Myst wasn’t entirely sure why he was still standing there—next to Cynthia, Graham, and everyone else who’d been in the meeting room. But he had a feeling that walking away now probably wouldn’t be the best look, not as Graham’s half-speech, half-debrief wound down.

  “I won’t pretend this will be easy,” Graham said, his voice steady—hard as steel.

  “As I said before, even crossing Sewaddle tribal territory carries risk. Facing a Royal Guard?” He shook his head slowly. “One solid hit could knock a Pokémon out. A second could be fatal.”

  He let the silence sit for a heartbeat.

  “But this is also an opportunity,” he continued. “An experience few ever get—and an honor even fewer earn.”

  He raised his hand high.

  “Every trainer who chooses to stand with us today will receive a letter of commendation for their service. And for those of you who ever consider becoming Rangers—” his gaze swept the crowd, sharp and assessing, “—I will personally recommend you.”

  Then his hand dropped.

  “So I need to know,” Graham said. “Who is willing to sign on—and who isn’t.”

  His voice didn’t rise, but it didn’t need to.

  “I will not force anyone to stay. Anyone who chooses not to join will be allowed to leave. No judgment. No consequences.” He paused, then added, voice hardening just slightly. “But understand this—if more than two-tenths of you walk away, we cannot proceed. The plan won’t work without the numbers.”

  He looked over them one last time.

  “So. Who’s willing?”

  The response was immediate.

  No one hesitated. More than two dozen hands shot into the air—eager, determined, even those who’d looked unsure just moments before. Momentum carried them all forward.

  Every single one.

  Myst tightened his grip on Swadloon slightly.

  …

  Myst opened his eyes to almost pure darkness.

  Slowly, he lifted his upper body and squinted toward the entrance, the only place with enough light to make anything out. At the far end of the cave, one of the handfuls of lanterns the rangers had refused to extinguish hung from the stone, casting just enough glow that, if someone really wanted to move, they could.

  Well, they could with some effort at least.

  And so, with effort, he worked his way out of his sleeping bag and stood on top of it, pausing to glance around the cavern.

  He was pretty close to the exit and to the “main” hall of the cavern—pretty lucky, all things considered. It meant he would only have to move carefully for about five steps before reaching a space where he wouldn’t have to dodge the dozens of sleeping trainers.

  Taking a breath, he tried for a small step.

  And froze as he almost stepped on something leafy.

  Closing his eyes for a moment, he lifted his foot back to its original position, then looked down.

  Lucky.

  Swadloon hadn’t woken up.

  Then he blinked.

  Wait, maybe he could—

  He cut the thought short, before it could finish.

  Yeah, no. Too risky. If he woke her up, and then she woke everybody else up, he was probably dead.

  So instead of picking it up, he slowly, with even greater effort, began stepping through the crowd of trainers, carefully making his way to the exit.

  When he reached it, he let out the breath he had been holding in relief.

  All skill, he thought, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

  The cavern breathed softly in its sleep: dozens of chests rising and falling, fabric rustling faintly with every shift. And, more importantly, toward the middle of the room the cavern became a dead void, where the lantern’s light simply gave up and faded into nothing. If he’d been any farther inside, he probably would’ve woken half a dozen people on his path to the exit.

  In other words.

  Lucky.

  He shrugged to himself.

  Then again—luck was part of skill.

  Walking past the lantern, he carefully avoided anything that might give off sound, moving quietly enough to leave the Rangers undisturbed in their separate alcoves. Eventually, he reached the side caves William had led them through earlier and slipped inside.

  The moment he did, darkness swallowed him whole. No shadows. No outlines. Nothing. He couldn’t even see his own feet. His hand dropped to his side on instinct, fingers closing around a Poké Ball as his thumb slid over the release mechanism. He closed his eyes.

  Red light burst into the cavern, and a second later a soft yawn broke the silence.

  He cracked his eyes open—

  Purple light flared, flooding the cave.

  Myst shut his eyes immediately.

