Prologue
"The evening of 24th April had come around quickly. The half-moon glowed a creamy yellow, leaving its bewitching light to shine over the fields surrounding the small village of Marsten, in the north of the island of Coltar. The half-moon was significant to many who lived on the island. No. Not just those who lived there, but those who were trapped too. It was illegal and impossible to leave the island. Many had tried over the years. Those who attempted a sea escape were doomed to fail. A job fulfilled by that of the island's Guardians. Many drowned, were mauled, or arrested before managing to set sail. As for those who tried to fly away using their Pokémon a worse fate awaited. Many were killed by the electrical currents during storms. Others were shot down by an electro-ball attack from those who were sent to prevent anyone from leaving. Half jobs were scorned, like the half-moon as it was considered a symbol of a half started cycle, half granted wishes, unfinished accomplishments, unfulfilled promises... to be more accurate, the half-moon represented lies. Its deceptively beautiful colour was indeed enticing to look at. However, to gaze at the moon in such a way that one is without suspicion has the same consequences as to feed a Snorlax a giant meal and not move when it begins to yawn. You might just get crushed. It was a reminder to everyone on the island to be wary.
This particular half-moon night was a shadow of a night. Despite the beautifully symbolic moon there was a chill in the air. April 24th the Marsten Hall ball is an accustomed event. This year however, the atmosphere was more estranged between those citizens and personnel of the North and of the South. This year Marsten Hall was not just to play host to the ball, but to something much bigger. It was to play host to negotiations between two of the great powers of the island. The current ruler of the entirety of the island- Gere Filktas was not interested in the tensions between the two Elite Lords who ruled the North and the South. If they were fighting each other they were in no position to challenge him so he would be able to maintain his strength for a far greater challenger if one ever emerged. Therefore, under the advice of the Head of the Master Guard and Master of Coltar Filktas' right hand man, Felix Mainstenhill, the two Elite Lords agreed to discuss their demands before taking aggressive actions against one another. The location of Marsten was key to the negotiations. Despite it being in the Northern territory it was considered a neutral ground, it was to the south east of the Northern capital of Quigk. Quigk meaning founder in the main Northern and Southern languages-Colrat and Elkrat respectively and one of the few points the rulers agreed on.
The presence of the Lords at the ball was a new experience for the people of Coltar. This also led to the class system appearing in a more rigid fashion. Only those with invitation were welcomed inside the hall. Those without were allowed to crowd around the entrance in an orderly fashion only and observe those who entered and left. The ball supported the class system perfectly. The poorer classes steered clear of the middle class. The middle class steered clear of the aristocracy and those with under-elite power. Those within the aristocracy and the under-elite power were careful when tiptoeing around the elites. The elites consisted of its own hierarchy. The Master sat above all, with his Captain and the Rulers below. The Young Guard, or trainee Guard were the final class within the elites. Children as young as three years old would be ripped from their families with their Pokémon partner to train alongside the Young Guard providing they filled the requirements. If the parents didn't like it. It was tough. They had to surrender their child. Fighting back or rejecting the demand had unspeakable consequences. Either way, the child would still end up as the property of the Guard. That child would become a ruthless protector of their Lord until his (or on a few rare occasions, her) death. If the Lord was killed by a member of the Guard or civilian, the child if under the age of fourteen or twenty-five (depending on the territory), the child would usually be allowed to remain at the Elite Castle and be trained under the new Elite Lord. If by this point they had become a full member of the Guard they would be at the mercy of their own conscience providing the survived. Coltar was a brutal place. It remains a brutal place.
Marsten Hall was constructed during one of Coltar's most brutal sections of history. It was constructed in 1579 under the orders of the then ruling family of Rett. Igor Rett's portrait is said to have hung inside the courtroom. Marsten Hall was a courthouse until the middle of the 18th century. The whole building consisted of only a few rooms: the lobby, which was rather thin, 10 metres wide, around 20 meters long and had a ceiling 15 meters high; the courtroom, which was 32 meters across and 18 meters high. It was situated beneath the ballroom. It was a hexagonal shape; and finally the ballroom itself, which was also a hexagonal shape, was around 40 meters across and 18 meters high. The hall was constructed out of old stone and muddied concrete. The concrete was beginning to look sandy, as if it was starting to fall away into an abyss. The stone bricks were worn and beginning to crumble. The bricks were a grey colour. They looked almost soulless, placed atop the hill of the Marsten Field village.
