I’d never whited out before.

  Intellectually, I knew what it was. Syn strain. Or rather, syn overstrain. Expending so much syn that you fell unconscious. The most common causes were an abrupt descent from a high height, or suffering under the effects of a powerful move from a Pokémon.

  Of course, the exact specifics and mechanics weren’t quite that simple. You see, when left to its own devices, the human body was remarkably good at conserving syn.

  For example, say you fell from a tree, and tried to break your fall with an outstretched arm. Well, you only have so much syn, and instead of spending too much of that limited resource protecting something non-vital, most of the time one’s body will instead instinctively conserve it to keep more important bits intact, like the head, or organs.

  Case-in-point, approximately ninety-percent of humans who fell from planes would survive their initial impact with the ground. Now, the majority of that group would then go on to perish from either internal or external bleeding, but your torso and head were likely to be intact. Tragically, compound fractures and punctured organs aren’t super survivable without immediate medical aid, and the unconsciousness characteristic of whiting out wasn’t super conducive towards seeking that aid.

  Based on the morbid glee with which Donna had relayed all of that information to me, I got the feeling that she spent more time than was probably healthy seeking statistics like that out.

  In any case, what all of this meant practically was that if you got hit by a car, or a Tauros’ Takedown, you’d still go flying, and you’d still get bruises, you just wouldn’t get turned into a pulp like you would without the additional protection. Janine had told me to think about it as armor, rather than a shield. Syn would make your injuries less severe, but it didn’t protect you from them entirely, unless they’d be immediately lethal.

  There were, however, more esoteric ways a person could expend their syn, sometimes in excess of what the body could really handle. Alyssa had done so just recently, as an example, when she forced a synergy burst with her partner before either of them were truly prepared.

  If Janine overdid that thing where she makes herself really scary temporarily, she might white out. Same for if Drake projected his presence too forcefully or too often, or Donna hardened her skin one too many times.

  Of course, knowing what something is and experiencing it for yourself are two completely different Pokémon. One moment, I was content, confident in my victory in our little competition, and the next, I was blinking against the harsh, winter sun.

  My partners must have turned me face-up after I fell, because the last thing I remembered was toppling face-first. Everything ached. My head, my arms, my chest, my legs, they were all experiencing small bursts of pain that tugged my consciousness in a dozen different directions.

  Far more pressing than my discomfort, however, were the panicked noises coming from my partners.

  I tried to sit up, and found I couldn’t, any attempt to do so stymied by an immediate bout of nausea and vertigo. “I’m fine,” I croaked out, lying to try to get my partners to calm down. “Just need a minute.”

  I needed more than a minute.

  In fact, I needed long enough that my partners started insisting on getting me up off the ground. Between the seven of them, they managed to get me laid out on a nearby bench, and without bumping my head more than was probably absolutely necessary during the process.

  Apparently, I’d only been unconscious for a few seconds, and Mana had likely spared me from at least a broken nose by biting down on the hood of my jacket when I pitched forwards. She wasn’t able to hold me upright for long, but it was enough that my knights were able to get over and let me down gently.

  By the time I was placed on the bench by my concerned partners, I was already feeling substantially better.

  Still in pain, but less like there was an Exploud actively screaming into my skull. The one part of me that continued to ache severely was my throat, which was sore like I’d been fighting the flu.

  It made what came next difficult, but a little bit of pain wasn’t going to stop me from having what might be the most important conversation with my knights, and in particular, Lance, I’d had so far. “That’s my win, right? You’re not petty enough to argue on a technicality, are you?”

  Bers and Percy had been too exhausted to continue after Galad’s assault, and my two Falinks were indisputably positioned to win the fight before I’d collapsed. Technically, neither side had knocked the other out, so a particularly obstinate Pokémon could argue that our little competition had ended in a draw, but Lance and I both knew that if he tried that sort of stunt, he might have a revolt on his hands.

  Slowly, surely, Lance shook his head. Acknowledging my victory. I’d expected him to be tense, or angry, or maybe even resentful, but the overwhelming sense I got from the brass was one of– relief. I couldn’t be 100% sure I was reading him right, couldn’t be positive that it wasn’t wishful thinking, but it was enough to hope.

  “Then you listen to me now. All of you. No matter how many of you become brass. I lead this formation, from now until we can grow no stronger together,” I resisted the urge to phrase it like a request, like something I was asking of them. This had to be a demand. An order, establishing my authority.

  I scanned my knights, analyzing how they reacted to the proclamation, on the look-out for any dissent or dissatisfaction.

  To my immense relief, I didn’t find any.

