Chapter 37: More Surprises!
The fire crackled and spat, sending lazy spirals of orange sparks into the deepening violet sky. Above them, the first stars were emerging—faint pinpricks of light scattered across the vast canvas of twilight like diamonds spilled across black velvet. The crystal spires of Aethelburg had long since vanished behind the rolling hills, and the road ahead stretched into darkness, marked only by the pale glow of luminescent moss that lined the ancient stone.
They had made camp in a shallow valley, sheltered by a crescent of weathered boulders that radiated the day's stored warmth. A small stream chattered nearby, its waters catching the last remnants of sunset and turning them to liquid gold. Patricia had declared it the perfect spot, and no one had argued—not even Nicola, who usually had opinions about everything.
Dinner had been simple but satisfying. Samuel had produced a battered pot from his pack and concocted a stew from dried vegetables, herbs, and some kind of cured meat that he refused to identify. It tasted better than it had any right to, and even Axel had eaten two bowls without complaint.
Now they sat in a loose circle around the fire, bellies full and muscles loose from the long day's walk. The Pokémon had been fed and were settling in for the night—Chimchar curled against Briv's leg, its flame-tail dimmed to a gentle flicker; Buneary nestled in Patricia's lap; Pachirisu and Eevee tangled together in a ball of white and brown fur; Starly perched on a low branch overhead, one eye open and watchful.
Budew had planted itself in the soft earth near the stream and was staring at its own reflection with an expression of profound philosophical contemplation. Turtwig had found a comfortable spot near the fire and was already asleep, its tiny sprout drooping contentedly. Magby dozed in the crook of Patricia's arm, its flame-crest casting a warm red glow across her face.
Piplup sat apart from the others, as it often did—close enough to feel the warmth of the fire, but not so close that it felt crowded. Riolu was beside it, the two of them engaged in some silent conversation that only they understood. The Fighting-type had recovered remarkably well from the battle, her bruises fading to faint shadows, her movements regaining their fluid grace.
Briv watched them from across the fire. There was something about the way they sat together—the wounded Water-type and the warrior who had chosen him—that made his chest ache with a feeling he couldn't quite name. Hope, maybe. Or gratitude. Or the quiet terror of knowing that he was responsible for them now, for all of them, and that he couldn't afford to fail.
"You're brooding," Patricia said, settling beside him with a cup of something steaming.
"I'm thinking."
"Same thing." She pressed the cup into his hands. "Drink. Samuel made tea. It's actually good."
He took a sip. It was good—herbal and slightly sweet, with a hint of something that tasted like honey. "What is this?"
"No idea. He said it was a family recipe." She leaned against his shoulder. "I stopped asking questions about Samuel's cooking three days ago. It's better that way."
Across the fire, Samuel was tuning his guitar—a battered acoustic instrument covered in stickers and scrawled lyrics. Aipom sat on his shoulder, its tail-hand gently plucking at the strings while its actual hands clapped along. The sound was chaotic but strangely pleasant, like wind chimes in a storm.
"You know," Dariana said, stretching her long legs toward the fire, "for a group of people being hunted by a shadowy criminal organization, we're remarkably relaxed."
"It's the stew," Nicola said from her perch on a nearby boulder. "Hard to feel threatened when you're this full."
"Also, we have six Pokémon between us who could level this entire valley if they wanted to," Briv added. "That helps."
"Six? Try twenty." Nicola ticked them off on her fingers. "You've got six, I've got five, Patricia's got five, Dariana's got five, Samuel's got three, and Axel's got—" She paused, glancing at the tall man who sat apart from the group, his Rotom flickering at his shoulder. "One. But it's a Rotom, so it counts as at least three."
Axel didn't respond. He was staring into the fire, his green eyes reflecting the flames, his expression unreadable. The Rotom zipped around his head in a lazy figure-eight pattern, occasionally pausing to crackle at the sparks that drifted upward.
"He's been quiet," Patricia murmured.
"He's always quiet," Briv said.
"Quieter than usual."
