Once, long ago in a land of swords and stories, there was a kingdom besieged by adversaries. They were surrounded on all sides, and the opposing armies fielded large swathes of ruthless pokemon, seeking to overcome them and swarm them in a great war.

One day, the king of this kingdom realized he could not win alone. Gathering his advisor—a shrewd-faced, no-nonsense woman with a librarian’s air—he devised a scheme with which to beat back the invaders.

Deep within the kingdom’s borders, you see, was an enchanted wood. Many pokemon lived within the wood, but it was said that the legendary wolf of the blade, Zacian, stalked under its boughs. A party was sent to entreat Zacian and enlist his aid against the coming forces.

Against all odds, Zacian appeared like a breath of wind inside the king’s great hall. The king explained his situation and then entreated Zacian for his assistance. The great wolf listened carefully, and then responded (for Zacian, a legendary pokemon, was like a god, and could speak the human tongue) that he would fight for them for a price. The wolf’s eyes turned up to stare piercingly at a great sword hanging over the throne. The sword was the kingdom’s foremost treasure—a blade of finest make, gilded with gold and with a gleaming ruby set on the pommel. It was truly an artisan’s work.

The king paled, for the sword was a symbol of the kingdom itself, and he and his shrewd advisor stepped aside for a whispered conference. Zacian sat patiently on his haunches, ignoring the eyes that studied his figure. Two young women talked to each other in the corner of the room—the king’s daughter, the princess, and the mistress the king had taken after his wife had passed; the woman was not that much older than his daughter. Neither had seen anything like the great wolf before.

Finally the king and his advisor emerged. “Great wolf,” said the king, “you have my word that on beating back our rivals, I shall surrender to you my most treasured possession.”

Zacian nodded and was gone as fast as he had arrived.

Word soon came of a fierce assault on the enemy forces—a blue and golden shadow rending the enemies asunder with fierce sword strikes. Even the massed adversaries could not stand up against a god, and soon the armies were broken and in retreat.

Zacian returned to the castle to claim his prize, but soon learned why humans were regarded with such suspicion. The king delivered to him not the gilded blade, but a simple locket with a faded picture of a woman inside. As Zacian stared flatly at it, the king said: “The deal was for my most treasured possession. My possession. The sword is the property of the crown, not of me personally; what I value most is this picture of my long-lost wife.”

Growl ripping from his muzzle, Zacian took a step towards the king, but was ringed in by spear-wielding soldiers. The captain of the guard, a steely woman who had been in on the duplicity, smirked at him, her face tight.

“I was told,” said the king’s advisor, a satisfied look on her face, “that gods and legends kept their word. Is that not so? The bargain was your service for the king’s most treasured possession. The bargain is upheld. Or is the honor of the gods to be stained?”

The courtiers and nobles tittered around the court, the princess and the king’s mistress sharing a laugh behind a feathered fan. Zacian growled once more and then, raising one lithe paw, smashed the locket and its picture into fragments. “There is much to be said of honor,” he noted, his voice low and smooth, and then he was gone like a moonbeam before the dawn.

The king laughed, and the kingdom breathed, and all considered it a game well-played. But in fact, they had yet to see the legend’s counterplay.

A fortnight passed and the kingdom reveled, until one night, a night with no moon, a strange wind settled on the castle. The sentries standing guard found themselves bristling with unease, despite no clear danger.

The first true sign that something was afoot was a high and piercing wail from the princess’s chamber. Soldiers rushed there but found the door locked and barred from the inside. As they worked at the door, they realized that the princess’s wails were coming with a certain rhythm—again, and again, and again. Furthermore, it went unspoken among them that there was a certain quality to her voice—a high, lustful whine.