Pokemon: Echoes of the dusk

The next morning arrived with a burst of sunlight that spilled through the window of Shion's small inn room.

For once, he hadn't overslept.

He stood in front of the mirror, smoothing out the front of his coat and tightening the strap of his green scarf. The fabric was frayed and worn, edges tattered by wind and time but he wouldn't trade it for anything. It was the same scarf he wore when he first left Riverleaf. A reminder of where this all began.

His fingers hovered over his belt. Three Poké Balls gleamed there Rune, Kiba, Raku.

He took a slow breath, clipped them in place, and nodded once to himself.

"Alright. Let's do this."

Outside, the city of Ravios was alive.

But not the usual bustle of commerce and chatter. This was different. More focused. Tense.

People crowded the streets in organized rows, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with restless energy. Street vendors had cleared away their stalls. Guards in crimson armor lined the walkways. Civilians stood with children on their shoulders, hands shading their eyes.

Shion walked out of the inn and blinked at the sudden brightness and the sheer stillness of the crowd.

He glanced at a man nearby. "Hey, what's going on?"

The man looked at him like he'd missed the most obvious thing in the world.

"The royal family," he said simply. "They're coming."

Shion stiffened.

"The Ravelle royal family?" he echoed.

The man nodded. "They're attending the opening of the tournament. Same as always. But this time, King Hadren himself is arriving. Not just his envoys."

Shion's heart skipped.

He had heard the name King Hadren Ravelle more than once. Dunlin had spoken of him with rare respect. An aging warrior-king who had once been known as a titan on the battlefield, both in combat and in Pokémon duels. A king who once traveled the continent and defeated three warlords during the border skirmishes in his youth.

"He used to be a hell of a trainer," Dunlin had said. "Now he's old and sickly, but his eyes are still sharp."

Shion turned just in time to hear the sound.

A clatter of hooves.

A whoosh of fire.

And then the crowd shifted, parting like water around a great stone. The main road through the city cleared and down it came a procession of knights on flaming Rapidash, their armor polished to mirror-bright silver, spears upright in perfect rhythm.

At their center, drawn by four majestic Mudsdale clad in gold-accented harnesses, came a black-and-crimson carriage etched with the lion crest of the Ravelle Kingdom.

The people erupted into cheers.

"Long live the king!"

"Glory to House Ravelle!"

"All hail Hadren the Flame!"

Shion stood still, eyes wide. For once, even Bidoof was quiet though not for long.

He could see them.

Inside the carriage, visible through the open canopy

A man with steel-gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard sat upright. His expression was firm, regal, but tired his presence commanding nonetheless. He wore a black cloak with silver embroidery, and at his chest was a crestplate that shimmered with light.

That was King Hadren Ravelle.

Beside him, the queen tall, elegant, and composed waved gently to the crowd, her dress of soft violet hues trailing like water.

And opposite them sat two younger figures.

The first, a man perhaps in his early twenties, had sharp features, well-groomed red hair, and carried himself with the easy confidence of someone born into power. His golden-trimmed uniform and loose, cocky smile made him the picture of a charming heir.

The other…

Shion blinked.

A young woman. Maybe his age, or a little older. She sat perfectly still, eyes half-lidded, gaze distant. Her hair long, flowing, and ink-black shimmered in the sun. Her skin was porcelain pale, and her golden eyes were unnervingly calm.

Shion's breath caught. For a second, just a second, he thought her eyes met his.

"…Pretty," he whispered.

Beside him, someone chuckled. "She gets that a lot."

Shion startled. A man nearby grinned, elbowing him gently.

"That's Princess Amelia," he said. "They say her gaze is colder than an Articuno's wing."

Shion looked down, cheeks faintly red.

He peeked back up.

Amelia hadn't moved.

…Probably just my imagination.

The carriage rolled past.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Shion blinked, snapped back to reality.

The tournament!

He yelped and bolted, weaving through the crowd, Bidoof squealing from inside his satchel.

They reached the coliseum just as the final bell rang and a pair of armored guards waved him in with barely a glance.

The Grand Coliseum's interior was even more overwhelming than its outer shell.

The waiting chamber was massive a circular, domed room with sandstone walls and hundreds of people inside. The floor was marked with lined zones. Lanterns hung from thick chains above. Steel grates opened to training areas, locker wings, and resting quarters.

Shion stood frozen just inside the threshold.

There were dozens of trainers already present.

Some stood in silent meditation. Others stretched, cleaned their gear, or whispered strategy to their teammates. Mercenaries in scarred armor leaned on greatspears. Knights in shining plate spoke in formal tones. A pirate captain in a feathered coat tossed a Poké Ball between his fingers with a wild grin.

An entire team of Aldaran monks stood in a prayer circle, their Pokémon glowing faintly at their belts.

And in one corner, several students from the Ravios Royal Academy sat in quiet confidence, trading glances with the others like predators in tall grass.

No Pokémon were out, save for a few small ones a Pichu here, a Natu there. Everyone else was saving strength.

Shion found an empty spot near one of the columns and leaned against it, trying to slow his racing heart.

This is a battlefield. No, it's more than that. This is a stage… for warriors. Champions.

Then Bidoof twitched.

Hard.

It stuck its head out of the bag, eyes wide.

Shion blinked. "What's wrong now?"

The divine rodent looked around, sniffed once, then again.

Its eyes narrowed.

"There's a Plate here."

Shion froze. "I thought you said the Academy had it."

"This is different," Bidoof said, voice low and urgent. "This one… it's already bound."

"What do you"

"Don't look directly. Left side of the chamber. Tall. Black coat. Scars on the neck."

Shion followed with the subtlest glance.

A man stood in the shadow of one of the archways.

He was tall. Broad-shouldered. His black cloak was frayed at the bottom, and a scar ran across the left side of his neck, disappearing into his collar. His hair was dark, unkempt. One hand rested on the hilt of a blade-like weapon too thin to be a greatsword, too long for a dagger.

And he radiated danger.

Even without a Pokémon at his side, Shion felt it like standing too close to a lightning storm.

"That's him," Bidoof murmured. "The Plate is with him. I can feel it. Faint, but constant. He's bonded to it."

Shion swallowed.

Another Plate.

But not in ruins.

Not sealed.

Held. Owned. Used.

And the man holding it… was in the tournament.