Chapter 32: Zachary's Gifts
The canal stretched before them like a vein of liquid silver, its surface catching the fractured light of Aethelburg's crystal spires. Floating bridges arched overhead, their supports humming with faint electromagnetic pulses that kept them suspended above the water. The city breathed around them—a living organism of glass and light and the distant murmur of a thousand voices.
None of it touched the silence that had settled over the group.
Patricia walked with her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the cobblestones. Dariana moved beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed, but neither spoke. There was nothing to say. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Briv kept his eyes forward, his jaw set so tight that the muscles in his temple throbbed. He hadn't looked at Roger or Callum since they'd entered the facility perimeter. Hadn't looked at much of anything except the path ahead.
The Eclipse Squad members had disappeared into the shadows of the industrial district half an hour ago, swallowed by the maze of warehouses and abandoned loading docks. Whatever they were guarding in there, whatever operation they'd been sent to protect, it would have to wait.
They had a more immediate problem.
"Someone's following us," Nicola said quietly.
Briv's hand moved toward his belt. "Where?"
"Left side. Canal walkway. He's been keeping pace with us for the last three blocks."
They all turned.
A figure stood at the edge of the water, silhouetted against the glow of a floating bridge. He was tall and lean, wrapped in a patchwork coat of brown and green fabrics that looked like they'd been stitched together from a dozen different sources. A wide-brimmed hat shadowed his face, but there was something familiar about the way he carried himself—relaxed, unhurried, like a man who had all the time in the world.
Then he raised a hand and waved.
"Briv Ambertone," the figure called. "As I live and breathe. You're a hard man to track down."
The voice clicked something loose in Briv's memory. He squinted through the dim light, and the face beneath the hat resolved into features he hadn't seen in almost two years.
"Zachary?"
"The one and only." The man stepped off the canal walkway and onto the main street, his boots clicking against the stone. "Though I suppose I've changed a bit since our last meeting. The road does that to a person."
He wasn't wrong. The Zachary Briv remembered had been young and eager, a wandering trader barely out of his teens with a backpack full of trinkets and a Mareep that followed him like a shadow. This man was leaner, weathered, with lines around his eyes that spoke of long nights and longer roads. But the smile was the same—warm, genuine, and just a little bit mischievous.
"What are you doing here?" Briv asked.
"Same thing I've always done. Trading. Traveling. Getting into trouble I probably shouldn't." Zachary's gaze swept over the group, lingering on Patricia and Dariana with a flicker of concern. "Though it looks like you've had a rough night. You all right?"
"Fine," Patricia said. Her voice was flat.
Zachary didn't push. He just nodded, accepting the lie for what it was, and turned his attention back to Briv.
"I heard about the League. Congratulations on the win. I always knew you had it in you."
"Thanks."
"You don't sound too happy about it."
"It's been a long year."
"I bet." Zachary reached into his coat and produced a small, leather-wrapped bundle. "Which brings me to why I'm here. I've got something you might be interested in."
He unwrapped the bundle carefully, revealing a cluster of Pokémon eggs nestled in a bed of soft cloth. There were six of them, each a different color and pattern—pale blue with darker swirls, warm amber with faint speckles, deep purple with a shell that seemed to shimmer in the light.
Briv's breath caught. "Where did you get those?"
"Various places. Various deals. Some I traded for, some I... acquired through other means." Zachary's smile turned cryptic. "Doesn't matter. What matters is what I'm offering."
"And what's that?"
"A challenge." He rewrapped the eggs and tucked them back into his coat. "I've got six eggs and six Pokémon on my team. Anyone who can beat me in a one-on-one battle wins an egg. Their choice which one."
Nicola's eyes narrowed. "What's the catch?"
"No catch. Just a friendly wager between trainers." Zachary spread his hands. "I'm not in the business of scamming people. I just like to test myself against the best. And from what I hear, you lot are the best."
"We're also exhausted," Patricia said. "It's been a long night."
"I can wait. I've got a campsite set up near the old aqueduct. You're welcome to rest, eat something, get your heads straight. Then we can talk business."
Briv exchanged a glance with Nicola. She shrugged—a small, almost imperceptible movement, but he understood it. This was an opportunity. A distraction, maybe, but also a chance to replenish their teams.
"All right," he said. "Lead the way."
---
The campsite was nestled beneath one of the massive aqueduct arches that spanned the canal, sheltered from the wind by ancient stones. A fire crackled in a shallow pit, and a pot of something that smelled like stew bubbled over the flames. Zachary had set up a small tent, a folding table, and a portable Pokémon healing station that hummed with soft blue light.