  ‘S-sorry…’

  The voice was small, apologetic, and almost mortified, coming at the same time as the light dimmed dramatically.

  He opened his eyes again, rubbed at them like that could somehow stop them from prickling, and then shook his head.

  “It’s fine,” he whispered, blinking until Navi finally came into focus.

  Blue, hair-like strands had fallen over her eyes, her hands caught awkwardly between dropping to her sides and holding onto the small sphere of Psychic-type energy lighting the tunnel. She stood there, utterly uncertain, the glow wobbling faintly in time with her emotions.

  Myst couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips as he crouched down in front of her.

  He pressed a single finger gently to her forehead and reached for the faint thread of thought she’d sent with her apology. His expression smoothed into something deliberately neutral.

  And you should be, he sent dryly. Imagine if you’d blinded me with that overwhelming display.

  Navi’s head snapped up instantly, and through the link he felt a spike of startled panic.

  ‘But I didn’t mean to—'

  His face broke into a grin at the exact same moment hers scrunched into a pout.

  Mean, she accused, the word ringing with wounded indignation.

  Maybe I need to be, he replied, sending some amusements. Being nice all the time clearly isn’t fixing your bad habits.

  She pouted harder—but didn’t argue. They’d had this conversation plenty of times before. He’d told her again and again that she didn’t need to apologize for every little thing she did. After all, they were family.

  “Well, we can take it step by step,” he said, ruffling her hair, before standing up. “For now, I need you to show me how to… take it step by step.”

  He demonstrated by taking a single, painfully slow step forward, dragging it out to an exaggerated crawl.

  Navi didn’t laugh.

  She didn’t even smile.

  Instead, she marched past him, each step sharp and deliberate—about as far from copying his demonstration as she could possibly manage. Her expression remained firmly set in a pout as she went.

  …

  Even moving slowly, it only took about half a minute before he pushed the vines aside and leaned out of the cavern. He glanced to his right.

  William’s Claydol hovered there, three eyes swiveling to fix on him in unison. For a moment they simply stared at each other—then, before Myst could even speak, the Claydol’s gaze slid away, returning to its silent watch of the forest.

  Myst gave it a small nod and stepped outside, drawing in a deep breath.

  He hadn’t really noticed it before, but the air inside the cave had been… bad. Even Mount Coronet’s air could feel thin and stale at times, but that was nothing compared to the cavern.

  He took another breath, just enjoying the contrast—then forced himself to stop.

  After all, he wasn’t out here just for the fresh air.

  He took a few steps away from the entrance, glanced past the Claydol, and immediately spotted his reason, no more than ten meters from the cave mouth. Without a word, he walked over, Navi drifting along at his side, and lowered himself into the grass.

  “Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked casually.

  Cynthia jumped at the sound of his voice, her head snapping toward him as her eyes visibly worked their way back into the real world. When she finally did she relaxed as she seemed to register him.

  She shook her head.

  “I couldn’t. Not really tired…”

  He nodded. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

  “…What do you mean?”

  Myst glanced back toward the cave entrance. “I mean—the plan. Everyone just agreeing. Everything Graham talked about?”

  When he turned back, she was staring at him.

  He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “Who is Graham?” she asked slowly.

  Myst lifted a brow. “…The Ranger Captain,” he said. “You know. The guy who just got thirty trainers to agree to basically go to war tomorrow.”

  She paused. Just slightly. Then a blush crept across her face.

  “…He introduced himself?” she mumbled.

  Myst stared at his girlfriend.

  Beautiful beyond words. Sharp as a knife. Quite possibly the single greatest battler of their generation—

  —and completely incapable of remembering a name.

  Why was that so ridiculously adorable?

  He had to force his hands to stay where they were instead of grabbing her and pulling her into his lap, holding her tight until there was no space left between them.

  So instead, he let his hand slip over and lace his fingers through hers.

  “He did,” he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

  Cynthia glanced down at their hands. After a moment, she squeezed back.

  “Oh.”

  Myst let out a quiet breath and glanced back toward the forest. After a moment, he spoke.

