Chapter 54: Samuel VS Joel
The silence in the clearing stretched like a wire pulled too tight.
Axel's words hung in the air—something old, something hungry, something that should have stayed asleep—and no one spoke. The wind had died. The marsh had gone still. Even the distant hum of Aethelburg's midnight traffic seemed to fade into nothing.
Briv looked at Patricia. She looked back.
Samuel broke first.
"I'm not waiting for it to come to us."
His voice was raw. Unsteady. But underneath the tremor, something hard had settled—a resolve that hadn't been there before the marsh, before the voice in the water, before the stone had vanished.
"We don't even know what we're dealing with," Nicola said.
"Then we find out."
"How?"
Samuel's jaw tightened. He looked at Axel.
"You know something."
Axel's green eyes flickered. "I know enough to be afraid."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
Samuel stepped forward, his boots squelching in the mud. His Pokémon—Aipom, Bonsly, Hippopotas—emerged from the treeline behind him, their eyes fixed on their trainer with quiet loyalty.
"The Eclipse Squad took the stone," Samuel said. "That means they know what it is. That means they know how to use it. And that means we're already behind."
"We don't know that," Dariana said.
"We know they're not stupid." Samuel turned to face her. "Roger and Callum might be idiots, but whoever's pulling their strings isn't. They took the stone for a reason. We need to find out what that reason is before they finish whatever they started."
Patricia stepped forward.
"And how do you propose we do that?"
Samuel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, battered Pokégear. The screen was cracked—a spiderweb of fractures that distorted the glow—but it still worked.
"Before the stone disappeared, I managed to scan it. Just a partial reading. But there's something here—a signature, a resonance pattern. If I can find a Pokémon that matches it, I might be able to trace where it came from."
"And if you can't?"
Samuel's expression didn't change.
"Then we're fucked."
---
They walked back to the city in silence.
The marsh fell behind them—a dark stain on the edge of Aethelburg's gleaming skyline—and the crystal towers rose ahead like spears of frozen light. The floating bridges shimmered in the darkness. The canals glowed with bioluminescent algae, their waters still and glassy.
No one spoke.
There was nothing left to say.
---
The inn was quiet when they arrived.
The common room was empty—the bartender gone, the tables cleared, the fireplace reduced to smoldering embers. They took their usual corner table, the one farthest from the door, and sat in a loose semicircle that felt less like a gathering and more like a war council.
Samuel spread his Pokégear across the table. The cracked screen flickered, and a jagged waveform appeared—a pulse, a rhythm, a heartbeat rendered in green light.
"This is what the stone was emitting," he said. "Before it vanished."
Everyone leaned in.
"It's not random," Nicola said. "There's a pattern."
"Exactly." Samuel tapped the screen. "It's not a frequency I recognize. Not psychic, not ghost, not anything in the standard databases. But it's close to something."
"Close to what?" Briv asked.
Samuel hesitated.
"Dragon."
The word landed like a stone in still water.
"You're saying the stone is connected to a Dragon-type?" Patricia asked.
"I'm saying it's connected to something that resonates like a Dragon-type. But it's older. Wilder. Like the signature's been—" He paused, searching for the right word. "—corrupted. Twisted. Like something got inside it and changed it from the inside out."
No one spoke.
"Fuck," Briv said finally.
"Yeah."
Axel leaned back in his chair, his Rotom flickering nervously at his shoulder.
"There's a trainer," he said. "An old one. Lives on the edge of the city. He's been studying the marsh for years—longer than any of us have been alive."
"What's his name?"
"Ezekiel. He was a League champion, back before any of us were born. Before the League even existed in its current form."
"And he knows about the stone?"
"He knows about everything." Axel's voice was quiet. "The marsh. The bridge. The thing that sleeps beneath it."
"Why haven't we gone to him before?"
Axel's jaw tightened.
"Because he doesn't like visitors. And he doesn't like questions. And he especially doesn't like people who come to him because they're desperate."
"Then why would he help us?"
Axel looked at Samuel.
"Because you're not coming to him desperate. You're coming to him with evidence."
---
Samuel found Joel at the training grounds the next morning.
The east fields were quiet—the grass still damp with dew, the morning mist clinging to the treeline. Joel stood at the center of an empty arena, his messy black hair catching the wind, his sharp green eyes fixed on the horizon.
He was young. Eighteen, maybe nineteen. But he carried himself with the confidence of someone who'd already won more battles than he'd lost.
His PokeWatch gleamed on his wrist. Nine wins.
