PoV:
Amira!
Pokemon Map I Loosely Use For Visual Aid: The distance between areas might be different; some cities are somewhat incorrect, a few routes have been mislabeled, and some cities aren't listed, but it's the best I've found.
Google Document (In-line Comments)
1:03 p.m., November 7th, Saturday, 106 PH (Post Hoopa Event). Day 151.
Events: Rhea and the girls are on a Badge Hunt, trying to get all the Kanto Encrusted Badges before time runs out! Our girl started her journey on the 9th of June, and the registration deadline for the Winter Indigo Cup is December 5th (27 days away).
Amira’s knuckles pressed into the cool metal of the console as time appeared to move in slow motion. Goosebumps running down her arms, her neck and shoulders tense, the sound roaring from the crowd and announcers muted by the dull thump in her ears.
Beside her, the holographic screen of her synchronized phone projected every Move their opponents had used. Her own Moves, Abilities, and combinations she’d stitched together since the start of their journey—every piece of knowledge she’d gained.
I should win…
I should win…
Why can’t I win?
Serenity spun, water droplets dancing as she wove around attacks, applying status effects to disrupt synergy. Confusion was somehow made useless. Yet, Paralysis managed to trigger multiple times.
Her hand flew up, on a nearby screen, swiftly scanning blog posts on obscure Master forums Rhea had shown her—theory forums across the Master’s community she didn’t even fully utilize. It had been an invaluable resource over the last few weeks.
…At high enough training, Master Trainers can send bursts of their Fortitude to allow faster recovery of Confusion—the same for Hypnosis and Sleep. Downside: it can also trigger Paralysis more often. So you have to layer them.
It has a counter. We countered.
It still isn’t enough.
Her ruby eyes darted to the hologram above, her grandfather’s hands still held behind his back, following the battle with a dispassionate calm.
You shouldn’t be implementing that kind of counter that I have to counter…
It’s against the rules.
I don’t have the accuracy in my Aura or Fortitude to boost their matrix defense or provide more Personal Power… But Rhea does, even if she doesn’t do it consciously.
I’m not skilled enough.
She fought back the tide rolling through her chest.
It’s not fair…
That’s the point.
Why is it the point, Grandpa?!
Amira saw it before it happened. It was only a matter of time.
Sable forced Serenity’s Protect.
That was all it took.
Sol came flying down, Heavy Slam carrying the Numel to crush Serenity into the ground.
Levitate neutralized.
Magnitude followed—
Category-7. Point-blank.
The pressure rippled through Serenity, fracturing the stone beneath, sending spiderwebs outward ten meters and sending dusk erupting upward.
Eighty thousand people were on their feet, the announcers’ voices crashing against each other in a torrent of excitement and disbelief.
But from where Amira stood, gripping the console, the world had gone still.
She felt it in her chest.
…We lost.
By the time the dust settled, the crowd had grown quiet. All breath was held. All eyes locked between her and the stoic Gym Leader. He stood atop his podium, wife and assistant by his side, gazing down upon the devastated field with the cadence of a general.
Serenity’s image on the challenger hologram faded.
The Numel rose off the crater floor, half-lidded eyes looking almost apologetic in the dull amber light reflecting off him in the hologram displays.
Sable, perched on her rock, tail curled, not waving this time.
And above it all, her grandfather.
Still, hands behind his back.
The cameras split the holographic displays into quadrants—the crater dominating the center feed, Sol and Sable occupying the left frame, the VIP section on the right.
Amira’s jaw tightened as her mother’s face filled that corner.
She wasn’t crying. She was standing, Silver’s arms no longer holding her back, her small frame rigid against the railing of the VIP box, eyes locked on her daughter with an expression Amira had never seen on her. An unusual conflict of emotions on her young face.
Her father’s hand was on her mother’s shoulder, and his eyes on Giovanni.
Red-rimmed. Hard.
The crowd’s noise returned in a slow wave, washing over Amira as if she were surfacing from deep water. She heard the words without processing them.
In that small rise came the sound of Viridian’s closing bracket music.
Villains and the city’s choir, rising with the noise of the spectators and announcers.
Amira only caught fragments as her focus fell to her motionless Feebas.
