Cynthia woke up to the faint chirping of a flock of Starly.

  She dragged herself out of her sleeping bag.

  She dug into her backpack.

  She found clothes that weren’t sopping wet.

  She got dressed.

  She unzipped the tent.

  The scent of wet grass hit her.

  The stink of ash followed.

  Cynthia wrinkled her nose at the smell and sighed softly. After a moment, she glanced around and paused when her eyes found Myst. He was already awake, hunched beneath a tree, notebook in one hand, pencil held loosely between his teeth.

  She frowned slightly at the sight but still started moving towards him. When she closed in, he looked up and smiled.

  Cynthia almost flinched.

  Almost.

  Instead, she made herself go still. Myst blinked, his eyes roaming up to meet hers—

  She let her gaze flick to the notebook.

  “You still writing in that thing?” she asked.

  Myst shrugged, snapping it shut before she got close enough to peek.

  “What can I say? You inspired me.”

  Cynthia pursed her lips as he put it away, gently placing it into the backpack he had haphazardly laid on the grass. It didn’t seem like him, taking notes and cataloguing things. Myst was... messy, chaotic. It wasn’t even a negative thing, but he wasn’t a planner in that way.

  Or at least she hadn’t thought he was.

  Cynthia licked her lips, feeling the faint rough scarring where she'd torn them open yesterday.

  Myst paused when she didn’t reply, glancing up at her.

  "Why do I feel like you don’t believe me?" he asked.

  For a couple of seconds, he just looked at her, then his brows furrowed. Before she could react, he rose smoothly and tilted his head.

  She paused.

  Myst had always been tall, subtly towering over most people they met. Still, usually she didn’t really feel it.

  Now?

  She crossed her arms, stepping back without thinking. For a second, they just stood there. Then, as Myst opened his mouth to speak again, she looked away—toward the ruins of the inn. He didn’t say anything, and she stared at the wreckage for a few seconds before turning back to him.

  "I called in help on the Pokédex," she said instead. " The Rangers couldn’t show up yesterday because of the Storm, but they will be here today and take our statements."

  Myst tilted his head slightly.

  "So... I guess that means we have to wait here instead of continuing, then?" he asked, almost casually.

  Cynthia nodded once.

  “Yeah.”

  Myst’s smile faltered. For a moment, he just stood there, fidgeting slightly, like he wasn't sure if he should say something else. Then he slowly opened his mouth—

  Cynthia cut him off before he could get a word out.

  "I need to find somewhere to dry my clothes," she said, already turning away.

  ….

  Cynthia narrowed her eyes as she let her gaze roam over Riolu.

  "And you’re sure you feel fine? No pain, nothing off about your Aura?"

  Riolu rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

  For a second, she just stared at him. When he just let out a sigh, she had to stop herself from stomping her foot. Honestly, his casual attitude, like she had no right to worry, made her want to shake him.

  She opened her mouth, but before she could even get out a single word, he had already half-turned around.

  Frustration coursed through her veins.

  "Take this seriously, Riolu!" she snapped, stepping forward to just—

  —Riolu stepped back instead.

  She stopped.

  His fists were clenched tightly against his sides, tail standing straight up.

  "Riolu," he said, voice low.

  I am fine.

  "Rio-Riolu," he added.

  I didn’t get hurt.

  Cynthia opened her mouth to argue again.

  Then stopped.

  Because Riolu, after he said that, wasn’t meeting her eyes. Because his tail had drooped low. Because…

  Oh.

  She hadn’t thought about it. Hadn’t thought about how yesterday had actually played out.

  Hadn’t wanted to think about it.

  Riolu had been knocked out before everything happened. Before the betrayal. Before the fight. Before everything went to—

  She took a deep breath, strangling her own thoughts.

  This wasn’t about her.

  “That wasn’t your fault, Riolu," she said, forcing her voice to stay steady.

  Riolu snapped his head up, eyes wide.

  “Riolu!” he hissed

  I knew.