She wasn't wrong. Since the hatching of Piplup's egg—since the revelation about the Eclipse Squad's plans and the stolen eggs and the shadow that hung over all of them—Axel had retreated into himself. He still watched, still guarded, still moved with that coiled intensity that made Briv's skin prickle. But the sharp edges of his personality had dulled. The sarcasm had faded. The commands had become suggestions.
He was waiting for something. Briv could feel it.
"So," Samuel said, breaking the contemplative silence with a chord that was almost, but not quite, in tune. "What's the plan for tomorrow? Do we keep heading east, or do we finally figure out where those Eclipse bastards are hiding?"
"East," Nicola said. "The intelligence Officer Jenny gave us pointed toward the Crimson Marshes. If the Eclipse Squad is using the old smuggling routes, that's where they'll be."
"The Crimson Marshes." Dariana wrinkled her nose. "I've heard stories about that place. None of them good."
"Stories are just stories."
"Some stories are warnings."
"Some warnings are just stories."
"Children," Patricia said, her voice carrying the calm authority of someone who had mediated a hundred arguments between these two. "Can we not?"
Nicola and Dariana exchanged a look—the kind of look that said we'll finish this later—and fell silent.
Briv drained the last of his tea and set the cup aside. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, casting long shadows that danced across the boulders. Above them, the stars had multiplied, filling the sky with a brilliance that seemed almost impossible. The air was cool now, carrying the scent of pine and woodsmoke and something else—something green and growing, the smell of the forest breathing in the darkness.
"We should get some sleep," he said. "Early start tomorrow."
"Agreed." Nicola slid down from her boulder and began organizing her pack. "I'll take first watch."
"I'll take second," Dariana said.
"I don't need a watch," Axel said. It was the first time he'd spoken in hours. His voice was low and rough, like gravel scraping against stone. "Rotom will alert me if anything approaches."
"Rotom needs rest too," Briv pointed out.
"Rotom is fine."
The Rotom crackled in affirmation, though its flickering seemed a little slower than usual, its movements a little less sharp.
No one argued. There was no point. Axel did what Axel wanted—always had, probably always would. The best they could do was work around him.
The group dispersed to their respective tents. Patricia lingered by the fire for a moment, her hand finding Briv's in the darkness.
"You okay?" she asked.
"I'm fine."
"You're lying."
He smiled despite himself. "I'm fine-ish. Better than I was. Better than I probably deserve to be."
"That's not how it works." She squeezed his hand. "You don't have to earn the right to be okay."
"I know. I just—" He shook his head. "I keep thinking about that egg. The one the Eclipse Squad took. I keep thinking about all those Pokémon that never got to hatch. That never got to have a trainer. That never got to live."
Patricia was quiet for a long moment.
"You saved Piplup," she said finally. "You saved Riolu. You saved me—more times than I can count. You can't save everyone, Briv. No one can. But the ones you do save? They matter. They matter more than all the ones you couldn't."
He pulled her close, pressed his face into her hair, breathed in the scent of her—sweat and woodsmoke and the faint floral soap she'd been using since they left the capital.
"I love you," he said.
"I know." Her voice was muffled against his chest. "I love you too, idiot. Now go to sleep."
They separated, each drifting toward their own tents. Briv paused at the entrance to his, looking back at the dying fire, at the shadows that danced beyond it, at the vast and waiting darkness of the forest.
Riolu appeared at his side, silent as a ghost. She looked up at him with those knowing red eyes, her aura-sensing appendages flaring gently.
"Can't sleep either?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"Want to keep me company?"
She nodded.
They sat together by the embers, watching the stars wheel overhead, listening to the soft sounds of the sleeping camp. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called. The stream murmured its endless song. The world felt peaceful, suspended in a moment of calm that Briv knew couldn't last.
But he held onto it anyway.
The scream that shattered the night was not human.
It was a sound Briv had never heard before—a cracking, splintering, wet sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. He was on his feet before he was fully awake, his hand reaching for Chimchar's ball, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"What the fuck—" Nicola's voice, sharp and alert.
"Lights! We need lights!" Patricia.
