Chapter 10
The morning sun had not yet climbed high, and the estate grounds still lay beneath a thin veil of mist. Dew clung to the grass, sparkling faintly like scattered gemstones, and a faint chill lingered in the air. Alaric von Astraeus stood at the edge of the family's private forest, his hands folded neatly behind his back, his posture regal and deliberate. By his side, Perseus the Eevee padded forward, ears twitching, nose brushing against the damp earth as if searching for invisible trails.
For the past week, their training had been steady and methodical. Each day was a careful layering of lessons: movement drills, precision in Tackle, conditioning the body to respond instantly to command. Where another boy might have thrown his Pokémon recklessly into skirmishes, Alaric treated every session as a campaign, every encounter as a rehearsal for future wars. Perseus was no longer stumbling blindly into strikes. His charges had become sharper, his landings steadier. Alaric saw progress, but he also knew progress meant little if it was never tested.
"Today," Alaric said softly, his eyes narrowing on the shadows of the forest ahead, "you will face a foe that does not care for drills. One that knows only hunger and instinct. Tell me, Perseus… can you rise above instinct?"
The Eevee tilted its head at him, tail swishing, but the spark of determination in its eyes was enough of an answer.
They entered the forest.
The canopy closed above them, and light filtered down in broken shafts, painting the ground in shifting patches of gold and shadow. The air was thick with the scent of damp bark and moss. A chorus of wild Pokémon filled the background—chirps of Pidgey, rustles of Rattata, the faint croak of distant Poliwag near a stream. Alaric walked with the silence of a hunter, every step measured, his gaze flicking from tree roots to low bushes, reading signs like ink on parchment. Broken twigs. Drag marks in the soil. A lingering musk that hinted of scales.
He knew the forest well enough. Ekans lurked here.
When he finally halted, Perseus froze beside him, fur bristling. The ground ahead, near a tangle of roots, shifted with a subtle ripple. A glint of violet, almost blending with the undergrowth, slithered into view.
The serpent emerged—long, sleek, its scales glistening with dew, yellow eyes fixed on the intruders. Its tongue flicked in and out, tasting the air. The Ekans moved not with noise, but with a silent, deliberate grace that made even the chirping forest fall quiet.
Perseus lowered his stance, a growl rising in his throat.
"Observe," Alaric murmured, voice calm as though delivering a lecture. "See how it waits? It will not strike blindly. It coils, it watches. A predator is patient. If you rush in foolishly, you will become prey."
The Ekans hissed softly, its body curling into a loose spiral, muscles tightening. It had already judged Perseus as food.
"Battle stance," Alaric commanded.
Perseus crouched, ready.
The Ekans struck first, a sudden lash of movement, its head darting like a spear aimed to snap at Perseus's flank. But Alaric had anticipated it.
"Sidestep! Redirect the momentum—Tackle!"
Perseus leapt aside with surprising agility, then twisted, throwing his body into a charge. His flank struck the serpent's midsection, forcing a sharp hiss from the Ekans as it slid back against the roots. But the snake did not retreat. Its tail lashed out, sweeping low, and Perseus stumbled from the impact.
"On your feet!" Alaric's voice cut through the noise like steel. "Do not falter from one blow!"
Perseus shook himself, regaining balance. The Ekans slithered forward, weaving its body in hypnotic arcs, yellow eyes glinting. Then it lunged again—not at Perseus, but at the ground, mouth open wide. Fangs sank into the soil where Perseus had been a heartbeat before. It wasn't an attack. It was intimidation, a performance of dominance.
"Do not be deceived," Alaric muttered. "It wants you to yield before the fight even begins. Answer with defiance."
Perseus growled, hackles rising, and then charged. His paws thundered against the ground, a blur of brown fur as he hurled himself forward. This time, his Tackle struck true, slamming into the serpent's head. The Ekans recoiled violently, body writhing, but it twisted with unnatural flexibility and immediately coiled around Perseus.
Alaric's eyes sharpened. This was the danger he had anticipated.
The coils tightened. Perseus yelped, struggling as the pressure constricted his ribs. The serpent's hiss grew louder, echoing through the trees like a warning.
Alaric did not panic. He never panicked.
"Do not waste your strength thrashing," he ordered, his tone commanding, his words precise. "Focus. Strike where it cannot guard—its head."
Perseus stilled for an instant, then twisted his neck, jaws snapping forward. His teeth sank into the Ekans's scaled head. The serpent screeched in pain, loosening its grip just enough.
"Now—Tackle with everything you have!"
Perseus burst free, slamming into the snake with the force of desperation and fury combined. The Ekans slammed against a tree trunk, its body coiling limply for a moment before it hissed weakly and retreated into the underbrush, disappearing with a final rattle of leaves.
The forest grew silent once more.
Perseus staggered, sides heaving, fur matted with sweat and dirt. His breaths came ragged, but his eyes blazed with triumph.
Alaric knelt beside him, pulling a silk handkerchief from his coat. He dabbed carefully at the scrapes along Perseus's fur, not with the hurried panic of a boy tending to a pet, but with the deliberate precision of a commander inspecting his soldier.
"You endured," Alaric said softly. "Not through instinct, but through will and command. That is the difference between prey and predator. Between follower and ruler."
Perseus nuzzled against his hand, tired yet proud.
Alaric gazed deeper into the woods, his expression thoughtful. This was only the beginning. The world of Pokémon was not a mere dream or game; it was a vast stage where power and politics intertwined. To rise, he would need Perseus not merely as a fighter, but as a symbol. And today, that symbol had taken its first step toward legend.
Unbeknownst to him, a pair of estate servants who had been gathering herbs nearby had witnessed fragments of the battle. Their hushed whispers followed Alaric's retreating form.
"The young master… did you see? That Eevee fought like a warrior."
"And the way he commanded it… as if he were born to lead."
Rumors took root in the soil of the estate, subtle and quiet, but destined to spread.
Alaric, however, walked back with Perseus at his side, silent and composed. His mind was already moving to the next campaign, the next opponent, the next step. The game of power had only just begun.