HECTOR

            He wanted it to end sooner but it was his own fault that it hadn’t.  Every day since they had arrived in Lavaridge, Starfall marched the prisoners that had set out from Mauville to the throne room.  Every day, a new prisoner was burned and eaten by his vicious Salamence after none of them could reveal the location of their King, Chris Marsh.  Hector found himself wishing that he had been eaten sooner.  He was the only one left now, and the waiting made the thought of his impending death worse.

            It will end tomorrow, he knew.  Hector was scared, that was why he had been spared.  Starfall enjoyed watching him watch his companions being murdered.  If I didn’t tremble so much and sob, he wouldn’t have made me watch for so long. I hope Wingull got away safely. The sea-bird Pokémon had deserted him as they made the climb up the mountainous road to Lavaridge.  For once, Hector was glad he didn’t have a spirit bond with Wingull.  One of us should live, at least…

            It was known which prisoner would be killed the day before they met their end; they would be taken individually to a cell in the darkest dungeons of Lavaridge’s castle to a prison within a prison.  Hector noted how dry and hot the air was down here, as Starfall’s men took him to the cell to spend his final night on this earth. 

            It’s my own fault I’m here, he thought once again.  If I had not been so scared during the battle of Mauville, then Ryan would still be alive.  Of course, if Ryan was still alive, he needn’t have come on his quest.  He wouldn’t have had to show how sorry he was for the death of his friend to his conscience and King Chris.  But then, it would be some other man in my place. Hector felt strangely at peace with that thought.  By getting the last man drunk and stealing his armor, he had saved his life. He will still get to live and love his family. That was more than the rest of the party could say. 

            Hector’s thoughts dwelled on Chris Marsh next.  I’m glad the Forrests saved him, he thought.  He was jarred from his memories of his last friend when the guards led him through a dark door.  The room inside the door was unlit by torches, yet the jailors found the locks of the single cell and with an iron groan and a harsh shove, Hector knew he was in his penultimate resting place. 

            “Enjoy the company,” the jailor said gruffly as he walked back out the door, and when it shut, all light left the world.  That’s what they always say, Hector knew.  A cruel joke, unless my company is my own thoughts. 

            Hector had always thought that his death would stink.  He had envisioned it would come in the middle of a storm at sea surrounded by a fresh, stinky catch of Tentacool and Remoraid.  He felt himself smile in the darkness.  Well, it stinks alright. Except this smell was mold, and urine, and other foul waste.  Likely the last remnants of the other prisoner who now resided in Salamence’s belly.

            Hector wasn’t bound or chained, so he stood up and decided he would find the layout of his cell.  He suddenly wanted to remember everything that he could.  It would be his last glimpse of the world, and he wanted to take every memory with him; even one as dreadful as the feel of a prison’s stone walls and iron bars.

            He couldn’t even see the hand in front of his face, yet it still came as a surprise when he tripped over something.  The ground rushed up to smack his face as a punishment for the crime of curiosity in the dark.

            The fisherman’s son was about to rise when he heard he jingling of heavy iron chains, and the thing he stepped on moved.

            “Why can’t any of you fish-men leave me alone?” the voice said.  It was dry and cracked, as if water was a memory long dead.  “Yes, you’re going to die… No, there’s nothing you can do.”

            Hector snorted with laughter.  Enjoy the company, he remembered.  They weren’t talking to me.  They were talking to this prisoner.  At least he wasn’t alone.  Hector didn’t know what peaked his curiosity.  He figured he would make one last friend before Starfall took his life tomorrow. 

            “I can talk to you,” he said quietly to the chained man he couldn’t see in the dark. “We prisoners need to stick together.”

            “We only have thirteen hours of sticking,” the prisoner answered in the blackness.  “Your time is better spent sleeping and dreaming of better times.  Likely to you lot that means a pretty lady who smells like a fish with a tail to match.  All of you are the same.” Did his voice crack or was it a poor attempt at a laugh.  “‘Trained from boyhood, sworn to protect and defend the honor of Slateport and the Marshes.’”

            He’s mocking these other men.  Under normal circumstances, Hector knew he wouldn’t get along with such a man who mocks dead men.  He shrugged off the insult.  After all, this was to be his last attempt at a friendship. I can’t let this one fail, too. “I was raised to take my father’s place on a fishing boat since I was old enough to swim,” he finally said. 

            There was an awkward silence that followed.  Finally, the prisoner spoke again.  “Then what the hell are you doing here?  There are no fish this high in the mountains.  You came with the rest of the fish-men, did you not?”    

