Cynthia felt her pulse slowly begin to settle as things winded down.

  Myst’s battle had been the last one before lunch, and so, as Benkara and the gym trainers filed out to take a break, the people who had been watching from the stands began to move too.

  Though calling it moving was probably generous.

  It was almost funny, how a crowd of maybe fifty people could make clearing out a set of stands built for hundreds look like an impossible task. So instead of joining the herd and experiencing the spiritual journey of a Magikarp flopping upstream, Cynthia stayed seated.

  Honestly, sometimes it felt like nobody had any self-control anymore. With everyone trying to leave at once, you didn’t even save time. If anything, it probably took longer than if someone just… waited.

  Like her.

  She crossed her legs, leaned forward slightly, and let her eyes follow the mess of limbs and backpacks as the crowd slowly funnelled out. A gangly teen nearly flattened a young girl, only for her father to swoop in and catch her mid-fall. He turned to glare, only to lock eyes with an elderly woman instead. The actual culprit, a Machoke, had casually shoved the teen aside without so much as an apology.

  Really, how didn’t people feel embarrassed pushing past each other like this?

  The thought lingered as she watched ten more near-disasters unfold in the span of five seconds. She was just about to look away when she saw it: a familiar flash of black hair.

  And she stilled.

  Not because someone fell over. Not because she regretted waiting. No, those would’ve been great. At least she could do something in those scenarios.

  This?

  Goosebumps prickled across her arm as her gaze landed on Myst…

  And his attempt at forcing himself through the crowd.

  It was like he thought he was clever, trying to sneak along the rightmost edge and almost leaning over the guardrail of the stairs as he made his way up.

  All it did was make him end up looking about as natural as a Slugma trying to swim.

  From the start it was already a trainwreck, and yet, somehow, every second made it worse.

  He bumped into someone else. Then another. His grin, which had appeared after his win, didn't even budge as he apologized for every step he took.

  In a way, that was luck.

  If everybody here hadn’t just seen him battle, somebody would have called him out, but now?

  They had seen the battle, and so they were kind enough to let it slide, not wanting to ruin the mood.

  But still.

  Just minutes ago, he’d been composed, directing Ralts with sharp, focused intensity. He’d made it look effortless, dismantling Benkara and his team piece by piece. He hadn’t been perfect, especially considering how the last fight had gone, but even she had to admit he’d looked admirable.

  Cool, even.

  So couldn’t he just be like that for two more minutes!

  Her internal screams were building to a crescendo when his eyes locked with hers. He lit up, his entire face transforming as he raised a hand to wave.

  She watched his arm go up.

  Watched the crowd start turning, following his gaze.

  Crescendo: achieved.

  She didn’t think. Cynthia’s knees buckled and she dropped out of sight behind the seats like she’d been sniped.

  …

  Now, eye to eye with Myst, she stared. The two weeks spent in Eterna City had filled him out, his cheeks weren’t as hollow, his limbs weren’t quite so stick-like. Which would’ve been great, if it didn’t make him harder to kill.

  Because that was the only reasonable option left.

  Kill Myst.

  Then herself.

  “I said I was sorry, okay?” Myst said, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t realize how big a waiting for people to clear out was.”

  She glared up at him. She wasn’t small, one hundred and sixty seven centimetres was perfectly respectable, but Myst still had a good twenty centimetres on her.

  More height meant more mass.

  More mass meant more effort to bury the body.

  Myst babbled on, unaware. “Like, I don’t even think anyone realized you were the one I was looking at! And even if they did, who cares? It’s not like anyone caught you on camera or anything—”

  Cynthia stopped.

  Caught her on camera.

  Her brain screeched to a halt as it conjured the image: her, pointing at Benkara and screaming at Myst to beat the crap out of him.

  She turned her head slowly, mechanically.

  Myst had the gall to take a step back.

  “Ok, hear me out—” He began.

  She took a step towards him.

