Prologue

	From the edge of a great cliff, Belose looked out towards the lowlands surrounding her, the young Braixen quietly holding her head in her paws. It was all desert, miles upon miles of desolate landscape, plains and mesas and dunes and canyons. From atop her home, a monumental skyward spike known as Firestarter Mountain, the world seemed exceedingly tiny; having never been permitted to wander far from the base of that mountain, the landmarks in the distance felt more like conjured images than real locations.

	One of the fox's ears twisted around, detecting a sound coming from behind her. Without looking, she could tell it was the footsteps of a Delphox, one of her elders approaching her. She simply kept staring into the lowlands, dismissing the elder's presence with a burdened sigh.

	"Young one," the Delphox spoke authoritatively, "I can see you are deeply concerned." She walked towards the sullen Braixen, the robe-like tresses of fur at her ankles brushing against the dry stone beneath her, a mighty witch-staff tapping along with each step. She sat down next to the Braixen, gazing out at the same lonely sights.

	"You will be coming of age very soon, Belose," she continued. "The Trial of Witches will determine if you truly have what it takes to be a fire witch. I have confidence in you, Belose."

	The Braixen hesitated, an unwell sensation burning up her throat. After a moment of deliberation, she responded; "But… grandmother… the Trial of Witches… I don't know if I can do it…"

	"Many cannot," the Delphox admitted. "And those who fail are-"

	"Exiled from the clan, disowned by their families, and left to die, Grandmother," Belose interrupted. "I've heard it so many times before. You, the chief, Kindler, Ashe…"

	"I… sincerely apologize for having to place this burden on you, young one," the Delphox replied. "I was afraid to take the trial myself when I was your age, as were your mother and father… no one looks forward to it. But it is a tradition, Belose, one going back to your most ancient ancestors. We are a clan of only the strongest fire witches, and that must be upheld… even if the consequences are regrettable."

	The Braixen suddenly rose to her feet, kicking a small pebble off the edge of the cliff. "You're sending me out into the desert to die, Grandmother. Is that what you call a tradition?" she questioned, her words beginning to tremble.

	"Belose," the elder responded, her voice taking on a harsher tone, "this practice goes back far further than even the land can remember. It would do you well not to disrespect it." Belose simply turned to the side and scowled at the dirt.

	The Delphox started to return to her feet as well, her movements slow and strained from age, lifting herself up with her staff. The audible cracks of her grandmother's joints did not convince Belose to provide assistance.

	The Delphox's voice mellowed, returning to a tone of assurance. "The Trial of Witches is more than just a test of your strength and cunning… it is a measure of your spirit, of the energy that channels into all fire magic. The best thing to do is to believe in yourself, young one; a troubled mind is a fractured soul." With those final words of advice, the Delphox turned around and shuffled off, again leaving Belose all by her lonesome. The Braixen continued staring into nothing, repeating the words in her head and then aloud.

	"A troubled mind is a fractured soul… a troubled mind is a fractured soul…"

	The Trial of Witches, or "the Gauntlet" as some less-than-enthusiastic Fennekin would refer to it as, was the ultimate challenge for a Braixen coming of age. The trial was meant to weed out the weak from the strong, the cowardly from the brave of the witches of Firestarter Mountain. Growing up, Belose understood the trial as follows:

	When any Braixen in the clan was determined to be of age, he or she would have a feast in their honor at nighttime, with abundant meat and dazzling pyrotechnics. Once the Braixen was engorged with food and sound asleep, a group of elders would bring them to an abandoned alter miles away and leave them under the water-filled sky. They would then return to Firestarter Mountain and cast a mighty spell, covering their homes and the surrounding territory in a magical barrier, preventing the Braixen from returning until their trial was complete.

	The trial itself had but one rule; survive, for an entire week, in the unforgiving wastes of the dusty plains. Vicious predators, rolling sandstorms, a lack of anything to drink or eat… these were all factors that the Braixen was expected to contend with, all by themselves, lest they perish in the unforgiving wilderness and prove unfit as fire witches. It was not until the seventh day of exile that the barrier surrounding Firestarter Mountain would finally be lifted, permitting them to make their way home and be rewarded for their grit and hardiness.