  –

  My knights took it upon themselves to clean up the scattered chess pieces while I recovered, placing the tall, plastic Poison-types back in their shed. Mana kept an eye on me, making sure my condition didn’t worsen as, bit-by-bit, I regained strength, until, maybe fifteen minutes since my initial collapse, I was able to stand up again. I took a few tentative steps, almost fell, and decided that I should probably take the bus to get home.

  -

  I spent most of the rest of the day in bed. I considered going to a hospital, you're supposed to after you white out, but my collapse hadn’t been provoked by any sort of impact or injury, so I was hoping a good night of sleep would have me back on my feet.

  But before I could rest for the night, I had to make sure I gave my knights leave to take care of any issues that came up.

  Something had changed in our relationship, and I wasn’t sure I could say it was completely for the better. They listened to me now. Not that they hadn’t before, but it was indisputably different now. There wasn’t any more of the angle-shooting, the creative interpretations, the loveable mischief, that had characterized things previously.

  Now, I said jump, and they didn’t even bother asking how high, they’d just leap into the air with as much force as they could muster. They took everything completely literally, treating the most off-hand comment as trust-bound gospel.

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  I had to watch my words, consider my requests, and fight to still the flutter of unease their unceasing obedience inspired in me. This was what I’d asked for.

  Now I just had to live up to the standard I’d set for myself.

  Which meant bed rest. If I was going to have any chance of facing them at my best, I was going to need to recover. Thankfully, when I woke up the next morning, I felt much improved. My throat was still raw, and I wouldn’t be shouting anything anytime soon, but it wasn’t so severe that it’d be a sufficient reason to call in sick to the station.

  And besides that, I had questions I wanted to ask of my mentors there. I spent most of the bus ride over considering them, trying to piece together exactly what I wanted to ask. So it was with great frustration that I found out that all of the senior rangers were already out on mission by the time I’d arrived.

  Apparently, all hands were on deck for a missing person’s case in the Cesnine forest.

  Well, all hands except for me. I wasn’t, however, completely without recourse. I chose my moment carefully, waiting for a time when Spinda and Teddiursa were occupied, and Liken was snoozing away at the dispatch board. I sent my partners to the gym to do some independent training, and made sure Clover the Skiddo was watered and content out on the pasture.

  My target was isolated and any potential distractions were dealt with, which meant now was the time to strike. “Bakiru,” I knew I hadn’t snuck up on the Hypno, which made the little jolt he affected just that, an affectation. “There’s no need to act like I’m creeping around,” I complained with crossed arms and a raspy voice, “you’ve probably known I’ve wanted to talk to you all morning.”

  Slowly Bakiru turned to face me, his gimlet eyes giving me an urge to shudder. He typed something out on his computer, and then physically picked up the attached CRT, spinning the monitor around to face me, showing an open text document with a sentence emblazoned at its top. [I try to spend as little attention on your thoughts as I can. They’re rather… busy].

  That seemed a bit rude, but Bakiru had never struck me as particularly polite, and honestly, straightforwardness was a virtue in my book. “Well if you don’t want to read my mind, words should work just as well. I whited myself out yesterday doing some training with my partners, and I need help figuring out exactly what I was spending my syn on.”

  The Hypno arched one eyebrow in a very human expression of bemusement. He clacked away on the keyboard for a few moments, and the text document gained a new line. [I know Donna tells new recruits that letting their partners beat them up is good training, but you really shouldn’t overdo that. Did you go to the hospital?]

  I shook my head. “First of all, we always use pads when we're doing that sort of training, thank you,” I frowned, “and I didn’t white out from taking hits. I was just– giving commands.

  The Hypno’s brows furrowed in thought, and I knew I had his interest. [And just giving your partners orders caused you to faint?]

  I could feel the doubt dripping off of the text document, and I had to resist the urge to pout. “I swear to you, that’s all I was doing. I felt like I really needed them to listen to me, and it worked!” I was starting to get excited, which made me ignore my protesting throat. I paid for it almost immediately, as a cough cut me off, and I worked through a fit that made my tongue taste vaguely of iron.

  Bakiru rolled his eyes, and beckoned me over behind the front desk. He spun the monitor again, and when I came over, I found a new message on the text document. [You sound like Haruka. Stop talking and just type instead].

  Context clues told me that Haruka was referring to Sergeant Egao, and I filed that little curiosity away to consider later as my fingers found their way to the keyboard. If Bakiru was comparing my voice to the sergeant’s smoke-addled tones, I really should stop talking.

