I was five years old when I decided that I wanted to be a Battle Trainer. I still remember what triggered the desire, I’m pretty sure it’s a core memory. It was the day Bernard Cuprin defeated Tera Mathers, and became the new Champion of the Ferrum League. He and his Emboar were the undisputed top of the BT rankings.
Watching the broadcast of the match, hearing the roar of the crowd through our dim television, I knew. That was it. I wanted that. Nothing else would do. I wanted to stand at the top, to prove my ability, and that of my partner’s, beyond any doubt or reproach. I wanted to be the very best there ever was.
I was twelve when I was told that my dream could never come true.
Hours later, I tore my room apart. Dozens of books and pamphlets on battle training, seven posters depicting various League Masters, a box of battle trainer Cards, uncounted toys and treasures accumulated over the years relating to my unrelenting obsession. All of it, torn apart in a truly epic tantrum. That’s how my parents found me, amidst the ruins of my childhood, eyes swimming with tears, bile coating my tongue and throat.
They tried to console me, they really did. Part of me was aware that they knew how much my dream meant to me. At the same time another part, one far more insidious, was equally certain that they had no idea. No conception of why I spent the next month practically catatonic, going through life as if a Beheeyem had wiped my mind. All instinct, all habit, nothing between the ears or behind the eyes.
I think I might have taken years off of my mom’s life. Before that December she’d never had any gray hairs, and by the end of it, I caught her secreting a bottle of hair dye into the bathroom cupboard. That’s how I knew it was my fault. Because she didn’t want me to know about it.
By the end of the fourth week, Mom was at her wit’s end. Her LOA was ending, and I wasn’t showing any signs of improvement. I wasn’t a danger to myself or others. I’m pretty sure. But she was loath to leave me alone at home all the same, and we didn’t have the means to hire a caretaker or enroll me in any summer programs.
It was at this juncture that my father took executive action. I will both never understand and never have enough gratitude for whatever possessed him that Friday evening. My father and I weren’t the closest. He worked long hours and Grandma once guiltily told me that he was probably a bit emotionally stunted from a childhood spent with my notoriously awful uncle, but in an uncharacteristic bout of insight, it wasn’t with just one new friend that he returned home that rainy December evening, but with six.
Six reasons to get out of bed every morning, six adorable balls of sunshine, six valiant knights to shield me from the worst the world had to offer. Falinks lacked a name when they came into my life, but I quickly rectified that grievous crime. I gave them monikers they were well deserving of, taken straight from Galarian myth. Lance, my brilliant lieutenant, Percy, my bravest warrior, Kay, my noble caretaker, Galad, my most loyal protector, Bers, my hardiest survivor, and Tristan, my most sensitive friend. My six, perfect knights.
My father sat with me on the couch as I picked their nicknames one by one, and he told me that Falinks was my responsibility. That, just like I could never become a Battle Trainer, Falinks could never become a Battle Pokémon, but that we weren’t any less perfect for it.
I’d heard the message before, from friends, from teachers, from family, even from the man sitting next to me, but it wasn’t until right then, with six little perfect lives cradled in the ball in my hand that I started to believe it.
Still, improvement was gradual, at first. The burst that came from being introduced to six new friends and getting to name them petered out, and the haze of the Ferrum summer drifted on. No school, no hobbies, no longer any goals, just aimless days spent with the seven of us. My mom’s working hours lengthened after she got back, making up for time missed, and my dad ended up getting sent on a business trip all through February.
I spent most of my time alone, save for the presence of my knights. Thank Arceus they were enough and more.
-
I felt something impact my stomach. It wasn’t hard, but it was enough to knock the air out of me. Enough to rouse me from the malaise between sleep, dream, and wakefulness, and drag me clawing back into unforgiving reality.
Reality stared at me from atop my stomach with two unblinking eyes. “Links?” It asked, while cutely tilting its whole head-like body to the left. The question was followed by a chorus of the same, coming in stereo from all around me. With a creak, I realized that my bed was currently supporting not just the two of us, but rather half a dozen souls, all crowded together, and quickly giving way for the weight.
“Off!” I roared, surging out of the covers before my poor box spring could give out, sending my passenger rolling off of me and the rest of my observers scattering with cries in five different tones.
