Capítulo 36: **Chapter 36: The Gate of the Tomb Palace**
After Kane had sent the insect catcher boy away, the sky had fully transitioned into evening. The once-blue heavens were now a vast canvas of red, with the sinking sun casting a blood-red hue across the horizon, making it look as if the sky itself was bleeding. The twilight stretched out far and wide, draping the world in a heavy, shadowy gloom that seemed to reach everywhere at once.
"Let's go," Kane said in his usual cold, detached tone, not even glancing at Thunderstorm as he gave the command.
Thunderstorm blinked in confusion; not entirely sure what Kane meant. He had expected a pause, maybe some explanation, but instead, Kane just kept walking forward with his usual confidence. "Where exactly are we going?" Thunderstorm asked, trying to keep up, feeling uneasy about Kane's sudden decisiveness.
"Burned Tower," Kane replied, his words as brief as always, his tone as emotionless as ever. It was clear he had no intention of elaborating further.
Thunderstorm's stomach twisted at the mention of the Bell Tower. His eyes widened, and he felt his nerves beginning to fray. He swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in his throat as anxiety bubbled up. "Burned Tower? Now? At this time of night?" Thunderstorm's voice shook slightly, betraying the fear that was creeping into his mind. "Don't you think it's a bit... dangerous? Shouldn't we wait until—"
But Kane had already moved ahead, his pace unwavering. It was clear that he had no interest in waiting or reconsidering his decision. The determination in his steps left no room for doubt, and Thunderstorm knew that no matter how scared he was, there was no turning back. Reluctantly, he quickened his pace to follow, his fear growing stronger with every step into the encroaching darkness.
The path they were taking led them behind the towering structure of Burned Tower, straight toward Mt. Pyre, a place that lived up to its name. Burned Tower and the mountain were both shrouded in darkness, their towering forms casting long, sinister shadows. The area around them was perpetually cloaked in gloom, even during the day. The sun barely ever reached this forsaken place, and now, with the evening upon them, it felt as though the mountain and tower were merging into one endless stretch of darkness. The air here was thick with a strange, foreboding energy, and it clung to them like an invisible weight, pressing down on their chests and making it harder to breathe. The cold seemed to seep into their very bones, making the atmosphere feel even more oppressive.
In the direction of Mt. Pyre, a narrow, tree-lined path wound its way through the underbrush. The path was paved with ancient bluestone slabs, now slick with moss and dirt, making every step treacherous. The stones were clearly old, their surfaces worn and smooth from years of neglect. It was clear that no one had walked this path in ages. The moss, thick and green, had taken over most of the stones, almost completely swallowing them. The silence of the place was deafening, save for the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees, adding to the already eerie atmosphere.
At the foot of Mt. Pyre lay a cemetery, a sprawling, ancient burial ground made up of sharp, jagged stones that formed makeshift gravestones. They stood like silent sentinels in the fading light, their crooked forms casting long shadows over the uneven ground. Green vines had begun to creep over the stones, slowly but surely wrapping themselves around the gravestones, hiding their inscriptions beneath a veil of green. It was the peak of summer, and the vines were thick and lush, creating an almost suffocating atmosphere in the already claustrophobic cemetery.
A weathered stone tablet stood tall at the entrance to the cemetery, inscribed with four bold characters: "Crestmont family Cemetery." The letters, though worn from the rain, were still clearly legible, giving the whole place an air of ancient mystery. The gate leading into the cemetery was made of bronze, heavy and dark with age. The surface of the gate was covered in a thick layer of patina, a testament to how many years had passed since it had been touched. The sight of the worn-out metal, its green hue glinting faintly in the dim light, made it clear that this place had been forgotten for a long time.
The gate creaked loudly as Kane and Thunderstorm, pushed it open. The sound echoed through the still air, a high-pitched wail that made Thunderstorm flinch slightly. His nerves were already on edge, and the eerie sound only heightened his anxiety. Kane, on the other hand, didn't seem phased. His focus was entirely on their destination.
This deserted and dilapidated cemetery was far from where people normally ventured. It was hidden away, remote and lonely, far from the main paths of the city. If it weren't for the cryptic notes left in Chiyama's "Crestmont family chronicle", Kane and Thunderstorm would never have even known about its existence. This place was not marked on any maps, not spoken of in any local histories. It was a secret, one that had been buried along with the many souls that lay resting here.
As they entered the cemetery, they were greeted by rows upon rows of gravestones, each one standing silent and still in the dim light. The oppressive atmosphere weighed heavily on them, making it feel like the very air was thickening around their bodies. It was already pitch dark now, the night fully descended, and a mist had begun to roll in, slowly enveloping the cemetery. The thick fog clung to the ground like a blanket, swirling around the gravestones and making it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.
Kane and Thunderstorm turned on their flashlights, the beams of light cutting through the fog, casting eerie shadows on the gravestones as they passed. The oppressive atmosphere felt even more intense now, as if the very ground beneath them was charged with some ancient, forgotten energy. Their hearts raced as they began to read the inscriptions on the tombstones one by one, their goal clear in their minds. They were searching for the graves of Chiyama the first, third, and fourth. As they examined each gravestone, they passed, their breaths shallow as they tried to remain as quiet as possible.