  The sharp pain in my neck and voice box agreed, and I clacked away on the proffered keyboard, continuing on conversation on the computer’s screen. [I was focusing really hard on making sure they’d listen to my orders, and it felt like they were hearing more from my commands than I was actually saying].

  Bakiru considered me for a few moments, before taking the keyboard back and typing out his message. [Well, it sounds like you might have been using your aura to enhance your commands, as you’ve probably surmised. It’s hardly unheard of. There are lots of ways aura can be used to improve your voice].

  Now, it was my turn for my eyebrows to go up. [Really]? I typed back on a new line. [None of the senior rangers ever talked about anything like that].

  Bakiru shook his head, and made an exaggerated shrug that was clearly meant to convey a sigh. [You’re still young. This isn’t the sort of thing you’re supposed to be learning until you’re at the academy].

  I bit my lip, fighting down the instinctive retort, for the good it likely did in the presence of a mind-reader. [Well I guess I’m ahead of the curve then. Am I going to be okay? I didn’t think I needed to go to a hospital since I got better so fast, but my throat and chest still hurt. Am I in danger]?

  The fussy Psychic-type stared at me for a few moments, his expression inscrutable, before he shook his head. [I’m not a doctor, or a Fighting-type, so I can only tell you so much], he hedged.

  [Well everyone else is gone, so you’re the only resource I’ve got right now. Anything you could tell me would be helpful].

  Bakiru stared at my message for a few seconds, before pinching the bridge of his snout with two large, yellow fingers. [Ok, well in my Inexpert opinion, it sounds like you used more aura than your body was ready to handle. Powering yourself up with aura puts a lot of strain on the body, like a muscle that’s been overused, so even though your aura reserves have likely refilled after a night of rest, your throat and voice box are going to need more time to recover. You’ll probably be fine, but if things don’t feel any better tomorrow, I would highly recommend you go to a hospital].

  That was… surprisingly balanced advice, all told. Maybe my strategy of guilting the Hypno into helping me was working. [Ok. I can do that. But how do I use my syn without hurting myself]?

  The Psychic-type considered my question for a few seconds, before taking back the keyboard and adding a line to the document: [Right now, you don’t. Wait until someone is at the station to help you train your new skill. Until then, rest your voice, and listen to your body. It will tell you to stop if you’re hurting yourself. That’s what pain is].

  [Okay, I can do that], I typed back. [Thanks for hearing me out, Bakiru. I’ve been worrying about this all day, so it’s a relief to hear that things will probably be okay].

  [Emphasis on probably], came the rapid-fire reply. [Seriously, if anything seems wrong, go see a real doctor, okay]?

  I nodded in affirmation, and gave him a thumbs up.

  Judging by the eyeroll I got in return, Bakiru considered himself finished with dealing with me for the day, so I got out of his fur, returning to where my partners were training and checking in on their progress. Even as I watched them get stronger though, a part of me was thinking about what I’d just learned, and wondering what I could do to make sure my partners weren’t the only ones gaining strength.

  -

  I did feel better the next day, and my voice was only the littlest bit hoarse. I wasn’t at 100%, but I felt improved enough that going to the hospital seemed like an overreaction.

  Bakiru must have tattled on me, because when I arrived at the ranger station that afternoon, there was a message from Janine instructing me to hold off on experimenting or otherwise messing around with my syn until a senior ranger was around to coach me through the process.

  The instinct to ignore that particular order was strong, but memories of Janine’s displeasure, coupled with the slight pain still plaguing my throat, made me think better of that course of action. Instead, I spent the day plugging through more of the ranger handbooks, and making sure Clover was up-to-date on my team’s formations. I hadn’t spent as much time with her as I had with my actual partners, but the affable Grass-type was always a pleasure to work with, and showed an eagerness for self-improvement that was completely endearing.

  By the time Thursday came around, the prognosis for our missing person was rather bleak. Especially when noon arrived, and brought with it Wilson returned to the station after a morning spent on the hunt. The man was carrying a belt with a single Poké Ball on it, and his Swalot bore a tent, a backpack, and a bulky, shattered device.

  The BattleFieldGo was recognizable (even in spite of being crushed into pieces) as were the modifications made to it.

  The device was clearly jailbroken, an almost sure-sign that the owner had been up to no good.

  And that suspicion was all but confirmed when Wilson released the Poké Balls inhabitant, and we were confronted not with a grieving or worried partner, but a very confused, clearly just-caught Stufful.

  The station’s missing person’s case had just evolved into a missing poacher’s case, and a cub-napping to boot.

  Now if only I wasn’t completely sidelined through the entire affair.