	Belose had counted carefully as far back as she could remember. Between her earliest memories and her own impending tribulations, sixty-one aspiring witches had been cast into the desert to fend for themselves; only twenty-two ever got to see their homes and families again. The Witches of Fire beyond a doubt believed in survival of the fittest, and only the most elite of the clan were considered even worthy of life.

	Belose found herself walking through the winding paths of her mountain village; tiny Fennekin charged around and played innocently, as did the handful of Braixen who were still years from being old enough to participate in the trial. She envied them somewhat, how they still had a while to go before encountering their own mortality, but the sight of their frolicking brought back memories; memories of being told that her close friends had embarked on the journey and never returned.

	The adults too seemed to be in their own world, oblivious to the reality that they were possibly sending an adolescent to her death that very night. Some sat in huts boasting about whose fires could rise the highest, others walking down the carved trails practicing ancestral incantations. Belose rationalized that, perhaps because all of these Delphox had passed the trial themselves, they were less inclined to empathize with her. To them, it was her duty to prove herself a strong and capable magician, and they could live completely guilt-free in the event of her demise. Either way, the fact that today was just like any other day to the witches of Firestarter Mountain haunted the Braixen to her core.

	The light midday sky eventually faded into darkness. The moon was a mere sliver that night, and Belose estimated it would be gone completely on the seventh day of her trial, assuming she'd be alive by that point. The air was warm and the mountaintop illuminated by Delphox magic, yet the flame within her had gone dim, paralyzed in anxiety. This was it; no turning back now.

	Belose retreated to her family's hut, unwilling to give herself up so easily. Sitting in the corner, watching the embers rise from a burnt-out fire, her ear twisted itself again in response to something out of her sight. It was that familiar rhythmic tapping of the witch-staff; sure enough, Belose turned around to see her grandmother peering through the doorway.

	"Come, young one. The feast is beginning, and we need our guest of honor," she commanded.

	The restless Braixen turned back toward the dying fire, watching one last spark emanate from the scorched wood, before getting up in silence. She walked to the exit of the hut, shoulders slouched and snout pointed towards the earth, not saying a word as she slipped past the elder Delphox.

	The Delphox, however, was having none of that. She grabbed her granddaughter by the collar and whisked her back, looking her directly in the eyes.

	"Heed me, Belose. Strong witches do not wince at the scorch of their own flames, and neither do they buckle when faced with a trial. You must recognize your fear and tame it, rather than let it consume you."

	The Braixen remained unresponsive, simply glancing away as her elder spoke before her.

	"I will be honest with you, Belose. I have dreaded this day ever since you were little, as I dreaded your mother's trial years ago. But I cannot protect you forever, not with this withered body… it is time for you to face your destiny, as each of your ancestors have before you. Please, do not your fear throw your life away."

	Belose's eyes shifted, slowly crawling up to meet the Delphox's gaze. Tired and unwilling to mope any longer, she finally returned an answer. "I'll do my best, grandmother."

	The Delphox pulled her into a warm embrace, which she promptly reciprocated. Belose felt the elder's arms shift behind, before something small and cold wrapped around her neck. Stepping back, she saw that it was a necklace, with roughly 20 smooth orange stones threaded together.

	"My mother gave this to me when I embarked on the Trial of Witches," the elder clarified, "and in turn I gave it to your mother for her own trial. It is more than just a charm for luck; it is a physical legacy, blessed by your line's feats. Now, it passes down to you, Belose."

	"M… Mom's necklace?" the Braixen mumbled.

	"It is yours now, young one. Go out, and prove that the spark of worthiness lies within you."

	Although Belose was still worried, a faint look of confidence washed over her, if only for that moment. "Okay, grandmother. I promise I won't fail."

	The Delphox nodded, looking solemn as she began to lead the Braixen along. "Come, granddaughter. Everyone is waiting for you."

	Carved into the peak of Firestarter Mountain was an altar, its centerpiece a column of flame reaching towards the sky. Before the raging flame pit was Belose and the chief of the clan, a scarred and imposing Delphox named Burns. He spoke with a gravelly, authoritative voice, both to Belose and the crowds gathered at the edges of the altar.