“—first loss—”
“—incredible showing—”
“—Serenity just—”
“—Christie’s incredible—”
“—Ms. Rocket showed—”
“—This is the end of today’s Silver Bracket—”
Amira felt hollow as she lifted Serenity’s Poke Ball. Yet, at the same time, so full of emotion that her body felt like it was stretching at the seams.
The capsule’s red light connected, carrying Serenity back.
Mariah looked at her with that worried expression she often had.
Amira held up the Poke Ball and showed the only smile she could.
Pride in her Pokemon. That was all that could lift her lips.
Through the bond, she’d felt her Feebas’ final attitude.
Essentially: screw you.
She pressed the capsule against her lips, the violins and choir in the background as she placed it on the transport device to the Gym’s Center.
Her hands were steady now.
Her insides, not so much.
Amira looked up.
Giovanni hadn’t moved. He was watching the way he always watched. The way she’d learned to watch people… From above, from a distance, with that careful arrangement of features that gave nothing and took everything.
Purrfection was pressed against his leg, and even the Persian was still, his earlier nervousness gone.
The stadium went quiet against the refined classical number.
Her grandmother stood beside him, hands clasped, fractures visible to anyone who knew where to look—dissatisfaction with the circumstance. Not judgment. Melancholy.
Matori’s tablet hung at her side, forgotten, and the assistant’s eyes glistened in the amber light in a way she would deny if asked, even if recorded.
Amira breathed.
In. Out.
The anger was there.
Not at him. Not at herself. Not at Sable, Sol, or Toshi. Not at the Feint that had passed through Protect or the Magnitude that had pinned Serenity to the glass and stone.
At the truth of what this battle was.
At the look in his eyes.
But she was angry.
She felt the recording in her chest—her father on his knees, her mother’s name spoken like a casualty report, the eggs that were saved and then weren’t.
She felt the hallway—the glass case, the photograph, the feather carved in stone.
She felt her mother’s kitchen that morning, the sun on Lyra’s face, the unspoken words behind the pancakes, and the carefully chosen outfits.
She was furious.
A flame welling up within her veins.
The fires of war.
This wasn’t about a badge.
A grandfather and granddaughter.
This was a lesson…
About the unfairness of war.
About their future.
I died. In this battle… I died.
In war, there are no second chances.
No rules. No barriers. Like Plasma’s bullet.
Only the restrictions each side puts on itself…
The sacrifices each side is willing to make.
Power. It’s all about power.
Training can be fun. But it is no game.
The silence held.
Giovanni looked at her.
She looked at him.
His mouth didn’t open.
Neither did hers.
The stadium waited.
The music ended.
And three seconds later, she spoke, clear and with focus.
“…I will see you next week.”
His chin dipped—not a nod, not the measured acknowledgment he’d given Rhea, not the gentle tilt he’d offered before—just the smallest downward motion that said he heard what was underneath the words.
Amira turned, and her platform descended.
Grandpa, you know I don’t want to believe in your whole philosophy…
But I can’t deny reality either.
Mariah jumped down to follow as the tunnel swallowed her.
Green veins pulsing. The hum of the crystals faded behind her.
The clicks of her footsteps were dull thuds, echoing off the stone.
She passed the security cameras, always watching, to stop at the glass display case on her left. Her grandfather at forty. The Nidoking. The plaque.
Her fingers found the glass. She pressed them against the surface, four fingertips, then the palm, the coolness seeping into her skin as her narrowed eyes fixated on the man he used to be.
I know nothing can happen without power.
Institutions are worthless without enforcement.
Enforcement comes from people…
Her reflection overlapped his image again, just as it had on the way in—red hair, her mother’s jaw, his posture. Her fingernails curled.
I know Lance, Cynthia, Red…Mom could scour this world of life if they chose to.
They don’t. But they could. And no system could stop them.
The sound was small, the faintest scratch of keratin against glass, and it traveled through her hand and up her arm and into the place behind her breastbone where the coal was still burning. She held it for three seconds. Then, released it and kept walking.
Mariah didn’t make a note. Neither did Tess, trying to understand.
The Meloetta simply fell into step, her small hand finding Amira’s, her pink eyes forward. She didn’t look up. She just walked with her.
I’m not a pessimist. I’m not nihilistic.