"Everyone stay calm!" Axel, already outside, his Rotom flaring into a brilliant orange glow that illuminated the entire camp.
Briv stumbled out of his tent, Riolu at his side, and saw—
Samuel. Crouched over something on the ground. His face was a mask of shock and wonder, his eyes wide, his hands trembling.
"Samuel?" Dariana was there, kneeling beside him, her voice gentle but urgent. "Samuel, what's wrong? What happened?"
"The egg," Samuel whispered. "The egg is—"
The sound came again. Crack. Splinter. A wet, tearing sound that made Briv's stomach clench.
The egg was hatching.
It lay in the center of the camp, where Samuel must have set it before going to sleep—a smooth, rounded sphere of pale brown and cream, speckled with darker spots that looked almost like sand. It had been with him for weeks, carried carefully through every challenge and every battle, kept warm and safe and cherished.
And now it was breaking.
A hairline fracture appeared along one side, then another, spreading like lightning across the shell. The egg rocked on its base, shuddered, went still. Then it rocked again, harder this time, and a small piece of the shell broke away, revealing something dark and leathery inside.
"Oh my god," Patricia breathed. She had Magby in her arms, the Fire-type's flame-crest bright with agitation. "It's happening. It's actually happening."
"Everyone back up," Nicola said. "Give it space."
They obeyed, forming a loose semicircle around the egg, their faces lit by the combined glow of Rotom and Magby and Chimchar's flame-tail. The Pokémon gathered too—Buneary and Piplup and Starly and Turtwig, all of them watching with wide eyes as the egg continued to crack and splinter and break.
Samuel was crying. Silent tears streaming down his face, his dreadlocks falling across his eyes, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He didn't wipe them away. Didn't seem to notice them at all.
The egg split open.
For a moment, there was only darkness inside the shell—a shadowy shape that seemed too large for the fractured remains, too solid, too alive. Then the shape moved, and the darkness resolved into something recognizable.
A small, round Pokémon with a thick, leathery hide the color of desert sand. Its body was compact and sturdy, with short, powerful legs and a wide, flat snout. Dark brown markings circled its eyes and ran in stripes down its back, and a pair of small, rounded ears twitched atop its head.
It blinked.
Its eyes were dark and curious, taking in the world for the first time—the firelight, the faces, the stars above. It opened its mouth and made a sound that was somewhere between a yawn and a growl, a deep, rumbling noise that seemed far too large for such a small body.
"Hippopotas," Dariana whispered. "It's a Hippopotas."
Samuel made a sound that was half laugh, half sob.
The Hippopotas turned toward him, its ears swiveling, its dark eyes fixing on his face. For a long moment, they simply looked at each other—the man and the Pokémon, the trainer and the newborn, two souls meeting across the vast distance of species and experience.
Then the Hippopotas sneezed.
A cloud of fine sand erupted from its snout, dusting Samuel's face and chest and hair. He blinked, startled, and then he started laughing—a real laugh, full-bodied and joyful, the kind of laugh that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him.
"Hey there, little one," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Welcome to the world."
The Hippopotas waddled toward him on its stubby legs, its movements clumsy and uncertain. It sniffed at his knee, then at his hand, then pressed its snout against his palm with a soft, rumbling sound that might have been contentment.
Samuel's laugh turned to tears.
"Hey," he said again, softer this time. "Hey, it's okay. I've got you. I've got you."
He gathered the Hippopotas into his arms—carefully, gently, as if it were made of glass. The Pokémon didn't resist. It nestled against his chest, its eyes already drooping, its body warm and solid and real.
The group watched in silence.
Briv felt something loosen in his chest—a tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding, a fear he hadn't known he'd been carrying. The egg had hatched. The baby was healthy. Samuel was happy.
For this one moment, everything was okay.
"Samuel," Patricia said softly, "what are you going to name it?"
Samuel looked down at the Hippopotas in his arms. The little Pokémon was asleep now, its breath coming in slow, steady rhythms, its body rising and falling against his chest.