            “Aye,” Hector said.  He leaned his head back against the stone wall and lowered his voice.  “I had to… It was my fault that my friend died during the battle of Mauville. Risking my life for my king, Chris Marsh, was the only way to make up for my friend giving his life for me.”

            “You’re very brave, boy,” the voice said.  The prisoner’s chains rattled.  Hector was stunned; he never would have thought anyone would have described him as brave.

            “I-I’m not…”

            “You are,” the cracked voice interrupted. “And more friend than most men could ask for. I killed many men that day, yet I lost friends in that battle, too. Now it seems I really never had any friends at all…”

            A not-so awkward silence followed.  Hector felt tears come to his eyes.  He had never thought anyone else would see any value in him, in his ideals, and in his strength and devotion to his friends. Chris hadn’t.  When the young King of Slateport found out, he had kicked sand in his face.  But this lonely prisoner understood him. 

            “What are you in for?” Hector asked the voice in the dark.

            “Existing,” snorted the prisoner.  “Tell me, how is the young prince with the Torchic?”

            Hector tried to remember the boy’s face.  The last time he had seen him was the first time he had been paraded before Starfall’s throne.  The first day one of us was eaten… “I haven’t seen him since I first arrived,” he told the prisoner.

            “I figured as much,” the voice sounded sad.  “I gave up asking after the fourth of you.  If I could get my hands on Starfall’s treacherous neck.”

            Hector’s curiosity was piqued once again. This prison cell is pretty deep, he remembered.  Not like the ones I stayed in before.  Who is this man? A general? Former Brightflame council member? “I thought Carlos Brightflame was the King of the Mt. Chimney Kingdom,” he said.  Clearly this prisoner he was talking to was still loyal to the old royalty, judging from the fact he was now imprisoned.  “Why is Starfall the King? Didn’t King Brightflame have two sons?”

            “Aye, he had,” said the prisoner, his voice growing stronger.  “But now, he’s dead.  He was killed in his own bedroom by that traitor as his Meteor Falls men sacked Lavaridge while it slept.  We should have seen this coming.  It was all a trick, a ruse for Starfall to sit his scheming ass on the lava-stone throne.”

            “What do you mean?” asked Hector.  It was likely he wouldn’t understand the intricacies of this ex-councilor’s political story.  He was raised to be just a simple fisherman, after all.

            “He called for war, that’s the first thing he did,” said the prisoner. His voice was used to talking now, and he was talking faster. “He knew the King wasn’t in his right mind since he started looking into that Red Orb every night.  Starfall fed him lies about how he needed to conquer the mainland so that he could stand against Sootopolis.  Starfall was always going on and on about how Sootopolis was this great threat.  I tell you, how could the Sea-bitch’s fish fight a war on land? ‘It must be war,’ the King finally commanded, and we all obeyed.

            “Anyways, finally he came to the king with a battle plan.  He would take his men and light hundreds of fake campfires near Rustboro, as is Brightflame tradition.  The plan worked, and it drew Spark’s and Slateport’s men away from the real target: Mauville.

            “But when we got there, it wasn’t long before Spark came back, and he smashed us.  We lost so many men, and Starfall wasn’t even there to help. I see it now. It was the first part of his plan to bleed off Brightflame’s armies, and save his men for later… Too late.  It never made any sense why he was so late until he took the city with his fresh men, and declared himself the new King of Mt. Chimney.”

            Hector let the prisoner’s story play in his head.  Starfall may be vicious, but he’s clever, too. “What about the other tribes? The Mirage Desert and Fallarbor? Why didn’t they help stop him?” he asked.

            “Fallarbor has always been too fond of their glass flutes they make.  They never cared who sat the Lava-stone throne.  Randall Sand’s men are kept in check because Starfall has his hostages: the Princes of Lavaridge.  Our mother was from the Mirage Desert.”

            Hector’s heart was caught in his throat.  Our mother? His mind was racing he couldn’t believe it.  “So you’re…”

            “I’m Brandon Brightflame, rightful King of Lavaridge.  Who else would I be?” the voice said, with as much pride as a prisoner can have.  “Carson is my baby brother. Why else would they keep me in this cell and not one like the rest of the prisoners have.  No, the dark cells are for important captives.” The chains that bound Brandon in the dark jingled. 

            No… No it can’t be… It must be some cruel joke from the Gods, Hector supposed.  The last friend that he would ever know was the man who had killed Ryan.  Hector never said another word that night.