Mists and the Isle of Swords were like bread and butter. Inseparable, eternal. How fortunate George was, seeing the fog on the day of his departure grow thicker than ever. A final parting gift on the island’s behalf. Not that one could do much with fog, aside from hide themselves in it.

  Hide themselves from an army of goons, no less. Brainwashed they might be, but deadly nevertheless. The Renegade had visited his dreams to taunt him, and scouts reported that his word was accurate, for once. Those scouts that returned, that is.

  ‘I'm not here, this isn’t happening. I’m not here, this isn’t happening. I’m not here…’

  George breathed in for four seconds, and then out for eight. Once, then twice, exercising to still his nerves. The Swords had mobilized the island’s population, all to help him get into Eravate’s interior. No matter their efforts, or his, it didn’t matter much. Looking at the fog didn’t calm his nerves, nor did all the islanders. The fog could lift at any moment. And as for the islanders, it was up for debate how many would see the sun set tonight.

  All for his sake. The human-turned-Dewott with a half-finished flute around his neck, accompanied by a Gardevoir and Dusknoir too stubborn to die. But all egos deflated eventually.

  Speaking of his companions, Terez came cutting through the crowd, reaching him with firm steps. “Put your bag on. You don’t want to lose it now.”

  ‘Ah.’ George grimaced, his thoughts of doom interrupted and kicked over, as if Terez were some schoolyard bully. Groaning, he scooped the bag off the ground and attached it to the belt he’d been told to put on. It was less of a belt, and more of a pouch, containing items such as foodstuffs, medicine and so on. Supplies to last a day or two.

  Terez put her hands on her sides. “Hey, don’t give me attitude. It’s not my fault we’re in this mess, is it?”

  “No,” George sighed out, “I’m just worried. That’s all.” ‘God knows if any of us will even survive the next few hours.’

  “That’s fine. I’d be concerned if you weren’t worried,” Terez replied, falling onto a knee to pat George down, making sure his belt had been attached correctly. “Just don’t let it get to you. Don’t want to get stuck in the weeds before we’ve even reached them.”

  George bit the corner of his lip. ‘That’s actually pretty funny, but blegh. Not in the mood for laughing.’

  “Is everything proceeding well, here?”

  With all the warnings of being fired from your job, a Dusknoir arose from the ground beside them. His arrival raised no eyebrows from nearby Pokemon, not even the two he was folding his arms at. Terez nodded in acknowledgement, snapping her fingers to tighten her scarf telekinetically.

  “We’re doing alright. Just busy with some final preparations, here.” The Gardevoir held her head up high, though it got her no higher than the Dusknoir’s chest. “What about you, Hein?”

  The Dusknoir shrugged in as casual a manner as they came, as if the conversation had been about his grocery haul. “I am as prepared as I’ll ever be. Well rested, well supplied, optimistic… and ready to send cultists to their master. A lot of them.”

  Hein’s playful tone masked genuine excitement, the kind he emphasized by pretending to crack his knuckles. He had no bones to crack, of course, but the undead didn’t lose their living habits. Death hadn’t stopped them to begin with. But there was a sense of malevolence slipping through the mask. The kind that made George raise a brow.

  ‘Really wants to get back to action, doesn’t he?’

  Terez glared at the ghost. “I prefer setting Eravate right, if you know what I mean.”

  The Dusknoir folded his arms. “To make an omelette, one has to break a few eggs, no?”

  The Gardevoir rolled her eyes. “Why yes. But you like breaking eggs, don’t you?” she said, throwing out her belly while giving it a good pat. Hein scoffed at her, floated away a step, then turned back with folded arms.

  “Come on, now. Did you have to rain on my parade?”

  “Should’ve gotten a lighter float.”

  “It's not my fault I was born this way, no?”

  For the first time today, George cracked a smirk, one which grew wider as Hein and Terez began to have at it. They started shoving each other by the shoulders, like the world's safest combat sport, flinging quips at each other’s faces.

  “I tell you what. You discover how a Dusknoir can lose bulk, and I will help you read a map. Deal?”

  “Pfft, I don’t get lost that often. And yes, that includes when you’re not around.”

  “And what about the time that dotard of an Aggron fell into a hole? Good thing I was tailing you, yes?”

  “...Crap.”

  Ghost and Gardevoir laughed, and invited George to join in, which he was glad to.

  ‘Man, talk about a time for a fat joke. Didn’t think I needed to hear one this badly.’

  * * *

  Days on which years went by had a funny way of proceeding. They resemble avalanches: The events start slow, but snowball fast. One thing leads to another, and before you know it, the day is taking you out on a wild ride.

