Poke Fun PlayGlaceon Under the Aurora
Glaceon reaches the plateau on the perfect night for an aurora, then finds a delivery trail disappearing beneath the snow.
A sky saved for later
Glaceon had chosen the place in daylight. A low ridge sheltered the plateau from the strongest wind, and beyond it the northern sky opened without a single tree to interrupt the view. It had chosen the night just as carefully. The trail warden had pointed to the clear forecast, then to the little photograph of green light above the station door. Glaceon remembered the light. It had carried that picture in its imagination through three ordinary, clouded evenings.
Now the plateau lay pale beneath a rising moon. Glaceon brushed snow from a flat stone and settled beside it, paws tucked under its chest. Far below, the station windows looked no larger than grains of amber. Up here there were no voices, no doors shutting, and no footsteps except its own. A faint color gathered above the northern ridge. Glaceon lifted its head. The long-awaited sky was beginning to arrive.
A bell rang once behind it. Not a grand bell: a small, uneven jingle that stopped before its second note. Glaceon turned reluctantly. Delibird stood beside a half-buried trail post, holding a cloth pouch away from the snow. Its red body was dusted white, and its flippers trembled with fatigue. Beside it waited an Alolan Vulpix, snowy white with curled tails and cool blue eyes. The little fox kept looking toward the station lights and then toward the ridge.
The two had been delivering a bundle of dry lantern wicks and a repaired stove valve to the upper shelter. The route should have followed the marked ledge around the plateau. A late gust had covered several low marker stones, and Delibird had taken a turn that looked familiar until it did not. Vulpix had found the trail post, but it marked a junction rather than the way home. They had been walking in circles with the amber windows always maddeningly below them.
Glaceon knew the junction. It had passed it on the climb. The shortest-looking slope descended through deep drifts and ended at a broken gully, while the safe route curved almost out of sight to the east. It rose and showed the pair the first correct marker with its nose. Delibird tried to follow, stumbled in the soft snow, and sat down abruptly. The pouch remained dry. Its carrier plainly needed more than a direction.
Above the ridge, the green line widened. Glaceon looked at it for one heartbeat longer than was useful. Then it turned toward the east. The sky might wait or it might not. The two shapes beside the post could not wait comfortably where they were. Vulpix lifted its head as Glaceon returned. Together they eased Delibird toward the ridge's sheltered side, where the moonlight showed a small stone recess protected from the wind.
Delibird's bell rang a second time. The sound carried only a few steps, but Glaceon was close enough to hear it. Behind them, the first green curtain brightened, unseen. Ahead lay the narrow task of finding somewhere to rest before anybody tried another turn.
The hollow in the ice
The recess was not a cave. A wall of stone curved behind it, and old packed snow formed a low overhang above a broad open front. Glaceon checked the edges before letting anyone settle beneath them. A thin outer lip looked unstable. It knocked that lip down from the side, leaving a lower, firmer shelter that could not drop onto a resting companion. Vulpix swept loose powder away with its tails. Delibird sat against the stone and finally loosened its grip on the pouch.
The wind began carrying fine snow across the plateau. It had not been in the evening's careful plan. The sky remained clear overhead, but snow lifted from the ground and turned the space near their paws cloudy. Glaceon watched the first marker disappear again. A journey could become difficult without a full storm arriving. It would be foolish to lead tired companions across a route that was growing less visible simply because the stars still looked reassuring.
Vulpix opened a small side pocket in Delibird's pouch. Inside was a wrapped ration intended for the return trip. They shared a little, leaving enough for later. The bundle also contained a folded trail sketch with a bright blue loop marking the safe route. Delibird had been holding the sketch upside down when it took the wrong turn. The discovery embarrassed it so thoroughly that Vulpix leaned against its red side. Glaceon looked at the sketch instead of the embarrassed face.
The safe route crossed three marker stones, a shallow saddle, and the eastern wall of the old shelter. The upper shelter was closer than the station. If they could reach it, the trail warden could be contacted by its fixed radio, and they could wait indoors until the drifting snow eased. Glaceon studied the direction of the ground wind. It was blowing westward. The eastern side of the ridge might keep the marker tops clear enough to follow.
It climbed out alone, staying within sight of the recess. The first stone lay exactly where the sketch suggested, but the second had vanished. Glaceon found it by following the protected line beside the rocks rather than the obvious track across open snow. The stone was broad, with a blue stripe beneath its white cap. Glaceon cleared the cap carefully. It did not invent a shorter route between the stones. A shortcut that worked for its own sure paws might not work for Delibird's tired steps.
When it returned, Vulpix was awake and Delibird was not. The little white fox had arranged its curled tails to block the draft at Delibird's feet. Glaceon settled at the open front, leaving enough space for air to move. Through the blowing snow it could see a green glow spread above the north ridge. There was no safe way to watch it fully from here. Glaceon let its eyes fall back to the marker. For now, that small blue stripe mattered more.
They rested until Delibird could stand steadily. The pouch passed to Glaceon, its strap secured so it would not drag. Vulpix took a place beside Delibird. The wind still worried at the plateau, but the protected eastern route was visible. They left the recess exactly as they had found it, apart from the dangerous lip that no longer hung above anyone's head. Three sets of footprints curved toward the first blue stone.