I’m part my grandfather, and part my mother…
Amira’s gaze fell as her hand settled on the locker room door, recalling that video in her grandfather’s office. The recorded evidence refused to unlatch itself around her heart.
At least, the mother I know…
Oh, Mom. How much have you carried for me…
For the world?
The locker room was loud when she entered.
Heads turned. The chatter dipped. Women who had been watching the screens shifted in their seats, and Amira felt their gazes—not pity, not the sharp assessment she’d gotten from competitors earlier. Something warmer.
A woman in her twenties—one of the challengers who’d lost earlier—gave her a nod and a quiet, “That was incredible.”
Amira returned it with a smile that engaged exactly the right muscles, conveyed exactly the right amount of gratitude, and revealed exactly none of the fire eating her alive.
“Thank you.”
She moved through the locker room with the practiced grace of someone who had been watched her entire life. Rhea had cracked her trained facade, but she also cheated.
Her mask still did its intended work.
She collected her towel, found the shower area, and placed a replacement dress her mother had prepared that morning in the separator to change into.
Amira felt the sweat everywhere—dirty, tense, and cold.
Why cold?
Mariah positioned herself beside the shower entrance, hands clasped in front of her. Tess came out, rolling close and pressing against the Meloetta’s base.
Both of them sent warmth through the bond. It was steadying, patient, distant enough to be space, and close enough to be present.
The shower door closed behind her.
Undressing slowly, she took care to inspect each piece. She took time to inspect her face, thick hair, and body, unbinding her braid to comb it out with her hands.
There was a ritual to it that somehow helped stabilize her since she was a little girl.
She had rarely had to use it since becoming a teenager.
Amira took a step back to look at herself in the mirror.
Identifying each part of herself that fit her family—her grandparents, parents, Auntie Mars—and how each person made her feel inside.
It was overlaid with what everyone else saw.
Yet, the ritual of care she did wasn’t for her sake… It was for her family’s.
The Rocket name. The Rocket image.
Her perfect proportions. Her crimson irises. Her sculpted face. Her thick, ruby locks fell to her thighs. Her blemishless skin, precisely bridged between light and tan.
She slid her healthy, naturally pink fingernails down her throat with slender fingers, where her songstress’ voice came out. She moved them to her long, toned legs, grazing the skin to the tip of her model-acclaimed feet.
Every part of her felt in order. Every part was accepted in its beauty.
Exactly how she survived the world.
Next, she moved to other names—her teammates, the men bidding for her attention, family friends, acquaintances, those who idolized her, and how the rest of the world viewed her.
How few friends she actually had—
In fact, if she counted them, it would truly be only one.
Rhea. Not even Lori would truly be counted.
A sad smile moved her full lips as she leaned closer to stare into her reflected eyes.
“My, what impossible standards you hold… Such fear and insecurity… Is this truly who I want to be? I always idolized Mom and Grandpa… But do I even know them… The real them? Who should I be?”
Her hair slid to the side as she tilted her head, the flames still raging inside, yet on the surface, she felt so cold.
“Self-inventory. Self-reflection. The curse of an overactive mind? A traumatized mind? Or perhaps…a little girl who has yet to truly find her own identity? How troublesome.”
She let her stress stream out with a melancholy, self-contradictory laugh, wiping a tear away from her eye as she started the shower.
The steam hit her face before the water did, the overhead system already running hot from someone before her, fogging the tile, turning the small space into a cocoon of white that sealed away the locker room and the stadium and the crater and the glass case and her grandfather’s eyes.
Amira stood under the spray.
The water hit her skull and split across her shoulders, running down her bare skin. Her hair darkened, becoming heavier against her neck as it drank the water like a sodden rope until the tail hung against the back of her thighs.
It became a curtain of dark red that turned the water almost black, spreading across her shoulders, down her arms, and sticking to her cheeks, jaw, and the bridge of her nose.
It was everywhere. Unmanageable. Unlike whatever twisted in her chest.
The kind of hair that took forty minutes to dry, another twenty to tame, and which her mother called “the Rocket gene” with a laugh that hid the pride.
Those thoughts came in broken, uneven pieces until Amira pressed her forehead against the tile. The water ran down her back as the pace of the moist air filling her lungs quickened.
Why do I do this even in private?
Why do I shut myself down?
