The days after the ruins expedition were… different.
Something about Deoxys's constant, subtle presence in my thoughts made my perception sharper. Threads of aura seemed clearer, colors just slightly more saturated. In sparring drills, I was faster, more precise — as though anticipating movements before they even happened.
I liked it. Too much, maybe.
Hawthorne noticed before anyone else.
"You sit straighter," he remarked one afternoon during a strategy exercise, his eyes scanning the placement of carved figurines on the practice warboard. "But you're also playing with too much confidence. Pride is easier to read than fear."
"I just know how this ends," I replied, moving the last piece in a perfect checkmate.
He raised an eyebrow. "Confidence is an edge, young master. Overconfidence is an invitation."
Elise didn't comment at first, but I should have known better. When she chose to deliver a lesson, she never announced it.
That evening, as the lanterns lit the dojo's polished floor, she was waiting barefoot in the center. Her hair was tied back, her expression calm. Gardevoir stood at the edge, silent witness.
"No Pokémon tonight," she said, stretching her arms easily. "Just you and me."
I stepped onto the mat, already running through every defensive and offensive technique she'd taught me. She gestured for me to begin.
I struck first — sharp feint to the left, then a low sweep toward her legs. She stepped aside as if I'd moved in slow motion. I pressed in with a rush of aura to push her balance — she redirected it, throwing me off my stance without even touching me.
"Again," she said simply.
I did. Over and over. Fast, aggressive, combining aura pushes with misdirection, psychic jolts intended to break her flow. Each time, she flowed around me, redirected my force, left me off-balance. My frustration mounted, feeding my aura — which only made my movements sloppier.
Finally, she caught my wrist mid-strike, twisted, and pinned me flat against the warm wood floor in less than a heartbeat.
"Enough."
I lay there breathing hard, every muscle tense.
She crouched beside me.
"Do you know why you lost?"
I stayed silent.
"You fight to win, Robert — but not to learn. That's the weakness. Power without control is like a child waving a sword. Sooner or later, that blade will turn in your hands."
Her tone wasn't angry. That made it worse.
After the spar, she made me sit opposite her in meditation posture.
"Feel your aura," she said. "Find the places it trembles."
I did — and there it was, a thread of restless energy that hadn't been there before. Pride. Impatience. The intoxicating edge of victory before a battle had even ended.
"Your connection with your Pokémon, your talents, even the… unusual bonds you've formed — they're dangerous if you believe they put you beyond mistakes," she continued. "One day, you'll meet an opponent who takes every ounce of your pride and turns it against you."
Her eyes softened. "Better you lose here, with me, than when it matters."
The lesson didn't end with that talk.
The next day, Hawthorne informed me I was to accompany Adrian to a Council observation session in the city. Not to speak — just to watch.
It was held in a private lounge attached to Lumiose City's upper chambers. The room was all velvet chairs, polished marble counters, and walls lined with maps. Two dozen figures from the Council's inner rings discussed trade licenses, League referee appointments, and—coded beneath their words—shifts in regional influence.
A rival heir from one of the lesser Council families was there. Broad smile. Perfect manners. But when our eyes met across the polished table, I could see the frost behind them.
He approached during the recess.
"So," he said casually, "the Alucard boy leaves the estate at last. Tell me, is it true what they say? That your family hides its best assets… until the right time?"
I smiled. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
His eyes flickered — frustration at not getting the reaction he wanted. My restraint was deliberate. Adrian's glance from across the room told me he approved.
That night, back at the estate, Magnus found me in the library.
On the table between us, he placed an ancient star chart, edges frayed, ink faded to coppery brown. The constellations were unfamiliar — or maybe not entirely of our skies.
"Some power," he said quietly, "comes from the earth, from centuries of lineage and battle. Some…" He tapped a point marked by a stylized comet, "…comes from beyond this sky."
I thought of Deoxys, waiting in the trainer wing's private chamber, its alien mental hum like background music to my thoughts.
"Which is stronger?" I asked.
"That depends," Magnus said with a faint smile, "on who's holding it."
Later that night, I trained alone in the dim dojo. Aron stood like a fortress, Absol paced like a shadow, Weedle waited ready to spring. And in the far corner, Deoxys's eyes glowed faintly in the dark.
I repeated the meditation low pose Elise had forced me into, finding that restless, trembling thread in my aura again.
Slowly, I began to smooth it out — not suppressing my confidence, but folding it into discipline, the way a blade is folded into steel to make it stronger.
Elise was right. Pride untempered is dangerous.
But pride sharpened into control? That could cut through anything.
When I ended the session, Deoxys's glow pulsed once and faded. Approval, perhaps.
I wasn't sure. But I knew this — from now on, I would earn every victory before claiming it.