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The air inside the cabin had gone heavy and still.
"Coch," the mayor said at last, voice low, eyes shadowed under his brow, "do you know what's been happening?"
The bearded man Coch, the League's assigned officer in Whiteleaf Town scratched the back of his neck, uncertain. "What are you talking about?"
The mayor sighed, a weary sound. "You're the League liaison here the town's second-in-command. You don't need to solve every crisis yourself, but you should at least know what's on our doorstep."
Coch gave a sheepish grin. "Right. Sorry."
"Never mind." The mayor cleared his throat, shot him a look, and continued. "A few days ago, Hangermer and the field hands found tracks along the paddies." He paused. "I checked them yesterday. Looked like Raticate."
"Impossible." Coch snapped to his feet, shock written across his face.
For over seventy years ever since the League cleansed the outer ring of the Koron Wasteland there hadn't been a single wild Pokémon near Whiteleaf. And in this era, any truly wild Pokémon meant one thing: Nightmare infection. A monster wearing a Pokémon's skin.
"Sit," the mayor said gently, raising a hand. "They're real. The prints are new. Wilds are back at our borders." His eyes hardened. "The Nightmare is stirring again."
"I'll contact Ignis City immediately," Coch said, fists clenching.
"Wait." The mayor tapped his cane softly on the floor. "First, we need to—"
A deep, ancient roar rolled across the town from the treeline ragged, hungry, wrong. It raised gooseflesh on every arm and drove a spike of cold through the spine.
The mayor and Coch locked eyes.
"They're here," they said together.
Both men moved at once rushing for the door, turning toward the gate. Coch's hand flashed to his belt. A red-and-white Poké Ball snapped into his palm.
---
"Mom! Dad! I'm home!"
Earl burst through the door, breathless and grinning.
"What took you so long?" his mother called from the kitchen, her voice sharpening. "How many times have I told you—don't—"
"Easy," his father murmured from the couch, waving the boy over and ruffling his hair. "Kids run late. It happens."
"I wasn't playing!" Earl protested, puffing his cheeks. He hauled the basket onto the table. "I picked a lot of Berries!"
"You went to the eastern woods?" his mother's voice rose half a note.
That did it another wave of scolding rolled in like a summer storm. Earl ducked his head, chastened. Even so, the warmth beneath the scolding was obvious; the edges of an ordinary family evening traced themselves in the small room.
"UHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
The roar shattered it.
Pans clattered to silence. Footsteps hurried from the kitchen. Earl's father stood, frowning, and met his wife's eyes at the doorway.
"Is it… that?" he asked.
She nodded once.
"What's happening?" Earl whispered.
"It's all right," his mother said, forcing a smile as she took his hand. "Come with me."
She guided him to the storeroom, then to the trapdoor leading down. Earl looked up, frightened but brave.
"Just a nap, sweetheart," she said, voice barely steady. "Stay down until I come back. Promise?"
He swallowed and nodded.
She kissed his forehead, closed the door to the cellar, locked the storeroom from the outside… and, as a last safeguard, slid the spare key through the crack beneath the door.
In the bedroom, Earl's father pulled a battered case from the back of the wardrobe. The chill of the metal steadied his racing pulse. He drew a long breath and opened it. Cold, oiled steel glinted within.
His wife joined him at the door. He passed the weapon to her; their shoulders bumped. Together, they stepped out into the street.
Neighbors were already emerging faces tight, hands white-knuckled around old firearms. The instinct of a herd species standing together spread a thin blanket of calm through the fear.
A detonation boomed from the direction of the town gate. Heads snapped toward it as a thread of gray-white smoke curled upward like a warning banner.
Crash crash crash!
Impacts hammered the earth, punctuated by furious bellows. Bursts of red and violet lit the dusk sky moves clashing, power striking power.
Earl's parents stared, breath held. They knew who stood between the town and the dark:
The mayor.
And Coch the League's man with his Pokémon at his side.
Two defenders. Two lines holding.
The lights at the gate flickered once more, then faded. The roars went quiet.
Earl's father tightened his grip on the gun. His wife did the same.
At the far end of the street, where the shadows thickened, something moved.
They realized together that the moment that would decide their lives had arrived.
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