Chapter 57: Briv VS Raze
The morning sun carved golden veins through the crystal towers of Aethelburg, but Briv barely noticed the beauty. His legs carried him through the streets on autopilot, Patricia's hand warm in his, the weight of the coming heist pressing down on his shoulders like a physical thing.
They were three blocks from headquarters when someone called his name.
"Ambertone!"
Briv stopped.
The voice was familiar—smooth, confident, dripping with the kind of casual arrogance that made Briv's jaw tighten before he even turned around.
Raze Stormcloud leaned against the wrought-iron fence of a public garden, his dark hair swept back, his gray eyes glittering with amusement. He wore a fitted black jacket over a white shirt, dark jeans, expensive boots. He looked like he'd stepped out of a fashion magazine.
He looked like he owned the city.
"Raze," Briv said.
"Long time." Raze pushed off the fence and strolled toward them. "Heard you've been busy. Heard you lost to Samantha Blackwood."
Briv's hand tightened around Patricia's.
"Word travels fast."
"Word travels faster when it's interesting." Raze stopped a few feet away, his gaze flicking to Patricia, then to Nicola and Dariana and Samuel behind them. "Quite the entourage. Are you starting a gang?"
"We're training."
"Training for what? The League?" Raze laughed—a sharp, mocking sound. "You're the reigning champion, Briv. You don't need to train. You need to defend."
"And you need something?"
Raze's smile didn't waver.
"I need a battle."
The words hung in the air.
"We're busy," Briv said.
"Too busy to fight your number one rival?" Raze tilted his head. "I've been waiting a year for a rematch. You beat me in the finals. You took the title. And then you disappeared."
"I didn't disappear."
"You went quiet. You stopped competing. You stopped winning." Raze's eyes narrowed. "I want to know if you're still worth my time."
Patricia stepped forward.
"He doesn't owe you anything."
Raze looked at her—really looked—and something flickered in his expression. Respect, maybe. Or recognition of the fire in her eyes.
"Patricia Crownleaf," he said. "I remember you. You were good. Top eight, wasn't it?"
"Top four."
"Ah." Raze nodded. "My mistake."
He turned back to Briv.
"One battle. Three-on-three. No stakes. Just proof."
Briv's mind raced.
He should say no. He had a heist to plan. A key to steal. A city to save.
But Raze was his rival—his true rival, the one who'd pushed him harder than anyone. The one who'd made him better.
And Briv needed to know if he still had it.
"Fine," he said. "Three-on-three."
Patricia turned.
"Briv—"
"It's one battle. An hour, maybe less." He squeezed her hand. "We still have time."
She held his gaze for a long moment. Then she nodded.
"Don't lose."
---
They found an arena.
Not the grand stadium near the center of the city—too public, too many eyes—but a smaller training ground on the outskirts. Weathered stone. Cracked pavement. A faded painted circle marking the battle zone.
The kind of place where trainers came to practice, not to perform.
It was perfect.
Axel appeared at the edge of the field as if he'd been waiting for them.
He probably had been.
"You heard," Briv said.
"I hear everything." Axel's green eyes moved to Raze. "Three-on-three?"
"Standard rules," Raze confirmed. "No items. No switching unless a Pokémon faints."
"I'll referee."
Raze raised an eyebrow.
"You're not fighting?"
"Today, I'm just watching." Axel's expression was unreadable. "Call it professional interest."
Raze shrugged.
"Suit yourself."
The two trainers took their positions at opposite ends of the field. Patricia, Nicola, Dariana, Samuel, and Misty gathered at the sideline. The air was cold, sharp with morning frost.
Briv's hand found the Poké Balls at his belt.
Three.
He'd chosen Monferno, Piplup, and Turtwig. His oldest partners—the ones who'd been with him from the beginning. The ones who knew him best.
Raze reached for his first ball.
"You ready, champion?"
"Shut up and throw."
Raze grinned.
"Toxicroak. Let's go."
