Seventeen Plates in all, the very pillars of existence, were scattered across regions and entrusted to Legendaries—beings of extraordinary power and purpose. These guardians would shield the Plates from those unworthy and wield their energy when the balance required it. Arceus’ will ensured the Plates would remain hidden until the worthy appeared, chosen by forces beyond comprehension.
The world would come to know these “worthy” ones by many names. Trainers. Heroes. Champions. But to Arceus, they were more than mortals—they were Chosen.
And so, the mechanisms began.
From Kanto to Paldea, across snow-capped mountains, sunlit ruins, and cosmic realms, the world has known many heroes.
They were Chosen.
Not by man, not by fate–but by Arceus, the Original One.
Not even they know it.
No prophecy foretold it. No divine herald declared their coming.
And yet, one by one, they rose—drawn into cataclysm and wonder, tragedy and triumph.
Red, who scaled Mt. Silver in silence, battling ghosts of ambition and solitude.
Ethan, who stood among towers once burned, awakening legends meant to slumber.
Brendan and May, chosen to quell the fury of land and sea, standing between titanic gods.
Lucas and Dawn, thrust between time and space, as Dialga and Palkia clashed at the peak of Sinnoh.
Hilbert, Hilda. Nate, Rosa. Calem, Serena. Elio, Selene. Gloria, Victor. Even Liko, whose journey is only beginning.
Arceus did not speak to them. But his will moved through them like a current beneath still waters, guiding them toward the Plates, toward change, toward truth.
Though Arceus did not summon the Legendaries together—each was scattered across their own domain—they all felt the pull of his power. Like a whisper on the wind or a pulse in the earth, Arceus’ will reached each of them, delivering the same message: the Plates were to be theirs to guard.
As the Plates traveled to their destined guardians, Arceus reached out to them individually, his presence manifesting in their realms like a guiding star.
Dialga, within the Temporal Rift, stood as time warped endlessly. The Iron Plate glinted like molten steel.
“Dialga, ruler of time. To you, I entrust the Iron Plate. Its strength mirrors the endurance of your dominion. Guard it well, for its power is a foundation of creation.”
Dialga’s eyes gleamed. “Time is eternal, yet fragile. Your will shall be done.”
Palkia, amidst the endless tide of stars and waves in the Spatial Rift, received the Draco Plate, its energy flowing like living dragonsong.
“Palkia, ruler of space. This Plate reflects the boundless oceans and the infinite reaches of your domain. Protect it, for it anchors the very fabric of existence.”
Palkia inclined its head. “The currents of space will flow unbroken.”
In the tranquil meadows of Sinnoh, Shaymin basked beneath golden sunlight as the Meadow Plate descended, blooming with radiant life.
“Shaymin, caretaker of growth and renewal. This Plate is a beacon of life’s persistence. Guard it, and let the world flourish under your watch.”
Shaymin chirped softly. “The meadows will never wither.”
High above the Virelia skies, Rayquaza coiled among clouds where the air grew thin. The Sky Plate shimmered with hues of dawn and dusk.
“Rayquaza, sentinel of the heavens. To you, I entrust the Sky Plate, a reflection of boundless freedom. Guard it from those who would disrupt the balance of above and below.”
Rayquaza’s gaze pierced the horizon. “None shall disturb the harmony of the skies.”
Deep within Mount Borelias, surrounded by silence and frost, Kyurem stirred from its slumber. The Icicle Plate appeared, faintly glowing.
“Kyurem, guardian of balance between heat and cold. The Icicle Plate symbolizes power tempered by restraint. Its strength now lies with you.”
Kyurem rose slowly. “This burden suits me. It will not falter.”
In a twilight grove hidden from time, Victini danced among fireflies. When the Mind Plate descended into her tiny arms, she froze.
“Victini,” Arceus spoke, his voice quieter now, “child of victory and hope. To you, I entrust the Mind Plate.”
Victini clutched it tightly. “I’ll guard it with everything I’ve got! No one will take it from me—ever!”
Arceus’ voice lowered. “Your task is more than guarding. This shrine will remain hidden, its path appearing only to those worthy. You will wait, not knowing when or why, until the time is right.”
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“Wait? Alone?” she asked, trembling.
“The Plate will know,” Arceus assured. “Its energy will guide you.”
“…What if I mess up?”
“You will not. Your strength lies not in your power but in your spirit. Trust in yourself, as I trust in you.”
From the shadows, Armarouge emerged, silent and stalwart. Victini looked up at the shrine, a new flame of determination burning in her eyes.
“Looks like it’s just you and me, huh?” she whispered. And so they waited.
When Arceus’ will was set into motion, the seventeen Plates of Creation did not fall randomly. They moved with purpose, guided by threads unseen—pulled through time, space, and dimension, drawn toward those whose existence aligned with the essence they carried.
They did not crash nor blaze like meteors. Instead, they folded into the world, slipping through rifts, rivers, and realms, each one vanishing from mortal perception the moment it reached its destined guardian.
The Zap Plate surged with roaring stormlight as it arced through the Virelia skies, finding Thundurus, who danced amid tempests and thunder.
The Splash Plate, aglow with the breath of oceans, drifted beneath moonlit tides until it reached the sanctuary of Manaphy in the Seabreeze Archipelago’s depths.