"Make yourselves comfortable," he said, gesturing at the assortment of cushions and blankets scattered around the fire. "Food's almost ready."
Patricia sank onto a cushion and pulled her knees to her chest. Buneary hopped out of Briv's arms and into her lap, its ears drooping with exhaustion. She stroked its fur mechanically, her eyes fixed on the fire.
Dariana sat beside her, close enough to touch. She didn't say anything, just pressed her shoulder against Patricia's in silent solidarity. Gallade materialized beside them, still battered from the battle, and folded itself into a seated position. Its red eyes flickered toward Patricia, then away.
"Your Gallade looks rough," Zachary observed. He was ladling stew into bowls, passing them around. "You all do. What happened out there?"
"Eclipse Squad," Briv said.
Zachary's expression darkened. "Those bastards. They've been causing trouble all over the city. I've had to reroute my trade routes twice this month because of their checkpoints."
"You know about them?"
"Everyone knows about them. They're not exactly subtle." He handed Briv a bowl. "What did they want with you?"
Briv didn't answer. Neither did anyone else.
Zachary didn't press again. He just settled onto his own cushion and ate in silence, giving them space.
The stew was good—hearty, seasoned, with chunks of root vegetables and tender meat. It warmed Briv's stomach and loosened something in his chest. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he started eating.
Nicola finished first. She set her bowl aside and fixed Zachary with a steady look.
"I'll take your challenge," she said.
Zachary raised an eyebrow. "Now? You sure?"
"I'm sure."
"You're exhausted. Your Pokémon are exhausted. You should rest first."
"I've rested enough." She stood, her hand moving to her belt. "One-on-one. My Magnemite against whatever you choose."
Zachary studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded and rose to his feet.
"All right. If that's what you want."
He walked to the edge of the campsite, where the aqueduct opened onto a wide, flat platform overlooking the canal. The water below caught the moonlight, casting rippling patterns across the stones.
Nicola followed. Her Magnemite materialized beside her, its single blue eye gleaming with cold precision. The scratches on its metallic body seemed more pronounced in the firelight, evidence of years spent in abandoned industrial zones before Nicola had found it.
"Magnemite," Nicola said quietly. "You ready?"
The Pokémon hummed in response, its magnets rotating with controlled tension.
Zachary reached into his coat and produced a ball. He tossed it, and a Mareep appeared in a flash of white light. The Electric-type was small and fluffy, its fleece a soft yellow that glowed faintly in the darkness. Its eyes were calm, almost sleepy, but there was intelligence there—a patient, calculating awareness.
"Mareep and I have been together for three years," Zachary said. "She's not the strongest Pokémon I've ever trained, but she's the smartest. Don't underestimate her."
"I won't." Nicola's voice was level. "Magnemite, Thunder Wave."
The paralysis attack shot forward—crackling bands of electricity designed to lock up the target's muscles. But Mareep was already moving, its stubby legs carrying it sideways with surprising speed. The Thunder Wave hit empty air.
"Cotton Spore," Zachary said.
A cloud of fibrous spores erupted from Mareep's fleece, drifting toward Magnemite on the night breeze. Nicola reacted instantly.
"Thunder Shock. Burn them away."
The electrical burst ignited the spores, creating a brief, brilliant flash of light and heat. Mareep squealed and retreated, its fleece singed at the edges.
"Good," Zachary said. "But not good enough. Mareep, Charge."
The Electric-type's body began to glow, storing power for a devastating attack. Nicola recognized the setup immediately.
"Don't let it finish. Magnet Rise, then Thunder Shock."
Magnemite levitated off the ground, its magnets spinning faster. The Thunder Shock arced toward Mareep—but the sheep Pokémon absorbed it, its Charge ability converting the damage into additional power.
"Now," Zachary said. "Discharge."
The blast was enormous.
Electricity exploded outward from Mareep in a crackling sphere, catching Magnemite before it could dodge. The Steel-type shuddered, its body sparking, and dropped back to the ground with a heavy clang.
"Magnemite!" Nicola's voice cracked. "Get up!"
Magnemite's eye flickered. It tried to rise, its magnets straining, but the damage was too severe. It collapsed again.
"Finish it," Zachary said. "Thunderbolt."
"Magnemite, Protect!"
The barrier snapped into existence just as the Thunderbolt struck. Lightning cascaded around the shield, brilliant and terrible, but Magnemite held firm. When the attack faded, the barrier dissolved—and Magnemite was still standing.