  “I have to, Myst. I have to end my miserable existence,” she said, voice flat.

  He took another step back, grinning nervously. “I mean, that’s valid and all, but why do I feel like I’m the one who is going to suffer a fate worse than death before that happens?”

  Cynthia tilted her head, tone almost philosophical. “That’s obvious, no? Before committing ritual self-termination, one must eliminate the fool who dishonoured—”

  She cut off mid-sentence, eyes locking onto a familiar white truck down the street.

  Myst raised a finger, about to object, but Cynthia beat him to it.

  “Though…” she said, drawing it out as she stared meaningfully past him. “You could try to offer a sacrifice to appease my wounded soul.”

  Myst blinked.

  She waited.

  He blinked again.

  At that Cynthia rolled her eyes and pointed. Myst turned, spotted it, and turned back with the face of a pious monk.

  “Oh mighty being,” he intoned, “what if I offered two scoops of ice cream to make amends?”

  Cynthia laid a single finger on her chin, tapping it a couple of times.

  Myst didn’t wait for judgment, “Three, take it or leave it.”

  Her grin spread.

  “Deal.”

  She grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the ice cream truck like an avenging spirit in search of salvation.

  …

  Cynthia spooned chocolate ice cream into her mouth, sucking on it slowly to savour the taste, as Myst flipped through the map he’d bought from a nearby kiosk.

  “So,” Myst said, “they made a road from Eterna to Hearthome, but you can’t walk or drive on it?”

  She just nodded, closing her eyes for a second, before pulling the spoon out of her mouth to answer.

  “It’s nicknamed Cycling Road for a reason. And it’s not a big deal; most regions have one... also, it doesn’t go all the way to Hearthome.”

  “But… why?” Myst asked, ignoring the second part of her sentence in his bewilderment. “Why not just build a normal road? Like for cars?”

  Cynthia sighed, opening her eyes. “First of all, most of the trip is downhill. Bikes are way faster than walking. Second, where did you even get the idea people drive between cities? You know how much manpower it takes to secure a route for that? And sure, most wild Pokémon ignore cars, but all it takes is one Ursaring with a grudge against sound and boom, Hyper Beam.”

  Myst raised a brow. “Okay, but couldn’t people just invent, I don’t know, quieter cars? Seems like a solvable problem.”

  She gave him a flat look. “Right. Go ahead. Build a zero-sound motor. And make silent tires while you’re at it. And while you’re solving those simple problems, go ahead and eliminate pollution and secure world peace—”

  “Touché,” Myst said quickly, raising his hands in surrender.

  She snorted, triumphant, and went for another bite of ice cream, only to catch the drip before it reached her hand. A lot of people underestimated it, but eating ice cream was an art. You had to be fast enough to avoid melt puddles, but slow enough to enjoy every bite.

  It took technique.

  Discipline.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Awareness.

  That was especially true when it came to cone drips, those were the enemy.

  She glanced up.

  Myst was staring.

  He looked... hungry.

  “You’re not getting any,” she said flatly.

  Myst blinked, and then widened his eyes, a blush forming. Quickly he brought his hands up, waving her off, “No, no, I was just thinking about something else.”

  She narrowed her eyes, but the distraction cost her. A cold feeling dripped down onto her hand.

  Spilled ice cream.

  Any other person eating ice cream might write it off. Cynthia wasn’t any other person eating ice cream.

  With surgical precision, she licked the side of her cup, then balanced it in her left hand as she rotated her right hand just so, before licking the chocolate clean. Then she licked the melted chocolate ice-cream off her hand quickly.

  A perfect save.

  And that’s when her brain caught up to her body.

  She froze.

  Then paused.

  Myst’s mouth was open, but he wasn’t teasing her. No, instead his whole face was red.

  Before she could process that, he slammed his hand on the table.

  “So! Bicycles!” he blurted. “We’re gonna need to rent them, right? I heard they’re expensive to buy!”

