Celestia City, Virelia League Headquarters
Location: Ω-Restricted Wing, Inner Spire, below Aurora Plaza
Date: League Circuit Day 3
Accessing Agent: CHAMPION ASTRID EISENHART
The Virelia League Headquarters, nestled in the platinum peaks of Celestia City, towered over the brilliant sprawl of Aurora Plaza like a crown upon the heavens. It was a marvel—marble and glass, alloy and memory, where modernity bowed to tradition. Here, beneath its shining spires, battles were waged in silence: policy, secrets, power.
But beyond the eyes of the public, behind the frost-hued walls of the Inner Spire, battles of another kind were waged.
Policy. Secrecy. Control.
The League Circuit had only just begun. Young Trainers—bright, hopeful, trembling—were shaking hands with Gym Leaders and setting foot onto battlefields for the very first time. They believed this season would define them.
But in the corridors where the oxygen thinned and the security deepened, the Champion walked alone.
Her heels struck stone like a metronome. Not rushed, not hesitant. Calculated. Steady. A rhythm composed in pressure.
Astrid Eisenhart, crowned at fourteen.
The girl who dismantled titans and buried dynasties.
A Champion, yes. But also the keeper of the quiet war.
She passed clearance gates that hissed open without question. DNA verification, retinal scans, voice-match phrases—none slowed her. The security knew who she was. The League was her creation now. It bent to her hand.
Inside Archive Theta, the lights were sterile. Rows of high-vaulted interfaces whispered softly as they powered up. She approached the terminal already waiting for her—projected data spiraling into place.
Virelia League Classified Archive
Document ID: A-00417-VI/OB-SKY
Clearance Level: Ω-Class | Top Security Access Only
Filed Under: Ancient Energy Systems → Forbidden Technology
Title: The Skyfall Hypothesis & Project Harmonia Initiative
Author: Professor Sylvette Marquant (Temporal-Energy Cryptologist)
Approved by: Professor Ardene, Champion Astrid
Note from Prof. S. Marquant:
“The Plates could not be controlled. So they built fakes. That was Oblivia’s mistake. But balance doesn’t lie in control. It lies in resonance.”
Project Harmonia is a prototype device built using non-invasive harmonic resonance frequencies, developed quietly under Professor Marquant’s supervision in conjunction with surviving Ranger Union empathy models.
Its design: to stabilize emotional wavelengths between Pokémon and humans, effectively negating artificial control signatures—such as those seen in corrupted devices, —such as those seen in corrupted devices, Dark Balls, or Pulse Machines recovered from Eclipse cells. recovered from Eclipse cells.
Developed in secret under Marquant’s direction—using remnants of empathy-based Ranger Union tech—Harmonia does not force alignment. It harmonizes.
Its readings show promise. Its output is unstable.
Its existence is classified.
The device remains sealed in containment under Ω-Class restriction.
- Implications and Active Threat Monitoring
- Unregulated forced evolution spikes have been reported in rural sectors west of Verdantia.
- Pokémon behavioral shifts indicate prolonged exposure to synthetic frequency manipulation.
- Field scans at suspected Eclipse facilities have detected Oblivian pulse shell activity—evidence of Plate-mimicking energy cores.
Field Note (Marquant):
"If they tune it right, they won’t just control Pokémon…
They’ll override instinct. Strip them of self. Make them tools."
Astrid stood in silence, her gaze gliding across the data projections—biofeedback spirals, energy graphs, flickering readouts of entropy spikes and resonance fractures. She said nothing. She had said nothing the first time she read it. And yet, here she was again.
Not for confirmation.
She had no need to reread the context. She knew the name already buried beneath it.
Caelum Drayke. The Stormbringer.
The Stormbringer. The man who once strutted into every League assembly like the thunder was his anthem and the world his audience. A born showman. A battle-scarred icon. And a threat to anything resembling order.
He had swaggered through the Elite Four like he owned it—cracking jokes during briefings, disregarding protocols, and laughing off political nuance like it bored him. And perhaps it did. Caelum didn’t care for bureaucracy. He cared for lightning, spectacle, and proving to the world that no one could match him.
Until a girl did.