The Earth Plate sank into the frostbitten chambers of Snowpoint Temple, where Regigigas, still and eternal, stirred faintly as it felt the weight of ancient duty settle once more upon its slumbering shoulders.
The Fist Plate embedded itself within the rugged mountains of Unova, where Terrakion stood like a living bastion, unmoved by time.
The Spooky Plate shimmered into being at the Eclipse Shrine of Alola, its eerie energy embraced by Lunala, watcher of the veil between life and death.
The Toxic Plate, pulsing with unnatural hues, sank into the corrupted lands of Galar, claimed by the twisted form of Eternatus as it slumbered beneath the poisoned sky.
The Insect Plate skittered through decaying ruins and rusted metal until it reached the urban depths of Unova, where Genesect brooded in silence.
The Stone Plate cracked through ancient earth to rest in the Rock Peak Ruins, settling beneath the silent vigil of Regirock.
The Flame Plate burned with primal fury as it buried itself within the molten heart of Blazebrook Volcano, awakening the presence of Groudon, titan of land and fire.
The Dread Plate fell upon the Desolate Wastes of Kalos, its dark hum echoing through the endless gloom as Yveltal opened its wings in slumbering defiance.
And the Pixie Plate, shimmering like stardust frozen in time, vanished into the folds of mystery—its guardian, Jirachi, resting where no map could find, where even dreams hesitated to tread.
They scattered not like a sacred dispersal, ordained by creation itself.
The world did not witness it. No trumpet call, no divine proclamation.
And yet, somewhere in the silence between stars and shrines, Arceus watched.
Though scattered, the Plates remain bound by Arceus’ will. They carry his essence, shaping the balance of the Pokémon world and waiting for the day when their power will be called upon once more. Those who guard them do so with unwavering resolve, knowing they are the stewards of creation itself.
They were not merely relics. They were not trinkets of power, nor keys to war. They were the foundation of reality itself–crafted by Arceus in the first breath of existence, each one a mirror to an elemental law that governs the universe.
Each plates hum with the resonance of the Original One. Their energy courses not only through the Legendaries who guard them, but through the very bones of the world.
To touch a Plate, is to brush against the original syntax of reality.
And yet, the Plates were not simply forged to exist.
When gathered in harmony, the Plates respond to the divine resonance of balance.
When gathered in malice or greed... they warp.
Though Arceus forged the Plates to maintain harmony, not all history heeded such divine order.
Among scholars of the divine, there exists one event—so ancient, so contradictory, so shrouded in supernatural haze—that few dare speak of it as truth.
A tale of a kingdom that soared above the clouds, powered by radiant energy, guided by humans who sought to become Gods.
A tale of the Sky Fortress of Oblivia.
Historians dismiss it. The few who do study Oblivia's mythology dismiss the fortress as nothing more than symbolic poetry, a warning tale from a forgotten age.
But the truth lingers...
Long before the world as it is now, before even the first League was ever formed, Oblivia thrived as a civilization not of conquest, but curiosity.
Curiosity untampered by humility.
They understood how to channel divine energy, crafting instruments and glyphs that could resonate with Legendary Pokémon through will and harmony. They had not only mastered the art of coexisting with Legendary Pokémon—they had begun to command them.
But their ambition spiraled beyond reverence.
They built a fortress in the sky, powered by elemental cores believed to mimic the energy of the Plates themselves.
They built the Golden Armor—mechanical suits infused with arcane circuitry capable of controlling Pokémon, severing the natural bond between will and spirit. They constructed Pulse Machines, devices that emitted corrupted energy frequencies—faint echoes of the divine harmony found in the Plates. They sought not to worship power, but to imitate it.
So Arceus came.
In Judgement.
The power was sealed.
And Oblivia was reduced to a scattered chain of islands and half-buried memories, its history fragmented across murals, broken temples, and half-faded glyphs.
Even Arceus' presence, recorded in a single, disputed glyph showing a radiant wheel-ringed equine figure descending from the sky—is considered pure fiction by most academics.
Whether Arceus truly came is still debated.
What remains known—what can be proven—to the few researchers who still dare to study Oblivia is this:
The Plates were never directly involved. Their divine signatures were absent.
And yet… the energy core that powered the Sky Fortress? Its pulse, now faint but traceable, matches the resonance of a Plate—artificial, unstable, corrupted.
This has shaken the quiet halls of Virelia’s most guarded archives. Not only for what it implies—but for what it confirms.
It is possible to replicate a Plate’s energy. But never safely. Never without consequence.
That knowledge alone is enough to unnerve minds like Professor Ardene, Champion Astrid, and other key figures who are aware of the hidden histories buried beneath myth and modern politics.
Because if an organization like Team Eclipse were ever to uncover even a fragment of that lost Oblivian technology—
If they combined its resonance with their own experiments, or worse, with forces like Hoopa, warping space and time at will—
Then not even Arceus Himself could predict what would come next.
Modern historians scoff at the tale—labeling it allegory, symbolic hubris, a warning dream from a culture long vanished.
But those who have walked, those who have heard the Plates hum, who have seen reality bend at the edges—
They feel something different when they read those broken tablets.
Because the energy signatures recorded at several Oblivian ruins—those which match no known phenomenon in any region—are uncannily close to Plate resonance.
Oblivia didn't just fall.
It cracked something open.
Not just the sky.
Not just bonds between Pokémon and humankind.
But the veil between dimensions. Between timelines. Between realities.