Samuel approached slowly, his Aipom perched on his shoulder, its long tail flicking with curiosity.
"You're Joel."
The kid turned. His smirk was immediate—instinctive, almost reflexive.
"Depends who's asking."
"Samuel Moodsway."
Joel's eyes narrowed. The smirk didn't fade, but something shifted behind it—recognition, maybe. Or competition.
"I've heard of you. The reggae guy. The one who fights like he's dancing."
"That's me."
"You're not bad."
"Neither are you."
Joel's smirk widened.
"Then let's find out who's better."
Samuel tilted his head. His dreadlocks swayed. His hand drifted to the Poké Ball at his belt.
"You want a battle?"
"I want a challenge." Joel cracked his neck. "Three-on-three. Right here. Right now."
Samuel looked at the empty arena. At the mist rising from the grass. At the crystal towers of Aethelburg gleaming in the distance.
He thought about the marsh. The stone. The thing that should have stayed asleep.
Then he looked at Joel—young, arrogant, hungry—and saw something familiar. Something he'd felt once.
"Fine," Samuel said.
---
Axel appeared from the treeline.
He didn't announce himself. He didn't ask questions. He simply walked to the edge of the field, his Rotom flickering at his shoulder, and fixed both trainers with his sharp green eyes.
"Standard League rules," he said. "No items. No switching unless a Pokémon faints. First trainer to lose all three loses."
Samuel nodded.
Joel nodded.
"Trainers, ready your first Pokémon."
---
Joel moved first.
Wooper materialized in a burst of blue light, its small body settling onto the grass with a cheerful chirp. The water-ground type stood barely a foot tall, its smooth blue skin gleaming, its round eyes wide and happy. Its tail wagged once—not with anticipation, but with genuine joy.
Samuel answered with Aipom.
The normal type appeared in a swirl of purple light, its long tail flicking, its large ears twitching. It stood barely two feet tall, its fur sleek, its eyes bright and mischievous.
"Begin," Axel said.
Joel attacked first.
"Water Gun."
Wooper's mouth opened, and a pressurized jet of water erupted outward. The attack streaked toward Aipom like a spear.
Aipom dodged—easily, gracefully—its agile body twisting mid-air, its long tail catching a low branch and swinging it out of range.
"Again!"
Another blast. Another dodge. Wooper was relentless—its attacks precise, its movements cheerful but determined.
"Fury Swipes," Samuel said.
Aipom lunged—its tail glowing with normal-type energy—and struck Wooper from three angles in quick succession. The water type staggered, its body shuddering, its cheerful expression flickering.
"Water Gun!"
Another blast. This time it connected—the pressurized jet striking Aipom square in the chest. The normal type tumbled backward, its fur soaked, its breath driven from its lungs.
It rose.
Its fur was matted. Its body was trembling. But it rose.
"Aipom, use Swift."
The normal type's tail glowed—brighter this time, more intense—and a barrage of star-shaped projectiles erupted outward. The stars streaked toward Wooper, unerring, unavoidable.
Wooper tried to dodge. It couldn't.
The attack struck home—a dozen stars slamming into the water type's body, tearing through its flesh, its defenses, its determination.
Wooper collapsed.
It didn't get up.
"Joel's Wooper is unable to continue," Axel said. "Trainer, send out your next Pokémon."
---
Joel recalled Wooper, his smirk never faltering.
"Not bad," he said. "But that was just the warm-up."
He reached for his second ball.
Bellsprout materialized in a burst of green light, its slender body swaying in the morning breeze. The grass-poison type stood barely two feet tall, its yellow head gleaming, its leaf-like arms outstretched. Its small black eyes fixed on Aipom with cold, calculating hunger.
"Begin," Axel said.
Samuel attacked first.
"Swift."
Another barrage of stars—but Bellsprout was faster. Its body twisted, its leaves whipping through the air, and the stars passed harmlessly by.
"Vine Whip."
Bellsprout's arm extended—a green blur that struck Aipom across the flank. The normal type staggered, its body shuddering, its fur tearing.
"Again!"
Another whip. Another hit. Bellsprout was relentless—its attacks precise, its movements fluid, its determination absolute.
"Fury Swipes!"
Aipom lunged—its tail glowing—and struck Bellsprout from three angles. The grass type reeled, its body swaying, its leaves tearing.
"Poison Powder."
A cloud of purple dust erupted from Bellsprout's mouth. Aipom tried to dodge, but the cloud followed—drifting, drifting, drifting—before settling on its fur.