I stared at my unrepentant Pokémon as they reconvened, assuming their standard formation. Lance stood in the lead as the brass, his prominent crest pointing the way for the rest of the troop to face. Percy was next, in tune with his leader and executing commands almost as soon as they were provided. Kay came in third, determined to stand in the middle so he could best watch out for everyone else. Then came Galad, quiet and intense and ready to provide a perfect conduit through which orders could flow to his brothers in the rear. Bers came after him, a bit of a maverick but still ready to listen when it came down to it. And then in the very back, poor earnest Tristan. Always a step behind, a little bit laggard, he could only stand at the end of the formation, where he wouldn’t interfere with the lockstep of the rest of his brothers. But oh how they loved him all the same. Maybe more for it. No one got doted on as much as Tristan.
“Attention!” I shouted at my mischievous soldiers, more out of habit than any real sense of command considering my ongoing fight to fully wake up. There wasn’t a lot of knowledge available on the FerreNet about Falinks, they were endemic to Galar and quite rare outside of it, but what cursory information I could dig up told me that they appreciated discipline and clear orders. My knights certainly demanded plenty of both, with their antics.
I checked the plastic watch on my wrist, which informed my bleary mind that it was currently 5:30 AM, exactly when I’d instructed my Falinks to wake me up. I looked up from the device at the unrepentant quintet -Tristan was always repentant for his brothers’ mischief- and did my best to suppress a scowl. “Good work waking me up, knights!” I barked out at them, trying as hard as I could to inject my voice with some authority. “Next time though, choose a method that’s less… disruptive.”
I got a nod of acknowledgement from Lance, quickly mimicked by the rest of the troop. Today had been the first time I’d assigned them to act in place of my currently broken alarm clock, and all told, it’d gone about as well as I could reasonably expect. At least I was up in time, which never would have happened without outside assistance.
Often, my knights reminded me of the Djinn from Kalosian folklore. They’d follow orders to the letter, but they’d try their best to push the limits of those instructions as far past my intentions as they could. I was pretty sure they didn’t mean anything malicious by it, rather I suspected it was how they played. Much like Rockruffs tussling with their littermates, it taught them valuable skills. Just as the Rockruffs learned how to wrestle, bite, and restrain themselves, Falinks learned how to interpret orders, communicate effectively, and read each other’s intentions. Of course, my Falinks were fully grown, and didn’t need that sort of play anymore, they’d already figured out the dynamics of their troop. I was still new to them though, and it seemed like they were trying to figure out where I fit in. I suspected they were training me just as much as I was training them, trying to make me into a leader that they felt was fit to follow.
That or they were just being little shits. Results were currently inconclusive.
“Knights, to the kitchen!” I declared, leading them out of the room and bringing our whole troop marching into the small kitchenette at the front of our two-bedroom apartment. “Secure the perimeter!” I told them, still using inflections of command. “I will prepare our breakfast for the day!”
My knights spread out, assuming vigilant positions perched on various pieces of furniture, keeping weather eyes out for intruders and interlopers.
There weren’t any such antagonistic forces in our domicile, of course (at least I hoped there weren’t), but the assignment was good training for if and when I did need my knights to watch over me in dangerous situations. Also, giving the rambunctious Falinks a job to do worked wonders for keeping them from coming up with things to do themselves. Those things were often destructive, as my poor alarm clock found out last week.
Under the watchful eyes of my knights, I bustled about the kitchenette, turning on the hot plate, setting Gran’s cast iron on it, and yanking a small box of dried pancake batter from the cupboards. I ran the fine grains through a sieve, pouring the results into a mixing bowl and using my hands to shape a small dugout in the powder. Into the depression went a small amount of moo-moo milk, and a very precisely measured bit of butter. Then a good bit of whisking saw the whole thing mixed and ready. Our sad, sputtering hot-plate still needed a little bit to heat Gran’s cast iron, so I took the window to crack a bag of Pokémon food, emptying half of the contents into a bowl large enough for six bowling-ball sized bodies to crowd around. I set the bowl down, but didn’t order my knights to partake yet. I could see the desire in their eyes, those of the chronically hungry ones anyway, but when they noticed me paying attention, they steadfastly went back to their watch.