  “Do you think… maybe we shouldn’t have agreed?” he asked softly.

  “…What do you mean?”

  “The plan,” he said. “I told you it was your call, but—” He shook his head once. “I didn’t realize how Graham would handle it. I guess you could call it a debrief, but it didn’t feel like one.”

  He paused, choosing his words.

  “It felt more like a speech. Like he was trying to get them fired up so they wouldn’t stop and really think about what they were agreeing to. I mean, you could feel how charged the room got, right?”

  Cynthia let out a slight sigh.

  “I get what you mean…” She shook her head slightly. “But I don’t think it changed things as much as you think it did.”

  She exhaled quietly.

  “Graham might have fired them up, but I don’t think he needed to. Maybe a few people would have backed out, but I have a feeling most of them would’ve stayed anyway. I mean, they did decide to walk into this place, even knowing a Ranger told them not to.”

  Myst pursed his lips.

  “I guess…” He mumbled.

  Cynthia gave him a small smile, then laid her head onto his shoulder, relaxing.

  For a moment, they simply sat there.

  Cynthia stared out into the forest, unfocused, and he—

  Well. He was looking at her.

  The faint light from the crystals above settled over her, catching in her blonde hair until it glowed almost gold. Her expression had gone calm, the familiar edge of certainty softening into the look she wore when she let her thoughts wander—quiet, unguarded, completely at ease.

  His heart surged, a feeling sparking through him until his entire body felt electric. The half-formed thoughts from earlier—of pulling her close, of holding her—came rushing back like a tide.

  Sitting here, feeling her rest against him, everything became acutely real.

  Girlfriend.

  She was his girlfriend.

  He knew he had issues. Knew he probably should have waited until he was more put together. Knew he liked her more than was strictly healthy.

  And yet—right now, none of that seemed to matter.

  The feeling sitting in his chest was simple and overwhelming in a way he didn’t have a better word for. Not power. Not invincibility.

  Happiness.

  The kind that made that him want to squeeze her, hold her, do th—

  “Have you ever heard of Legendary Relics?”

  The real world crashed back in at the sound of her voice.

  “Huh?” he managed.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Cynthia didn’t lift her head from his shoulder, letting out a sigh that was almost frustrated. “I haven’t. Grandmother—she never mentioned anything.”

  Myst looked down at the top of her head, trying to reorient himself, but before he could, a sudden weight tipped into his side.

  He blinked, then glanced the other way, only to find Navi leaning into him, her expression unfocused, almost dazed, her orange horns glowing softly.

  Cynthia straightened slightly, turning her head to look at him. “Myst?”

  He snapped his attention back to her. “Oh—yeah… uh. Relics.” He paused, brow furrowing as his thoughts ran into the same blank they had earlier that day. “If I’m being honest, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that term.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”

  “Never heard the term Relics,” he repeated, stressing the last word. “If you said items connected to a specific Legendary, I could name a few. But Legendary Relics?” He shook his head. “Doesn’t really ring any bells on its own.”

  She nodded slowly.

  “I guess that makes sense. Maybe they call it something else where you come from, or maybe…”

  She trailed off, realizing she was about to disappear down a tangent without any real answer.

  “What about the one he mentioned—Shaymin’s flower?” she asked instead.

  Myst looked down at their joined hands, absently stroking her fingers with his thumb as he thought.

  “Shaymin has two forms,” he said eventually. “And from what I know, it uses a Gracidea flower to switch between them…” He paused.

  Cynthia understood immediately.

  “But a Gracidea is just a regular flower, right?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. And as far as I know, that’s it. It doesn’t have some other, super special, flower that could do something like this.” His brow furrowed. “Though I guess… if it used one specific flower to transform for a long time, that flower might become filled with its powers?”

  “Maybe,” she murmured. “There are legends about things becoming extraordinary just from being in a Legendary’s presence.”

  She let out a quiet sigh and let her head drift back to his shoulder, apparently finished with the conversation.

  For the second time since he’d arrived, the silence stretched.

