertainty that has begun to cloud Roselia's gaze and has the urge to snap his fingers, hard. Instead, he steps back, narrowing his eyes as a challenge for them to question him, to inquire on what is out of the ordinary. And he continues to watch them, this is their problem to mend and resolve and it won't go away just because they choose to ignore it.
The silence cracks the air like fireworks, dissolving with the fading mist of what was once just a dream, nothing more.
Dreaming returns in shades of white and gray, a constant world of wakeful alertness that he craves now, relies on with something border lining addiction. In the past, he's afraid to dream, for fear that his flaws will be exposed because here is where he's most vulnerable. Now, he overturns that hesitation for the pull of strength, the need to get stronger, to be the strongest that doesn't crash and burn like the rest.
The last dream echoes in his mind. The void of uncertainty still exists here, looming and ever present and dangerous, it needs to be eliminated and it needs to be eliminated now. "Well?" They are three, they are two and they can't afford to be one, not after what he's learned. He sweeps his narrowed eyes over Roselia, Chansey and Lampent and decides that they can either learn by themselves, or learn by his methods, as he's done in the past.
They stare at him, and for a moment, they're hatch lings again - vulnerable, weak, useful but not useful enough. Then, Roselia huddles closer to lampent, chansey stands between them with its normal smile and the ghost pokemon's eyes gleam, as if to prove a point, and he knows that they've somehow worked it out, in their own way. Nodding, he waves them off with his hand, and they are as brutal with each other as they would with scourge themselves, like he's taught.
Nowadays, he speaks little, less and less with each session, he realizes. They don't speak at all, yet everything he needs to know about them is in the little gestures, the bonds that they've formed that are so much more than sentimental trivialities.