A couple of weeks ago, when I hadn’t known them as well, I would have told them to come and get it, but knowing what I did now, I refrained from making that mistake. Once was enough.
Telling them to leave an assignment incomplete was tantamount to telling them that I didn’t trust them to complete said assignment, something I was pretty sure they took as a grave insult. The first time I’d interrupted one of their duties, they’d sulked for days, nevermind that I’d been the one to give them that job in the first place.
Shaking my head in what was quickly becoming a habitual expression of fond exasperation, I turned back to the pancake mix. The plate was warm enough now, and I measured out a precise portion onto the cast iron pan, using a plastic spatula to flatten and shape the resulting globule of rapidly heating batter. A bit of finagling, one practiced flip, and the first flapjack was finished.
I deposited the completed treat on a nearby plate, and then repeated the process, running through the rest of the batter and splitting the resulting stack into two steaming piles. One for me, and one for Mom, who came hurtling out of her room right on time, as I was congratulating my knights on a breakfast well-protected.
“I’m late, I’m late…” I heard her muttering as she delicately shut the door to the master bedroom behind her. Frankly she would have been better off slamming it. The creaking hinges were the loudest part of the whole assembly. The point was probably moot, I doubted either sound would have woken me up, nor bothered my knights in their ball, where they usually slept, but I appreciated the effort. Today it definitely didn’t matter, as Mom discovered when she came out of the hallway and into the kitchenette to find the seven of us waiting. My knights stood faithfully by their bowl while I sat at the kitchen table with two warm plates of pancakes and a small measuring cup full of syrup heated in the microwave.
I nodded at my Mom, and watched as she melted much like the butter in the pancake mix. “Ah, sweetie, you didn’t need to make this for me.” She said, pulling out one of our chairs and slipping into it. Her tone was saccharine enough to make a Slurpuff gag, and the worst part was that it was fully sincere.
“It wasn’t a big deal.” I reassured her. “I know you’ve been needing to leave super early recently, so I wanted to help out.” I shrugged with practiced nonchalance, but my Mom’s keen eye swept over me all the same, searching for something.
I wasn’t sure what she found, and after a moment her inspection ceased. She tucked into the pancakes, eating them with a relish that almost got me to smile. “Well thank you, sweetie. I really appreciate it. Sorry about leaving you alone so much recently, things at the hospital have been crazy.”
I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it Mom, I can take care of myself. And besides, I’m never alone anymore.” I pointed towards my Falinks with an equal mix of fondness and exasperation as the hextet absolutely demolished their bowl of Pokémon food. I couldn’t even see the green plastic kitchenware between the six jostling bodies.
“I guess that’s true…” Mom hedged, eyeing the melee skeptically. “Still, things will get better soon sweetie, I promise. Once the tour-” she Shelldered up in the middle of her sentence. I felt a twisted sense of pride, that I was able to suppress my reaction to merely a twitch as she pivoted, “all the craziness is over, I’ll be able to come home earlier.”
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I contorted my face into a smile, but I could tell from my Mom’s expression that it came out as more of a grimace. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.” I tried to reassure her. “I’m doing okay, you just focus on getting through the workday. You’re dead on your feet when you get back home”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle, don’t worry sweetie.” Mom’s smile was a bit more genuine. Or maybe she was just better at faking it than I was. Either way, we both ignored each other’s lies in favor of finishing breakfast. As soon as the last pancake cleared her palate Mom was in motion, grabbing her purse and hustling out the door with a barely-heard, “Love you Fe, bye!”
And then there were seven. I felt five pairs of eyes on me as I finished my pancakes- Tristan was still finishing off the bowl of Pokémon food- and I hustled to do away with the rest of my meal.
“Alright knights! We’re training on the beach today!” I told my Falinks. They jumped up and down in excitement, but I’m pretty sure I could have told them we’d be training at the peak of a volcano and they’d have the same reaction. They just loved training. “Assume escort formation, I’ll be right back.”
As my knights scrambled to find their positions, I went to my room so I could throw on a tank top and a pair of shorts suited for the summer heat. I grabbed my bag and hung the satchel’s sling over my shoulder, filling its various pouches with everything I’d need for the day. A scrunchie to tie my hair out of my face and my beat-up trainers completed the ensemble. I jogged out of my room to a scene of contained chaos, Bers and Kay squaring off while their brothers- bar sweet Tristan- egged them on.
