In a world full of floating islands, sky pirates, exiled magicians, and Pokémon, peace is difficult to maintain.
Shaymin, kind Pokémon who'd guided travelers once man learned how to fly, were hunted to extinction for their Gracideas: magical flowers...
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One.
It took but one day for all of August's power to be stripped away from her. Gone was her freedom and the weapon to steal it back as she was forced into shackled confines. She had nothing on her person but her mind. And her mind was reeling, stuttering, grappling to find solutions to the worsening problem at-hand. She couldn't solve the conflict with words, not when her opponents were sharper duelers than her.
Scarlet-coated heathens had shackled her group, corralling them all at once within the Phantomwell lobby. There was no escaping their aggressive clutches. Not without losing a life. That was the last thing they needed.
Two.
Cyryl and Lang were strung along behind her. Both of the magicians were stunned into silence, too terrified to speak. They looked for her with desperate eyes, their irises trembling as they waited for her to give them a knowing glare that assured them they'd be okay. She had no comfort to offer. All they saw was her regret for being so stupid to come so close to the law.
August couldn't stop cursing at herself. Guilt crippled her from the inside-out. This could've been prevented. She could've prevented this. She knew better, she knew she did. Yet here she was suffering for the consequences of her shortsightedness alongside those she cared deeply about. It sickened her to the core.
Three.
The trio sat alone in the back of the wagon they were tethered to, sat upon the rickety carriage like livestock being sent off for slaughter. Marley and Nuri were carried in a separate wagon, wedged tightly inside of much too tiny cages. Pidge was nowhere to be seen; he'd escaped, and August hadn't a clue when she'd see the hawkish bird ever again.
They were to meet their ends at the capital of Rubrelum, Scarlet. It was there that the violent Queen Zeya would have their heads split from their necks in her throne room for putting her son at harm. No matter how many times they insisted that they were the ones who rescued Prince Dedan from his demise, the soldiers refused to listen. They snapped at the three to stay quiet and still unless they wished to meet their deaths early.
One of the brutes had tried to strike Cyryl for shouting in zir sleep. August had interfered, throwing herself between him and the teen. He'd struck her face and thrown her to the ground, taunting her to fight. And fight she nearly did. Bound or not, she'd been ready to beat the man senseless. It'd taken two soldiers to separate them. They weren't allowed in the same vicinity afterward.
Lang became the communicator between the soldiers and their party afterward, holding onto all her dignity with an iron fist. The men respected her merely for the pendant she bore which astounded August on how far the nurse's family's power reached. It was easier not to question it and just stay quiet. Staying quiet wasn't easy, though. August's mouth bled constantly from biting her tongue; copper was the taste she knew most well.
