By the time someone knocked on the door, my pulse had just started to steady. Three soft raps, familiar, but careful.
I groaned and went to answer. Skyla stood outside in jeans and a light blue flight jacket, hair pulled back, a duffel over one shoulder. Her eyes looked brighter than last night, awake, and decided.
"Morning," she said.
"Morning," I echoed. "You lost?"
"Maybe," she said, grinning. "Or maybe I'm finally going somewhere on purpose."
She stepped inside, scanning the cluttered room, the open travel bag, the scattered Poké Balls, and Zoey pretending to still be asleep.
"Uhm, do you have a sister you forgot to mention?" She asked, pointing toward Zoey on the bed. Realizing that she'd actually fallen asleep and hadn't broken the illusion, I clicked my tongue sharply to wake her up. The disguise evaporated into a thin cloud of vapor as she startled awake.
"Sorry about that. She never dropped the whole sleep-disguise survival instinct despite being born in a nursery instead of a cave."
"That's totally cool. Just surprised me, that's all. I couldn't stop thinking about what you said. About your mom, about freedom. I realized I've been sitting in one place too long, handing out badges and pretending that's enough."
I blinked. "Skyla-"
She held up a hand. "Before you say anything, Gramps has been itching to run the gym again. He's got the staff to maintain it. And me?" She shrugged, smiling softly. "I've got wings and no excuses. I want to remember what it's like to chase the horizon again."
I stared at her, stunned for a heartbeat before it sank in. "You want to travel. With me?"
"Unless you've got a strict no-pilot policy."
Zoey snorted from the bed. We'll allow it.
I tried not to laugh. "You sure? This isn't exactly a vacation. Things get messy."
Skyla met my eyes, steady and certain. "Messy's fine. I trust you to keep me out of the worst of it, and who knows, maybe I can keep you out of the clouds."
That earned a laugh out of me. "You're really serious about this?"
She tightened the strap on her duffel. "Absolutely."
For a long second, we just looked at each other, the hum of traffic outside, the faint rustle of waves in the distance. Then I smiled. "Welcome aboard, Captain."
She grinned, bumping my shoulder as she walked past. "Glad to be part of the crew."
Zoey muttered, This trip just got interesting.
"Yeah," I said quietly, watching Skyla set her bag by the window. "It really did."
The Mojave looked endless from above. Like a sea of gold stretching to the horizon, heat shimmering so fiercely it made the world look like it was melting. Skyla's plane hummed low through the desert thermals, the engine cutting through the stillness.
We'd been flying for hours since leaving Santa Monica, heading east, cutting toward Phoenix to refuel, when my phone buzzed in my lap.
A sharp chime, followed by the PAP insignia flashing red:
Environmental Anomaly Detected - Desert Ecosystem Destabilized.
Estimated Cause: Unknown Combat Activity.
Requesting Volunteer Trainers.
Skyla leaned over from the pilot seat, squinting. "That's new."
"They don't usually ping users directly," I said, frowning. "Not unless their drones are already failing."
She glanced out the window, narrowing her eyes against the glare. "Guess we're about to find out why."
Before I could answer, she banked the plane toward the coordinates.
The storm appeared on the horizon like a living wall. Sand twisted in a massive column that reached all the way to the clouds, swallowing light and color alike. Lightning flashed deep within it, yellow one moment, turquoise the next, and the air pressure changed so suddenly that my ears popped.
Skyla's voice cut through the headset. "That's not weather."
"No," I murmured, eyes locked on the roiling spiral ahead. "That's a fight."
She throttled down, skimming low over the dunes until she found a patch of stable ground. The landing gear hit sand with a dull thud, engines whining as the plane slowed to a stop.
When the ramp lowered, the heat hit like a physical blow, dry and suffocating, the kind of air that burned your lungs before it filled them.
The storm roared less than a mile away and, with no sane reason to do so, we ran toward it.
The first thing I saw were the shadows, massive shapes moving through curtains of sand. Then the sound reached me: screeches, thunder, and the unmistakable clang of claws on stone.
Three Flygon spun through the storm, wings beating so fast they blurred into green arcs of light. They fought like mirrored dancers, their movements chaotic but coordinated, trying to fend off something darker that sliced between them.
A pack of Gabites, their scales glinting purple-gray through the haze, snapping and lunging from the dunes. And towering above them, its fins slicing the air with brutal precision, was a Garchomp.
Its roar shook the desert.
"Looks like someone picked a fight with the wrong dragons," Skyla muttered beside me, wind whipping her ponytail.
"Yeah," I said, my throat dry. "But I don't think the Flygon started it."
The Flygon trio fought back fiercely, each beating of their wings feeding the storm, sand turning to knives in the air, lightning bleeding through the cloud cover. But for all their power, they were outnumbered. I could see it in the rhythm of their flight, one was limping in the air, slower, heavier.
The male.
"Skyla," I started.