Three blue stones
At the first stone, Delibird wanted to apologize again. It lifted one flipper, then seemed unsure what to do with the rest of the gesture. Glaceon nudged the trail sketch toward it. There would be time for regret indoors. Delibird folded the sketch the right way up and took a careful step. Vulpix moved beside it, neither pulling ahead nor pressing too close. Their progress was slow enough that the marks of each previous step remained clear.
The second stone stood near a wind-scoured hollow. Glaceon had cleared its stripe, but the approach now held a thin skin of hard ice. It tested the ground, found firmer snow beside the rocks, and curved the route a little without leaving the marked ledge. Delibird followed that curve, using the pouch's old walking strap as a handhold between its flippers. Vulpix stopped whenever Delibird stopped. The little fox seemed to possess an unlimited supply of patient pauses.
Beyond the second stone, the ground rose toward the shallow saddle. The wind would be strongest at the crest. They waited behind a low outcrop while Glaceon inspected the final stretch. The third blue stone stood close to the shelter wall, visible only when a gust thinned the blowing powder. Glaceon could cross the saddle quickly. Bringing the others meant crossing only when all three could see the destination. It returned to the outcrop and sat down rather than encouraging a rush.
For several minutes the plateau offered no clear interval. Delibird held one flipper over its bell to keep the strap quiet. Vulpix's ears followed the gusts. Glaceon listened too. The ground wind arrived in pulses; between them the snow fell nearly still. When a longer pause came, Glaceon rose. The three moved together, following the firmest strip along the marked edge. They did not run. The third stone grew clearer with every step until the shelter wall blocked most of the wind.
The shelter door had a latch Delibird knew well. That small familiarity restored its confidence. It opened the door on the second try and ushered Vulpix inside with a proud sweep of its flipper. Glaceon placed the dry pouch on the bench. There were thick resting mats, a lantern with a covered light, and instructions for contacting the station. Delibird worked the radio button while Glaceon and Vulpix listened. The trail warden's reply arrived with a soft burst of static.
She confirmed that the delivery could stay overnight and that nobody should attempt the lower descent until morning. A visitor sleeping in the back room came out to help secure the door and check the lamp. He was a quiet botanist who had spent the day studying wind-sheltered plants. He thanked Delibird for the repaired valve but did not install it himself in the dark. The bundle was safe, its recipients knew where it was, and its carriers were finally somewhere that did not move around them.
Glaceon settled beside the north window. Frost obscured the glass. Through one clear corner it could see only a strip of black sky, with no green left in it. The aurora might have ended while they were crossing the saddle. Vulpix curled on a mat near its paws. Delibird's bell rested silently on the bench. Glaceon let the room's stillness reach it, one quiet breath at a time.
The light at the end of the night
Near the end of the night, the wind stopped. It did not fade gradually; one gust passed the wall and the next simply failed to arrive. The quiet woke Glaceon. The shelter's timbers no longer creaked. A pale shape lay against the northern window, too smooth to be frost. Glaceon stood and moved closer. Beyond the glass, the sky had opened again, and a green band was lifting above the ridge like a curtain raised without a sound.
It woke Vulpix with a gentle touch. The little fox blinked, saw the window, and rose at once. Delibird needed two touches and a patient wait. The botanist checked the immediate conditions, then opened the sheltered side door. Nobody needed to travel onto the plateau. From the firm cleared step outside, all three Pokémon could see the northern sky above the wall. They stood close enough that their shoulders nearly touched, the door remaining open behind them.
The light moved slowly. Green folded into green; a narrow violet edge appeared and vanished. Stars remained visible through it. The snow did not become bright as daylight, and the world offered no grand music to announce what was happening. Delibird's little bell gave one accidental note when it shifted. Vulpix looked at the bell, then back at the sky. Glaceon found that it no longer wished to watch alone. The two small interruptions belonged to the night now.
The brightest sweep lasted only a few minutes. Delibird tried to lift its pouch to show the others something, remembered that the pouch was on the bench, and wisely abandoned the idea. Vulpix's white tails reflected the faint green as they rested against the snow. Glaceon watched until it could no longer distinguish the band from the paler edge of morning. It had reached the plateau with a picture in mind. The real light did not look exactly like that picture. It was less tidy and much more difficult to keep.
They returned indoors before the cold made standing still uncomfortable. The botanist poured himself a warm drink and sketched the aurora in the margin of his field notebook. Delibird inspected the drawing, then pointed at the missing bell. He added a tiny curve beside the three Pokémon. Vulpix curled up again. Glaceon lay by the window, where the first ordinary blue of morning replaced the green. It slept without dreaming of any particular sky.
The trail warden met them on the descent once the route had been checked. She listened to Delibird's complicated account, inspected the covered marker stones, and arranged taller seasonal poles for that exposed junction. The mistake was worth understanding rather than merely forgetting. Glaceon stopped at the flat stone where it had planned to spend the evening. A faint hollow in the snow marked the place its paws had rested. New tracks crossed beside it, joining the path east.
At the station, the old aurora photograph still hung by the door. Glaceon looked at it, then out at the ridge. It might return on another clear night. It might watch alone, or with somebody, or spend most of the night looking for a blue stripe on a stone. None of those possibilities spoiled the green light it had seen. The plateau kept no finished pictures. It kept paths, weather, and enough open sky for whatever arrived next.
An original fan-created story by the Poke Fun Play editorial team. Illustrations generated for this adventure.
Featured Pokémon
Glaceon
Vulpix
DelibirdKeep exploring
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