  George didn’t quite know when it happened, but he sure knew when he realised the snowball was rolling. One moment, a trumpet sounded. The next, a stampede came. Then, he was perched atop Terrakion’s back, as he stood side by side with the other Swords. Cobalion stood at the head with Hein perched atop his back, his wispy ends coiling around the blue Sword’s chest, while Terez was sitting atop Virizion. Behind them, an army of islanders waited.

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  “Nervous, George?”

  The Dewott shuddered; it took a second before the voice registered as Terrakion’s in his head. “Yes.”

  “The professionals got this one,” Terrakion quipped. “Just watch. You know what to do, right?”

  George grimaced. “As much as I can know.” ‘I sure hope you know how to get over the sea. How the hell are we even crossing ourselves, let alone with everyone else? We haven’t even got a boat!’

  Terrakion scraped the sand with a hoof, like a bull getting ready to charge. “Good enough in my book!”

  The tension was not long for this world, for a trumpet filled the skies with a rising note. From a low bass to a dull roar; George glanced over his shoulder. It was hard to pinpoint the spot it originated from, but it must’ve been from one of the cliffs overlooking the shore.

  Even if finding the trumpet player was a matter of life and death, George would’ve failed. The seas themselves roared with divine fury, waves crashing into each other and pushing away the waters below. As if a sink had been unplugged, the water ahead of the army began to drain away. It started with a line, then pushed further aside; for a moment, it resembled two waterfalls being pulled apart. Slowly, the sands underneath were exposed, a path through the seas shining in a ray of sunlight.

  “Forwards!”

  As the exposed path reached the mists, a gallop began. George felt Terrakion’s shoulders move under him, rapid and steadfast. A gasp left his throat as he wobbled forward, before throwing his hands around the gray Sword’s neck. He heard a “YEAH!” being shouted nearby; the charge had reached the ocean a second later.

  “Terrakion?!”

  “Hold on tight! We’re going in!”

  The gray Sword’s gallop reached top speed. George held himself low, as close to Terrakion’s neck as he could without touching horns. By the time he had the guts to open an eye and perk up an ear, they were on the verge of the mists. Cobalion and Hein disappeared half a second later: George did not look elsewhere, except in front. Terrakion kept his head straight, his horns angling to strike at whatever drew near.

  Mists obscured the horizon, Terrakion’s charge unhindered. An uneasy feeling crept up George’s spine; he could swear there were a million eyes on him. Glancing beside himself, George saw the water being pushed further away, shirking and disappearing behind a wall of fog. He breathed in deep, his toes bending inwards

  ‘No turning back anymore, this is it. Not much of a believer, but God alone has my back now.’ The Dewott squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Have to focus. Focus! We can do this! I can do this!’

  Dust filled the air, kicked up by the great many hooves and paws running across the bottom of the sea. Various algae and plants shriveled up, silently begging for their water to return as they were trampled underneath the army. The rumble of the water, the thundering hooves stomping through the sand, the breathing and growling of thousands; George had never seen a battle between armies of Pokemon begin, let alone at the head of the charge. His heart was pounding, his mind was sharp.

  History was being made, and he had a front row seat.

  After minutes resembling hours, Cobalion broke through the mists, the rest of the army not far behind. Something whisked past George’s neck; he immediately dropped down, peeking over Terrakion’s head. The Azure Flute was pinned between his chest and the Brown Sword’s neck; the Dewott dared not to budge.

  ‘We’re almost there…’

  The sands began to slope upwards, the walls of seawater funneling them onto the shore. There, at the former beach’s edge, a ragtag group of vapour-drenched Pokemon mounted a defense. A few small fry, a few who towered over the pack. Even from a distance, George could tell they looked frightened, their bare toothed frowns and shivery limbs visible underneath the ink. More joined them as the Swords approached the shore, but time was not on their side.

  ‘Here goes!’

  First Cobalion, then Terrakion, then Virizion stormed through the Corrupted, powering through like hot knives through butter. For a moment, George saw fumes rising from Terrakion’s horns, his ears catching wind of a sizzle as he bulldozed his way through a poor sod; a Tinkaton, given the hammer that fell by the wayside.

  Past the first line, many Anomalies scrambled to hit the shores, jumping off the cliffs and coming down the hills, emerging from the holes and wooden shacks that littered the Tholander coast. The army roared; the shrieks and drums of war boomed through the air. The Swords and those in the front charged westward across the shore, their followers covering the flanks. The turn came sudden, and the shifting muscles under George caught him off guard, again. He swayed from side to side, this time needing his sweet time to recover.

  ‘Crap, crap! Where are we going?!’

  For the first time, George swung his head around, hoping to get a grip on his shifting surroundings. Anomalies popped up from all directions; attacks began to rain down upon the Swords. Bugs pelted George in the face, before rocks began to fall from the heavens, crashing into the sand to the sound of screams. The Dewott clenched his teeth; beside him, Terez held up a psychic shield. Ahead of him, Hein fired beams full of dark energy at the onslaught, obliterating any enemy or projectile falling his way.