  Cynthia blinked, her brain still halfway between licking chocolate off her fingers and trying to figure out why Myst looked like he’d just swallowed a live Pidgey.

  “…What?” she asked slowly, eyes still locked on his very red face.

  He flashed her a grin, bright and desperate, the kind people usually saved for trying to cover up crimes.

  For a second, she seriously considered poking at it, really digging in and making him squirm. It would only be fair, considering how much he had teased her.

  But she hesitated.

  He had just won a badge, his first Gym badge… and despite the sheer horror he’d inflicted upon her, that meant something.

  So she let it go.

  “Well,” she said, folding the moment away, “they’re not that expensive. But yeah. No point in buying one if we’re only going to use it for a single route.”

  She took another bite of her ice cream, pointedly not watching the way Myst leaned back with none of his usual casualness.

  “So, we need a place to rent bikes—”

  “We can rent from the people who maintain Cycling Road,” she interrupted. “They’ve got a place at the entrance.”

  “—we need food for the trip—” Myst continued, ignoring her.

  “Poké Marts are open all day.”

  “—and, most importantly, we need some time to rest before we leave,” Myst said firmly, with a slight edge.

  Cynthia pouted.

  “We could make it today, if we split up the tasks…”

  Myst gave her a look.

  She turned away and rapidly finished off the last of her ice cream.

  “This plan sucks.” She muttered spitefully.

  ….

  This was the best plan ever!

  Cynthia's eyes sparkled as she looked up at the statue in front of her, the rest of the city blurring into silence behind it.

  “Look at it!” she gasped, bouncing over to hover a hand reverently over the ancient stone. “You can still see the original weathering, see there? That’s from before they reinforced the base last century. And that crack across the left horn? That’s not damage, it’s part of the design. Some scholars think it was symbolic, a way to represent the duality of the two deities.”

  “Two?” Myst asked, leaning on a nearby tree.

  “It is! Or, it’s supposed to be,” she said, spinning to face him, already talking faster than her thoughts could keep up. “But the statue is deliberately ambiguous. Some people think it was once two statues, or that it represented a proto-concept of the great Sinnoh, before the mythology split it into separate entities.

  She paused, eyes bright, chest heaving slightly from the rush of words, then she caught him watching her. Not the statue.

  Her.

  “What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

  Myst glanced lazily at the statue, tilting his head.

  Cynthia narrowed her eyes. “What?”

  He waved her off, a soft smile tugging at his mouth. “Nothing. I was just thinking about how it’s supposed to look like either Palkia or Dialga.”

  She blinked.

  “That’s actually a really good question,” she said, perking up. “We only recently discovered enough recovered images to get any idea of what Dialga and Palkia were supposed to look like. In fact,” her voice lifted proudly, “that discovery came from my grandmother, when she found an ancient cavern in our hometown. Before that, there were no known visual records. And even today, that information is highly classifi—”

  She stopped cold.

  Myst turned to her, eyebrow raised at her sudden silence. “Why’d you stop?” Then, with a teasing grin he continued, “Did you leak something you weren’t supposed to? Am I gonna have to report you to your grandmother for crimes against the republi—” He said, putting on that voice again.

  This time it didn’t make her force down a smile.

  “Myst,” she cut in.

  Something in her tone made him pause and the grin slid off his face.

  “What?”

  “You said the statue didn’t look like either Palkia or Dialga right?”

  Some part of her hoped, desperately, that he’d say it simply didn’t match what he imagined them to look like.

  Her luck wasn’t that good.

  He glanced back at the statue. “I mean… yeah? Or maybe it looks like both, mashed together. Like some weird fusion—”

  “Myst,” she said again, and this time she felt steel creep into her voice. “How do you know what Dialga or Palkia look like?”

  It was a dumb question. Because she already knew the answer. He didn’t know. The knowledge was just there. He’d say it with a shrug, with that half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  I just know.