Aipom coughed. Its body convulsed. The poison spread through its veins like fire.
"Swift!" Samuel shouted.
Another barrage. Another hit. The stars struck Bellsprout point-blank, and the grass type collapsed—its body crumpling, its leaves falling still.
It didn't get up.
But Aipom was fading. The poison was eating through it—slow, relentless, inexorable.
It staggered.
It fell.
It didn't get up.
"Both Aipom and Bellsprout are unable to continue," Axel said. "Trainer, send out your next Pokémon."
---
Samuel recalled Aipom, his hand trembling.
The normal type had fought well. It had taken down Wooper. It had weakened Bellsprout enough for the poison to finish the job.
That was enough.
He reached for his second ball.
Bonsly materialized in a burst of brown light, its small body settling onto the grass with a quiet thud. The rock type stood barely a foot tall, its body sturdy, its bright green growths quivering. Its large expressive eyes were wet—not with tears, but with the perpetual moisture of a Pokémon that cried when it was nervous, when it was scared, when it was anything at all.
It looked fragile. It looked helpless. It looked like it had wandered onto the battlefield by accident.
That was the point.
Joel answered with Cyndaquil.
The fire type appeared in a burst of red light, its small body settling onto the grass with a confident bark. It stood barely two feet tall, its blue-and-cream fur gleaming, its long snout twitching. The flames on its back flickered to life—orange, yellow, red—casting dancing shadows across the field.
"Begin," Axel said.
Joel attacked first.
"Ember."
Cyndaquil's mouth opened, and a barrage of small fireballs erupted outward. The flames streaked toward Bonsly like shooting stars.
Bonsly didn't dodge.
It didn't need to.
The embers struck its body—and dissipated, hissing into steam against its rocky hide. The rock type didn't even flinch.
"Again!"
Another barrage. Another dissipation. Cyndaquil's flames were useless—its fire too weak, its attacks too ineffective.
"Rock Throw," Samuel said.
Bonsly's body tensed—and a barrage of rocks erupted from the ground, tearing through the air like shrapnel. Cyndaquil tried to dodge, but the rocks followed—unerring, unavoidable—and struck the fire type from every angle.
Cyndaquil staggered.
It didn't fall.
"Flame Wheel," Joel said.
Cyndaquil's body ignited—a spinning wheel of fire that rolled across the grass like a meteor. It struck Bonsly head-on, the impact sending the rock type tumbling backward.
Bonsly rose.
Its body was cracked. Its growths were singed. But it rose.
"Rock Throw!"
Another barrage. Another hit. Cyndaquil reeled, its flames flickering, its body shuddering.
"Ember!"
Another blast. Another hit. Bonsly staggered, its body cracking, its eyes streaming with moisture.
"Rock Throw!"
The attacks collided—rock and fire, earth and flame—and for a moment, neither Pokémon moved.
Then Cyndaquil collapsed.
It didn't get up.
"Joel's Cyndaquil is unable to continue," Axel said. "Samuel is the victor."
---
The silence stretched.
Samuel stood at the center of the field, his heart pounding, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His Pokémon—Aipom, Bonsly—were both fainted or exhausted, but they had won.
They had won.
Joel stared at his fallen Cyndaquil, his smirk finally gone. Then he recalled the fire type and walked across the field, his boots heavy against the grass.
He stopped in front of Samuel.
"Good battle," he said. His voice was tight, controlled, but there was something underneath—a grudging respect that he didn't bother to hide.
"You too."
"Your Bonsly is a monster."
"He's resilient."
Joel nodded. He extended his hand.
Samuel took it.
"Tell me something," Joel said.
"Anything."
"Why did you really come here? The battle? The challenge?"
Samuel's eyes met his—warm, expressive, unwavering.
"Because I needed to remember what I'm fighting for."
Joel released his hand.
"And what's that?"
Samuel didn't answer. He just looked at the horizon, at the crystal towers of Aethelburg gleaming in the morning sun.
"Something worth protecting."
---
Axel approached, his Rotom buzzing with what might have been approval.
"Five wins," he said. "Still on track."
Samuel nodded. Five wins. Ten more to go.
"The stone," he said.
"What about it?"
"Ezekiel. The old champion. Where does he live?"
Axel's green eyes narrowed.
"The edge of the city. Past the canals. Past the bridges. Past everything."
"Can you take me there?"
Axel looked at the field—at the battered grass, the lingering traces of battle, the Pokémon tending to their wounds.
"Tomorrow," he said. "At dawn."
"And if he won't help us?"