Control everything?
Stop…
Her fist hit the wall.
Stop…
Not hard. Not a punch.
Stop…
Just a press that became a knock.
Stop.
That became a tap-tap-tap of knuckles against wet ceramic, her jaw working, her nose twitching as something behind her eyes fought to get out.
Her knuckles tapped the tile again.
Once. Twice.
Stop!
He wasn’t looking down on her.
But it felt like it. Like she couldn’t make the sacrifices needed.
And that was worse than if he had been, because she couldn’t even be rightfully angry at the expression—only at the feeling it carved into her chest.
The water ran down her face; she couldn’t tell what was water and what wasn’t.
“Stop compressing it…”
Her palms rose to her forehead, pressing flat, fingers pushing into her hairline, shoving the heavy, soaked mass of red back from her face. It fell immediately—too thick, too heavy, too much—and she did it again, and again, the motion becoming rhythmic, mechanical, a physical loop that her body performed while her mind went somewhere else.
Mom knew. She went anyway.
Lyra had walked into a battle knowing the chemical agent would likely sterilize her. Knowing Rainbow Rocket’s forces would deploy it. And she’d gone because the alternative was losing her. Losing Rhea. Losing everything they’d fought to get to in that moment.
“I can make sacrifices. I can…”
Her mother had chosen her over the children she could have had.
Her grandfather let her.
And neither gave that option to anyone else.
Tears fell from her eyes. She couldn’t stop them.
She saw Leaf and Blue now—
One of her mom’s best friends.
And she’d done that to her…for Amira.
“…I don’t know if I can make that sacrifice to Rhea.”
She swallowed.
“I don’t know…”
Amira opened her stinging eyes, glaring at the tiles.
How could Mom have done that to Leaf?
Because of me?
How can I be that strong? Is that strong?
I don’t know…
“I don’t know if there is a right answer. And that scares me.”
Her forehead pressed against the tile.
“It’s not fair… Life isn’t fair.”
And today—on that arena floor—he’d shown her what it looked like when someone in power made decisions for people who couldn’t stop them. Rules broken. Outcomes predetermined. Nothing you could do but fight and lose.
The moment she learned the truth about her mother, the Gym battle was no longer a test of the system… It was, can you feel the unfairness and still function?
Her fist hit the tile harder this time.
Yes. Obviously yes. I’m standing here. I’m functioning.
Her nose twitched.
But it burns. And I hate it.
“I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.”
She breathed. In through her nose, out through her mouth, the steam filled her lungs with wet heat that sat against her chest like a compress.
Through the bond, Amber was unconscious but dreaming. Holly was under, too—her spirit a dim flicker, the Poison finally clearing from her matrix as the Center’s treatments took hold. And Serenity, Serenity was fighting in her dreams—Amira could feel it.
“I’ll find a better way. But sometimes… You don’t. Dammit.”
The shower door opened slightly behind her.
“Red? You in here? …Oh, Mariah, Tess.”
Lori’s voice, gentle in a way the Unova girl rarely was.
Amira took another moment to breathe, wiping at her stinging eyes, though the water still ran down her face.
“…Yeah. Just freshening up.”
Rhea’s follow-up made Amira press a hand against her chest, feeling a surge of pressure inside, hoping she couldn’t sense her Aura at this distance.
“Okay. Take your time.” It sounded normal, but the blonde had gotten a lot better at voice control…thanks to her. “Cass has a table reserved at that fancy place facing Viridian Park. You can see Rocket Tower, I think? Lunch, or early dinner—whatever. Umm. Bunch of treats, too.”
“Arceus knows I need them,” Lori groaned. “Agh! I’m so mad I lost! Your grandpa’s such a jerk… Oh. You’ve got two hours before anything, so don’t rush. To be honest, I kind of want to sulk for a bit and let Rhea soothe my broken maiden’s heart!”
“Lori! You’re heavy…”
“So mean, Sunshine! Be my princess charming for a minute…”
“Haha. I’ll try my best, but usually I’m the one being carried by my prince, so…bear with me here if I drop you. Huugh!”
“Yay! Princess carry. Just don’t tell Kekoa, or he’ll get jealous I found competition!”
“Nee! Nee!” Lulu cried from somewhere nearby.