  He took a step closer, jabbing a paw into his chest.

  “Riolu!”

  I saw.

  His voice cracked as he looked down at the dirt, the last word so soft Cynthia barely caught it.

  "Ri...Riolu."

  And I did nothing.

  Cynthia didn’t waste a second. She crouched, ignoring how the wet ground soaked through her pants, and reached out.

  She stopped just short of touching him.

  A millimetre above his shoulder, she let her hand hover awkwardly, before dropping it.

  "That was my mistake," she said quietly instead. "I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve noticed. You were there for ten seconds. I talked to him for almost an hour. I told you to search the inn, I—"

  Her voice caught.

  Riolu lifted his head, and for a second, their eyes met.

  Cynthia wanted to say something, say anything.

  But she couldn’t.

  Every word felt like it was a world away.

  So she licked her lips.

  Riolu clenched his fist, and then, without any warning, he straightened his back. She watched as he raised his tiny fist, determination flaring in his Aura like a second heartbeat.

  "Riolu," he said.

  Let's train

  ….

  Queenie’s muscles bulged as she lifted a jagged rock—up, then down.

  On a human, this kind of exercise would’ve been downright dangerous.

  Rocks weren’t uniform. Their weight was uneven, their grip unreliable. One slip, and you could snap something. If you wanted to build strength as a regular human, you were better off using your own bodyweight or proper equipment.

  Pokémon were different.

  Sure, good form helped. Equipment could optimize things, might exhaust a Pokémon faster than this kind of makeshift training could. But from everything she’d seen, everything she’d read, it didn’t matter nearly as much as people thought.

  They had something else.

  Aura.

  Not in the sense that Aura itself made them stronger. It wasn’t some mythical suit of armor that only kept them invincible until it cracked or ran dry. Even if a Pokémon’s Aura broke, it wasn’t as if their strength vanished. Training still left its mark. Even drained and staggering, Aura depleted, a trained Pokémon could still turn a grown human to dust without really meaning to.

  Though, just because it wasn’t directly the how, it was a huge part of the why.

  Through training, a Pokémon would tear muscle, exhaust its mind, even strain whatever mysterious part got damaged when a Magneton pushed itself too far. A lot like humans, in the sense that they broke themselves down to rebuild, growing stronger for it. The difference?

  Compared to the frankly pitiful amount of Aura humans had, a Pokémon’s Aura was so dense that it acted as a shield… And, maybe as importantly, that it acted like a healing factor. Just the inclusion of some Aura in the healing process, it made Pokémon capable of growing bodies humans could only dream of.

  Even so, that wasn’t to say Aura was all they needed. In the end Pokémon were still, for the most part, flesh and bone. They still needed proper nutrition, care, and rest. A lot of trainers starting out made the mistake of relying solely on Aura or underestimating how much more a Pokémon needed to eat if they didn’t add supplements. That only led to slow, stagnant growth, no faster than what you'd see in the wild.

  Though, honestly, even the ones who didn’t underestimate the amount, still often overlooked how complicated feeding a Pokémon could be. Just buying supplements based on a Pokémon’s type, that was the bare minimum. While she didn't really think about it anymore, when she started preparering food for her team, she dosed the supplements she mixed in carefully. Adjusted it bit by bit. Slowly figured out the right amount. How much they needed after a hard day of training, how much to hold back after they’d focused on something less physically demanding. And—

  Boom.

  Cynthia’s thoughts shattered as her foot slipped slightly in the dirt. She staggered, fumbling forward, and caught herself against a nearby bush. For a second, she just stared at the ground, confused. She hadn’t even been walking.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  She exhaled.

  Whatever.

  Instead, she forced her eyes up, and caught Queenie letting out a gasp for air, her limbs trembling as she leaned against the boulder she’d been lifting.

  Cynthia frowned, and before Queenie could reach for the boulder again, she opened her mouth, "That’s enough, Queenie. Take a break.”