Caelum's team was infamous across Virelia’s League—Electrode, Rotom, Magnezone, Galvantula, Vikavolt—and his ace, always last to enter, was a Jolteon that moved faster than most Trainers could think. It didn't just sprint. It sliced through the air like a frequency spike, hitting weak points before opponents even registered the flash.
His matches left opponents disoriented, like they'd stepped into a song they didn’t know the beat of.
But then came Astrid.
She was fourteen. Draped in black, trimmed in steel-gray. No smile. No nerves. Just silence. Caelum, smug as ever, cracked a joke when she arrived—something loud and lazy about babysitting.
She just battled.
Not through brute force. Through precise disruption. She staggered its rhythm. Broke the tempo. Countered not just the attack, but the entire way he fought.
What shattered hiim wasn’t the loss. It was her silence. The indifference.
She walked past him afterward without a word, without a glance. Not out of cruelty—she simply didn’t consider him worth acknowledging.
Caelum stood there, silent at first, Jolteon slumped at his side, sparks still crackling weakly off its fur. The cheers of the battle hall faded around him, muffled beneath the ringing in his ears and the weight in his chest.
He watched the girl—no, the machine in a girl’s body—stride past him toward the Champion’s chamber, her coat swaying with each precise, unhurried step.
Then he laughed. Sharp. Bitter. Too loud.
“That all you got, kid?” he called out after her, voice laced with mockery, but strained beneath it.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
She didn’t stop.
“Guess you're just good at cleaning up trash before the main event.”
Still nothing. Not even a twitch.
Her steps never faltered. There was no hate. There was no disrespect.
It was a dismissal. Cold and complete.
As if she’d already forgotten his name.
He hadn’t left the League. Not willingly.
Astrid removed him.
Stripped of his Elite Four title. Revoked of his permissions. His data wiped from the League's systems, security codes overridden, his clearance badges nullified overnight. A single command from her, backed by the full force of her position, and he was nothing.
She didn’t even do it publicly.
There was no farewell speech. No broadcast announcement. No ceremony to soften the blow. Just silence—and then replacement.
He had refused to step down, of course. Called her arrogant, unfit, a child drunk on power. He raged, threatened, and even laughed when the revocation order arrived.
But she didn’t flinch. She had already planned around his tantrum.
By the time the dust settled, Caelum Drayke was gone. Outmaneuvered. Discarded. His place filled by someone younger, sharper, more compliant. As were others. Gym Leaders who couldn’t adapt to the new order. Officials who clung too tightly to the old ways.
Astrid rebuilt the League in her image. Not out of ego—but necessity.
She needed people she could guide. Manipulate, if she had to. Not because she desired control for control’s sake—but because the region needed control, and no one else had the will to seize it.
If the enemy would use ruthless tactics, so would she.
That was the deal. That was the line. And she hadn’t crossed it. She lived on it.
She never regretted what she did to Caelum. Not then. Not after. Not even now.
Even after learning—quietly, through shadowed channels, beyond the reach of public data—that he had aligned with Team Eclipse.
The message had come days earlier.
A whisper delivered by a shadowed figure at her private balcony, just past midnight. A soft, feminine voice. Nervous. Formal. Clear.
“Movement confirmed in Verdantia’s lower sectors. His signature was there. He’s with them now.”
Astrid hadn’t reacted outwardly. She simply nodded once. The figure disappeared as swiftly as she had come.
The message was clear. Her past was moving again.
But it didn’t shake her.
She already had her pieces in place.
Most of the League’s officials didn’t know the full scope of things. Neither did the Gym Leaders, or even the Council Board. Astrid preferred it that way. The fewer who knew, the fewer who could betray.
She would let the League Circuit unfold, smiling in photos and shaking hands at ceremonies. She would let the challengers believe they were climbing toward glory.
But behind every badge, every ribbon, every televised match…
Astrid would be watching.
She turned the next page.
Muck Pandy.
Former Champion.
Ghost of the League.
The decrypted data appeared like static resolving into form—slow, jagged, and incomplete. Thirty percent of the file had been unlocked after months of dedicated effort. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Except it wasn’t what she expected.
