The ambush didn't start with a roar. It started with stillness.
We were crossing a bend in the trail—midday sun above, quiet stretch of trees around, nothing but bird calls and distant wind—and suddenly everything stopped.
Not a branch stirred. Not a leaf moved.
Luxio's ears flattened. His tail sparked once.
"Left," Cynthia muttered, already reaching for Gible's ball.
I didn't hesitate. "Tyrunt—out."
The second the capsule hit the ground, the forest exploded.
A trio of wild Pokémon burst from the ridge—two tree-scarred Raticate and a Noctowl, wings spread wide, eyes glowing with raw psychic force. Not a natural alliance. Territory desperation made monsters share teeth.
Tyrunt roared and launched at the first Raticate, jaws flashing. Luxio bolted to the right, intercepting the second with a crackle of electricity. The first Raticate dove low, darting toward Tyrunt's ankles with practiced cruelty. But Tyrunt twisted, slammed his tail down, and sent it skidding across the dirt—bleeding, but still rabid.
The Noctowl screamed.
And the air split.
"Riolu," Cynthia said, voice flat. "Aura Pulse. Spiral."
From the treeline, a blur of motion. Small but fierce, Riolu shot forward like a launched dart—pure focus and movement.
The Aura Pulse flared wide but controlled, carving a perfect spiral through the air. It caught Noctowl in its wake, slamming it backwards into bark with a heavy crack.
Cynthia hadn't even shifted her stance. Gible was out now, too, mouth glowing with a low burn.
The second Raticate made a suicidal rush toward her.
Gible snapped forward, Dragon Rage sharp and clean. The rodent was cooked mid-leap.
Luxio had his pinned. Tyrunt crushed the first under a low tackle, snapping rotten branches beneath its weight. The clearing went quiet.
Three attackers down. Breathing, twitching. But done.
I exhaled. Recalled Tyrunt and Luxio. They were scraped and panting—but holding.
Riolu padded back to Cynthia's side.
"You didn't use him before," I said.
"Didn't need him until now."
I didn't argue. The Riolu moved like something sharp-edged and deliberate. Not flashy—just dangerous.
We walked again, slower now. The forest didn't relax.
"You've got Gible and Riolu," I said. "Anyone else hiding back there?"
"One more."
"Strong?"
Cynthia's eyes stayed forward. "I only carry those who are."
The ruins still buzzed in the back of my mind. Honedge hadn't shown again. But I could feel it. Still watching. Waiting.
We stopped beneath a tree grown sideways from the cliff wall. I drank. Cynthia leaned against the bark.
"You're going back," she said.
"Yeah."
She didn't look at me. "I'm not. Not yet. That seal's not just decoration. It's pressure. And it remembers you."
"I know."
She pushed off the tree. "Before we split—"
"Let me guess. You want a battle."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"To see if you're the kind of person who comes back with something earned—or broken."
I stared at her. Then nodded. "Fine."
She unclipped two Poké Balls.
"Double battle," she said.
"Same."
I sent out Grotle and Luxio. She sent out Riolu—and something else.
A Milotic emerged in a curl of gleaming scales, eyes calm, movements slow but coiled with readiness. Not just grace—control.
Riolu launched first, aura flickering. Luxio responded instantly, Discharge flaring wide. Grotle charged in from the side, intercepting Riolu's lunge with a solid crash of shell-on-fist.
Milotic spun behind Riolu and sent a pulse of water through the air. Not strong—disruptive. The blast caught Luxio off-guard, scattering his arc. Cynthia was dividing us.
"Shift left!" I called.
Luxio repositioned. Grotle pressed forward, roots scraping ground as vines lashed toward Milotic. But Milotic twirled, body moving like silk in water. The vines missed.
Riolu wasn't idle. He dropped low, sliding beneath Grotle's front guard and aimed a low kick at his underbelly. Grotle winced.
"Retaliate!"
Grotle reared back and stomped hard. Earth cracked. Riolu took the brunt of it and skidded, just long enough for Luxio to close the gap and strike with a blinding Thunder Fang.
Riolu collapsed backward, stunned.
"Withdraw," Cynthia said. Not emotionless—but clinical.
She recalled Riolu. That left Milotic.
Water shimmered in the air around her. Then it moved.
"Brace," I said.
Grotle ducked. Luxio growled.
The water sliced—not in a wave, but in ribbons. Coiling around our footing. Redirecting space. It wasn't an attack. It was displacement.
Cynthia wasn't testing strength.
She was testing cohesion.
Milotic struck with a timed Hydro Pump that threw Luxio off his legs. Grotle responded with a barrage of Razor Leaf, some catching scale, some missing. Milotic shifted again—sliding between force and grace like it was born on a battlefield.
Eventually, I raised my hand.
"That's enough."
She recalled Milotic. I called back my team.
"You're close," she said.
I didn't answer.
She looked at me, eyes searching.
She stepped back. And this time, I didn't try to follow.
"Good luck," she said. "Don't die stupid."
Then she turned, and disappeared between the trees.
I watched the direction she went for a moment.
Then I turned back toward the ruins.
And the blade that was still waiting for m