  Queenie didn’t answer. She just grabbed the rock, golden eyes narrowed to slits. Cynthia blinked at how Queenie just ignored her, and when she spoke up again she had to force her voice to stay steady.

  “Queenie, stop.”

  Queenie turned her head, finally.

  “Gabite.”

  Cynthia stepped forward.

  "You know this isn’t efficient. Just pushing yourself isn’t going to do anything.”

  Queenie scoffed, low and sharp.

  “Gabite.”

  For a moment, Cynthia just stared at her. Then she felt her nails digging into her palm, felt the heat rising in her throat.

  “This isn’t about me!” she burst out, louder than she meant to. “You know mindless exertion isn’t the most effective way to train. We already agreed to focus on perfecting Fire Fang, that strength training isn’t useful after h—”

  Queenie stared.

  Then she simply snorted dismissively and turned back to the boulder, hands curling around it as she began to heave again.

  Cynthia felt the heat explode upward.

  “NO! You don’t get to just ignore me! After yesterday, this could hurt you. So stop lifting that damn rock and focus on training your freaking move!”

  The world seemed to pause as the words left her mouth.

  Queenie’s eyes narrowed.

  But she didn’t snarl.

  Didn’t growl, didn’t step forward, didn’t roar.

  Maybe, once—

  Maybe, when they’d first met, before Queenie became Queenie—

  But not now.

  Now, they knew each other too well for that.

  Instead, Queenie just looked at her.

  And Cynthia faltered—

  The warmth drained from her body like someone had splashed her with cold water.

  Her fists clenched again.

  She traced the bottom of her lip.

  Felt the scar.

  Because she was right. A huge part of training wasn’t about pushing harder. It was about understanding how each Pokémon needed to train.

  How much, in what way.

  And after a battle as intense as the one yesterday? Queenie pushing herself, forcing her body to do strength training, it didn’t help at all. Roselia could, Riolu could, but Queenie?

  With how hurt she had gotten, if she wanted to train, the best option was focusing on something that required mental energy. Like finally trying to perfect Fire Fang, so it didn’t take a minute to activate… or just focusing on regular type energy manipulation.

  So, she was right.

  Strength training wouldn’t help.

  She.

  Was.

  Righ—

  Queenie’s brilliant golden eyes stared back, tired, but peaceful, and the words she wanted to say died in her throat.

  Not that it mattered.

  …Not right now anyway.

  "Sorry," Cynthia mumbled, voice raw. "You just needed to blow off some steam, right?"

  Queenie shook her head slightly. Then, with an expression that could almost be called a smile, she lowered her head and nudged Cynthia’s hand, nuzzling it slightly.

  “Gabite.” she said, with that tone of voice someone used when they knew somebody too well to be mad.

  Cynthia let out a tired, bitter smile.

  "I mean, sure. I should remind you. It’s just this is the second time today, and I shouldn’t do it like that."

  Queenie paused, took a step back, and looked up. Then she shrugged dramatically, like she was saying I know how you get.

  Cynthia felt her eyes soften, "Still, if you want to blow off some steam, how about we—" she began, but the word broke apart before she could find the rest. Without meaning to her eyes had roamed left, toward the inn, the place they had fought—

  And lost.

  Cynthia’s smile slipped. It wasn’t intentional. She didn’t want to think about it, but… the moment her eyes landed on the inn, yesterday flashed before her.

  The way she had been tricked.

  How they had lost.

  The way Myst had to—

  Cynthia squeezed her eyes shut, feeling nausea crawl up the back of her throat, wrapping around her like a noose. She took a shaky breath and tried to force the image out. Tried to block out the feeling.

  The helplessness.

  The relief.

  A sharp pressure tapped her nose, and Cynthia jerked her head back. Queenie stood in front of her, one claw pointed to the spot her nose had been a second ago.

  “Gabite gabite.”

  Just thinking won’t help.

