We found the ruins by accident.
Or maybe Cynthia already knew they were there and didn't tell me. That would've been like her.
The path split somewhere after midday. I took the left fork because it sloped down toward water. She followed without comment, eyes scanning the cliff walls rising on either side. The trees got thinner, the light colder. By the time the trail widened again, stone had replaced soil.
And there it was—half-sunken into a ridge wall, choked with moss and half-swallowed by a crooked black tree. Ruins. Not the tourist kind. Not mapped. Just broken slabs, low carvings, and the lingering taste of something old.
Cynthia paused at the base of the first fractured pillar. "This wasn't on any map."
I raised an eyebrow. "You sure? You strike me as the kind of person who memorizes terrain grids in her sleep."
She crouched, fingers tracing a moss-covered rune. "Maybe. But I've never seen these glyphs before."
I let Luxio out to sniff the perimeter. The ruins gave off no immediate danger—just an uneasy quiet, like the world was holding its breath. I walked past a fallen slab covered in lichen and found a shallow stairwell leading into shadow.
"Going in?" she asked.
"Obviously."
She followed.
The air inside was colder. Drier. The kind of cold that doesn't come from lack of sunlight, but from time.
We moved slow. The ruin wasn't deep—just a stone antechamber and a few alcoves, all of it covered in the same looping script Cynthia kept eyeing. Near one of the far corners, tucked under a broken arch, lay something long and metallic—mostly buried in dust and gravel. I crouched and brushed it off.
A sword.
Or what was left of one. Blade snapped at the middle. The hilt cracked down the grip. The metal was scorched and stained, but still carried a faint pulse of energy, like it had once held something more than steel.
I held it up.
Cynthia turned. "Where did you find that?"
"Buried. Looks like it belonged to someone who didn't leave."
She studied it, eyes narrowing. "There's residue on the core. It was used in a sealing. A violent one."
I turned the blade. There were claw marks on the flat edge.
Something fought back.
I felt the air shift. Not from the blade—but around it.
"We need to leave this here," she said. "That's not ours."
I laid it back down, gently.
Something about it stuck in my head anyway. There were no signs of occupation. No Pokémon nests. But there was something else.
At the far wall, embedded into the stone like a seal, was a circular relief. Half-cracked. Faintly humming.
She stepped toward it.
"Don't touch it," I said.
"I wasn't going to."
"Yes, you were."
She didn't deny it.
Then, after a pause, she said, "This isn't just decoration. It's a barrier."
She crouched near it, eyes narrowing. "This script—it's old Sinnohan. Fragmented. Something about '108'. A ritual. Or a punishment."
"You think it's holding a Pokémon?"
"I think it's holding a mistake," she murmured. "And someone wanted it forgotten."
"You recognize it?"
"No. But it's holding something in. Not out."
Luxio crept forward. His hackles lifted. He growled low.
Whatever it was, it wasn't waking up. Not yet. But it didn't need to.
We backed out, no words exchanged. Once we were outside again, she sat on the first stone step and stared into the woods like she was seeing equations written in bark.
After a while, she said, "If you had to trade one of your Pokémon, which one would it be?"
I frowned. "What kind of question is that?"
"A practical one. Every trainer hits a wall. Sometimes you outgrow something. Or something outgrows you."
I didn't answer right away. Thought about Tyrunt. Grotle. Luxio.
Finally, I said, "I wouldn't trade any of them. Not unless they made that choice first." I've already had enough things leave without asking.
She nodded slowly. "Good answer. Most people say whatever's weakest."
"That's a dumb way to measure value."
"I know," she said. "That's why I asked."
Then she stood, brushed moss off her knees, and adjusted the strap of her pack.
We didn't speak, but we didn't rush either. The trail was narrow, twisting between angled roots and sharp stone, and for a while we walked in near silence.
Eventually, I said, "If that seal breaks one day, what do you think comes out?"
Cynthia didn't look at me. "Something old. Angry. Starved for meaning."
"Sounds like you."
She didn't laugh. Not even a smirk. Just said, "I don't get sealed away. I choose my battles."
The path veered sharply to the right, and we passed beneath a collapsed archway with vines coiled tight around its edges. There were signs of old footprints there—clawed ones. Not fresh. But recent enough to catch my eye.
"Something else passed through here," I murmured.
Cynthia crouched beside one of the indentations. "Two-legged. Heavy. Reptilian gait. Could be a big Scrafty. Or maybe a Haxorus, if we're unlucky. Not common out here, but not impossible either."
I blinked. "You can tell that from a print?"
"I can tell it wasn't here long ago. But long enough that it didn't want to be followed."
We paused there a moment longer. The shadows were stretching. Sunlight filtered in through the high branches in blades of white-gold, making the ruin feel more like a relic in a cathedral than just another forgotten spot in the forest.
Cynthia stood. "We should move. Before the light turns."
We kept walking.
At some point during the afternoon, Cynthia had changed. Her coat was tied at the waist now, sleeves rolled to her elbows. Underneath, a sleeveless dark tunic and worn boots that looked like they'd crossed half the region. No makeup. No jewelry. Just her, stripped down to necessity. Her hair was loosely knotted, frayed in places, like she'd stopped caring about symmetry.
And still—somehow—she made it all look deliberate. The kind of quiet beauty you didn't notice until you were already staring. Not soft. Not fragile. But present. Like everything about her had weight.
I caught myself looking once too long. Focus, idiot. Then looked away.
I'd changed too. Swapped my sweat-soaked undershirt for a fresh one. Same boots, same gear, but it felt like shedding a skin. Every time we crossed another bend in the trail, I noticed how we moved cleaner now. Like neither of us needed to prove anything.
The silence wasn't heavy anymore.
Just practical.
The forest thickened again as we walked, but the air still felt touched by stone. Like whatever we'd found back there hadn't fully let us go.
Say something.
I didn't.
Neither did she.
The ruins stayed behind us, but the feeling didn't.
Author here :
For some reason i cant write in author taught but tell me which 2 pokemon are we talking about in this chapter ? if you dont find them i will beat you with a stick