The heavy silence of the cave was broken only by the rhythmic scraping of stone against stone. As the dust from the earlier confrontation finally settled, the two titans of steel—the Skarmory and the massive Steelix—began to stir. Their metallic hides, once gleaming with a frenzied, unnatural light, now looked dull and exhausted.
I held my breath, my hand hovering near Mawile's Poké Ball, unsure if the aggression that had fueled them would return with their consciousness. Beside me, Clara stood still, her eyes wide but her posture steady.
The Steelix was the first to fully rouse. It coiled its massive, segmented body with a groaning sound that echoed like a tectonic shift. Its yellow eyes slowly focused, landing first on me, then on the smaller Pokémon at my feet. There was no roar this time—no mindless lunge. Instead, there was a profound, heavy silence. The Skarmory shook its blade-like wings, the metallic feathers clattering together, and let out a soft, metallic trill. For a long, tense minute, they simply stared at us—a silent acknowledgment of the battle that had passed. Then, with a slow, deliberate turn, the Steelix began to tunnel back into the deeper shadows of the cavern, and the Skarmory took to the air, disappearing into the jagged heights of the ceiling. They were leaving, the madness seemingly purged from their systems.
As the sound of their departure faded, a flicker of orange caught my eye. Torchic was scratching at a pile of rubble near the back of the chamber, chirping insistently. I walked over and knelt beside it. Poking out from the crushed remains of a boulder was a jagged shard of stone, no larger than a human palm.
It didn't look like the surrounding granite. It was darker, shot through with veins of a strange, iridescent silver that seemed to pulse with a faint, rhythmic hum. I picked it up with a gloved hand. It was unnaturally heavy and felt strangely cold, even in the humid air of the cave.
"This is it," I whispered, turning the fragment over. "The source."
I deduced that this stone contained a concentrated metallic ore, perhaps one not native to this region. It must have been emitting a high-frequency magnetic resonance that agitated Steel-type Pokémon, driving them into a territorial frenzy. Now that it had been broken into a smaller piece, its influence was diminished, but it wasn't gone.
To test my theory, I called Mawile over. As she approached, her large, second set of jaws began to snap involuntarily. She let out a low growl, her body trembling as if she were fighting an invisible force. Her eyes, usually clever and bright, clouded over with a flicker of that same mindless rage we had seen in the Steelix.
"Mawile, stay back!" I commanded, quickly shoving the stone into a lead-lined containment pouch in my bag.
As soon as the stone was shielded, Mawile slumped, the tension leaving her body instantly. She shook her head, looking confused and slightly shaken. It was clear: this material was dangerous. If a piece this small could affect a well-trained Pokémon like Mawile so quickly, a larger deposit would be enough to enrage every Steel-type in the desert.
I knew exactly who needed to see this. Steven Stone. The Hoenn Champion was not only a formidable trainer but a world-renowned geologist with a specific obsession with rare and exotic stones. If anyone could identify the molecular structure of this "Metal-Stone" and determine where it came from, it was him. He would be more than enthusiastic; he would likely drop everything to investigate such a find.
We emerged from the cave into the blinding light of the desert afternoon. Our first stop was to check on the Flygon colony. The habitat was transformed. Without the constant threat of the frenzied Steel-types, the Flygon had returned to their original nesting grounds. The valley was alive with the low, musical humming produced by their wings—a sound that gave the "Desert Spirit" its name.
The sands here were soft and warm, a perfect environment for the younger Pokémon. As we watched the Flygon soar, a small, orange Trapinch waddled toward us from the edge of a sandpit. It stopped directly in front of Clara, looking up at her with large, blinking eyes.
This was the same Trapinch Clara had protected during the height of the chaos. In the wild, the relationship between these species was often one of predator and prey, yet Clara had risked herself to save the demographic of the desert's future. The Trapinch seemed to understand this. It nudged Clara's boot, letting out a soft, clicking sound.
"It wants to go with you," I said, watching the scene.
Clara looked at me, then back at the Trapinch. She knelt in the sand, her hands gently patting the Pokémon's hard shell. "Friend?" she murmured.
My heart skipped a beat. "Yes, Clara. Friend."
She turned to me with a small, proud smile. "I... know the words," she said, her voice hesitant but clear. The lessons I had been teaching her—the language of our world—were finally taking root. She reached into her belt, retrieved an empty Poké Ball, and tapped it lightly against the Trapinch's head. With a click and a flash of red light, the Trapinch was caught.
Clara held the ball close to her chest, a look of quiet determination on her face. She wasn't just a traveler anymore; she was becoming a trainer in her own right.
With the mystery of the cave partially solved and a new companion in our group, we turned our sights toward the horizon. Our next destination was Lavaridge Town, nestled at the foot of Mt. Chimney.
As we trekked across the dunes, the sun began its slow descent. The desert, which had been a place of heat and danger only hours before, was suddenly bathed in a different light. The sunset in the Hoenn desert has a specific, haunting aesthetic. The sky bled from a brilliant gold into deep violets and bruised oranges, casting long, dramatic shadows across the shifting sands.
The cooling air was a relief against our skin. In the distance, the silhouette of the volcano loomed, its peaks glowing red against the darkening sky. The journey ahead would be steep, and the secrets of the metal stone still weighed heavy in my pack, but for a moment, we simply walked in silence, appreciating the raw, fleeting beauty of the desert at dusk.
"Almost there," I said, pointing toward the flickering lights of the town beginning to appear in the distance.
Clara nodded, her eyes reflecting the orange glow of the dying sun. "Lavaridge," she repeated, testing the weight of the name.
We continued our journey, two travelers and their Pokémon, moving through the sands as the first stars of the Hoenn night began to twinkle overhead.