  And that was the terrifying part, because she didn’t even know. Not really. She had only ever read the descriptions, scanned fragments of notes. The images of the legends her grandmother had discovered? The ones depicting how Dialga and Palkia actually looked like?

  She hadn’t been allowed to see them yet.

  Sinnoh, was in some ways, lucky. Because their legendaries were quiet… distant. Not like Kanto or Johto, where entire cities had been scorched just because Moltres decided to pass by. Sinnoh was more like Hoenn, its myths were ancient, murmured in lullabies and carved into stone.

  They were almost certainly real, but they weren’t present.

  And yet Myst had looked at this statue, a deliberate muddling of myth, and casually remarked that it looked like both legends combined. She stared at him, a cold weight forming in her stomach.

  “I—” he started.

  Cynthia raised a hand to stop him.

  “You’re certain, right?” she asked softly. “That you know what they’re supposed to look like?”

  Myst nodded, expression unreadable.

  Cynthia took a deep breath.

  “Okay. Okay. That’s... fine. Just—ehhh...” She trailed off, turning her gaze back to the statue.

  Knowledge wasn’t dangerous on its own. Knowing something wasn’t a crime. And in the end information was just that, knowledge, about as dangerous as knowing two plus two equalled four.

  It was just that knowing what a legend looked like often preluded trying to find out more about that legend. Which again preluded trying to access that legend.

  That was, for a lack of a better word, manageable, when it came to Kanto. The legends of the three elemental birds spoke of them as forces of nature, greater than even the greatest of regular Pokémon.

  But that was it.

  They were just forces of nature. Humans were adaptable, they could figure out how to survive a blizzard, could live through a targeted thunderstorm and hide from a heatwave.

  Sinnoh’s myths weren’t like that.

  Sinnoh’s legends were gods.

  Time.

  Space.

  Void.

  Everything.

  If you angered Articuno, your city might vanish.

  If you disturbed Palkia?

  The world might vanish.

  Cynthia took a deep breath, trying to calm her thoughts. She hadn’t really dug into everything Myst knew, mostly for her own sanity. After all, just like he didn’t like saying it, her asking how he knew something got tiresome after a while.

  But right now she didn’t want to know how, she just needed to know what.

  “M—”

  She only got out one letter before he cut her off.

  “I already know what you’re going to ask.”

  Cynthia opened her mouth, then paused, before deciding to simply skip ahead to what she wanted to know.

  “Their appearance.”

  “Origin form, and original.” He said, like those words were supposed to mean something.

  “Powers?”

  “Yeah. But I don’t want to think about it, and you don’t either.”

  “Location?”

  He paused.

  Her heart leapt.

  “They don’t have one, or eh…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “You have to summon them.”

  For a second, she just stood there, letting the cool evening breeze wash over the area. She wanted to accuse him of lying, she really did.

  The problem was that she believed him.

  She’d checked his claims, cross-referenced him during breakfast and under campfire light. More than that, she had used the downtime while he was eating Chansey eggs check her own sources.

  His theory on egg moves? Dead on for Professor Elm’s latest research paper.

  His comments on when a Pokémon tended to learn certain moves? More accurate than her textbooks.

  Even the thing with Buneary, about them evolving via friendship? Rowan had written back that it was good work, that he appreciated the tip, but that he had come to that conclusion a few weeks ago.

  So, no, she couldn’t say Myst was wrong, didn’t even dare to.

  Which left them where exactly?

  What did this even change?

  She paused for a moment.

  Yeah.

  What did this even change?

  “Okay,” Cynthia said.

  A beat passed.

  Then Myst blinked, confused. “Okay? That’s it?”

  Cynthia looked at him, really looked, and saw the way his fingers had curled into tight fists, like he was bracing for something to hit him.

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes. Not even close.

  And for some reason that was that.

  The sheer absurdity of it, the world-ending weight of the moment folded in on itself and looped back around to stupid.

  Cynthia snorted.