Axel didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
---
Samuel found his Pokémon by the edge of the field.
Aipom was lying in the grass, its fur matted with sweat and poison, its tail twitching weakly. Bonsly was sitting beside it, its body cracked, its eyes still streaming with moisture.
"You two were incredible," Samuel said.
Aipom stirred weakly.
Bonsly blinked.
"We won. But we learned something."
He sat down beside them and let his fingers brush through Aipom's fur. The field was quiet now—no voices, no battles, no cries of victory or defeat. Just silence, and the distant hum of Aethelburg's morning traffic.
"Joel thinks we can't do this alone."
His Pokémon didn't respond. They didn't need to.
"He's right."
He looked at the horizon—at the crystal towers catching the light, at the floating bridges shimmering like spider silk, at the canals glowing with bioluminescent algae.
"One battle at a time," he said.
Aipom stirred in agreement.
Bonsly blinked.
Samuel smiled—a small, tired expression that didn't quite reach his eyes.
The sun was rising over Aethelburg, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. It was beautiful—the kind of beauty that made you forget, for just a moment, that everything was falling apart.
But the shadows were still there, lurking beneath the surface of the canals, waiting for the right moment to strike.
And somewhere in the city, something ancient was stirring.
Something hungry.
Something that had been waiting for a very long time.
---
That evening, Samuel found Briv at the inn.
He was sitting at a corner table with Patricia and Nicola, a half-empty bottle of whiskey between them, a map of the city spread across the table. They looked up when he walked in.
"You look like shit," Briv said.
"Thanks."
He sat down and poured himself a glass.
"You fought Joel," Nicola said. It wasn't a question.
"I did."
"And?"
"I won." Samuel took a long drink. "Three to two. Aipom fell to poison. Bonsly cleaned up Cyndaquil."
Silence.
"He said something," Samuel continued. "About the stone. About the marsh. About something old."
"What did he say?" Patricia asked.
Samuel looked at each of them in turn.
"He said it's coming for all of us. And we need to be ready."
The silence stretched.
"Ezekiel," Briv said finally. "The old champion."
"You know him?"
"I know of him." Briv leaned back in his chair. "He was a legend. Before the League. Before everything."
"And now?"
"Now he's a hermit. Lives on the edge of the city. Doesn't talk to anyone."
"Then why would he talk to us?"
Briv looked at Samuel.
"Because we're not just anyone."
Nicola reached across the table and took Samuel's hand.
"We'll figure it out."
"Will we?"
"We have to."
Samuel looked at her—at the determination in her brown eyes, the strength in her jaw, the quiet fire that burned beneath her calm exterior.
"Yeah," he said. "We do."
Outside, the city hummed with tension—the distant wail of sirens, the murmur of worried voices, the clatter of Pokémon battles echoing from a dozen hidden arenas.
The League was three weeks away.
And the shadows were growing longer.
---
The call came at midnight.
Samuel was the one who answered—his Pokégear vibrating against the nightstand, the cracked screen glowing in the darkness of his apartment.
He squinted at the message.
Ezekiel will see you. Dawn. The old lighthouse. Come alone.
He sat up slowly, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Who is this?
The response came a moment later.
Someone who wants to live.
Samuel stared at the screen for a long time. Then he reached for his Poké Balls and stood.
Outside, the city was dark. Quiet. Waiting.
He walked toward the old lighthouse, his footsteps echoing against the empty streets, and didn't look back.
=====
The old lighthouse stood at the edge of Aethelburg like a broken tooth.
Its tower had crumbled decades ago, leaving only a stub of weathered stone and rusted iron. The lantern room was gone. The spiral staircase was gone. Everything that had once made it a beacon had been stripped away by time and salt and the slow, patient hunger of the sea.
Samuel approached at dawn.
The sky was gray—not the soft gray of morning mist, but the hard gray of storm clouds gathering on the horizon. The wind carried salt and something else, something older, something that made his skin prickle.
His Pokémon walked beside him. Aipom perched on his shoulder, its tail wrapped around his neck for balance. Bonsly trudged through the wet grass, its eyes still moist. Hippopotas brought up the rear, its massive jaws working silently, its nostrils flaring at every unfamiliar scent.
They reached the base of the lighthouse.
A figure waited.
He was ancient—so old that his skin had gone translucent, stretched thin over bones that seemed too fragile to hold him upright. His hair was white, his eyes were milky, and his hands were gnarled into claws. But there was something in his posture—something straight and unbroken—that spoke of power that had never faded.
