"Stories don't have to be nice," Ember says simply.

"When the stories are real, not being nice is something that needs fixing," she says firmly.

"Yes... yes, you're right. But sometimes things happen, and the most you can do is move forward with hope."

Her burn scars are stark in the dimly phosphorescent cave-light.

"That is true." Sigh. "I don't mean to give the impression that bad things don't happen back home, or anyhing. This is a startlingly large concentration but I'm only mostly as naive as I'm sure I come off."

"I think it's good to be naïve," Ember says firmly. "Because if you know things can't be changed, you won't change them."

"...I mean, obviously things can be changed. Things change literally all the time. The trick is getting them to change for the better. Which, you know, you can totally do! But it takes hard work."

They enter a large, open cavern ringed by deep water, with a tall island in the middle. There are rope bridges out over the water, and small fishing boats. There's also a building atop the island-hill, the chimney of which emits smoke that floats up and out through vents in the cavern ceiling.

"Welcome to the village of the Iron Arrow tribe," Lann says.

Lucy does not immediately identify the boats as for fishing; fishing in Johto generally involves individual fishermen with poles catching water-type pokemon, not people with nets hauling in small food animals. 

"Your home is beautiful," she says sincerely. Honestly this is for sure the prettiest cave system she's ever been in. Mostly they don't have glowing purple fungi.

Lann pauses. "Yesterday I would've said you were crazy, but knowing I might not see it again... I think I agree."

"Well, everywhere is beautiful if you know how to appreciate it, but I've never seen fungi like that before." She points at a column of glowing purple arched against the cave wall. "Magnificent."

He pats the fungal shelf. "Yeah. Yeah, they're pretty great."

They advance up the island's surface, towards the smoking hut. There's a clanging metal sound coming from it, and then a hiss of steaming oil.

Smithing, maybe? Not super her business, anyway, she'll find out or she won't. 

Indeed, when they reach the summit there's a man holding up a freshly quenched iron sword to check its edge. He's old, his hair yellow-white, and he has thick tusks protruding from his lower jaw.

"Hello, Lann," he rumbles, lisping around this impediment. "I šee you've found šome šurfacers."

Lann nods. "They fell down – Deskari attacked – and she found Lariel's sword."

That is probably her cue to produce the sword! She does so. 

The chief squints, against the light and his tears.

"I did not believe you, Lann," he murmurs. "I thought the šword had been lošt to uš forever. You have proven me a fool."

"Not a fool, Sull," Lann says firmly. "You were right, that I would never find it. Lucy did. And she's convinced me not to bring up the whole tribe, not yet. Just a few good warriors, to get the lay of the land and make sure there's a place for us."

"Do we have warriors to špare?" Sull wonders.

"I think we should convene a moot. Get one warrior from each tribe that will come, and send them up once we've cleared the path for them to get through."

"Warriors" is going to imply more killing, isn't it. This...is maybe not the time and place to object to that?

Maybe she can convince her pokemon to have babies and then everyone can have pokemon instead of hitting each other with sharp objects. That would be so nice.