The fog clung low that morning, not thick enough to blind me, but dense enough to make everything feel further away than it really was. Each step was quiet. Muffled. Like the world hadn't decided whether it wanted to wake up yet.
Honedge hovered behind me in silence.
It hadn't returned to its Poké Ball since the ruins. Not because I refused to recall it, but because it never let me. The second my hand moved toward the ball, it would drift back out, blade tilted forward like it was testing me. Daring me. Watching.
It didn't speak. Not in any way that made sense.
But I could feel it.
Like it was pulling at something just beneath my skin. A thread between us. Faint. Cold. Old.
The path dipped through a valley flanked by smooth rock, the kind that shimmered faintly under dew. The forest had thinned. No longer tangled or wild. Just quiet. Hollow. It felt like passing through a throat before the scream.
I let Luxio out.
He sniffed, growled at the mist, then padded forward like he owned it. Honedge drifted after him, slower, more like a shadow than a partner.
I walked behind them both.
We trained in a clearing that felt like it had been carved out of time. No birds. No wind. Just a dry patch of dirt where everything else had failed to grow.
I faced Honedge. Its eye blinked once. No visible mouth. No expression. Just that eternal gaze.
"Slash. Controlled. Don't try to kill."
It didn't respond. But it moved.
Faster than expected. The blade came down with a whistle that split the air, stopping inches from the log I'd dragged into place.
Clean. Straight. Dead center.
Not good enough.
"Again. Half speed. Target the center. Not the full cut. The intent of the strike."
Honedge repeated the motion, slower. Less pressure. The tip nicked bark and stopped.
That time, I nodded.
I didn't praise. I didn't smile.
Ghost-types didn't care for flattery. They wanted results. Purpose.
Honedge pulsed slightly. Not glowing. Not humming. Just... acknowledging. Maybe.
By midday, I saw Hearthome in the distance.
Not the city itself, but the skyline. The shimmer of modernity through haze. Spires. Movement. A faint hum that didn't belong to nature.
Still two days out.
Maybe three, if the terrain turned.
I sat beneath a leaning cedar, Luxio dozing beside me, Honedge floating quietly near the edge of the trees. Grotle and Tyrunt were still in their balls. No need to bring everyone out.
I watched Honedge's blade shift in the light. It didn't reflect like metal should. It absorbed. Like the void behind a mirror.
It had chosen me.
Not because it trusted me.
But because it wanted something.
And maybe, deep down, I wanted it too.
When the wild Pokémon came, it was quiet.
The ground rumbled slightly. Then again.
Tyrunt's ball jolted on my belt.
I stood, just as the edge of the clearing split and a massive Donphan rolled out, tusks gleaming, trunk coiled. Behind it, a trio of Sandshrew skittered low, eyes sharp. Pack behavior. Defensive. Hungry.
"Luxio. Tyrunt."
Both burst forward, Luxio already charging electricity, Tyrunt snarling low.
Donphan charged. No warning. No pause.
Luxio took the lead, drawing it away. Tyrunt intercepted a Sandshrew mid-roll, slamming it aside with his full weight.
I didn't call for Honedge.
It joined anyway.
It drifted through the air, blade down, and passed through the second Sandshrew like fog cutting wind. The creature flinched, stunned. Ghost moves. Psychological disruption. Honedge didn't need contact to make an impact.
The third Sandshrew tried to circle wide.
I pointed.
Honedge veered. Met it.
The Sandshrew slashed wildly. Honedge dipped low, then rose upward in a clean arc. Blade kissed skin. Not enough to wound.
Enough to mark.
Donphan roared. Luxio skidded. Tyrunt was holding it back with stubborn feet and primal rage. He couldn't win alone.
"Honedge. Shadow Sneak. Go."
The blade blurred.
It struck from behind. Donphan reared. Luxio surged forward with a Thunder Fang while Tyrunt clamped down on one leg.
It fell hard.
Dust and silence.
After the battle, I recalled them all. Sat alone with Honedge.
"You didn't hesitate."
It hovered.
"I won't make you a sword I swing blindly. But I need to know what you want."
Nothing.
Then—a pulse.
Not emotion.
Recognition.
Like it saw something in me worth following.
I stood. Faced Hearthome's distant shimmer again.
"We train tomorrow. Again. Harder. We're not here to survive Fantina. We're here to beat her."
The blade tilted slightly.
Approval.
Or anticipation.
Either worked.
We moved on.
Fog still ahead.
But the path no longer felt so far.