Barely.
"Now," Nicola said. "Flash Cannon."
The Steel-type attack was Magnemite's last resort, a concentrated beam of metallic energy that required everything it had left. The beam shot forward, silver and gleaming, and caught Mareep square in the chest.
The Electric-type flew backward, tumbling across the stone platform. It tried to rise, its legs scrambling for purchase, but its body wouldn't cooperate.
Mareep collapsed.
Silence.
Then Zachary laughed.
"Well fought," he said, recalling his Pokémon. "I genuinely didn't expect that. Your Magnemite is tough."
"It's had to be." Nicola knelt beside her Pokémon, checking it for injuries. Magnemite hummed weakly, its eye flickering with something that might have been satisfaction. "Good job," she murmured. "Rest now."
She recalled it and stood.
Zachary was already walking back to the campsite, his coat flapping in the breeze. He returned a moment later with one of the eggs—the white-and-green one, its shell smooth and cool to the touch.
"Here," he said, placing it in her hands. "You earned it."
Nicola stared at the egg. It was lighter than she'd expected, warm from being kept close to Zachary's body. The green patterns swirled across its surface like vines, intricate and beautiful.
"What's inside?" she asked.
"No idea." Zachary shrugged. "That's the fun of it. Could be anything. Could be something rare, could be something common. The mystery is part of the deal."
Nicola cradled the egg against her chest. For a moment, her usual composure cracked, and something softer flickered across her face—wonder, maybe, or hope.
"Thank you," she said.
"You're welcome." Zachary turned to the others. "Anyone else want to try their luck? I've still got five eggs and plenty of Pokémon."
Briv looked at Patricia. She was still sitting by the fire, Buneary in her lap, her expression unreadable.
"Patricia?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head. "Not tonight."
"Dariana?"
"I'll pass." Her voice was gentle but firm. "I think I've had enough battles for one day."
Briv nodded. He understood. They all did.
"Maybe tomorrow," he said.
"Maybe." Zachary settled back onto his cushion and ladled himself another bowl of stew. "The offer's open as long as I'm in the city. I've got business here for another week or so."
He didn't ask what had happened to them. Didn't pry or push or offer empty platitudes. He just sat there, eating his stew, occasionally glancing at the egg in Nicola's arms with a quiet, satisfied smile.
Briv found himself grateful for the silence.
---
Later, when the fire had burned down to embers and the others had drifted into an uneasy sleep, Briv found Patricia sitting at the edge of the platform, her feet dangling over the water.
He sat beside her without speaking.
For a long time, neither of them said anything.
Then Patricia leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder, and let out a breath that seemed to carry the weight of everything she'd been holding in.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"For what?"
"For... for letting them do that. For not fighting back."
"Patricia." He turned, cupping her face in his hands. "You didn't let them do anything. They forced it on you. That's not your fault."
"I could have fought. Could have broken the deal. Could have—"
"And then what?" His voice was gentle. "They would have called reinforcements. We would've lost our chance to get inside the facility. You made a choice to protect the mission."
"I made a choice to protect myself."
"Same thing."
She laughed—a small, broken sound. "That's not even close to the same thing."
"It is from where I'm sitting." He pressed his forehead to hers. "You're the strongest person I know, Patricia. Stronger than me. And what happened tonight... it doesn't change that. It doesn't change anything."
She didn't answer. But she didn't pull away either.
They sat there together, watching the water ripple beneath the floating bridges, and Briv felt something shift in his chest—a loosening, a release. They would get through this. They had to.
The egg in Nicola's arms pulsed faintly in the darkness, its green patterns glowing with soft, steady light.
Somewhere inside, something was waiting to be born.
=====
The fire had collapsed into a bed of gray ash by the time Briv opened his eyes. Morning light filtered through the aqueduct arches, weak and watery, painting the stone platform in shades of pale gold. His neck ached from sleeping against a pillar, and his mouth tasted like copper and old stew.
Patricia was already awake.
She stood at the edge of the aqueduct platform, staring at the water below. Her hair was tangled, her clothes wrinkled, but there was something different about the set of her shoulders. Something that hadn't been there last night.
Gligar sat on the stone beside her, its wings folded tight against its body. The Ground-type's yellow eyes tracked the ripples in the canal, but its attention was fixed on Patricia—waiting, watching, reading her mood with the quiet intelligence that had drawn them together in the first place.