  Sensing the lull, Navi took the opportunity to drift away from his side. With careful steps, she hopped over his legs, then Cynthia’s, before settling on the other side beside Roselia.

  The Grass-type didn’t stir, and Navi, clearly taking that as permission, shuffled closer. She slipped in behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle, hugging the slightly smaller Roselia from behind.

  Roselia didn’t even twitch. He only let out a faint, resigned sigh, accepting it without complaint.

  Most of the time, the Grass-type seemed determined to keep a bit of distance from Navi. But Myst had the distinct impression it had less to do with disliking her—and everything to do with liking her too much. Like an older brother doting on a helpless younger sister, all bluster and restraint undone the moment she leaned on him.

  Cynthia seemed to melt at the sight as well, her gray eyes softening, almost glowing with warmth as she watched the two Pokémon.

  For a second, Myst reached toward his Poké Ball, wanting Rei to see it too—

  Then he stopped.

  Cynthia was staring at him.

  Seemingly realizing she’d caught his attention, she glanced toward Roselia and Navi, then back up at him. She didn’t say anything—just watched him, her face faintly illuminated in the dim light. Without a word, she slipped her hand free of his and drew her legs up to her chest, still looking at him.

  He blinked.

  She stayed silent, pulling her knees in tighter until she could almost hide her reddening face behind them.

  His heart kicked in his chest.

  Before he could overthink it, he shifted closer and wrapped an arm around her, drawing her gently against him. Not fast. Not sudden. His movements were loose enough that, if she resisted even slightly, she could have pulled away.

  She didn’t.

  Instead, she lifted herself just enough to move over his foot and settle into his embrace, her back resting against his chest as she tucked herself closer. He adjusted instinctively, his arm settling more securely around her, careful not to hold her too tightly.

  He couldn’t see her face, nor, technically, his own—but that probably didn’t matter.

  He had a feeling they looked very similar.

  For a moment, he tugged her in just a little, as if that might somehow make the whole thing feel more real.

  She felt soft.

  Was soft.

  Not fragile, she had muscle, the kind earned through long days on the road, but she still fit against him easily, her body molding into his without effort.

  Burning him.

  Really burning him.

  Some part of him didn’t even dare breathe as he shifted back slowly—just a single centimeter.

  “Have you thought about it?” she asked softly.

  Myst wanted to say yes. Wanted to say he understood the question, that he knew exactly what she meant.

  But that would have been a lie.

  She smelled too good.

  Her body was pressed into his, warm and solid in a way that scattered his thoughts the moment he tried to line them up. Every small movement, every quiet breath she took registered far too clearly.

  He swallowed.

  “What?” he asked, his voice coming out perilously close to a squeak.

  She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she shifted again, sliding back just a little more until—

  Nope.

  He shifted back just as quickly.

  “Swadloon. The Rangers’ plans,” she clarified. She hesitated, then went on anyway. “It sounded like she’s some kind of princess, right? I thought you might want to ask her to join your team, but we hand her back to the tribe…”

  The effect was immediate.

  Like a cold shower.

  Myst felt his thoughts snap back into something resembling a normal, human shape.

  “Oh,” he said.

  Cynthia let out a faint sigh. “I know you just met her and all, but I figured you’d at least thought about asking. And with her being… important, the Rangers probably wouldn’t let you. Or they’d worry it might—”

  He cut her off.

  “It doesn’t really matter.”

  “…Why not?”

  Myst glanced toward the entrance, where the Claydol still hovered in silent watch.

  “If she wants to join, I’ll let her,” he said quietly. “If she doesn’t, then it doesn’t matter.” He paused, choosing his words with care. “But either way, before I even asked, I’d want to make sure she could get back to her family first. Getting her home, back to her tribe, that comes before anything else.”

  He looked back at Cynthia.

  “I mean, taking a Pokémon on a journey without knowing whether their parents or friends even know where they are?” He shook his head. “I don’t think I could ever do that.”

  Cynthia let out a small laugh against his chest.

