The dust from the Rhyhorn herd still clung to my jacket. No matter how many times I brushed at it, the grit clung, scratching against my skin. My throat burned from breathing it in, and every step echoed with the phantom thunder of their hooves.
Tyrunt kept glancing back down the road, as if expecting the ground to start trembling again. Luxio prowled restless circles whenever I stopped to drink, sparks flickering down his mane. Grotle was quieter, but his eyes kept straying to the horizon, searching. Honedge's tassel never loosened from my wrist.
We camped just off the road, stone walls breaking the wind. I'd just gotten the fire lit when a shadow fell across the flames. For a moment my stomach clenched—another Rhyhorn? But it was just a traveler, older, wrapped in a patched coat, a heavy pack slung over one shoulder.
"You saw them, didn't you?" His voice was rough, but calm. He crouched by the fire without waiting for an invitation.
"The herd," I said. My throat still rasped from the dust. "They almost—" I stopped myself. I didn't need to say it. The fire cracked.
The man nodded, staring into the flames. "Rhyhorn don't move like that unless something greater's behind them. You know what pushed them?"
I shook my head.
He leaned closer, voice low, as if the dark grass itself might be listening. "Dragonite."
The word landed heavy, like a stone on my chest.
He saw my expression and chuckled without humor. "Not the kind you see in a Gym match. Champion stock. A beast left in the wild after its partner died. At that level… they're not just Pokémon. They're weather. Earthquakes with wings. Storms that breathe."
I swallowed. "And it's here?"
"Not here." His eyes glinted. "But close enough. Close enough the Rhyhorn smelled it, and they knew their only chance to live was to run. That's why you almost died tonight. You crossed the edge of its hunting ground."
I stared into the fire until my eyes watered. "If it's that strong… how do you stop it?"
The man gave me a long look, as if weighing whether I deserved the answer. Finally, he said, "You don't. Not with a team like yours. Not with ten like yours. At Champion level, there are tiers. Some Champion partners fight like legends. Others… they become the stuff that breaks legends. The last time one went mad, three other Champion-class Pokémon tried to hold it back. Three. And all three died. Half the city went with them."
The flames popped, sparks flying. My stomach turned cold.
"Why?" I asked, before I could stop myself.
His voice dropped, rough as gravel. "Because someone stole its child. A Garchomp hatchling. And the parent didn't care who burned. They say you can still see the scar on the land if you walk through what used to be the eastern quarter of Sunyshore."
The fire crackled, the only sound. I realized I was holding my breath.
The man stood, brushing dust from his coat. "Don't go looking for it, boy. You meet a Champion beast like that, you don't fight it. You survive it. And you pray the League keeps it contained."
He walked back into the night, his shadow bleeding into the grass until it was gone.
I sat frozen, the fire burning low, my team restless around me. Tyrunt's tail swished slow, anxious. Luxio prowled, sparks crackling nervously. Grotle shifted closer, steadying himself near the heat. Honedge's tassel tightened like a noose around my wrist.
The package in my pack pressed against my back, absurdly light compared to the weight of the words in the air. Badges. Tutors. Training. All of it felt small now, measured against a force that could raze a city in rage.
Dragonite. Champion tier. Untouchable.
The bells on my sleeve gave a single, faint chime in the stillness. It sounded too thin against the memory of thunder.