"Huh? I didn't expect to see anyone out here!"
The young man's surprised voice carried easily across the sandstorm haze.
The old man beside him, composed and watchful, simply adjusted his gloves and replied calmly,
"Master Steven, one must always be cautious in the wild. The hearts of men are the most unpredictable thing of all."
Steven Stone–heir to the Devon Corporation and future Champion of Hoenn–smiled lightly, brushing off the warning.
"Oh, Uncle Sebas, you worry too much. Not everyone is as dangerous as you think. Look–he's even wearing a League trainer's outfit."
He gestured toward the figure standing a short distance away.
Silas froze. The name he'd just heard echoed in his mind like thunder.
Steven Stone.
Heir of the Devon family.
The man who would one day become the Hoenn Champion.
His pulse quickened despite himself. He hadn't fully recovered from Bastiodon's earlier attack, but he forced his breathing steady, trying not to show weakness.
The young man standing before him looked exactly as the name implied-elegant and composed.
A tailored suit of blue and silver, a red silk scarf at his neck, and hair as white as polished steel.
Silas exhaled quietly, adjusting his tone. "My apologies, I had no harmful intent. I was just passing through and heard the sounds of battle. Curiosity got the better of me."
Steven's expression softened. "Ah, I see," he said with an easy nod, seemingly believing him.
Sebas, however, did not.
Though he smiled, his sharp eyes radiated a pressure that made Silas's skin crawl.
The Bastiodon at his side stared silently, its presence alone enough to crush the air around them.
"Heh… young man," Sebas said smoothly, "if you entered by accident, then I must apologize for acting in haste."
Though his words were polite, the tone beneath them was clear–leave.
Silas's mind raced.
To encounter Steven Stone here, of all places-it was a rare stroke of luck he couldn't afford to waste.
And so, a plan took form.
Suppressing his excitement, Silas steadied himself and attempted to stand. His legs wobbled, his movements unsteady.
He took two steps before collapsing again, sand scattering around him.
Inside, he smirked.
Flawless.
Years of discipline and survival had honed his acting to perfection-his trembling limbs, his short breath, the faint wheeze of pain.
No one could doubt him now.
Sure enough, Steven's voice rose sharply, tinged with reproach.
"Uncle Sebas! You didn't have to hit him so hard!"
Sebas blinked, slightly taken aback. "I–young master, I merely–"
But Steven was already moving. He rushed forward, kneeling beside Silas and helping him sit up gently.
"Are you alright?" he asked, concern written all over his face. "That attack… it didn't hurt you badly, did it?"
Silas kept his gaze lowered, hiding the faint curl of satisfaction at the edge of his lips.
A plan well executed.
....
Later that night…
The desert grew silent as temperatures plummeted.
Most Pokémon had burrowed into the sand to conserve warmth.
On a flat stretch of land, a gleaming silver tent stood beneath the cold moonlight.
Outside, Sebas sat cross-legged on Bastiodon's armored back, his sharp gaze sweeping the surroundings like a sentinel.
He turned slightly, glancing toward the tent, a faint sigh leaving his lips.
"Young Master Steven is kind but far too naïve," he murmured. "I only hope this doesn't end badly."
Inside the tent, warmth and light flickered softly.
Steven knelt beside Silas, carefully rewrapping a bandage around his chest.
"I'm sorry," Steven said, guilt in his voice. "Uncle Sebas only reacted out of instinct. He didn't mean to hurt you."
Silas forced a faint smile. "It's fine. Really. I should be thanking you-for taking me in. Without your help, I'd still be freezing out there."
Steven chuckled softly, embarrassed. "Ah–right. Where are my manners? I'm Steven Stone, from the Devon family."
Silas paused before answering. "…Silas. No family name."
Steven blinked, surprised.
No surname usually meant a commoner-someone not tied to any major clan or family.
But he quickly smiled again, unconcerned. "Well, Silas, anyone brave enough to cross this desert alone deserves respect, family name or not."
The two began talking-hesitant at first, then naturally, as if the tension of the day had melted away.
For a brief while, Steven shed his usual noble composure.
His tone lightened, his laughter genuine. To Silas, it was strange-seeing the future Champion like this: young, open, curious.
.....
"I didn't expect you to be a breeder," Steven said at last, intrigued. "I think I've heard your name mentioned before… maybe my father brought it up once."
"Ah?" Silas chuckled. "I'm still a novice. But my real goal is to become a powerful Trainer."
Steven's eyes gleamed with understanding. "A breeder who dreams of strength, huh? That's… rare."
He paused, glancing curiously at Silas's Pokémon. "By the way… that Murkrow-is it from Johto?"
Though phrased as a question, his tone carried quiet confidence.
Silas nodded. "Yes. You have a good eye."
"Not really," Steven said modestly. "My family's library has records of species from every region. I've never seen one in person, but the description matches perfectly."
Silas smiled faintly. "Most people wouldn't even recognize it."
He gently stroked the dark bird's feathers, carefully massaging the joints of its wings. Murkrow let out a soft coo, eyes drooping, before curling up into a small, round ball.
Steven watched, fascinated.
"So that's how it sleeps," he whispered. "I've never seen a Pokémon do that before."
Outside, the desert wind howled faintly against the silver tent.
Inside, the future Champion and the wanderer sat quietly, surrounded by the warmth of lamplight and the soft breaths of sleeping Pokémon
both unaware that this meeting would ripple far beyond the dunes of Hoenn.
<><><><><><>
(End of chapter)