  “That’s… that’s so like you,” she said. “Making sure a Pokémon’s friends know where they’re going. Making sure their parents are informed…” She glanced up at him, her smile spreading easily across her face. “You know almost nobody would do that, right?”

  Myst shrugged. “You would.”

  That, for some reason, sent color rushing back into her face. She leaned into his chest again, tucking herself closer.

  He smiled.

  “That’s why I like you,” he whispered.

  Her ears turned red, but she didn’t reply.

  Myst looked out toward the forest. He still didn’t feel tired—if anything, he’d never felt more awake.

  Lucky.

  He rested his chin lightly atop her head.

  You could definitely call him that.

  But honestly—who could deny it?

  “Me too,” Cynthia murmured. “I like you.”

  Luck was part of skill.

  …

  Myst blinked. “You didn’t sleep either?”

  “Only a couple of hours, near the end,” Volkner said with a shrug. “But it doesn’t really matter. I’m fine.”

  Myst pursed his lips at Volkner’s definition of fine and glanced around.

  To be fair, he really did look fine. Compared to a lot of the other trainers, Volkner was clearly better off than most. After all, say what you wanted, but give a group of fifteen-year-olds the freedom to sleep whenever they pleased, and very few of them were going to be functional this early.

  Honestly, it was a miracle they’d even managed to get everyone moving within two hours, even though it went over the one hour originally planned.

  Myst let his gaze drift toward the front of their small caravan, where William was speaking quietly with Johanna. His Donphan walked beside him, while Johanna’s Umbreon lounged comfortably across its back.

  Then he forced himself to look away.

  Still, even if most people didn’t look particularly functional yet, it wasn’t as though they were completely out of it. As they walked, more and more of them began to wake properly—enough that quiet conversations rippled through the group. Given their numbers, that probably made them audible across half the forest.

  He let out a faint sigh.

  Really, if it weren’t for the four Rangers covering each side of their slapdash formation, they probably would have been attacked by half the forest by now. Instead, it had only happened twice—and both times were over so quickly that Myst hadn’t even had time to release a Pokémon from its Poké Ball.

  “So,” Flint said casually, cutting into his thoughts, “Cynthia’s head okay? I thought you said you wanted her to get it checked out.”

  Myst blinked.

  Cynthia’s hea—oh.

  “…That’s a really good question,” he muttered. “I honestly forgot. But she seems fine, right?”

  Volkner nodded slightly. “Yeah. She seemed a little out of it yesterday, and I still think you should have her checked when you reach a town. But it doesn’t look like a concussion.” He paused. “Trouble concentrating is one of the big signs, and that definitely doesn’t seem to be her problem right now. I get wanting to be on the safe side—and I’m going to get checked myself—but it’s actually not that easy to get a concussion. We aren’t Pokémon, but we do have some amount of Aura.”

  Myst glanced toward where Cynthia stood, deep in conversation with the Ranger who apparently specialized in Fighting-types.

  “Honestly, I wasn’t that worried to begin with,” Myst admitted. “The only reason I even wanted her to get checked was because she got knocked out after the Trevenant, and she was… kind of loopy for most of yesterday. But it was a weird day. A lot of new information.”

  Flint hummed, then turned his attention back to Myst.

  “And you?”

  Myst blinked. “Me?”

  Flint raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “You weren’t planning on getting yourself checked out?”

  Myst blinked again.

  Flint facepalmed. “Dude. Your hair is still literally half red. Of everyone here, you took the hardest hit to the head.” He looked at Myst flatly. “You’re telling me you worried about Cynthia having a concussion—and then completely skipped yourself?”

  Myst held up a finger.

  “First off, I felt fine—”

  He let it drop.

  “But yeah—you’re right,” he admitted, then shrugged. “Though, honestly, I’m not even sure why I’m so worried. It’s not like we haven’t been hurt before, and just because she is m—”

  He cut himself off, and Volkner shot him a look.