	"Young Belose, granddaughter of the venerated Cols, you are brought here tonight in ceremony for your coming of age. This ceremony continues the proud tradition of the Witches of Fire, and…"

	He went on, describing their history in excruciatingly thorough detail, as Belose became distracted by her thoughts once again. She had heard the exact same speech many times before, as had the rest of her clan; she was sure that every member who wasn't young enough to still be a Fennekin could recite the seven-minute lecture from memory. More importantly, she wondered, was how Burns could stand the sound of his own sand-like voice.

	Eventually Belose detected that the speech had finally entered the point where she needed to be listening again. She returned her focus to the monologuing Delphox, just in time to hear the fatal question being asked: "Belose, are you prepared to embark on your ultimate journey, the Trial of Witches, and prove yourself worthy as a Witch of Fire?"

	She briefly entertained the idea of telling Burns "no" straight to his face, but across countless generations of Braixen she had never heard of a single one who dared to insult their tradition so blithely.

	"Yes, Chief Burns," she answered meekly.

	"Then it is settled, Belose. Tonight will be your last night as a child, and your dawn as a true Witch of Fire. Come tomorrow morning, you will be expected to prove your worth, both to yourself and to your tribe. Thus, begins your Trial of Witches!"

	The crowds behind her began to holler and shout incantations associated with luck, but Belose's mind was snagged on a particular word the chief had chosen to use; "ultimate," a term denoting finality. She recalled hearing it in previous ceremonies she had been obligated to attend, but with her own life on the line, the apparently implicit lack of faith struck her through the heart, unintentional as it may have been.

	What followed was the requisite feast, the last chance the young fox would get to eat generously before being cast out into the wild. There were various species of Pokémon, poached from the surrounding badlands and grilled crispy by flame magic, along with mounds of berries and leaves used as supplements to the meal. The air was filled with song, and the impressive pyrotechnics of various Delphox trying to one-up each other. Belose merely stared at the charred Skorupi corpse in front of her.

	There was no sign of anyone she was familiar with beyond vague recognition; none of her playmates from younger years, none of the friends of her mother and father… even her dear grandmother was lost in the sea of mages. With one paw she gently grasped the necklace placed on her by her grandmother, feeling the cold, smooth stones and sighing.

	Across her blank face, a look of frustrated determination emerged. Belose began to chide herself mentally; "This is my final night of living in comfort. Tomorrow morning, I'll be stuck in the unknown. Starting my trial on an empty stomach, it would be a disservice to myself." She bit into the blackened bug-type, its tough shell softened by heat, and began indulging in the same gaiety as everyone else around her. For a time, the troubles facing her over the trial seemed to lessen, possibly even vanishing altogether.

	Hours later, the party had died out like an exhausted campfire. Most of the clan had returned to their abodes further down the mountain, while some were passed out sporadically around the altar, Belose among them. She laid on the ground with a half-devoured sitrus berry by her side, her belly swollen the food and drink of the night. Burns and four other Delphox approached her comatose body, never uttering a single word. The stoic chief lifted her into his arms and turned to the others, signalling their trek to the abandoned altar.

	The group hiked down the mountain, past the expansive badlands, along twisting cliffsides, until they finally reached the crumbling shrine miles away. In the void of the early morning, Burns placed the Braixen onto the central pedestal and backed away, uttering one last phrase of luck before turning around and retreating back to their home. The sky was a pale blue, the sun barely present above the horizon, when they returned. With a mighty chant, the five projected a barrier of fire over the mountain, stretching to a radius of several miles. The barrier cooled, hardening into an impenetrable coat, locking the aspiring witch away from her home for one week's time.

	Belose woke up with the side of her face pressed against the stone pedestal. Still disoriented from the previous night's feasting, it took her several moments to gather her senses. As her wits returned to her, she noticed the barren terrain of her new environment; the lush plants of Firestarter Mountain were replaced by grey, dead shrubs, and the familiar huts replaced by empty patches of cracked dirt. There was no mistaking it; this was the vast wilderness Belose had been afraid of, laid out before her in all directions. She stood up and grabbed the necklace again, remembering her grandmother's encouragement.

	Thus, the Trial of Witches had begun.