"Samuel Moodsway," the old man said. His voice was gravel and honey, rough and sweet at the same time. "I've been expecting you."
Samuel stopped.
"How do you know my name?"
The old man smiled. His teeth were yellow, crooked, but his eyes—those milky eyes—seemed to see everything.
"I know many things. I know you found the stone. I know you lost it. I know the thing in the marsh is waking up."
Samuel's heart hammered against his ribs.
"Who are you?"
The old man tilted his head.
"Ezekiel. Former champion. Current ghost." He laughed—a dry, rasping sound. "But you already knew that."
---
Ezekiel led them into the lighthouse.
The interior was sparse—a single room with a cot, a table, and a fireplace that hadn't been lit in years. Books lined the walls, stacked in precarious towers that reached almost to the ceiling. Maps covered every surface. Diagrams. Charts. Notes written in a hand so cramped it looked like bird tracks.
"Sit," Ezekiel said.
Samuel sat.
His Pokémon settled around him—Aipom on his lap, Bonsly at his feet, Hippopotas blocking the door. They didn't trust this place. They didn't trust this man.
Smart Pokémon.
"The stone," Ezekiel said. "Tell me everything."
Samuel told him.
He told him about the marsh. About the bridge. About the voice in the water that knew his name. He told him about the binding stone—the way it had pulsed, the way it had whispered, the way it had vanished.
Ezekiel listened without interruption.
When Samuel finished, the old man closed his eyes.
"You're right to be afraid," he said. "The stone was a lock. A seal. A cage."
"For what?"
Ezekiel opened his eyes. They were milky, blind, but they saw everything.
"For something that was old when the world was young. Something that was hungry when the stars were still forming. Something that has been waiting—patient, patient, patient—for someone to open the door."
Samuel's mouth went dry.
"And the Eclipse Squad opened it?"
"The Eclipse Squad don't know what they've done." Ezekiel's voice was bitter. "They think they're playing a game. They think they're grabbing power. They don't understand that the stone wasn't a weapon. It was a warning."
"A warning about what?"
Ezekiel leaned forward.
"About the thing that sleeps beneath the marsh. The thing that dreams in the dark. The thing that will wake up—soon, very soon—and devour everything."
---
Samuel sat in silence.
The fire was unlit. The wind howled outside. The sea crashed against the cliffs below.
"How do we stop it?"
Ezekiel laughed.
"You don't stop it. You survive it."
"That's not good enough."
"It's the only answer I have."
Samuel stood. His Pokémon rose with him—Aipom's tail twitching, Bonsly's eyes streaming, Hippopotas's jaws working.
"Then I'll find a better one."
Ezekiel watched him go.
"You remind me of someone," the old man said. "Someone I knew a long time ago."
Samuel stopped at the door.
"Who?"
"Myself." Ezekiel's voice was soft. "When I was young. When I was stupid. When I thought I could save the world."
Samuel didn't turn around.
"And did you?"
"No." Ezekiel's laugh was bitter. "But I tried. That's all any of us can do."
Samuel walked out into the gray morning.
The wind hit him like a wall. The salt stung his eyes. The sea roared below.
He didn't look back.
---
Axel found the stone three days later.
He wasn't looking for it. He was patrolling the edge of the marsh—alone, as he always was, his Rotom flickering at his shoulder like a nervous flame. The sun was setting. The shadows were long. The air was thick with the smell of rot and salt and something older.
Rotom buzzed.
"Something's here," it said. Its voice was electric, crackling, barely intelligible.
Axel stopped.
"Where?"
"Below. In the mud. Something's buried."
Axel knelt. His fingers dug into the wet earth—cold, slick, alive. He pushed deeper. The mud sucked at his hands, trying to pull him under.
Then he felt it.
His fingers closed around something hard. Something smooth. Something that pulsed with a warmth that had no business being in the cold, dead marsh.
He pulled.
The stone emerged from the mud like a newborn—dripping, glistening, wrong. It was black. Not the black of night, but the black of something that had never seen light. It was warm. Not the warmth of fire, but the warmth of blood.
Rotom recoiled.
"That's not right," it said. "That's not right at all."
Axel stared at the stone.
It stared back.
He could feel it—a presence, a pressure, a voice that wasn't a voice. It whispered in his mind. It promised things. Power. Control. Safety.
He thought about the marsh. The bridge. The thing that slept beneath.
He thought about the League. The Eclipse Squad. The war that was coming.
He thought about his Rotom—his only Pokémon, his only partner, his only friend.
He thought about what he could do with this stone. What he could become.