  Flint nodded, completely missing it. “Yeah, I get it. You want to take care of your friend and all.” He shrugged. “But she isn’t your girl or anything. You can’t be too invasive in someone’s life, or they’ll just get annoyed. That’s what the elders back home always said. Gotta let people live their lives.”

  Myst opened his mouth. Closed it. Then gave him a shaky smile.

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “You’re right.”

  Volkner came to the rescue.

  “How about we discuss how we’re going to not hit each other when attacking the Royal Guard?”

  Flint stared at Myst for a moment, like he was just on the verge of putting something together—then gave up with a shrug. Turning back to Volkner, he raised an eyebrow.

  “Not much to plan, right? We stick to what the Rangers laid out.” He gestured vaguely ahead. “Pokémon fight strictly at range. Only attacks we can control well—no tagging anyone else, or our own Pokémon, while dealing with the Guard.”

  He ticked the points off on his fingers. “Beam attacks. No wide-area stuff. For me, that means Drifloon using a compressed Gust, and Monferno sticking to Ember. Fire Spin’s way too big to aim safely.”

  He let both hands drop.

  “But for you guys?” he continued, glancing between them. “Volkner’s easy—both Luxio and Pikachu know Thunder Shock. But you…” His gaze settled back on Myst. “You only really have Navi for ranged options, right?”

  Myst glanced down at his hands.

  Swadloon looked up to meet his eyes—but before she could figure out why, he’d already looked away.

  Considering she’d only just evolved, it was unlikely she’d learned Struggle Bug yet. That left Razor Leaf as her only real ranged option. Useful at close to mid-range…

  He let the thought fizzle out.

  Why had he even looked at her in the first place?

  Swadloon wasn’t his Pokémon. She would be staying behind with her tribe during the fight. Hell, even if he wanted her to join him, he’d ask after this was over—not before.

  “Pretty much,” he said aloud. “Rei knows Charm, but I doubt that’s going to help much, considering the Royal Guard’s state of mind.” He shrugged. “I should probably work on some ranged moves for her, but…”

  He hesitated, choosing his words. “It’s just not suited to her style right now. I’d rather spend the time refining what she already does well—let her dominate up close—instead of stretching her thin and ending up with something that’s only okay at range.”

  “Better to be excellent at one thing than mediocre at two,” Flint summarized simply, before pausing, glancing down at his Poké Ball. “Well, not that everybody needs to follow that. After all, Monferno’s excellent at both range and close combat.”

  “Excellent at close range is a weird way to say got smacked by Rei,” Volkner said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

  Flint didn’t even hesitate. “Like your fight against Cynthia went so much better. I took out one Pokémon—you didn’t even manage that.”

  Volkner’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? So you think you can take on her Gabite, then? Because unlike you, I actually managed a draw against Myst.”

  Flint stared back, confidence utterly unshaken. “Just because you drew doesn’t mean you’re stronger than me. I’m still ahead in wins when we battle, remember? And besides—I’ve got a secret plan for Gabite—”

  “You have a plan to take out Gabite? Really?” Cynthia’s voice cut in from behind him, genuinely intrigued. “You want to test it out in a match after all this, then?”

  Flint’s face stiffened.

  “A plan against Gabite?” he said instantly, spinning around. “How could I have something like that? Of course I don’t. That would be weird. We were talking about how Gabite should be our—” His eyes lit up. “—our secret weapon against the Royal Guard.”

  Behind his back he held up a thumbs up.

  Myst shared a glance with Volkner. The moment Cynthia’s gaze flicked to them, both of their expressions went perfectly neutral.

  “Really?” she asked, clearly suspicious.

  Myst smiled.

  Well. She was his girlfriend.

  He should definitely tell her the truth.

  But—

  “Yeah,” Myst echoed alongside Volkner, without hesitation, completely sincere.

  —well, some things were simply sacred.

  …

  William stopped.

  The group slowed to a halt behind him.

  Ahead of them stood more than a dozen Leavanny, their tall, leaf-draped forms arranged in a loose line. Every single one stared back with unblinking red eyes, silently taking in the group’s presence—judging it.