The inside walls of the lobby continued to show little mercy. The walls were mostly bland. The Chandelure floating just below the ceiling with their purple flames added to the eeriness. The Litwick that were standing on the metal holders on the walls all looked pleased to see so many new faces and souls walk into the lobby. Upon the walls were metal chains. The lobby was previously home to where the prisoners were left to rot before carrying out their sentences or being summoned to court. The metal chains were rusted, some were bloodstained others were not. They were twisted and emitted a chilling vibe to anyone who ventured too close. It was no wonder many prisoners were said to have gone insane. Luckily for many prisoners, Marsten Hall was no longer used for what its original purpose had entailed, however, it still intended to install fear into those who planned to escape the control of the Elite Lords. Across the stoned floor lay a purple carpet. It was worn down and dirty. No matter how many times it had been washed through and through the dirt remained. The carpet felt like the ends of a rope rubbing against ones fingers. The deep purple felt like nothingness when looked into. That was why purple was so significant. Purple was the national colour of Coltar before the divisions. Purple represents no loyalty to any region but to the whole island. Why purple though? The Gastrodon who lived in the centre of Coltar near the Elite Zone were considered to be amongst the most noble of Pokémon. As Gastrodon colours varied across Coltar it was deemed only fitting to use their colour to symbolise the Master of Coltar's flag, as he himself was situated in the centre of Coltar inside the castle in the Elite Zone. Despite this grand gesture, only the poorest of the classes were expected to remain inside the lobby.
The courtroom was much more impressive than the lobby. The walls were a dusted stone. The floors were a glossed dark wooden set, plank after plank laid horizontally. There were no seats in the room, other than for that for the judge in sitting. The judge would sit in dock above the whole of the court. Behind the judges dock was the grand portrait of Igor Rett. His pale white face was war torn. He looked beyond stern. He looked as if he had wicked thoughts blooming in the back of his mind. He was rather short in his portrait, but then again he was sitting at the judges' dock. His Pokémon was one that no one had claimed to have seen in many years. No one knew its name. Its paws were black and its body blue. Although Rett had a wicked look on his face, he also seemed to blossom some form of safety and comfort to know he was watching over the citizens of Coltar.
Finally, the ballroom was by far the grandest of all the rooms. The long purple curtains draped over the wide, tall windows. The windows frames were painted gold on the inside but maintained their stone frame on the outside. The band inside was playing the tune of the anthem of the island of Coltar. Many of the band were playing the Ukuru. An Ukuru was an instrument only affordable to those among the middle class or higher. It was crafted from the bones of a Lairon, cut and curved into a hypnotic spiral. The mouth piece was created from the melted coat of an Aron. The band members who played the Ukuru had to blow into the spiralled metal mouth piece, and bend the bone of the main frame in order to change the notes being played. Other instruments being played in the band were mainly variants of the banjo. A banjo was considered a poor man's instrument in Coltar. The music that filled the room was so beautiful it made the tensions between the North and South seem so far away. The paintings on the wall were grander still. Their frames were gold. Inside the frames were the portraits of the former Masters and Elite Lords of Coltar. At the helm of the ballroom the portrait of the historic ruler Rustok Nambi, and his Gardevoir partner. His brown skin looked rough and cut. His ocean blue eyes looked sternly at anyone who gazed upon him. He had struck a pose in which he stood in wonder against a forest background. You could see the Ariados and Galvantula lurking in the background. It was terrifying to think that every single ruler in Coltar had a portrait inside of both the Elite Zone castle and Marsten Hall. Nambi's portrait lay a shadow on all the others in the room. The portraits of the current two Elite Lords were not to be found however. In order to have a portrait placed in either location the Lords would have to be dead, although the portraits were to be painted while they were still alive. Usually during their second or third day as Lord or Master. The floor was a dark wooden patterned floorboard. It was diamond shaped from the centre outwards. It was glossed, it shined and appeared to have smiled back at those who looked into it.
