It would take quite some time for the Pidove to reach Aindok.
Even with the Pokémon's natural guidance network, there was no guarantee it would find the right direction immediately. One mistake in course, and it could take weeks to reach the royal city.
But for Lucien, there was no better option.
The Unova wilderness was vast beyond imagination, endless forests, rivers, and mountains stretching far into the horizon. Even as a traveler from another world, Lucien could no longer rely on terrain alone to gauge where they had ended up.
They needed another plan.
And so, Lucien decided to send Ivan to locate nearby human settlements.
That afternoon, with food and supplies packed, Ivan bade farewell to everyone in the settlement and began his journey downstream.
Finding traces of civilization wasn't difficult for someone like him. Years as a royal courier had taught Ivan that villages were often built along rivers, close to water, close to life.
He followed the river's winding course under the morning sun.
Now and then, he glimpsed wild monsters at the river's edge, Patrat, Lombre, even a lone Herdier drinking silently beneath the trees. Ivan knew better than to approach. Experience had taught him how to stay quiet, when to move, and when to wait.
During the day, he walked carefully along the current, using the sun's path to keep his bearings.
At night, he hid himself inside shallow caves or climbed into sturdy trees to rest, tying his satchel to the branch above.
Days blurred together. The provisions in his pack grew lighter.
And then, on the fifteenth day of his journey, he saw it, smoke rising faintly over the trees, and the distant sound of human voices.
Heart pounding, Ivan hurried toward the noise.
By the riverside, several peasant women were fetching water. Their hands were cracked from work, their clothes worn and faded, but the sight filled him with overwhelming relief.
"Hey!" he shouted, waving frantically.
The women froze, startled by the sudden figure running toward them, ragged, sunburned, and half-wild from travel. A few screamed and backed away.
But one woman, her hair streaked with brown and gold, stared at him in disbelief.
The basin in her hands slipped to the ground with a hollow thunk.
"Ivan?!" she gasped.
Ivan blinked, just as stunned. "Martha?! Is that really you?"
"It's me!" she cried, rushing forward.
For a heartbeat, both simply stood there, too overwhelmed to speak. Then Ivan broke into a grin and clasped her shoulders. "You're alive! Thank the heavens, you're alive! How did you survive the storm?"
Martha's eyes welled with emotion. "We all thought you and His Highness had perished!"
She led him toward the village, her voice trembling as she spoke.
They crossed a small bridge and followed a dirt path lined with flowers until the trees opened into a makeshift camp, rows of tents, smoke curling from cookfires, and dozens of familiar faces working together.
When the others noticed them approaching, one man squinted, and then his eyes went wide.
"Wait… is that, Ivan?!"
Within moments, a crowd formed around him.
"It really is!"
"Where did you come from?!"
"Where's His Highness Lucien? What happened to the others?"
Ivan couldn't help but laugh, raising his hands to calm them."Easy, easy! Everyone's safe. His Highness led us to shelter after the blizzard. We found a valley and built a settlement there. The people are well. He sent me to find other villages nearby—and now, I've found you!"
The villagers looked at one another, relief softening their tired faces.
Ivan then asked quickly, "But what about you all? How did you make it through the winter?"
Martha stepped forward again, smiling faintly. "It's thanks to Sir Geralt. He led us through the snowstorm and found this place. The villagers here took us in."
Ivan's eyes widened. "Sir Geralt? He's alive?!"
"Yes," Martha said, nodding.
Ivan looked around but couldn't spot the man he'd most hoped to see.
"Where's Sir Geralt?" he asked.
Martha hesitated, her expression dimming.
"Sir Geralt has been… very worried about Lord Lucien," she said softly. "He's been searching nonstop, riding into every forest and mountain he can reach. Just yesterday, he left the camp again to continue looking for His Highness. He won't be back for a few days at least."
"I see…" Ivan exhaled, relief mingling with admiration. "I'm just glad he's still alive. Lord Lucien will be overjoyed when he hears that."
"Indeed," several people murmured, nodding in agreement.
Ivan took another slow look around. The camp was far larger than he'd expected, tents scattered across a meadow, smoke rising from cookfires, people repairing tools, or hauling water.
The memory of that blizzard came rushing back, the endless white, the screams, the cold that froze breath mid-air.
He swallowed hard. "How many of us made it?"
Martha's smile faltered. "Two hundred and twenty-one."
Her voice trembled ever so slightly.
Silence fell over the camp.
When they had departed the royal capital, there had been nearly six hundred souls among them, knights, craftsmen, laborers, and their families.
Now… barely a third remained.
Ivan bowed his head. Even after all he'd seen, the number hit him like a weight.
Deep within the forest, several leagues away…
A tall man with silver-white hair leaned against the trunk of an ancient oak, staring quietly at the pale sky between the leaves.
Beside him, a Pokémon covered in solid armor and sporting a pair of enormous, axe-like teeth was grinding its teeth with a large stone.
Scrape, scrape… crackle.
The man's thoughts were interrupted by the piercing sound. He turned and threw a grindstone at the Pokémon.
"Use this instead."
The Pokémon caught it with one claw, examined it curiously, then resumed sharpening with practiced ease.
Watching it, Geralt allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips before his gaze drifted distant once more.
Three months. It had already been three months since the storm had torn them apart.
He had scouted the mountain ranges, valleys, and ravines surrounding this region. With the blizzard's scale and the exhaustion of their people, it was impossible for Lucien's group to have made it across.
That meant they were still somewhere nearby, alive, just like him.
His mind wandered back to that day.
The ambush in the forest. The screeching of unseen monsters echoes through the snow-choked trees. Dozens of them, feral, hungry, surrounding the caravan.
He had drawn his sword and made the only choice he could: to lead them away.
He remembered the chase through the storm, the earth splitting beneath him, the battle atop a cliffside. The monsters hadn't swarmed him all at once. One by one, they had come forward, testing him, as though recognizing a fellow predator.
He fought until his blade shattered, parrying a final strike from the pack's leader, a towering beast whose jagged tusks splintered against his sword.
And then… silence.
The creature had met his gaze, its crimson eyes burning with something like respect. Then, with a low growl, it had turned away, leading the rest of its pack back into the snow.
One of the beasts he defeated even chose to leave the pack and follow him.
"..."
After resting, Geralt stood up, looked at the beast he had fought alongside, and said in a hoarse voice:
"Let's go, it's time to find Lord Lucien!"
...
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