  Myst didn’t need anyone to tell him why they were here.

  William took a step forward and lifted a hand, releasing his Claydol. The Ground–Psychic type emerged with a low, resonant hum, its eyes beginning to glow faintly with psychic energy.

  One of the Leavanny—slightly larger than the rest—stepped forward, seemingly taking that as its cue.

  “Leavanny,” it stated.

  There was a pause, slightly too long, and then William inclined his head. “And we are grateful that you did not attack.”

  The Grass-type nodded in return, then raised one arm and gestured.

  Another pause followed. Then William’s eyes hardened.

  He turned, and with practiced ease, let his voice ring out.

  “Myst. Swadloon.”

  Myst let out a shallow breath.

  He’d known this was coming, but…

  A bitter smile tugged at his lips as the trainers ahead of him parted like the Red Sea, a clear path opening toward the front where William and Johanna stood. William’s face was carefully neutral. Johanna’s, by contrast, held a flicker of worry—but she didn’t say anything. Just watched.

  The Leavanny’s red eyes fixed on Myst for a brief moment—something almost like hope flickering within them—before its gaze dropped to his arms.

  For a second, it only stared at Swadloon.

  Swadloon stared back.

  Then she huffed softly and pointed one small arm forward—

  —and they knelt.

  The motion rippled outward, synchronized and absolute, as every Leavanny dropped in turn.

  “Leavanny,” the largest one said simply, bowing its head.

  Swadloon blinked, glanced up at Myst, then hopped from his arms, landing lightly beside him. The moment her feet touched the ground, she moved. Her usual relaxed waddle was nowhere to be seen—instead, she slid smoothly across the earth with quiet, practiced grace.

  She stopped before the Leavanny and reached out with one coat-like hand.

  “Swadloon sawdloon sawd,” she said, patting the Leavanny’s head.

  The Leavanny didn’t respond.

  Swadloon stared at it, then patted its head again.

  “Swadloon,” she repeated—firmer this time.

  Still nothing.

  She lifted her hand a third time, looking ready to insist—but froze mid-motion. Her eyes widened as she looked up at the Leavanny.

  “Swad,” she said quietly.

  The Leavanny finally looked down… then shook its head.

  “Leavanny.”

  Swadloon stared for a heartbeat longer, as if making absolutely sure—then spun around instantly. With near-wild desperation, she hurried back toward Myst, her earlier composure completely gone.

  She managed a single step.

  Before she could take another, the Leavanny reached out and scooped her up, holding her fast in its hands.

  Swadloon struggled against the grip, but it was firm, almost practiced. With no other options, her eyes swiveled wildly, searching, until they finally locked onto the only person who might help.

  Myst felt his reason snap instantly.

  “You will allow us to pass now, correct?” William asked.

  He took a step forward.

  The Leavanny at the front nodded once, then glanced back toward the ones still kneeling.

  “Leavanny.”

  He took another three.

  The rest of the Leavanny rose in unison.

  He crossed half the distance.

  The Leavanny in front began to turn fully—

  He bolted, sprinting past Johanna and William.

  “Wait!”

  It stopped.

  Everything did.

  The Leavanny. The Sewaddle hidden everywhere. Even the trainers around him—all eyes turned his way.

  Myst froze for a heartbeat, then forced his expression into something neutral.

  He looked to William, whose eyes had gone wide.

  “You were communicating through Claydol, right?” he asked. “Can I speak to it?”

  “Are you actually—” William began, but Johanna grabbed his arm before he could finish.

  She didn’t say a word.

  William’s mouth shut anyway.

  For several seconds, something like a war played out across his face. Frustration. Calculation. Reluctance. Finally, acceptance.

  He sighed and glanced to the side.

  “…Is it fine?”

  Myst followed his gaze.

  Why would he—oh.

  Graham’s eyes bored into him, sharp and unreadable. His face betrayed nothing, but Myst noticed how his hands had dropped closer to the Poké Balls on his belt.

  No one spoke.

