The clerk slid the package across the counter like it was nothing. Just a square box wrapped in waxed cloth, tied with two neat cords. Lighter than I expected.
"Direct to Solaceon Town's Daycare," she said. "No detours. No tampering. Hand it to the caretaker only. You'll be paid on receipt."
I signed twice, her pen pressing the line as if daring me to smudge it. Then the box went into my pack, tucked deep beneath my spare clothes where I'd feel it with every step. Too light to notice, too important to forget. Work for trainers like me—barely enough to live, but pointed in the right direction.
Outside, Hearthome had already tilted toward evening. Lanterns glowed along the streets, strings of bells clinking as people stepped in and out of shops. The air was thick with the smell of bread cooling from the bakeries, sweeter than the incense burning at shrines. My pocket pressed heavy with the Relic Badge, but the weight meant less than the package at my back. Badges didn't buy food. They didn't pay for tutors.
I let Tyrunt out once we cleared the last row of houses. He burst onto the cobbles with a triumphant roar, claws scraping sparks as he bounded ahead. His tail swished proudly, heavy but steadier than it had been weeks ago. Grotle came next, slower, lumbering into stride with patient steps that rattled the road. Luxio's ball shook at my belt, but I kept him in for now—he would have his turn. Honedge slid out of my shadow without me calling, tassel brushing my wrist before melting back into the outline cast by the lantern light. He didn't need summoning anymore. He was part of me.
The eastern gate guard gave me a flat look when Tyrunt roared again. "Keep him off the fields," he muttered.
"I will," I said, though Tyrunt was already craning his neck, daring the grass to cough up something to fight.
We walked until the last glow of Hearthome sank behind us. The fields opened wide, stone walls lining empty furrows. The Lost Tower loomed pale in the distance, a bone on the horizon. Fireflies blinked along the grass. The only sound was our boots, our claws, our breathing.
That was when Luxio's ball rattled hard enough to shake loose. He wanted out. I let him, and lightning poured into flesh. His mane bristled, sparks snapping as his eyes scanned the fields. He growled, low and feral.
"Easy," I warned.
The grass whispered. Too loud. Too deliberate.
Luxio froze. Tyrunt followed, body stiff. Even Grotle slowed, head turning. My shadow lengthened, and Honedge's eye flickered open near my boots.
Shapes shifted in the grass, wings beating without rhythm. The first cry came sharp and ugly: Krow! Another answered from the left. My stomach knotted. Murkrow.
Two burst into the air, wings catching the last of the dusk light. They circled, not diving yet—testing us. The sour stench hit next, clawing my throat. Stunky.
I cursed under my breath. Murkrow above, Stunky on the ground. A scavenger gang.
Luxio snarled, sparks crawling down his body. Tyrunt growled back, claws digging into the dirt. Grotle lowered his head, shell angled forward.
"No charges," I snapped. My voice cracked sharp. They both flinched but held.
The first Stunky slinked from the grass, body low, eyes glowing faint. Then another. Then another. Four in total, tails raised, spray glands primed. The stink clawed deeper.
The Murkrow shrieked overhead, calling the play.
"Half arcs," I told Tyrunt. His tail dipped, steady despite his trembling muscles.
"Eyes up," I said to Luxio. "Bite only when they dive." His sparks flared, but he crouched, gaze fixed on the sky.
"Hold the line," I murmured to Grotle. He shifted, planting himself between us and the creeping Stunky.
Honedge slid deeper into my shadow, the tassel tightening faintly on my wrist.
The first Murkrow dove. Luxio sprang, jaws wide. He missed—but forced it high, off-course. The second swooped low, and Tyrunt whipped his tail in a sharp arc. Feathers scattered. The crow screeched, tumbling before beating back into the air. His tail quivered from the force, but he held it steady, pride burning in his eyes.
The Stunky hissed in chorus, clouds of stench spraying wide. The air turned acid, choking my lungs. Grotle lumbered forward, taking the brunt against his shell. He shoved one back with a vine, dirt scattering as it skidded.
Another darted left, tail angling down. The aim was wrong—too low. At me.
"Honedge!"
Steel burst upward from my shadow. The blade caught the spray flat-on, toxic droplets hissing harmlessly off stone instead of across my chest. His tassel squeezed my wrist like a vow: I will not let them through.
Above, a Murkrow shrieked again. Luxio answered with a roar, sparks snapping full across his mane. He leapt higher this time, Bite flashing. His fangs sank into feathers and he dragged the crow down in a tumble of wings and lightning. It screeched, thrashed, then tore itself free and fled, flapping lopsided into the dark.
The rest broke soon after. The clipped Murkrow veered wide, shrieking into the distance. The Stunky scattered back into the grass, leaving their stink to choke the field.
Luxio prowled, panting, sparks still hissing. Tyrunt strutted, jaw open in a proud roar, though his tail twitched with fatigue. Grotle shook his shell, vines retracting, calm once more. Honedge slipped back into my shadow, tassel loosening with a soft weight.
I bent to steady Tyrunt, scratching under his jaw. "Better arcs," I told him. "Stronger next time." His pride shone through the fatigue. Luxio circled near, sparks prickling, frustrated the hunt had ended so fast. I laid a hand on his shoulder until he stilled, though the current hummed under my palm.
The stink clung to my clothes, sour and burning. I swallowed hard against it, adjusting the strap of my pack to make sure the box was still there. Light. Whole. Untouched.
The road east stretched on, the Tower looming closer. The gang had broken, but the lesson was heavy in my chest. Not every fight was a Gym battle. Not every opponent bowed to rules. Some came dirty, sudden, and sour.
And we would need to be ready for those too.