  Cynthia stared at her oldest partner. The one who, somehow, always, always knew. Then she sighed and glanced towards where Myst had run off to.

  …

  Cynthia wanted to say she walked over and talked it out with Myst. That she crossed the camp and cleared the air like a normal person.

  Instead, as a Tropius slowly descended from the sky, she stood on the opposite side of Queenie.

  Not because it was awkward.

  It wasn’t.

  Obviously.

  There was a reason she hadn’t talked to him yet.

  A good one even.

  She just didn’t want to look at it too closely.

  The grass bowed as Tropius landed, gusts rippling through the clearing. Cynthia squinted against the wind, her eyes narrowing at the familiar figure on its back.

  Benkara.

  He dismounted with easy familiarity, his face unreadable as he glanced around the wreckage.

  “I guess this is what you meant by ‘there was an incident,’” he said, voice dry.

  Cynthia licked her lips and followed his gaze—straight to the smoldering remains of the inn.

  “We didn’t exactly have much of a choice,” Myst said. A faint smile tugged at his mouth, brittle at the edges. “Sometimes the fight finds you.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Benkara muttered. He exhaled and raised a hand. Tropius vanished in a flash of red light.

  Then he turned, facing Cynthia squarely.

  “So,” he said, tone completely even. “A Hunter, right? What happened?”

  Cynthia opened her mouth slowly, the words catching just behind her teeth.

  ….

  Benkara grimaced as he looked down on Zoroark’s remains.

  Cynthia could barely bring herself to look at it.

  The Pokémon still looked almost alive, but the damage along its leg, the way its eyes stared blankly ahead, made it all too clear.

  She wrapped her arms around herself as Benkara turned.

  “And you said he called it a—”

  Myst answered before she could.

  “A Zoroark. It's a Dark-type, known for creating powerful illusions. That’s why we didn’t realize at first that the other trainers weren’t human. They looked off... but they still looked alive.”

  Benkara frowned.

  “Kael, huh. Don’t know the name off the top of my head, but that would make sense. Too many Hunters around recently. I swear it’s becoming a problem at this point. I’ll add it to the database when I get back.”

  Myst frowned.

  “There’s been a lot of reports like this? I thought Hunters were pretty rare.”

  Benkara snorted under his breath.

  “They are. Don’t get me wrong, Sinnoh’s still doing way better than Kanto right now. They’re having real problems with organized crime. But five years ago? I might’ve gotten one report a year about someone running into a Hunter.”

  He shook his head.

  "Nowadays? I've had three this month… though some of that's probably because the circuit just started." He took a breath. "Honestly, you'd think people would respect the law, considering the punishment for hurting or killing Pokémon without a good reason, but I guess some people just don't get the memo."

  He glanced at them, a wry edge to his voice.

  "Though, considering you’ve been in two of those incidents, maybe it doesn’t feel like a lot."

  Myst shrugged, half-hearted at best.

  “To be honest, if I never meet another Hunter again for the rest of my life, I’ll be pretty happy.”

  Benkara let out a short laugh, not mean, just exhausted.

  "Yeah, join the club. Rangers don't exactly love dealing with them either. Not when we're stuck playing catch-up after the damage is already done. It would be one thing if they just used force, but so many of them end up accidentally—" He paused, glancing down at Zoroark again, then let out a sigh. "Well, I guess you did better than most would. This Kael might've told you he had five badges, but considering how long he's been doing odd jobs? I don't think that's something you should trust."

  Cynthia opened her mouth at that.

  “You think he was lying?”

  Benkara gave her a raised eyebrow in return.

  “Considering how you beat me, when I was using my fourth badge team, you shouldn’t have been completely overwhelmed by someone on their fifth. Hell, considering you had to collapse the entire inn just to force him to retreat, I’d think he’d be strong enough to at least try for a sixth. Really, most hunters have to be that strong, considering they want to capture Pokémon alive. Of course, it’s hard to say. You didn’t have your full team. And this guy still smells fresh, especially since he ended up killing his target.” he shrugged, “But even then? I’d probably give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  For a second, no one said anything and Benkara’s eyes dropped back to the Zoroark—and then to its side.