  For a moment, Myst felt the older Captain weigh him. Like he was deciding whether this deserved a reprimand or something even worse.

  Then Graham’s gaze shifted.

  It slid past Myst and settled on the Leavanny behind him. Just for a moment.

  Graham sighed.

  “I’ll allow it,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “They’ve formed the beginning of a bond. Denying the boy a chance to speak would be cruel.”

  William’s eyebrow twitched, but he didn’t argue. He only turned to Claydol and gave a single command.

  “Go.”

  Claydol’s eyes flared.

  Something connected.

  Myst staggered in place.

  Heavy.

  Compared to Navi, the connection was crushing—like an immense weight slamming down on his mind, forcing its way in rather than reaching out. It didn’t feel like scanning, collecting, or gently passing thoughts along.

  It felt like extraction.

  He clenched his teeth, forced his footing steady, and turned his attention toward the presence pressing against his thoughts.

  ‘You…

  helper / savior / bringer.

  To… highness / princess / small-commander.’

  Myst let out a breath.

  It was less powerful than the Elder Trevenant, lighter, but somehow it felt worse. Denser. Sharper. As if all of its attention had been focused directly on him, with Claydol carrying none of the weight.

  He forced out the answer anyway.

  Yes.

  The Leavanny inclined its head slightly. Its rigid posture eased—just a fraction.

  Gratitude. Relief. Joy.

  The emotions surged toward him, and without hesitation, Myst shoved them down. If there was one thing he’d learned from trying this with the Elder Trevenant, it was that a Pokémon’s unfiltered emotions were simply too much for a human.

  Moreover, he didn’t need to feel what it felt, because what he wanted to know was—

  Why are you holding her like that?

  What did she want you to do?

  The questions bled together as he pushed them across the link.

  The Leavanny paused, then looked down at the Swadloon in its arms.

  She was still struggling—twisting, kicking, trying to wrench free—but the grip didn’t loosen. One of the Leavanny’s arms pinned her gently but firmly, another covering her mouth to keep her from speaking.

  ‘Wanted…

  help.

  You.

  Signal / gather / send-for.

  Tribe.’

  Then—

  Fight.

  The concept struck like a stone against glass.

  Myst flinched.

  Instinctively some part of him wanted to stop, to tear the link away, but the rest of him locked onto a single thought.

  That answered the second question.

  What about the first?

  And why are you holding her?

  He tried again.

  For a moment, the Leavanny didn’t respond. Then its red eyes hardened. Its mandibles clicked—not with sound, but with concepts.

  Leave. Grow. Train. Become.

  A beat.

  Then the emotions followed—raw and unmistakable.

  Protectiveness. Indignation. Refusal.

  And finally—

  ‘Go-with-you.’

  The force of it tore the breath from Myst’s lungs. He gasped, hearing someone cry out in the real world, hearing William say something he couldn’t quite process.

  He forced his hand up.

  “Wait.”

  He dragged himself upright from the half-collapsed state he’d been in and looked at the Leavanny.

  He wasn’t even sure why he was pushing back this hard.

  Why force her?

  He barely knew Swadloon.

  Why not let her decide?

  And yet…

  Why not let her have freedom?

  He had a feeling he would have done this no matter who it was.

  Would she ever be allowed to leave?

  The Leavanny tilted its head. Its mandibles clicked, then stilled. It hesitated, glancing down at Swadloon—meeting the Grass-type’s pleading eyes.

  Finally, it looked back at Myst.

  Its next thoughts were the clearest yet.

  ‘Stop the.

  Thief / consort / savior / corrupted.

  Make you.

  Worthy.

  Make it.

  Safe’.

  Then, without another word, it turned—

  —and vanished in a blur of green.

  I am sorry for the long delay. A little after releasing the last chapter my grandfather ended up passing away, and even though he is old it was pretty unexpected. I took it hard, and so that in combination with the last chapter of the arc being almost 13k words i ended up using almost a month to write it. I will try very hard to release the next chapter this week though, but I apologize for long how took to write this one.

  Also, the arc will end in the next two chapters.