"This might be useful," he said.
Rotom buzzed nervously.
"Axel—"
"Shut up."
He slipped the stone into his pocket. It burned against his thigh—warm, insistent, alive.
He stood.
The marsh was silent. The wind had died. The sun had set.
Axel walked back toward Aethelburg, his footsteps leaving no trace in the mud, and didn't look back.
---
The city was quiet when he returned.
The crystal towers gleamed in the darkness. The floating bridges shimmered like spider silk. The canals glowed with bioluminescent algae—green, blue, purple—their waters still and glassy.
Axel walked through the streets like a ghost.
No one saw him. No one stopped him. No one asked where he'd been or what he'd found.
He reached his apartment—a small, sparse room on the edge of the city, far from the League, far from everyone. He locked the door. He closed the curtains. He sat on the edge of his bed.
He pulled out the stone.
It pulsed in his palm—warm, insistent, alive.
He could feel it now. The presence inside. The thing that had been locked away for centuries. It wasn't awake—not yet—but it was stirring. It was watching. It was waiting.
"What do you want?" Axel whispered.
The stone didn't answer.
But he could feel it—a hunger, a need, a purpose that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the world.
He thought about the Eclipse Squad. About their leaders—faceless, nameless, pulling strings from the shadows. He thought about the League. About the battles. About the war that was coming.
He thought about what he could do with this stone.
He could destroy the Eclipse Squad. He could protect the city. He could save everyone.
Or he could use it for himself.
He could become something more. Something greater. Something that no one could touch.
He slipped the stone back into his pocket.
It burned against his thigh—warm, insistent, alive.
"This might be useful," he said again.
Rotom hovered in the corner, its red eyes flickering.
"Axel, please—"
"Go to sleep."
Rotom hesitated. Then it dimmed—slowly, reluctantly—until it was nothing more than a faint orange glow.
Axel lay back on his bed.
The stone pulsed against his hip. The presence watched from the darkness. The city slept outside his window.
He closed his eyes.
And smiled.
---
Samuel found Briv at the training grounds the next morning.
The east fields were quiet—the grass still damp with dew, the morning mist clinging to the treeline. Briv stood at the center of an empty arena, his Monferno sparring with his Riolu, their movements synchronized, their attacks precise.
Samuel approached slowly.
"Ezekiel talked."
Briv stopped. Monferno and Riolu froze. The arena went silent.
"What did he say?"
Samuel's jaw tightened.
"He said the stone was a lock. A seal. A cage. And the Eclipse Squad opened it."
Briv's expression didn't change.
"For what?"
"For something old. Something hungry. Something that should have stayed asleep."
Briv looked at the horizon—at the crystal towers of Aethelburg gleaming in the morning sun, at the floating bridges shimmering like spider silk, at the canals glowing with bioluminescent algae.
"We need to tell the others."
"I know."
"Patricia. Nicola. Dariana."
"I know."
"And Axel."
Samuel hesitated.
"What?"
Samuel's jaw tightened.
"I don't trust him."
Briv frowned.
"Why?"
"I don't know. There's something—" He shook his head. "Something wrong. I can feel it."
Briv looked at him—at the tension in his shoulders, the unease in his eyes, the way his hands kept clenching and unclenching.
"He's been with us since the beginning."
"I know."
"He saved our lives."
"I know."
"Then why don't you trust him?"
Samuel didn't answer.
He just looked at the horizon, at the crystal towers catching the light, at the shadows that had begun to gather at the edges of the city.
"Because the thing in the marsh knew my name," he said. "And Axel didn't seem surprised."
---
Later that night, Samuel lay awake in his apartment.
The city was quiet. The stars were out. The moon hung low and heavy in the sky.
He thought about Ezekiel. About the stone. About the thing that slept beneath the marsh.
He thought about Axel.
The way he moved. The way he spoke. The way his eyes seemed to see everything and reveal nothing.
He thought about trust.
And he wondered if he'd made a mistake.
His Pokégear buzzed.
He glanced at the screen.
Unknown number. A single message.
You're right to be afraid. But fear is a choice. So is trust.
Samuel stared at the words.
Who is this?
The response came a moment later.
Someone who wants to live.
Samuel sat up slowly. His heart hammered against his ribs. His Pokémon stirred around him—Aipom's tail twitching, Bonsly's eyes opening, Hippopotas's jaws working.
He looked at the message one more time.
Then he reached for his Poké Balls and stood.
Outside, the city was waiting.
And somewhere in the darkness, something was stirring.