She was already reaching for her belt. "I see him."
She released Skarmory in a flash of white steel. The bird shrieked as it shot upward, slicing straight into the hurricane with its wings gleaming in the sun.
"Let's buy them some time," she said, slipping on her goggles. "Stay back and cover them!"
The desert erupted.
Skarmory met the Garchomp midair, steel against scale, sparks scattering across the sand. Their clash sounded like thunder, metallic and primal. Skyla shouted something, and her voice cut clean through the wind.
"Steel Wing, full throttle!"
Skarmory spun like a blade, catching the Garchomp across the jaw and sending it spiraling down through the dust. The Gabites screeched, scattering as the ground quaked under the impact.
Zoey appeared beside me, her form materializing from shadow, eyes glowing red.
We jumping in, or you planning to let them wreck the ecosystem for fun?
"Go!" I shouted.
She darted forward, releasing a Dark Pulse that carved a wide arc through the Gabite ranks. They hissed and scattered, their predatory formation broken.
Trilla floated beside me, her psychic aura blazing lavender in the murk. They're not all hostile, she warned. The Flygon are panicking. They think everything's an enemy.
I nodded, breath catching. Then we calm them down.
I pushed through the storm, sand tearing at my skin, my vision stinging with grit. The roar of the wind drowned everything else.
The two female Flygon swooped low, landing protectively in front of the third. Their eyes locked on me, wings flared, ready to attack.
The injured male lay half-buried in the sand behind them, his chest rising in shallow, uneven breaths. One wing was bent at a sick angle; a long crimson gash ran across his side, raw and seeping.
I raised my hands slowly. Hey. It's okay.
They shrieked, defensive. The ground trembled under the vibration of their wings. I shut my eyes and reached out, not with words, but with thought.
You're safe now.
For a moment, the psychic noise was unbearable, three overlapping minds, wild with fear, pain, and adrenaline. But beneath it, I found the thread of their bond. They weren't wild, not really. They were family.
The storm faltered. The sand hissed down in slow sheets.
Skyla's Skarmory screeched above us, victorious. The Garchomp, bloodied and beaten, fled beneath the dunes with the remaining Gabites frantically burrowing to follow their alpha.
When the last gust of sand settled, the two female Flygon turned to each other, chirring softly in low, mournful tones. Then, slowly, they stepped aside.
The male tried to lift his head, failed, and slumped back into the sand.
"Oh, no," I whispered, dropping to my knees beside him. His breathing was shallow, his scales hot to the touch. I brushed my hand over his snout, careful not to startle him. You're alright, big guy. You're safe.
Skyla jogged up behind me, shielding her eyes. "He's in bad shape."
"Yeah," I said, already pulling out my phone. "But we've got help."
I opened the PAP app and hit the emergency beacon.
Within seconds, a silver streak cut through the clouds. The PokéBot descended in a burst of light, its thrusters sending sand rippling outward as it landed beside us. Its lens flickered once, scanning the scene.
"Subject: Flygon. Trauma severity, critical. Commencing triage."
Metallic arms extended, spraying a mist of regenerative nanites across the dragon's wounds. The Flygon twitched, a low rumble vibrating through its chest as the pain eased.
The female Flygon hovered anxiously nearby, their cries soft, rhythmic, almost melodic.
Skyla rested her hands on her hips, watching the procedure. "You ever get used to seeing those things work?"
"Not really." I exhaled slowly. "They're miracles. Cold, mechanical miracles."
When the mist cleared, the wound had closed. The Flygon lifted his head, eyes meeting mine for the first time, bright, lucid, and full of something I hadn't expected. Gratitude.
He rumbled low, a sound that vibrated through my bones. Then he pressed his snout lightly against my shoulder.
You stopped the pain, came the thought, deep and resonant, not quite words but close enough. You kept them safe.
I smiled. We just evened the odds.
His wings twitched, folding tight against his body. He extended one claw, gesturing weakly to the Poké Ball on my belt.
You sure? I asked softly.
He blinked once, slow, deliberate.
The ball opened in a flash of red light. The desert went still again.
Click.
The two females trilled softly, their tones shifting from sorrow to calm before taking flight. They circled overhead once, catching the sun on their wings, and vanished into the golden haze beyond the dunes.
Skyla stood beside me, brushing sand from her jacket. "You really do have a thing for dramatic rescues."
I clipped the Poké Ball to my belt, still staring at it. "Guess we all find family in strange places."
Trilla floated closer, her telepathic voice quiet but heavy. Something watched us through the storm. Not Garchomp or any other Pokémon I know. A shadow beneath the sand, patient. Waiting.
The words sank into me like a chill that didn't belong in the desert.
I looked out toward the horizon, where the sunlight bent into a wavering mirage. For a second, I thought I saw eyes in it, faint, blue, and watching.
The wind shifted.
And in that whisper of moving sand, I could almost hear it again.
Little lamb…