Briv approached slowly, giving her space.
"You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep." She didn't turn around. "Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Roger's face."
Briv's jaw tightened. He wanted to say something—something reassuring, something that would make it better. But he'd learned long ago that words didn't fix everything. Sometimes they just made the wound worse.
"I'm going to beat him," Patricia said. "Not today. Not tomorrow. But eventually."
"I know."
"I'm going to make him pay for what he did."
"I know."
She finally turned. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale, but there was steel beneath the exhaustion. Something had hardened in her overnight—a resolve that hadn't been there before.
"Zachary's challenge," she said. "I want to take it."
Briv blinked. "You sure?"
"I'm sure." She glanced at Gligar. "We're sure."
The Ground-type clicked its pincers, a sharp, determined sound. Its wings spread slightly, catching the morning light, and Briv saw the injuries from last night's battle—the torn membrane, the missing scales. Gligar had fought hard and lost. But it was still standing.
Still ready.
"All right," Briv said. "Let's go find Zachary."
---
Zachary was already awake, tending to a small cooking fire near the campsite. The smell of eggs and toasted bread drifted through the arches, mixing with the ever-present hum of the floating bridges. He looked up as they approached, his weathered face creasing into a smile.
"Morning. Sleep well?"
"Not really," Patricia said. "I want to take your challenge."
Zachary's eyebrows rose. "Now?"
"Now."
He studied her for a moment—the set of her jaw, the fire in her eyes. Whatever he saw there made him nod slowly.
"All right. Let me finish breakfast and we'll get started."
"I'll wait."
She didn't wait. She walked to the platform where Nicola had battled last night, Gligar floating beside her. The Ground-type landed on the stone with a soft thud, its wings spreading for balance. It looked small in the morning light, vulnerable. But there was nothing vulnerable about the look in its eyes.
Zachary finished his breakfast in three quick bites and joined her.
"You know my terms," he said. "One-on-one. You win, you pick an egg. No hard feelings either way."
"Understood."
He reached into his coat and produced a ball. "Then let's begin."
Zigzagoon materialized in a flash of light.
The Pokémon was small and compact, its brown fur marked with jagged white stripes that ran from nose to tail. It moved in quick, jerky bursts—never still, never predictable—and its eyes were bright with a manic, almost playful energy.
"Zigzagoon's been with me for two years," Zachary said. "She's fast. Faster than you'd expect. And she doesn't quit."
"Neither does Gligar."
Patricia's voice was calm. Steady. But beneath the calm, Briv could hear the edge—the same edge that had been there before every League battle, every challenge, every moment that mattered.
"Begin," Zachary said.
---
Gligar moved first.
It launched itself sideways, wings snapping open, and caught an updraft that carried it toward Zigzagoon's flank. The Ground-type had spent hours practicing that maneuver—Patricia had seen to that. In the weeks since they'd bonded, Gligar had learned to use its environment, to read the wind, to strike from angles that opponents didn't expect.
But Zigzagoon was already gone.
The Normal-type twisted mid-run, its body folding in on itself with impossible flexibility. It avoided Gligar's pincer strike by a hair's breadth, then pivoted and launched itself at the Ground-type's exposed back.
"Sand Attack!" Patricia shouted.
Gligar's tail whipped around, spraying a cloud of grit into Zigzagoon's face. The Normal-type yelped and stumbled, its claws skidding on stone. It recovered quickly—faster than Patricia expected—and shook its head to clear the sand from its vision.
"Good," Zachary said. "But not good enough. Zigzagoon, Headbutt."
The Normal-type launched itself forward, skull lowered. Gligar tried to dodge, but its injured wing faltered. The Headbutt caught it square in the chest and sent it tumbling across the platform.
"Gligar!" Patricia's voice cracked.
The Ground-type scrambled to its feet, pincers clicking with agitation. It was hurt—she could see that in the way it held its wing, in the slight tremor of its legs. But it was still fighting.
Still determined.
"Use Quick Attack," Zachary said. "Don't give it time to recover."
Zigzagoon blurred forward, moving faster than should have been possible. Gligar tried to track it, tried to anticipate its path, but the Normal-type was everywhere at once—left, right, behind, above.
The hit came from below.
Zigzagoon's skull caught Gligar under the chin and sent it spinning into the air. The Ground-type flapped frantically, trying to stabilize, but its injured wing wouldn't cooperate. It crashed back to the stone with a cry of pain.
"Finish it," Zachary said. "Take Down."