  “You protecting the egg? That’s pretty much as good as it ever was going to get.”

  Cynthia clenched her fist.

  It was ridiculous.

  How could he say this was a good result?

  Zoroark dead.

  How was that ever going to be considered as good as it ever got.

  She opened her mouth—

  “It wasn’t, though.” Myst stole the words from her. “We should’ve realized it much faster. Should’ve seen through it earlier. Should’ve done something before it got this bad. I could have—”

  His voice didn’t crack.

  Didn’t even waver.

  But he spoke with a flatness she’d never heard from him before.

  Benkara held up a hand, stopping him. He didn’t offer sympathy. Just looked down again, lips pressed thin.

  “I’ll take Zoroark back with me,” Benkara said quietly. “Try to check her with a Psychic specialist back at headquarters, see if they can trace the damage done. But…” He sighed. “If, like the Hunter told you, Zoroark’s a Dark-type, there’s probably very little we can find. Last time we were unlucky, Flygon had been dead just long enough that his Aura had disappeared. This time? Dark-types are naturally shielded from Psychic energy. It’s very unlikely we’ll find anything.”

  Cynthia barely heard him.

  She just stared at Myst.

  “What about the egg?” Myst asked, glancing at it, still tucked beneath Zoroark’s body.

  For the first time since she’d walked out of her tent, she really looked at him.

  He hadn’t stopped smiling.

  Not for a second.

  That was what had annoyed her, frustrated her.

  That he seemed to take everything so lightly. So easily.

  That he didn’t struggle.

  “Not our problem,” Benkara said. “It’s yours to raise, if you want. If not, you could place it up for adoption. Though, honestly?” He hesitated. “I think one of you should take it, eggs given to the system is a gamble, at best.”

  Now, as she saw his face she suddenly felt her stomach drop.

  Like it had done with Riolu.

  Like it had done with Queenie.

  For some reason she had almost forgotten.

  Myst smiled when he was happy.

  He smiled when he was sad.

  And he smiled when he had no idea what else to do.

  ….

  Benkara left just as dinner time rolled around, leaving them with only a faint warning to be careful about the possibility of revenge. Cynthia wasn’t sure if it was because he got annoyed by the other trainers who had arrived, or if it was, as he claimed, because he had “urgent gym business.”

  It didn’t really matter, honestly.

  It didn’t change the fact that he’d left them to answer all the questions about what had happened to the inn the arriving trainers were supposed to stay at.

  Cynthia dug a spoon into her curry, taking another bite as she tried not to feel bad about letting Myst answer everything.

  She would have helped him, but she just couldn’t.

  So instead, she sat there, eating curry from a bag, and hoped nobody would find her. It was almost ironic when the bushes rustled the next second, and Cynthia snapped her head around—”

  Just to see Myst duck under a nearby branch.

  “You made my portion too, I hope?” he asked, a slight grin on his face.

  She didn’t bother answering, just pushed the bowl of curry over the grass towards him.

  “Thanks,” he said easily, then walked over to her.

  She froze for a split second, short enough that he shouldn’t have been able to notice.

  He still did.

  Myst froze too, halfway through sitting down.

  "Oh, sorry, I—"

  She tore her head towards him, looking him straight in the eyes.

  "Sit."

  Myst laughed, a little bit too loud, then slid down onto the grass. He smiled again when he reached the ground, like always.

  It didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  She turned back.

  For a while, they didn’t speak. The only sounds were the distant crackle of the fire, the gentle hum of people in the distance, and the quiet clinks of metal spoons scraping against tin bowls.

  Cynthia stared at the curry like the rice might offer her answers.

  Myst didn’t look at her. Not really. Sometimes his gaze flickered her way, but he always looked away just as quickly, refocusing on his food.

  She still noticed though.

  How slowly he ate.