On the outside of the hall in the far left segment of the ballroom, a boy stood on tiptoes peering in on the dance. James' carmine shoulder length hair kept falling in front of his wide Venetian red eyes. He was rather average in terms of height for his age for a boy born in the Northern territory. He was 4 ft 7 inches tall and was struggling to see inside the ballroom. His rather ordinary plain ghost white shirt was now coated in a sandy dust from the degrading concrete. His collar was slightly twisted at the back and the button at the top of the shirt was missing. His pocket on the upper left hand side of his shirt was empty. His onyx coloured trousers were well-worn. Despite their old appearance they had only come into his possession rather recently. They were long enough to cover the top half of his sock line. His socks were a Charleston green and also well-worn to the point that the slight greening of them had started to fade to a grey. He was wearing a russet blazer with only three buttons. It was considered to be not very stylish by him to have it done up, not that James really cared much for style. Each of the buttons were sewn on through two small holes. He could see an orange Chandelure floating around inside the room. Its flames were so wonderfully warm. The Chandelure looked happy. All the other Chandelure were purple, so for an orange Chandelure to even be allowed to light the hall was a miracle in itself. James didn't understand the prejudice against the orange Chandelure that are found. All he knew was they were rather uncommon. Just like Okta, they were special. He strained to see further into the hall. He wanted to see Elite Lord Madison, ruler of the North. The man he wanted to be. Instead James could only see the back of the composer of the band, and his Gastrodon. His hair was snow white, short and braided. His height was around 6 ft 5. He was blocking the view of nearly everything inside. The rest of the view inside was being blocked by his yellow Gastrodon, who was happily squelching along to the music.
James could hear the music from the window. He sigh. He listened while his eyes flicked trying to see beyond the back of the composer. Footsteps. He shuffled around the corner to his left and slammed his back against the wall. An adrenaline rush was the last thing he needed right now. He held his breath and reached down with his right hand to his pocket on his trousers. Okta was there. She was always ready to battle as was he, he convinced himself. He turned the corner. Horror filled his face. Two men in a midnight blue uniform stood in front of him. Both were ready to send out their Pokémon. They weren't just men. They were members of the Southern Elite Guard. James' heart started to race from fear. He had been caught red handed peering into the ball, when the law had forbidden him from doing such a thing. The man on the left was the taller of the two. He stood at 6 ft 5 inches. His ash blonde hair was short and combed back perfectly. His hat was sitting loosely on his head. His eyes were a void black, it was difficult to tell the difference between his pupil and his iris. He smirked and rolled his poké ball behind James. The Machamp that had resided inside was now behind him. Its large hands gripped James' shoulders. He couldn't escape. The member of the Elite Guard on the right was still a giant to James. He peered down from what appeared to be too high up. He looked at James. His caramel blonde hair was combed down to the sides. His hat was in his left hand. He had drawn his long sword in his right. James tremored with fear. The taller Guard grabbed James' Okta from his hand. He looked curiously at her for a moment or two. His gaze then switched focus to James, who had been trying to squirm his way out of Machamp's grip without much success.