"I don't know yet," he said. "I think—I think I need to get to know them first. Figure out who they are. What they like. What they're afraid of." He smiled, and it was the most genuine smile Briv had ever seen on his face. "Naming is important. You can't just pick something random. It has to mean something."
"Take your time," Dariana said. "There's no rush."
"No," Samuel agreed. "There isn't."
He sat down by the fire—what was left of it—and cradled the Hippopotas in his lap, his dreadlocks falling around them both like a curtain. The Pokémon stirred slightly, then settled, its snout twitching.
Aipom crept closer, its tail-hand reaching out to gently touch the new arrival's ear. The Hippopotas didn't wake. It just grumbled softly and pressed closer to Samuel's warmth.
"I guess this means you've got four now," Nicola said. "Doduo, Bonsly, Aipom, and—"
"Hippopotas," Samuel finished. "Yeah. Four."
"Halfway to a full team."
"More than halfway." He looked up at her, his eyes still bright with tears. "I started this journey with nothing. No Pokémon. No plan. No idea what I was doing. And now—" He gestured at the sleeping Hippopotas, at Aipom, at the balls on his belt that held Doduo and Bonsly. "Now I've got a family."
Briv understood that feeling. He understood it better than he could put into words.
The group slowly dispersed, the tension of the interrupted night giving way to a warm, drowsy contentment. Patricia kissed Briv's cheek and retreated to her tent. Nicola and Dariana exchanged a look that was almost—almost—affectionate before disappearing into their own. Axel remained where he was, his Rotom dimming to a soft glow, his eyes fixed on something in the middle distance that no one else could see.
Briv lingered.
He sat down beside Samuel, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from the Hippopotas's body, and stared into the embers of the fire.
"You did good," he said.
"I didn't do anything." Samuel's voice was quiet, almost reverent. "The egg did all the work. I just—I just carried it."
"You kept it safe. You kept it warm. You believed in it." Briv shrugged. "That's not nothing."
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the night sounds. The stream. The wind. The soft, rhythmic breathing of the Hippopotas.
"I was scared," Samuel admitted. "The whole time. Every day, I was scared that something would happen. That I'd drop the egg. That it would get too cold, or too hot, or—" He shook his head. "I've never been responsible for something so fragile before. It's terrifying."
"Try having six of them."
Samuel laughed—a soft, tired sound. "Yeah, I don't know how you do it."
"Neither do I." Briv watched the embers pulse and fade. "But you figure it out. You have to. Because they're counting on you."
"I guess that's the job, isn't it?" Samuel looked down at the Hippopotas. "Being counted on."
"Yeah." Briv stood, stretching muscles that ached from the day's walk and the interrupted sleep. "It is."
He turned to go, but Samuel's voice stopped him.
"Briv."
"Yeah?"
"Thanks." Samuel's eyes met his, dark and warm in the firelight. "For everything. For letting me come along. For trusting me. For—" He gestured vaguely at the camp, at the sleeping Pokémon, at the stars overhead. "For all of it."
Briv nodded. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
"Yeah." Samuel settled back against a boulder, the Hippopotas still cradled in his arms. "Yeah, it is."
Briv made his way back to his tent, Riolu padding silently at his heels. The Fighting-type paused at the entrance, looking back at Samuel and the Hippopotas, a strange expression on her face.
"What is it?" Briv asked.
She shook her head—a surprisingly human gesture—and followed him inside.
But before she disappeared into the darkness, Briv saw her aura-sensing appendages flare, just for a moment, tasting the air, reading the emotions that hung heavy over the camp.
Whatever she sensed, she kept to herself.
The night deepened. The stars wheeled overhead. And somewhere in the distance, in the shadows of the Crimson Marshes, something stirred—something dark and patient and hungry.
But for now, in this small valley, in this moment of peace, there was only the crackle of the dying fire and the soft breathing of a newborn Pokémon and the quiet certainty that, no matter what came next, they would face it together.
Briv closed his eyes.
Sleep came slowly, but it came.
And in his dreams, a blue light burned—a light that was not quite fire, not quite lightning, but something in between. Something that pulsed with the rhythm of an egg breaking open. Something that promised transformation.
Something that promised war.