Ah, I love having a blank slate to write on. ^^

Disclaimer: Pokemon belongs to Nintendo and Shogakukan Comics. This non-profit, non-copyright infringing fanfiction belongs to me under international copyright laws and taking it is plagiarism. Thank you. *Phantomness bows*

Notes: <> for telepathy, ** for thoughts, italics if a pokemon talks

Summary: AU. A blind priestess, an innocent boy, and a prince-turned mercenary… the fate of the world rests in their hands. Yes, I know its cliché!
Title: Sacred Fire

Chapter 1

He was not a man to give in to fate, but he could not deny the undercurrents of energy that had tugged insistently on his sleeves and the hem of his cloak. He irritably scraped the mud off his leather boots before he entered the shrine.

The noxious smell of incense almost set him to coughing once he entered. Lugia, what was worth knowing that he had to come here?

Still…

An old voice spoke, oozing out of the dank cave like some sea serpent. He placed his hand on the hilt of his rapier, but it stopped him.

“So you have come, Dragon’s-Child, Prince of the Eastern Sea.”

“That name is no longer mine.” He said sharply. His parting with his family had been unpleasant. Still, his new life and line of work paid well enough, though his sleepless nights were many.

“I understand.”

“Then why do you address me by a title that is dead?”

There was a scrabbling sound, and a dark curtain was pushed aside. He automatically covered his eyes as a wrinkled face, scored with the white pits of the Ravager’s disease, backlit by a single candelabra appeared.

“I have come with a warning for you, Dragon’s Child.”

“Then state it.” He said irritably. She smiled.

“You wander the world yet, but soon the world shall burn, and within the flames you will find your peace, and perhaps you shall also find the love you were destined for.”

Golden eyes narrowed in distaste. So, it was another senile old woman pretending to be a fortuneteller. “Is that all you have to stay?”

“You shall find more answers when you speak to the Priestess of Moltres.”

“Excellent. I shall take no more of your important time then.” He replied. A moment later, there was a wet thump.

He watched old wood catch fire behind him as he laughed. Fools. But it would do no good if she brought news of his location to his mother, so it was better not to let any who remembered him live.

He whistled, and the dragon came for him.

“Let’s go.”

“Another one has fallen, Priestess.”

The Priestess did not turn her head as she steadily stirred the glowing coals in their copper brazier. Satisfied with the warmth, she set the teapot to boil.

“Priestess!”

“I know of this Priestess Rochelle’s death well.” She said calmly.

“Does it not concern you?”

The Priestess laughed, a harsh noise that resounded like roaring flame amidst a rushing wind. Plumes of red-gold flame lit in her black hair.

“No. She was a fool. It is better that she not spread lies.”

“But Priestess! She was one of Honou’s…”

“She was not.” The Priestess rose to her feet. “Speak no more of this.”

The servant quailed under her vicious glare, and nodded. The Priestess slowly walked sixteen steps forwards, and knelt before the shrine of Moltres, her ceremonial silks rustling slightly.

“Leave me.”

The servant did so, with utmost haste.

For a second, he had seen a flicker of gold in her blind eyes.

Moltres was speaking.

He shivered.

He heard the cries as he recalled Dragonair. Foolish. The holding sphere in his hands shrunk to the size of a marble of gold, and he carefully passed the thin steel chain around his neck through the loop.

It was a comforting weight against his collarbone.

Now what was the commotion up ahead?

The Dragon Blade at his side hummed in anticipation of a battle. He could feel the thrill of lighting sparking through his body.

This might be fun.

He dodged the rotten tomatoes the passerby were flinging at him, huddled into a corner behind a midden heap. Clutched the three small stones in his hands tightly.

Worthless child!

Waste of space!

You are no blood of mine!

But it hadn’t been so bad, not until the Priest got involved. He remembered the man’s pale face.

Tis unnatural!

Tis… evil….

He must be an agent of evil!

Begone, demon spawn!

All this commotion because he had found these stones in the river that ran by their town! He looked at them again. Red, blue, and yellow…

They were glassy and perfectly round, almost, like marbles.

What was wrong with them?

He had tried to get an answer, but his mother had slapped him and thrown him out of the house, and he had pounded on the door till his hands bled with splinters.

Now though, no one would want him.

He cut a dashing figure as he strode through the marketplace. She blushed when she saw him. He wore fine silks in shades of a dark blue almost black, and pristine white leather gloves. He was obviously a nobleman of high rank.

It was hard not to look, especially when he stopped in front of her stall.

She brightened. He was eying a string of glass beads that were a clear sky-blue color. It had been one of her late father’s finest pieces. After a moment of silent contemplation he nodded, and turned to her with a charming smile.

“How much for these?”

“Five silvers.”

An eyebrow was raised, and for a moment, she wondered if she had overstated the price. He reached into his cloak and handed her a single gold coin, winking brightly.

“Fare thee well, then, fair lady!”

With that, he was off in a swirl of cloak.

Delia Ketchum looked down at her stall, at the glass trinkets covering it, and a traitorous blush crept over her cheeks.

End Chapter

Completed 5/12/06

Come on, you must know who the characters were. It was Lance, then Charlotte, then Lance again, and then Ash, and finally Delia… Charlotte is the Priestess of Moltres – and yes, I know, I like Moltres.