"It is very dirty. You should clean it more. Or maybe you Northern children are too irresponsible to keep a Pokémon? Maybe I should take it." He spoke softly. It was as if he was trying not to be so intimidating. He returned his Machamp. "You have ten seconds to get out of my sight." James didn't need to be told twice. He turned to run back down the hill and was gently prodded by the shorter one's sword. James ran as fast as he could back towards his friends who were waiting for him by the tree at the bottom of the grass strip next to the cobblestone path up to the hall. James felt belittled. His friends were glad to see him back from his excursion. Andrew Takui, the youngest of the group was sitting furthest away. He was feeding his Deino, Nutkio, a nice round and plump oran berry. She lapped it up. His long light cyan-grey shaded hair was pulled back enough so he could see. His skin was had light beige shade. His eyes were small and a Verdigris green-blue. His eyes always gave the impression he was deep in thought, although, he was more often than not deeply confused by what his older brother had said to him. Despite his age he was the second tallest. He stood at 5 ft flat at the age of nine. His height was the one thing he did enjoy teasing his brother about, after all he couldn't defeat him in battle. His beaver brown shirt was long sleeved. His cuffs were made from an imitation of gold, they had his initials branded into them. On top of his shirt he was wearing a woolly deep blue jumper. His long slate-grey trousers and socks made him look shorter than he was. His jet black shoes were polished to perfection.
Lioa was sitting to Andrew's left. His Timburr, Ruskuo, was tossing a small log in the air for amusement. Lioa had only just turned thirteen and he was proud of that fact. He strongly believed soon he could join his father and fight the South. His light beige skin was ever so slightly darker than that of his brother. His light cyan-grey hair was short, but it still flopped over his eyes. His father disapproved, leaving Lioa feeling slightly ashamed. His munsell green eyes sparkled, filled with the mischief he would cause and those he would include into his schemes. He proclaimed himself leader of the group, similarly to James. Despite being best friends they often would squabble over this small detail. In terms of battle strength, James would always win despite his type disadvantage. In terms of physical strength however, Lioa was by far more likely to win despite being the smallest in the group. His height was a mere 4 ft 5 inches. His plain ivory coloured shirt was unbuttoned at the top and at the bottom, leaving only the middle four buttons done up. This was how his father always appeared in pictures. To him making him proud was everything. His onyx bow-tie was loose, and his mud-brown trousers were much too long for him. His laces for his jet black shoes twisted in the grass like a river.
Finally, Kitiku Bryson sat quietly on the edge of the grassy patch. He didn't really like noise. He was rather shy. He almost needed at least one of the other three to be around him when facing new people or new surroundings. His Klink called Rusto whizzed around him while he thought. His skin was the fairest of the group and burnt easily in the usual tropical Northern heat. His hair was near enough a jet black shade. It was long enough to cover his eyes, but not quite as long as James' shoulder length hair. His eyes were an ash-grey. When looking into his eyes James always saw his hopelessness. Kitiku didn't trust the world around him. His father was constantly disappointed in him for being "defective" due to his massive height and dislike of fighting. He was unfortunate enough to stand at a massive 5 ft 7 at the age of twelve. For his age this was rather tall by even Southern standards. In the north his height made many consider him to be a freak – someone who is broken – someone who is defective. This was a common reaction to abnormalities in children and adults in Coltar at this time. Nowadays it is more accepted. Coltar was not used to diversity and certainly didn't know how to cope with it. It was rather... cut off... from the rest of the world. Off-islanders who had crashed or were shipwrecked onto the island were treated with immediate suspicion and were often thrown in prison for many years in case they carried disease or wanted to over throw the Lords or worse. Many medical ideas had crept through to the island, but many more did not. However, I wander off topic. Back to the reason why what will happen in three days from now will... Kitiku dressed smartly. His shirt had no pockets and was an ivory white. His cuffs were plain. His soot grey trousers were neatly pressed and would remain stiff enough to lack a crease for hours, even when worn. His eyes widened as Lioa stood up and approached James.
"What was it like up there? Did you see Lord Elite Madison?" Lioa looked quizzical. His mouth turned into a slight smile. "What was he like? I bet he was amazing to watch. I bet he instilled fear into those Southern jerks."
"I didn't see much." James replied disappointed. He slumped next to Kitiku and Lioa copied. "Before I could investigate further two of your "Southern jerks" turned up and tried to intimidate me. Those stupid members of the Southern Elite Guard. I showed them."
"Did not. I bet you came back out of fear!" James gulped to Lioa's accusation. It was true. He did comeback afraid, but...