The fear of accidentally disturbing the spirits of the dead hung over them like a cloud. While they didn't expect to encounter any human ghosts, this was the perfect breeding ground for ghost-type Pokémon, and the last thing they wanted was to alert them. Any disturbance in this place could easily lead to trouble.
The two of them moved carefully and methodically, inspecting each row of graves. The further they went, the more their hearts pounded in their chests. Row after row of gravestones, but none belonged to the people they were searching for. It wasn't until they reached the very back of the cemetery that they found the tomb of Chiyama the fifth. There was no sign of Chiyama the first, third, or the fourth's graves.
Kane stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowing in thought. What's going on here? he wondered. This should be the right place. So why aren't the graves we're looking for here?
Suddenly, a voice shattered the oppressive silence.
"Hey! What are you two doing here?"
The voice came out of nowhere, startling both Kane and Thunderstorm. Thunderstorm's heart leaped into his throat as he whipped around, his flashlight beam frantically searching for the source of the voice.
Kane's hand instinctively moved toward his Ditto, ready to transform it into a weapon if necessary. His body tensed, prepared for the worst. But when the light finally landed on the figure, they saw that it was just Ryuki.
"Ryuki?" Kane said, his voice still calm, though his hand remained poised, just in case.
"What are you doing back here?" Kane asked, watching as Ryuki, with a large bag slung over his shoulder, approached. The bag was stuffed with poke dollars, incense candles, and other offerings meant for the dead.
Ryuki let out a sigh, clearly exasperated. "I was supposed to come back tomorrow, but Master told me it's Halloween tonight. He said I needed to come and burn some offerings for the ancestors. I didn't want to upset them by not coming, so I rushed back as soon as i could." He paused, muttering under his breath as he looked at the cemetery. "Please don't be angry, ancestors... don't hold it against me…"
With Ryuki leading the way, they continued deeper into the cemetery. Eventually, they arrived at a stone pavilion standing in the center. It was a lonely structure, worn and bare, with nothing inside except a single large bronze cauldron that sat in the middle.
Ryuki carefully placed all the offerings into the cauldron, lighting them one by one as the flames flickered to life. The eerie glow of the fire cast long, flickering shadows across the cauldron as Ryuki knelt and began to pray, performing the ritual bows and murmuring prayers to his ancestors.
When he finished the ritual, Ryuki stood up and stretched. "So," he said, looking over at Kane and Thunderstorm, "what are you two doing in a place like this?"
Thunderstorm glanced at Kane, unsure of how to respond, his tongue tied by the eerie atmosphere.
Kane had already anticipated this question, though. "We saw a ghost-type Pokémon," he said smoothly. "We chased it in here."
Thunderstorm, quick to catch on, nodded rapidly. "Yes! That's exactly it! We were just chasing, but it got away before we could catch it."
Ryuki raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but not in the mood to argue. "You guys are crazy. This place is crawling with spirits and weird energy. Even the Master doesn't come here more than once or twice a year, and you two decide to come poking around because of a Pokémon?" He shook his head, his expression one of disbelief. "Come on, let's get out of here before you really disturb something."
Under Ryuki's urging, Kane and Thunderstorm had no choice but to leave the cemetery behind. They made their way back to their dorms, where Kane immediately put his Pokémon to training. As his Gastly had been practicing Embargo for days, honing the technique. Although the move had become second nature to the Pokémon, it still lacked the power and lasting impact that Kane desired. They still had a long way to go in perfecting the technique.
Later that night, Kane sat alone in the dim light of his dorm, deep in thought. His mind was consumed by the mystery of the Tomb Palace. Despite their best efforts in the cemetery, they had found no trace of the tomb palace mentioned in the Chiyama "Family Chronicles." The directions had seemed so clear, but now they were left with more questions than answers.
He sighed, frustrated by the dead end they had reached. The graves they had found were not enough. Where are the gravestones of the earlier generations of the Chiyama family? What had they missed?
Unable to rest, Kane decided to join Gastly's training session. His mind might have been full of the tomb palace, but he knew he couldn't let that distract him from his Pokémon's progress. Their training was a constant routine—Gastly and Ditto worked tirelessly, perfecting their moves and honing their strength.
Kane stepped into the courtyard, where Gastly was busy practicing embargo on Ditto, who had transformed into a sandbag for the occasion. Ditto, as always, had adapted to its role in training, providing a target for Gastly's attacks. Morning training consisted mostly of defense, but the night sessions were dedicated to offense.
"Thats enough gastly transform into a punching bag ditto," Kane muttered, more to himself than to the Pokémon. His mind was still on the tomb, his thoughts swirling in endless circles as he tried to make sense of the clues, they had uncovered however ditto with superior hearing instantly transformed into a red punching bag for Kain to use.
Unable to focus entirely on the training, Kane began to vent his frustrations. He threw punch after punch at Ditto, his body moving almost on autopilot. "Burned tower... Tomb Palace... Chiyama ..." he muttered under his breath, trying to work out the puzzle with every hit.
After an hour, Kane was drenched in sweat, his muscles aching from the exertion. He was exhausted, but his mind refused to rest. The Tomb Palace haunted his thoughts, refusing to give him peace.
Finally, he called off the training for the night. After a long shower, he collapsed into bed, his body heavy with exhaustion. But even as he drifted into sleep, the unanswered questions about the Tomb Palace continued to weigh on his mind, following him into his dreams.
Status de energia semanal
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