I don't know what time it is anymore.
The canopy above has sealed the light out again, and every turn in the ruins pulls me deeper into places where time doesn't behave normally. Dust hangs like breath in the air. Stone walls drip with condensation, even though it hasn't rained in days. My boots drag mud that shouldn't exist into hallways that weren't carved by human hands.
Honedge is still watching. I haven't seen it—haven't even heard the whisper of steel—but I can feel it. That soft prickle of presence, always behind, always just out of view. A sentinel, or maybe a judge.
Tyrunt pads ahead, tail twitching in short arcs. He's tense—agitated but alert. Not rage this time. Not hunger. Something else. He keeps glancing over his shoulder like he wants to say something, but doesn't have the words.
The first fight comes before we're ready.
The ground crumbles under Tyrunt's next step.
He roars as it gives way, tumbling down into a shallow pit—only to land inches from a Graveler already rolling forward. Its body is lined with cracks and spines, jagged with sharp mineral growth. Its eyes are dim with age, but there's nothing dull about the way it slams a rocky fist toward Tyrunt's chest.
Tyrunt dodges just in time and returns the blow with a sweeping tail strike that knocks the Graveler backward.
I leap down after him. "Keep your spacing. Try to circle!"
The ground quakes.
A second Graveler, bulkier than the first, rises from the broken slope, and this one doesn't hesitate—it hurls itself toward Tyrunt with reckless speed, arms wide for a crushing slam.
"Jump—now!"
Tyrunt pushes off his hind legs and clears the smaller one just in time to avoid being pinned. The two Gravelers collide with each other, and I don't waste the moment.
"Dragon Tail—clean arc!"
Tyrunt spins mid-air, tail glowing, and slams it across the face of the smaller Graveler, sending it smashing into the stone wall with a bone-cracking thud.
The bigger one reorients.
But we're not alone.
The air goes cold.
A shape flickers to my right—long limbs, floating tongue, purple haze.
Haunter.
It phases out of a crack in the stone, eyes glowing. It laughs without sound and reaches for my face.
Luxio's Poké Ball snaps open before I finish the motion. He erupts into the air with a snarl and collides with Haunter mid-lunge.
Sparks fly. Ghost and electricity scatter across the ruined chamber. The remaining Graveler charges again—straight toward Tyrunt's exposed back.
"No!"
Grotle's release is messy, rushed. He crashes into the space between them with a loud grunt, taking the brunt of the impact. The Graveler's fists slam into his shell and ricochet with force.
Grotle snarls and pushes forward, vines emerging from his foliage. He grapples the Graveler in place, halting its momentum.
Tyrunt recovers. His teeth glow with gathering energy.
"Now—Bite!"
Tyrunt lunges and clamps onto the Graveler's shoulder joint with a savage crunch. Rock cracks. The creature screams and rolls sideways to escape, but Grotle pins it long enough for Luxio to drive Haunter backward.
The ghost floats higher, flickering, laughing. Luxio's tail sparks again. He uses Discharge, but Haunter dips through the wall, out of reach. Not gone. Just hiding.
The second Graveler finally stops moving. Breathing, but not attacking. Grotle lets it go. It drags itself into a recess and disappears into darkness.
The echo of the fight lingers.
I scan the chamber. The pillars here are different. Not Sinnohan. Not exactly.
A shape on the far wall pulses.
Steel.
Honedge.
Not moving. Not lunging. But closer than before.
Watching.
Evaluating.
My heart pounds.
Luxio growls low. Tyrunt steps forward, not to challenge—but to stand beside me. Grotle hangs back, chest heaving.
I look at the sword.
Still not ready.
But it's closer than it's ever been.
And I think it's waiting for a reason.
To act.
To choose.
Or to see if I break first.
Either way, it's coming.