Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Hands of Creation

Act I - A Fragile Identity

Everything went dark. He heard his mother sobbing softly. Sighing with relief. That, too, faded into warm silence.

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The dim glow of nighttime mushrooms colored the rocky walls of the cave. Mixing with this light were flickering embers of orange and yellow. Owen laid belly-down in the middle of these flames, enjoying the warmth; they licked at his scales and washed over his back. The flame at the end of his tail got hotter, brimming with energy. He rolled over to sear his back next.

Wait. What happened? Wasn't he—

"No resting on the fire, Owen."

"Wh—huh? I wasn't!" He rolled away and quickly hid beneath his bed of leaves. Some of them turned black from the fire, but they didn't burn.

"Ngh," He held his chest. It felt bruised. And his back was killing him.

The blue-haired Gardevoir peeked into the room, her white dress aglow from the mushrooms and the fire. She sighed, smiling. "You're lucky we got you that special Rawst bed, or we'd need to replace it every night!" She laughed, but then walked over, patting him on the head.

"Yeah..."

Another voice whispered from the other room. "Amia, is he okay?"

Owen saw the burning shoulders of his Magmortar father. A vague image flashed in front of his mind of that very same Magmortar bursting into an explosion of blue embers. Bluer than his mother's hair. That must have been a dream.

"It's very late, Owen. Get some rest." Amia gently pressed her hand against his back.

Owen eased himself onto his bed of leaves again, giving a defeated nod. "Okay, Mom."

Right before going to bed, his mind felt muddled again. In the corner of his eye, he saw an eerie glow. His consciousness abruptly cut out.

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Breakfast was a hearty veggie mushroom stew that bubbled thickly with steam. The table had three seats. Two were sized for the smaller frames of the mother and son. Both were approximately the same width, albeit oversized for Owen. The third seat was much larger than the rest—to accommodate its usual occupant. Alex, bumping his cannon-arms nervously, looked down at his food without a hint of an appetite.

"What's wrong?" Owen asked.

"N-nothing," Alex said. He refused to make eye contact.

Owen squinted suspiciously. He glanced at Amia, who giggled nervously and looked at her half-eaten bowl.

"Mmm. How are you feeling, Owen?" she asked.

"Perfect! But, uh, I don't know. Did you ever have that feeling where you had a really good dream, but then you can't... remember it?"

Owen noticed the subtle, shocked expressions in his parents' eyes, but he didn't acknowledge it. Sometimes he liked to act like he noticed less than he did.

"I had one of those," Owen continued. "But I can't remember any of it. I think I was having a really big fight. I remember my heart racing!" Owen played with a lump of a potato in the stew. He chomped on a glowing mushroom. It tasted tangy, which helped balance the stew.

He grabbed his bowl and downed half of his breakfast. His parents' expressions were grave, but they feigned a smile when he looked at them again.

Owen knew this but chose not to point it out. "Weird, huh? Dreams are funny."

"Oh, Owen, maybe you're just nervous about all this," his mother said. "Becoming stronger, more responsibilities. Being part of the Thousand Hearts is a big deal, after all! ...If you get in. Remember, there's no shame in failing the exams. Only a thousand can ever be in their combat division, hand-picked by the Heart of Hearts himself..."