“Break it up, break it up!” I shouted at them as I got between the squabbling pair. “I thought I told you all to get into escort formation, what’s going on here?”
My response was a series of indignant squeaks from both claimants, the contents of which I could make neither heads nor tails of.
“Look, assemble the formation, and I’ll see where the friction is, okay?” I instructed them. They were a bit laggard getting into position, a surefire sign I hadn’t shown enough authority for the little shits, and it only took a few moments for me to figure out the problem. “Bers, you’re trying to stand in Kay’s position, that’s why he’s upset.” I could see Kay working himself up into a smug furor, and I acted fast to take the wind out of his sails. “And Kay, the reason Bers is trying to stand in your spot is because someone has stolen his spot.“ I looked pointedly at the culprit, who returned my stare unrepentantly. “Lance, the power games are getting old. Stand in your proper position so your brothers aren’t confused.”
Lance moved over without much fuss, freeing Bers to take his spot and giving me an evaluating look as he walked. The two squabbling Falinks assumed their positions, seeming abashed, and I could tell that Lance did feel a bit bad about inconveniencing his brothers. Not bad enough that I thought he wouldn’t try something again soon, though.
I let them stand in formation for a few moments, and then made my move, scooping up Lance before he could react and hoisting him into the air with a grunt. I turned the Falinks to face me and looked right into his eyes. “Alright, mister. You, me, my room, now!” The others began scrambling, trying to follow my order but confused without Lance. “Company, halt!” They stopped at my call. “This is between Lance and I, everyone else, hold position.”
They didn’t like that, I could tell by the way they shifted and peered at each other, then back up at the brass in my arms. Lance said something to his brothers, and they all settled a bit, but they still seemed uncomfortable. “We’ll be right back.” I reassured them, and then I absconded with my erstwhile partner, bringing him to my room and setting him on my bed.
“Look.” I kept eye contact. “I get that you’re used to being the leader. I know it’s weird having to share responsibilities with me, but I need your brothers to listen to both of us, not just you.” The argument was a well-trodden one at this point. Lance didn’t like sharing his power, which was both understandable, and expected from Falinks who were new to training, but I needed him to respect me and my authority if I was going to be his trainer. “Please, don’t mess with the formation. I know it’s not what you’re used to, but there are benefits to learning more marching orders.”
Lance’s eyes narrowed, and he stared unblinkingly at me. I kept his gaze, falling into the impromptu staring contest. We went on for a minute, then two, neither of us willing to bend. “You know, they’re going to get worried about you.” I remarked, as we were reaching our third minute.
It was a cheap shot, but it landed home. A look of guilt flashed on Lance’s face, and he acquiesced with a huff. He wouldn’t contest me again today, but this was far from over. “Thanks Lance. This will all pay off, I promise. You guys are going to be strong. I’ll make sure of it.”
I couldn’t tell how much stock Lance put into my promise, but I knew I meant every word. Even if I wouldn’t ever be a Battle Trainer, and my knights wouldn’t ever be Battle Pokémon, I’d do my best to make them the strongest they could be. I knew I owed them that much.
-
They had trouble with the formation. Actually, maybe it’d be more accurate to say they continued to have trouble with the formation. Falinks were known for their very distinctive marching order, brass in front, five troops behind all in a set order that they’d never change willingly. Unfortunately, I needed them to change. To be effective battlers, Falinks had to learn flexibility, which meant teaching them different formations than their standard.
It was supposedly possible to get them to act at least semi-independently, but from the limited knowledge I’d gleaned through the FerreNet and the local library, that took years of hard, intense training.
Better to get them started out with a few alternative formations. It would help get them used to fighting and acting outside of their standard order, hence escort formation.
Me in the middle, surrounded by a hexagon of Falinks, Lance and Bers in front, Kay and Tristan to my sides, and Galad and Percy in the rear. It was very different from their standard marching order, a conscious choice on my part to help them escape their habits, but the shakeup was still confusing them. I’d hoped that having me in the middle would help stabilize the formation a little bit, and we were making progress, but some days felt like one step forwards and two steps back.
Today was one of those days.