"They aren't all bad. You can't just class all Southern Elite Guards as bad people just because they protect a Lord you don't like..." Kitiku whispered.
"They are merciless. They would have killed me if I didn't beat them. Remember? What I did was technically illegal." He smiled. "Don't worry Lioa, we will see Lord Madison defeat the South. He would never sign such a weak negotiation. Okta and I are counting on it. One day, she and I will be the greatest team to grace this world. All twenty-three thousand people on this world will see the rise of James Spitz and Okta! We will win every tournament we compete in!" He waved his arms as he spoke with excitement. Okta was curled up in her capsule. Her long rock body was a golden colour. She was special and James knew it. Her horn on the top of her head was cut so perfectly. She was his Onix and he wanted the whole world to know it. "Besides," James went to finish his speech, "Cresselia will bless my household so that..."
"Please. Cresselia isn't real. Besides, Darkrai will bless my household. I will be better than you." Lioa snapped. "Darkrai after all is real."
"No it isn't. Cresselia is real." James shouted back as the argument brewed.
"Darkrai!" Lioa shunted against James forcefully. James nearly was knocked over but caught himself. With annoyance in his voice he screamed back at Lioa. Pushing his friend to the ground and started to try and thump him.
"Cresselia!" Lioa spat at James as the red haired boy shouted back. The clouds coated the moon. James’ face became harder to see, but that didn’t stop Lioa from making his move. He pushed James over onto his back and then shouted even louder.
"Darkrai!"
Kitiku started to shuffle and look stressed by the fighting. His household was under the grouping that believed in Cresselia. He didn't want to be cursed to nothingness forever after his time was over. He was feeling very uncomfortable. James and Lioa's attention diverted to him. They realised they may have done this. "Hey Kitiku. Are you okay? Why don't we go watch the outside Chandelure perform with their masters from the roof tops?" Lioa smiled at him. Kitiku's breathing started to slow down a little. He pondered on the thought for a moment or so before nodding in agreement. "Last one on the roof has to ask a Southern Elite Guard for a bedtime kiss!" Lioa laughed. The drainpipes couldn't support more than one person at a time, so it really was everyone for themselves. Lioa started to scramble up the pipe first. Kitiku's height was going to work in his favour, as he grabbed the second nearest pipe attached to the degrading old houses. He pulled himself up towards the roof much faster than Lioa. Andrew and James ran towards the same drainpipe. As James reached for it Ruskuo threw a small rock at James and hit him in the stomach. James was knocked over into the mud. Lioa laughed louder. "James guess what? You lose...."
"Where is that little runt?" A voice called out into the street. James scrambled into the narrow pathway between two of the houses. A shiver crept down his spine. Every rough click of that voice caused a memory to rearise from the deepest darkest depths of his mind. The aggressive voice was out to get him.
"James was lurking around the entrance earlier. He is probably already inside." Carla, James' mother replied.
"Then let's enjoy the party," Hanson, James' step-father responded. James couldn't see them from where he was standing. His mother had combed her golden hair into a nice bun. Her fair skin was smooth. She always would give James a hug when he cried or felt lonely. He liked looking into her midnight blue eyes. Hanson on the other hand was a different story. He failed to adopt James into the family once he married Carla, nor did he throw James out of the household-which was common in Coltese culture. He disliked James. He let James know regularly this was the case. James knew of Hanson's Salamence and he didn't like its beady eyes and its snorting nose and its blood red wings and its large stomping feet one bit. Lioa waited for Hanson and Carla to go inside the hall.
"James, you lost, you have to do the loser's thing. Once you have done it we will let you on the roof to watch the show too."
"Yeah James!" Andrew echoed in an irritating way. James clenched his fist angrily. He had lost because of that monster.