  How he slumped over.

  How tired he seemed.

  “What did Kael mean by Aura Retraction?” Myst asked suddenly, voice low.

  Cynthia froze, her spoon halfway to her mouth.

  “You—” She stopped herself before she could say something stupid. Instead, she set the spoon down and took a breath to gather herself. When she opened her mouth, it didn’t feel as heavy as she thought.

  “You know how Zoroark was injured, right?”

  Myst nodded silently.

  “That meant it either fainted, got injured, and then regained Aura before waking up again... or it decided it couldn’t faint.” Still, even though it didn’t feel heavy, it felt brittle.

  "What do you mean?" Myst asked, just as quietly.

  Cynthia licked her lips.

  “In the wild, fainting can mean death,” she said. “It leaves you helpless. So when a Pokémon is desperate enough, they can choose to... retract their Aura. It means fighting without the defence it offers. One solid hit could be their last... but it also means they can’t faint.” She hesitated. “Zoroark probably felt... fainting was too dangerous.”

  Myst clenched a fist beside her, letting some hair fall into his face.

  She still saw his mouth open slowly.

  “I didn’t really get it before, why you reacted so harshly when I asked if Hunters were different from Trainers. Now?” Myst let out a breath, his voice painfully flat. “I get it.”

  Cynthia just nodded. But she didn’t say anything more. She just pushed the spoon through her almost-cold curry, like it might somehow make it hot again. Like it might somehow bring back how easy things had felt before.

  She almost didn’t hear him when Myst spoke up again. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

  Cynthia blinked, “What?”

  Myst turned to her. “When we talked to Benkara, you said Kael fled after we collapsed the inn.”

  Cynthia stared at him, met his blue eyes.

  Myst had punched Kael. Had sucker-punched him while he wasn’t paying attention. Forced him down to the ground. Almost strangled him.

  And she had been afraid of him for it.

  Or well, that was what she wanted to feel. It would have been easier that way.

  Made her feel normal.

  In the middle of a Pokémon battle, you don’t punch your opponent. There are no words for how wrong that is. No words for how wrong it felt.

  But no.

  She had only wanted to be afraid of him. Because, in the end, she wasn’t. After all, when Myst walked through the forest and found her sitting at the campfire alone, she hadn’t felt afraid.

  She’d felt like it was natural.

  Like him joining her was natural.

  She had never been afraid of Myst.

  She had been afraid of herself.

  Afraid of her own overwhelming relief.

  Afraid of the fact that she’d felt happy because it had just been—

  Over.

  “Because it didn’t matter,” she said.

  Myst’s face twitched. His smile faltered.

  “But it does, doesn’t it?” he said. “Because you—”

  He lifted a hand, reached toward her face.

  Cynthia refused to flinch.

  He dropped it slowly.

  “Myst. You are never going to do that again. I won’t let you. I get it, you don’t understand some things but know this.” Her voice was sharp. “We are never, either of us, going to have to punch another trainer to win a battle. Ever again. Never. Promise me.”

  Myst just looked at her. Then, slowly, a tired smile slid onto his face.

  “Cynthia,” he said softly, “I can’t.”

  She stared at him, fist clenched.

  “And why not?”

  Myst smiled again, the first genuine smile he’d had all day.

  Eyes crinkling.

  Looking straight at her.

  “...I can’t,” he said, almost gently. “Because if it’s between... I mean, if it’s you, and them...” He leaned in, just enough that she could almost feel his breath.

  “Then yeah.”

  Cynthia hated it.

  “I’d punch.”

  The way his blue eyes lit up, just a little.

  “Every.”

  The way the firelight played across his face, vaguely aristocratic, unfairly good-looking.

  “Time.”

  And she hated herself.

  Because, of course, her heart picked now to skip a beat.

  …

  Myst looked at her as her face turned red.

  And he smiled.

  Because it was easier than crying.

  Because it was what she expected.

  Because it was all he knew how to do right now.