  Even then, so much was coming down, that the efforts of one were but a footnote.

  ‘If I don’t do something, we’re dead… Focus! Psychic!’

  George reached out to the sky with a hand, aiming to create a similar barrier to the one Terez managed. But it didn’t take long for his fingers to itch for the comfort of Terrakion’s neck; his hand toppled over like a crumbling castle, blue flashes coming and going from his eyes. Some of the rocks stopped in midair, only to fall straight down a split second later; were it not for luck, George would’ve had a dent in his head.

  ‘Damn it! I’m going to die at this rate!’

  Time and options running out, the Dewott resorted to breathing in deep, churning his stomach all the while. His throat filled with water; as the rain of stones fell with no end in sight, Once his throat was full, he spat water in a hose-like beam at whichever rocks came flying his way. First came a small rock, which shattered upon contact. A larger one followed, too sturdy for mere water. All he managed was to drop it into Terrakion’s path.

  “Ah!”

  He threw his arms in front of his face, fearing the worst. Terrakion crashed straight through the boulder; what water had started, the Gray Sword’s horns finished. Little more than pebbles remained by the time his hooves had trampled over.

  And so the Swords continued, cutting down whatever was in their path. Anomaly and terrain alike, nothing stood in their way while the winds were at their backs. There was scant time to stop and appreciate what they were capable of. Then again, it was no surprise. Mentors, reputation, a whole island full of people who had prepared for this: Nothing that came falling out the air, not even for a king. But the Swords had long surpassed kings.

  No matter how many Anomalies were trampled, more always cropped up. More reached the cliffs and rained hell down on the islanders. And more good people fell upon the sands, never to open their eyes again. The Swords found a gentle climb inland, and rushed to occupy it before the enemy did. Under a cover produced by their riders, they rode in land up a hill, then ordered the trio to get off.

  “This is the spot!” Cobalion shouted. “We can only bring you so far. Remember, you must be quick. They’re bound to be hot on your tail, and Eravate’s time is short. Move fast, and stay alive. Good luck.”

  “G’luck, everyone!” Terrakion grunted, before turning back to charge away.

  “The Creator has your backs!” Virizion added, and those were the parting words of the Swords. They ran off with the wind, leaving a dust cloud in their wake as they charged back to the clashing armies, Cobalion at the helm once again.

  No time to wave them off. Hein gave George a good tug on his arm, dragging him to the other side of the hill. “Is everyone in one piece?” he asked, eye glancing at the Dewott, specifically.

  “Yep, no injuries here,” Terez said, taking the lead down the grassy hill. “We didn’t lose anything either, did we?”

  George patted himself down. “Doesn’t look like it,” he muttered, first putting his hand on the Azure Flute, then his bag. In spite of the rocks, none had made their mark, given the lack of aches or pain. He’d made it. But others?

  Making their way down the hill, the Dewott noticed something awfully off. Hein clutched his left shoulder the whole time, a raspy echo emanating from his body. The Dusknoir had never once shown physical weakness, ever. George had thought him invulnerable for a while, but now?

  “What happened to your arm?”

  The Dusknoir flicked his antenna. “Egh. Some bastard got lucky. Hit me on the shoulder with a rock as big as you are.”

  Terez turned around, looking him in the eye as she walked backwards to the bottom. “Do you need any help with that?”

  Hein shook his head. “Be more concerned with the road ahead. I’ve survived worse than this. Worse than you could possibly imagine. And even worse is bound to be on our horizon. Move.”

  “Are you sure about that-”

  The Dusknoir’s eye glowed a deep red as George pressed him, scaring him off. “Yes. Stop talking, they will hear you.”

  Any questions or remarks to the contrary be damned, Hein got the trio moving. George’s attempt at getting reassurance was shut down, and he ended up carrying a frown on his face as they got going. Between the violence, Hein’s injury, and the fact that he was back on dangerous soil, he wasn’t feeling too optimistic.

  Worst of all, however, is that Hein wasn’t being honest. Aside from the fact that he couldn’t keep his spare hand off his shoulder, he had a habit of drifting off course as he floated, all while groaning ominously soft. George didn’t like it, but bit his tongue. Terez said nothing either. They didn’t have a choice.

  ‘If we get caught like this, then what?’

  After crossing several hills, George took a few seconds to look back. The sounds of battle had died down, the echoes of the sea bellowing like a Wailord having replaced it. The army had retreated; they were on their own now.

  “George?”

  Hein was staring right at him, a concerned glint in his eye. Still the Dusknoir rubbed his shoulder, still his ectoplasm twitched. George frowned back, his fingers twiddling against each other behind his back.

  ‘Why is he looking at me? You’re the injured one, here.’