Constantly trying to keep Lance from rushing ahead, preventing Kay from swinging out so he could watch over everyone else, policing Percy who would get lost without the brass right in front of him, and making sure poor Tristan didn’t get left behind, while trying to ignore the funny looks I was getting from human and Pokémon passerby alike meant that I was already exhausted when we finally got to the beach. Mentally, if not physically. Luckily, what came next wasn’t going to tax the mind much.
“Shuttle Runs!” My knights and I took turns sprinting between two planks of driftwood I’d planted in the sand, doing our best to make hairpoint turns on the fine, ferrous sand. It was hard. Obviously. More for my Pokémon than for me, seeing as how humans were much better suited for fast turns than Falinks. My knights had way more energy than I did, though, the natural advantages Pokémon had over humans coming into play. They kept going long after I slowed down, running sprints that bordered on full-on Tackle attacks for almost an hour as I cooled down from the shuttle runs. Then it was a quick jump into the ocean to cool off- for them, not me, I was hardly dressed for it- and then we were off again, low-intensity jog down the beach.
I let my knights hold their standard order, both because I didn’t really have the energy to chide them into a proper escort formation, and so that they’d be ready faster in case we came across the real reason for our impromptu patrol along the shorefront.
My precaution proved prescient, as a small patch of black sand in our path began shifting ominously. With an aggressive screech, a long, sinuous body emerged from the earth, blocking our path forward. The normally timid creature let loose a cry of rage as it stared down my knights and I. The fact that the sound was more akin to something made by a squeaky toy, rather than a threat issued from a fearsome monster, belied the sinister nature of the threat we now faced.
While Wigletts looked comical with their stark-white bodies and clown-red noses, the invasive species were no joke. Brought from far away Paldea on a shipping vessel several years ago, the Garden Eel Pokémon found an easy home on Ferrum’s beaches. Too easy. With no natural predators in Ferrum’s iron-rich sands, the Wigletts quickly overcame their timid nature, and overproduced like Buneary, crowding out native species and terrorizing the local ecosystem. Worse, when they evolved, they leeched massive amounts of iron from the sand to form their boulder-like shells. Meters of coast had been lost before the cause of the problem had been identified, and the Wugtrio perpetrators were vicious predators that strangled out competitors and prey species alike. Figuratively, and literally.
Nature’s bane was my boon, however, and I eagerly issued a command to my partners. “Knights, square off!!” As my six Falinks reoriented themselves to face this aggressor, I darted in and nabbed Tristan, hefting him up and pulling him away from the group. “Except you, buddy. You’re with me. You’re on lifeline duty, today.” I got an affirmative chirrup from the sun-warmed sphere of goodness in my arms, as his brothers set themselves against the aggressive Wiglett, Lance in front and obviously ready to charge.
Our opponent was hardly idle, however. Finding itself outnumbered, the wily Wiglett turned to its natural talents, sweeping its sinuous body along the sand and sending up a spray of fine ferrous grit at my knights. “Shields!” I shouted, my warning providing enough time for Lance to move his two buckler-like arms in front of his face. The iron grains splashed harmlessly against the armored protrusion, Lance easily defending against the unceasing tide stirred up by the Wiglett’s flailing. “Tackle, straight on!” I commanded, impelling my knights into a full-force charge. White, glowing energy surrounded them as they rushed forwards blindly, Lance’s shields protecting them from Wiglett’s onslaught.
The brass hit first, as was usual with a Falinks formation. Lance slammed his whole body into the Wiglett, causing the eel to stagger back. In the small window where it couldn’t keep spraying sand, my other four knights crashed into the creature, each of them impacting and then bouncing off of its springy form. “Don’t let up, Rock Smash!” I ordered, hoping they could press the attack.
The wild Wiglett recovered enough to spray a reflexive water gun into the face of the nearest target, Bers taking a full blast that sent him rocking back, but the stream was quickly interrupted as one, then two, and then two more glowing shields slammed into the Wiglett.
The fight looked unfair, but I knew that it was closer than appearances would seem. While Wiglett was taking a lot of attacks, individually, the hits were pretty minor. Falinks just weren’t that strong on their own, relying on numbers and coordination to overwhelm their opponents, rather than raw strength.