“Oh, don’t be jealous. I’m not stealing her away from Jason. And you always get carried…”
“Neee!”
The door closed.
Amira stood there, water running, hair everywhere, her forehead against the tile, and she laughed. Quietly. With a lot of pressure and internal angst. But she laughed.
Those two… Two hours, hmm?
Rhea would probably be sitting on a bench with Lori, attempting to manage the Unovan girl’s chaos, fidgeting with her charm bracelet. At the same time, worrying about her and trying to figure out some way to support her without having to ask.
Mom and Dad will probably be roped into going out to eat.
That’s good…
Grandpa and Grandma will probably have a long talk tonight.
And me… I don’t know.
“I guess that’s the biggest lesson, Grandpa… Who I am is defined in how I sacrifice, huh?” She pulled away from the wall to look down at her hands, letting water pool in them, fall, and collapse against the tile. “There’s a certain level of peace in that statement. Isn’t there?”
Her fingers curled into her palm.
“So… What sacrifices will I make?”
The water ran.
She needed to get stronger.
Not a little stronger. Not one more badge, one more tier, or one more trick.
Monumentally stronger.
Because Rhea was the benchmark.
Rainbow Rocket had commissioned her as an experiment—Aura, genetic enhancements, Legendary bonds, all of it. And they’d lost her. She’d been rescued. She was here, on their side… On her team. Her only friend, and she was growing into something extraordinary.
But Rhea was just the first, she thought, emotions settling as her muscles eased.
The prototype.
When the Wormholes open again—and they will—what comes through wouldn’t be one Rhea raised by loving parents, with empathy, restraint, and friends who grounded her.
It could be a dozen Rheas.
Trained from birth. No restraint. No empathy.
War machines, the way Green was raised, before she broke free.
…That was Grandpa’s real warning to me.
She looked up, brow tightening.
That was why he pushed to place me on Rhea’s team.
Not to protect Rhea from the world.
To protect the world from what Rhea might become if the wrong people got to her first… If, in the future, there are dozens of enemy Rhea, I would know their limits and capacity.
She straightened, shifting to look at the fogless mirror beside her at the reflection. Her knuckles pressed against the tile one last time, and she felt something new forming in her heart.
If I can’t handle this… I can’t handle what is to come.
She saw Rhea’s battle against Blaine, Lulu’s power exploding into a show that would go down in history.
I can’t beat Rhea right now… Not if she’s serious.
Amira drew back, seeing the blonde wrapped in V’s fire, her own enormous Aura and Fortitude expanding outward, forcing Sabrina and Blaine to get serious and personally intervene.
The myriad of world-class threats that all judged and feared her friend. She felt every moment she’d spent getting to know the uncertain, innocent, isolated country girl, and let it work into her chest.
I’ll protect Rhea. I’ll protect Mom this time…
I have to surpass Rhea if I want to protect her.
She pushed off the wall. Turned the water off. Pulled her hair back—the heavy, sodden mass of red clinging to everything, tangling around her fingers—and pressed out the liquid.
Silence met her. Steam drifted around her. And Amira stood there, dripping for a few seconds, listening to the faint sounds of the locker room beyond and staring at her face.
Her eyes were glowing crimson—
Her Aura forming tight around her body.
Then, it faded.
Something changed.
What that was? She didn’t know.
Dawn or her mother might.
She’d ask tonight.
In the background, women’s voices bled through, all attempting to engage Lori and Rhea, with the clinking of lockers.
Mariah’s bond felt stronger. A lot stronger.
She could feel all of her Pokemon strengthening.
Whether this was a product of Rhea, herself, or a combination, it didn’t matter.
All that mattered was what she’d sacrifice to see her vision through.
Drying off, she smiled, whispering at the resonance that came from her two Pokemon on the opposite side of the door.
You two are sweet.
“Melo.”
“Ferro…”
She breathed, wiped her face, and began managing her hair—it was always the longest part of the process.
The coal was still burning, and she didn’t want it to go out.
Next week… I’ll win.
Once finished, she opened the door and stepped out to meet her teammates.
A war drum sounded in her chest.
And she would answer it.
Mariah looked up at her, pink eyes steady.
Amira offered her hand.
The Meloetta took it.
Tess floated into her other arm.
And they walked out together.