The road dipped into a narrow cut, the stone walls rising higher on either side until the path felt like a carved trench. Grass bent over the edges, whispering in the breeze. My pack bounced light against my back, the package shifting with each step. I adjusted the strap again, more from nerves than weight. The stink of Stunky still clung to my jacket from earlier, sour enough to make me grimace when the wind turned.
Tyrunt prowled ahead, tail swishing like he wanted another chance to prove himself. Luxio walked just behind him, ears pricked, sparks hissing faintly every time Tyrunt's tail got too close. Grotle brought up the rear, steady as a stone barge. Honedge kept to my shadow, his eye opening now and again like a heartbeat.
The earth trembled before the sound reached us. A faint, rhythmic rumble, like stone striking stone. Tyrunt froze mid-step, claws digging into the dirt. Luxio snarled, mane rising. Even Grotle lifted his head, nostrils flaring.
Then the sound hit—hoofbeats, heavy and close. The air seemed to shake with it.
I pressed a hand against the wall and peered ahead. The trench opened onto a wider plain, and across it thundered a herd of Rhyhorn.
Five of them, maybe six, their bodies massive, horns gleaming in the fading light. They weren't running at us—they were just crossing, muscles rolling like boulders, each step a drumbeat. But the trench funneled right into their path.
If we stepped forward now, we'd be pulp. One careless move, and I'd be nothing but blood under a ton of stone hide.
Tyrunt growled low, trembling with both fear and fury. Luxio's sparks crawled sharp across his mane. Grotle shifted, steady but tense, eyes locked on the herd.
"Hold," I breathed. My voice shook, and I hated it, but they listened. Even Tyrunt froze, tail twitching but not striking.
The herd barreled closer, the sound growing until it felt like the ground itself was about to split. Dust rose in clouds. The lead Rhyhorn slammed a boulder aside with its horn like it was a child's toy. My throat tightened. If one of them glanced into the trench, if they thought we were a threat—
The first Rhyhorn thundered past the mouth of the path, close enough that grit sprayed into my face. Tyrunt snarled, a sound too loud, and the nearest Rhyhorn's head jerked our way. Its eyes locked on us, red and furious.
"Back!" I snapped, voice cracking.
Luxio leapt forward, sparks erupting, trying to draw its gaze up and away. His roar split the air, sharp enough to make the beast falter. But falter wasn't enough—the Rhyhorn pawed the ground, readying.
Grotle stepped forward, slower, heavier, planting himself in the trench mouth. His shell bristled, leaves trembling, body lowered to anchor. He wasn't fast enough to dodge, but he was the wall we had.
"Don't hit him," I whispered like prayer.
The Rhyhorn snorted, dust blasting from its nostrils. Then it huffed once, shaking its head, and thundered on with the herd. The others followed, horns lowered, tails lashing. The earth shook, dust choking the air.
We held still. Every muscle in my body screamed to run, but I couldn't. One step forward, one twitch, and I'd be flattened.
Minutes stretched like years. Then the last Rhyhorn passed, dust settling into silence. The herd rumbled off across the plain, horns glinting in the last light of dusk.
Only then did I breathe. My legs trembled hard enough I had to lean against the wall. Tyrunt slumped, panting, eyes still locked on the dust trail. Luxio prowled, sparks crawling down his back, furious at being forced still. Grotle straightened slow, shaking grit from his leaves. Honedge's tassel tightened on my wrist, cold and steady, like he was reminding me I was still alive.
I looked at my team, then at the empty road where the herd had vanished. That wasn't a battle. That wasn't something I could've won. That was nature reminding me that sometimes all the discipline, all the pride, all the strategy in the world meant nothing if you stepped into the wrong path.
The package in my pack felt heavier than ever, though its weight hadn't changed. The badge in my pocket pressed harder against my leg. For the first time all day, I felt small.
We walked on, slower than before, dust still clinging to our throats. The Lost Tower loomed closer in the distance, pale against the night.