No team loadouts. No psychological evaluations. No performance reviews of value. Just… fragments.
Wild, useless, unbelievable fragments.
She scrolled.
- Caught a bullet with chopsticks.
No mission logs. No combat file. Only a footnote embedded in a heavily redacted document labeled: “Diplomatic Incident – Northern Kalos.”
Status: Possibly metaphorical. Possibly not. - Defeated a Mega-Evolved Garchomp using a Magikarp.
The footage is corrupted. The final frame shows Garchomp collapsed, Magikarp unharmed.
There is no explanation. - Survived a Hyper Beam-class explosion at point-blank range.
Context: He was reportedly eating ramen at the time. Surveillance from the East Virelia Battle Dome shows an impact crater. The bench he sat on remained intact.
He never broke his chopsticks.
Astrid narrowed her eyes slightly.
- Walked into an Eclipse bunker unarmed. Walked out with all the data. No casualties.
Entire file redacted. The only preserved entry: He knocked. - Won a 6v6 exhibition match blindfolded, using one Poké Ball.
No video. Only a written statement from the officiating judge, now listed as mentally unfit for duty. The statement reads: “I saw the end. I just… don’t remember how we got there.” - Was seen riding a Rapidash across the surface of a lake.
The lake was not frozen. The surveillance drone cut out mid-recording. Recovered drone footage ends with a shaky visual of a note taped to the lens:
“Don’t be creepy.”
Astrid's finger hovered for a moment, just above the pause command. She didn’t click it.
- Beat a Blaziken in a footrace.
Follow-up: The Blaziken retired. No longer registered as a battler in the region. - Released a Pokémon into the clouds.
No species recorded. Sky above the route turned gold for 6.7 seconds. Weather instruments spiked with no apparent cause.
Multiple witnesses. - Can whistle the cry of any Pokémon. Even the ones without mouths.
Witness report: “He did Unown once. The whole damn alphabet.” - Won a Kalos cooking competition by boiling a single Oran Berry for two hours. In silence.
The judges cried. No known reason.
Astrid blinked once. Slowly. Then kept reading.
- Made a Steelix flinch just by looking at it.
Official complaint was filed.
League dismissed it for “emotional fragility.” - Sleeps standing up with his eyes open.
Documented in a League conference.
No one in the room spoke for ten full minutes.
Eye movement: none. - Authored a battle tactics book under the alias WraithSix.
Every page reads: “Don’t get hit.”
Currently a best-seller in Johto. Translated into eight languages. - Stared into the Distortion World. It blinked.
That was the entire line.
No context. No coordinates. No log ID.
Just that. - Recited all 151 original Pokémon in reverse order, underwater, in one breath.
Real footage exists.
The League archivist who recorded it retired two days later.
Astrid stood in the pale glow of the terminal.
She said nothing.
The silence deepened—not from disbelief, but because of something far more dangerous:
Doubt.
She didn’t believe any of it.
But she also couldn’t disprove any of it either.
And that was the part that stayed with her.
Some of the feats were clearly absurd. Others… could be chalked up to myth, exaggeration, or misattributed urban legend.
But then there were those few—too oddly specific, too coincidental, too redacted—that hovered just outside reason.
And that was what Muck Pandy had always been.
Not a man. Not even a memory.
A fracture in logic.
Something the League still couldn’t define—even with all its tools, its firewalls, its cameras, and her authority.
She closed the file.
The screen darkened. Her reflection stared back.
Unchanged.
She stepped away from the console and into the corridor beyond.
Behind her, the vault sealed itself again, the data locked once more.
And beneath it all—buried like a breath in deep water—Muck Pandy remained.
Sometimes, she wondered if that was his final gift:
To vanish cleanly, leaving only questions behind.
He didn’t fight back. He just disappeared.
And somehow, even now, she wasn’t sure which of them had won.
The cursor blinked at the bottom of the empty screen. She closed the file.
End of File.
Omega-Class Clearance Required for Re-access.
Filed under direct Champion oversight.
Access Log: [1] Eisenhart, Astrid – Champion [2] Ardene, Prof. – Senior Advisor
I hope you find her cold. But you'll understand why she does what she does.