"No." Patricia's voice was sharp. "Gligar, Sand Tomb."
The ground beneath Zigzagoon erupted.
Sand and grit exploded upward, forming a whirling vortex that trapped the Normal-type in place. Zigzagoon struggled, its claws scrabbling against stone, but the Sand Tomb held firm. It was pinned—trapped—and Patricia saw her opening.
"Now! Fury Cutter!"
Gligar launched itself forward, pincers extended. The first strike caught Zigzagoon across the flank, drawing a thin line of blood. The second strike hit harder, and the third harder still.
Zigzagoon screamed.
"Break free!" Zachary shouted. "Use Dig!"
The Normal-type vanished into the stone, burrowing beneath the platform. The Sand Tomb collapsed behind it, leaving nothing but a pile of scattered grit. For a moment, there was silence.
Then the ground beneath Gligar exploded.
Zigzagoon erupted from below, claws extended, and caught the Ground-type in the stomach. Gligar gasped—a horrible, airless sound—and collapsed.
"Get up!" Patricia was screaming now, her composure gone. "Gligar, get up!"
The Ground-type didn't move.
Zigzagoon stood over it, panting, its fur matted with blood and sand. It was hurt—badly hurt—but it was still standing. Still ready.
"One more hit and it's over," Zachary said quietly. "Do you want to surrender?"
"No."
"Patricia—"
"She said no."
Briv had stepped forward, his voice tight with anger. He didn't look at Zachary. He looked at Gligar—at the battered, broken Pokémon lying on the stone—and he saw something that made his breath catch.
Gligar's eyes were open.
The Ground-type wasn't moving. Wasn't fighting. But its eyes were open, fixed on Patricia, and there was something in them that Briv recognized—something he'd seen in Chimchar's eyes a hundred times, in Shinx's, in his own.
Refusal.
Gligar would not quit.
"Patricia," Briv said softly. "It's not done."
She saw it too. He could tell by the way her breath hitched, by the way her hands unclenched. She knelt beside her Pokémon, her fingers brushing its wing.
"One more," she whispered. "Just one more, and then you can rest. I promise."
Gligar's pincers twitched.
"All right," Patricia said, rising. "Gligar, use Acrobatics."
The move was risky—reckless, even. Acrobatics required speed and precision, two things Gligar didn't have in abundance right now. But it was also powerful, and it was Gligar's best chance.
The Ground-type launched itself into the air.
It shouldn't have been possible. Its wing was torn, its body broken, its strength nearly gone. But somehow, impossibly, Gligar flew. It soared above Zigzagoon, above the platform, above everything—and then it dove.
Straight down.
Zigzagoon tried to dodge. Tried to run. But Gligar was too fast, too determined, too furious to be denied. The Ground-type slammed into the Normal-type with the force of a falling star, and the impact sent both Pokémon crashing to the stone.
Dust billowed. Stone cracked.
When it cleared, Zigzagoon lay motionless on its side. Gligar stood over it—barely—its wings spread, its pincers raised, its eyes blazing with triumph.
Then it collapsed.
"Both Pokémon are unable to battle," Zachary said. His voice was quiet, almost reverent. "By the rules of the challenge, that's a draw."
Patricia's heart sank. "A draw?"
"A draw." Zachary recalled Zigzagoon and walked toward her. "But I've been doing this a long time, and I've learned to read the truth in a battle. Your Gligar refused to quit. It pushed past its limits, past its pain, past everything. That's not a draw. That's a victory."
He reached into his coat and produced an egg.
It was red—bright, vivid red, with darker patterns that swirled across its surface like flames caught in stone. It was warm to the touch, pulsing faintly with the life inside.
"Here," he said, placing it in her hands. "You earned it."
Patricia stared at the egg. It was heavier than she'd expected, denser, and she could feel something moving inside—a faint, rhythmic tremor, like a heartbeat.
"I don't know what's in there," Zachary said. "That's the truth. But whatever it is, it chose you. That's how these things work."
Patricia cradled the egg against her chest. Gligar lay on the stone beside her, unconscious but alive, its breathing shallow but steady. She reached down and stroked its wing—the injured one, the one that had almost cost them the battle.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Whether she was talking to Gligar or Zachary or the egg, she didn't know. Maybe all three.
Briv knelt beside her, his hand on her shoulder.
"You did it," he said. "You won."
"We won." She looked at him, and for the first time since last night, there was something like peace in her eyes. "Together."
The egg pulsed again, warm and alive.
Somewhere inside, something was waiting to be born.