  A real, undignified, nose-crinkling laugh burst out of her as she bent over, gasping.

  Myst blinked for a few more seconds, before he let out a sound of pure, completely fake, outrage.

  “Hey!” Myst huffed. “I thought this was going to be important! You can’t just laugh, Cynthia. Seriously, is this critical information or not? I need confirmation here!”

  She tried to hold it in.

  Failed.

  Grinned anyway.

  “Well, that’s actually an excellent question, I’ll get back to—”

  “Cynthiaaa!”

  And just like that Cynthia broke.

  ……..

  Benkara looked at the report on his desk.

  Reports like this normally didn’t reach his desk. As Ranger Captain, responsible for the safety and passage through Eterna Forest, his time was too valuable for a routine vandalism case.

  The only difference was the name of the one who had reported it.

  Cynthia Shirona.

  He tapped the desk, remembering back to their battle earlier today.

  She was a talented trainer, prodigious even.

  The way she commanded her Pokémon, the way she saw the battle, it wasn’t instinct he would normally see in a fifteen-year-old girl. It was the sort of thing he expected from people like him, those who had spent all fifteen of those years battling. More than that, her Pokémon was well trained, with two of them even showing off Custom Moves. The last time he had a challenger that was supposed to challenge the second gym do that was—

  Benkara paused for a moment.

  Well, it was never.

  He had never, in his ten years as a Gym Leader, faced anybody who was supposed to take their second badge use Custom Moves. Because training a Pokemon to do that was hard, and more than that, it required creativity. You had to design the move, finding two moves that fit together, and meld them into a complete whole.

  It wasn’t a new move of course, but it was close.

  Close enough that there had never been a new move made from a trainer who first didn’t have their Pokémon capable of using a slew of Custom Moves.

  Benkara picked up the report.

  He wanted to say that it was expected of Carolina’s granddaughter, but she was already beyond that sort of acclaim. Honestly, if he was a betting man, he would even say that there was a good chance she could take a shot at becoming champion.

  She had everything she needed.

  A strong will.

  A good brain.

  A good foundation.

  Hell, if her friend was anything to go off, she even had a pretty competent rival.

  Benkara smiled wryly.

  Legends, wouldn’t that be nice, somebody who actually understood that you couldn’t simply overthrow a system that had been around for over a hundred years. Who understood that for as backwards as certain things had been, some things had been like that for a reason.

  Really, it wasn’t even like he completely disagreed with their current champion; something had to be done. When he’d gone on his journey, too many trainers had gotten stuck and given up because they lacked the experience and knowledge that came from being born into a clan.

  It wasn’t like it was impossible to make up that gap, but trying to do it while having enough time to complete the circuit? While having enough time to learn all the things those from clans already knew? There was a reason over sixty percent of trainers in his era stopped at the first gym.

  So something had to be done.

  But why did that b—

  Benkara took a deep breath and stopped himself from crumpling the report in his hand. Instead, he slowly glanced at a nearby picture, of a younger him, when he was still traveling with Byron and…

  He bit his lip.

  Why did you have to be so foolish?

  Benkara forced himself around and grabbed his hat.

  It was late.

  It was getting dark.

  He should have been heading home, maybe checking if Gardenia had fallen asleep after his quick drive-by.

  But he needed a break.

  So with a flick of his wrist he released his oldest partner.

  Tropius appeared with a low roar, his presence making the grass stand taller. Then, when the grass-flying type realized it was almost night, he suddenly stopped, throwing his trainer an almost sheepish look.

  "Your kid just got beat up, so why do you look excited?" Benkara asked, shaking his head.

  Tropius let out a low sound, and Benkara understood what he meant without a word.

  His son needed that.

  "Whatever you say, old dog," Benkara said with a wry grin. "Anyway, I'm due for a break, figured we'd check out a vandalism case. Just need to be back before sundown. You up for it?"

  His friend threw him a look, then simply snorted, great palm-like leaves rustling as if eager to take off.