Still, the onslaught was enough to overcome the Wiglett’s learnt aggression. The instinctual timidity that plagued its ancestors reared up in the creature, and it raised itself straight into the air, going perpendicular with the ground. I recognized the maneuver from a couple of weeks spent dealing with their ilk, a sure sign the Pokémon was about to retreat into the sand.
It was also the signal I had been waiting for, standing a few feet away, one arm with a Falinks slung underneath it, and another clutching a hard, metal sphere. I slung the Poké Ball with practiced ease, giving the ball enough spin to reach its target before it dove beneath the iron grit below. The projectile flew over the low heads of my knights, slamming into the descending Wiglett and engulfing its form in shimmering white light. The ball hit the black sand, wiggling once, then twice, and then falling still with a satisfying click. “Yes!” I exclaimed as I walked over to the Poké Ball and picked it up. “Good job everyone, now le-”
My words of encouragement were interrupted by a chorus of alarmed chirrups. I spun around just in time to see three of my knights disappearing beneath the sand,sinuous red torsos wrapped around them in strangling chokeholds.
The first time this had happened, I had panicked. This time, I just sighed. “We really need to be careful. This is the second time this week!” I chastised my three remaining knights, as they shamefully sunk their heads. “My fault as much as yours.” I admitted. “Let’s get out of here.” So saying, I recalled Tristan, the Poké Ball sucking him up right out of my arms. The beam chained, striking Percy, then Bers, who were still looking guilty. After that, it burrowed into the ground, yanking Lance, Galad, and Kay from the grips of their captors. I didn’t bother releasing them again, and turned instead to pound across the sand, as I heard the exclamations of an angry Wugtrio fade into the distance behind me.
-
As it turned out, there was a reason that most people didn’t bother trying to capture Wigletts, in spite of the Ranger’s rather generous bounty on the invasive creatures. The risk was just too high for lower-level trainers, and the reward too low for most of those who could safely take the duty on. Wiglett and Wugtrio liked to drag their prey beneath the sands, where the seeking red return beam from a Poké Ball would struggle to form a connection. This could easily be a death sentence for any Pokémon on the sand small enough for the nefarious eels to haul away.
Falinks, though, had an advantage not shared with many other Pokémon. Recalling one of them started a chain that would bring all of them back into their ball, at much greater ranges and through a lot more material than a normal recall beam. The impressive technology could piggyback off of Falinks’ natural connection, allowing my knights to safely troop about the sands, as long as one of them remained ensconced above-ground for me to target.
I was currently abusing this advantage to make absolute bank. Or at least, a nice summer stipend for a twelve-year old. The rangers were offering 5000 Poké gold per Wiglett captured, and a Poké Ball only cost 1000. Simple arithmetic meant I was making a ridiculous profit, as long as I didn’t mess up my throws too badly. The first few runs hadn’t been all that cost-effective, but my knights and I were improving all the time, and so was our revenue stream, as an unintended consequence.
Plus, the encounters gave my Falinks a chance to fight, something they- barring Tristan- desperately wanted. I hadn’t known them long, but I could already tell that nothing got my knights excited like a good battle. We shared that in common. Wigletts weren’t exactly the toughest of foes, but they were fine practice partners for up-and-comers like us.
The morning was equally productive, and when I stepped into the ranger station around noon, I had four full Poké Balls to turn in. I was a familiar face by this point, so after a quick scan to check the contents of my deposit, I left the station many thousand Poké gold richer. A stop at the nearby beach hut for lunch, and my Falinks and I were back at it. I didn’t have the stamina to keep up with the afternoon training block, but my knights were practically inexhaustible. Being Pokémon, and Fighting-type to boot, it’d take more than ten hours of hard exercise to wear them down. By the time we got home and I threw dinner in the microwave, they were only just starting to show signs of weariness, and that was after a couple of more Wiglett encounters.
We turned in earlier than last night, which had been earlier than the night before, trying to get my sleep schedule back into a reasonable pattern. No more lying awake, staring at the ceiling until three AM. Having a reason to wake up each morning again, having my partners to keep me company, doing something with my day, it made falling asleep easy again. Even if I knew waking up tomorrow would be a pain, with whatever nonsense my knights cooked up.
I couldn’t wait.