"Fine. Just fine." James stormed back up the hill in a rage. "That's the last time we ever lose to anyone Okta! We will be the greatest! I promise. Then no one will make fun of you for your golden colour. You are perfect. Hey, maybe one day we will explore Coltar, or even better! We could go explore beyond Coltar! The Elite Lords always say we can't leave the island. They even use Bronzong to hide the island's existence. Why would they do that if we are the only people in this world? What about the off-islanders. Where do they come from? They don't just appear from nowhere. Right?" James looked down and kicked a rock. He stubbed his toe in the process. He grit his teeth and continued to rant. "I want to see more than what I am told I can see..." The rock. It had hit something. Something that made a grunt when it did. James looked up into the eyes of a tall man. He rapidly became anxious. The tall shady figure shunted him onto the floor with considerable force. He drew his capsule. A Haxorus sat inside. Its eyes were a burning red and it looked ready to destroy whatever crossed its path.
A loud roar came from behind the shady figure. It wasn't a Pokémon roar though. The figure appeared to be glowing an orange shade. The figure turned and James rose. The once grand Marsten Hall was on fire. A second roar echoed. This one was a Pokémon. A Charizard with scorching red wings flew up through the ceiling. James was confused for a moment, but quickly made sense of the situation. The figure in front of him had vanished. This, in James' mind, could mean only one thing – that man, that Southern Elite Guard had started this fire with Charizard to kill Elite Lord Madison. All the Elite Guards were desperate to rescue those inside, especially because Lord Madison wasn't inside. James knew this to be true. Lord Madison was standing a five metres in front of him in a face-off with Lord Piscar. He couldn't see them very well through the smoke. He could see their silhouettes and hear their voices.
"This is a new low. Even for you." The first said. He had no accent. This was his first language. To James this was almost proof this was Lord Madison speaking. His voice was smooth and rather deep. “You are nothing more than a mass murdering psychopath”. The screams of those inside were crawling through the air. James imagined the souls of the Distortion World desperately grabbing onto whomever they could with their mouths wide open, screaming.
"You think I am responsible for this? You are a disgrace to your people... and to mine." The second voice responded. It was coarse and higher than the previous one. James paused. This voice had no accent either. Perhaps this was his Captain of the Elite Guard. No, it was impossible James thought. One of these had to be Madison. The other had to be the sworn enemy of the North and mass murderer Lord Piscar. The wind was starting to pick up. The tensions were high, James could tell.
"Negotiations are over. You brought this upon yourself." A silhouette of a Pokémon James had never seen before appeared amongst the smoke. A second Pokémon, Aggron, appeared as another silhouette. The rainfall started and became a storm faster than James had ever seen before. A flash followed. He couldn't see. He was blinded by the light. Darkness. James felt as if death was creeping up on him and was ready to take his soul to the world which Cresselia watched over. He heard a thunderclap and then... nothingness. He was dead, he feared. But, if he was dead how come he could still feel the squelchy mud with his hands? How could he feel the vibrations of the earth from the battle raging between the two Elite Lords not five metres away? He couldn't risk sending out Okta to help Lord Madison. He couldn't even see where he himself was, let alone his Lordship. He didn't want to risk squishing himself, or his Lordship. A hand seized his arm and pulled him up. Someone was helping him. After a few more moments his eyes began to recover. He could see but only in tunnel vision and even then it was blurred. His hearing was still not back. Before James could react to being able to see again a wave of energy was emitted from somewhere. It coursed through him and his rescuer and nearly everyone around him. They all dropped to the floor. Unconscious. James wasn't unconscious, he could see everything, but now he couldn't move. His body felt like it was being sat on by a thousand Snorlax. He quickly came to the conclusion it was the sound that had rendered many people unconscious along with the wave of energy. A few of the Elite Guard of each side were standing. The Charizard was still flying in a rage. The Elite Lords were still standing. They were not fighting anymore. The Aggron looked frustrated by this. One of the Elite Lords turned his back to the other and walked away. The Charizard was flying further and further into the distance. His hearing started to return. He was unsure what he just had witnessed, but he knew one thing for sure... Hanson Rei and Carla Spitz were almost certainly inside when that fire was started. Therefore the worst case scenario crossed his mind. Rei had survived, and his mother had not.