---
The poison-fighting type materialized in a flash of purple and blue.
Toxicroak stood tall and lean—its body sleek, its throat sac pulsing, its red eyes gleaming with cruel intelligence. Its fingers flexed, the venomous claws at their tips catching the light.
Briv had seen Toxicroak before. In the League. In the finals.
It had taken down two of his Pokémon before Monferno ended it.
"Monferno," he said. "You're up."
The fire-fighting type erupted from its ball in a burst of orange flame. Monferno landed on the cracked pavement and immediately dropped into a fighting stance—its tail blazing, its eyes locked on Toxicroak, its fists clenched.
The two Pokémon stared at each other.
They remembered.
Axel raised his hand.
"Standard League rules. Battle begin."
---
Monferno moved first.
It lunged—fast, low, flames trailing from its tail—and swung a Mach Punch at Toxicroak's ribs. The poison type twisted, evading by inches, and countered with a Poison Jab that grazed Monferno's shoulder.
Monferno hissed.
The poison would spread. Briv had seconds.
"Flame Wheel!"
Monferno curled into a ball—flames erupting around it—and rolled toward Toxicroak like a burning boulder. The poison type tried to dodge, but Monferno was too fast, too hot.
The impact sent Toxicroak skidding across the pavement.
"Sludge Bomb," Raze said.
Toxicroak opened its mouth. A sphere of purple sludge erupted outward—streaking toward Monferno like a missile. Monferno dodged left, but the second sphere caught it in the chest.
Monferno staggered.
The poison was spreading.
"Close the distance," Briv said. "Mach Punch."
Monferno blurred forward—faster than Toxicroak expected—and slammed its fist into the poison type's face. Toxicroak's head snapped back.
"Again!"
Another punch. Another. Monferno was relentless—a blur of orange and red, its fists striking too fast to follow.
Toxicroak stumbled.
"Enough," Raze said. "Drain Punch."
Toxicroak's fist glowed—a sickly green light—and it swung at Monferno's chest. The hit connected. Monferno gasped as its energy was siphoned away, the wound on Toxicroak's face closing.
Monferno fell to one knee.
"Get up," Briv said.
Monferno rose.
Its breath was ragged. Its body was trembling. But its eyes still burned.
"Flare Blitz."
Monferno exploded.
Flames engulfed its entire body—orange and red and white-hot—and it launched itself at Toxicroak with everything it had. The impact was catastrophic. The pavement cracked. The air shimmered with heat.
Toxicroak was thrown backward—smoke rising from its skin—and slammed into the ground.
It didn't get up.
"Toxicroak is unable to battle," Axel said. "Raze, send out your next Pokémon."
---
Raze recalled Toxicroak without a word.
He didn't look upset. He looked... interested.
"Crawdaunt."
The water-dark type materialized in a burst of red and blue—its body encased in crimson armor, its claws massive and serrated, its eyes burning with feral hunger. It stood a head taller than Monferno, and its presence made the air feel heavier.
Monferno was still smoking from Flare Blitz. The recoil had hurt it badly.
Briv made a choice.
"Monferno, return."
He recalled the fire type before it could collapse.
"Piplup. You're up."
---
The water type appeared in a flash of blue.
Piplup stood small and regal—its feathers sleek, its eyes cautious but determined. It looked at Crawdaunt, and something flickered in its expression.
Fear.
But not retreat.
"Begin," Axel said.
Crawdaunt attacked first.
"Night Slash."
The dark type lunged—its claws glowing with dark energy—and swung at Piplup with terrifying speed. Piplup dodged—barely—and countered with a Water Gun that struck Crawdaunt in the face.
Crawdaunt didn't flinch.
"Crabhammer," Raze said.
Crawdaunt's claw swung down like a guillotine. Piplup tried to dodge, but the attack was too fast, too powerful. The impact sent it flying across the arena.
Piplup hit the ground and rolled.
It didn't get up.
"Piplup!" Briv's voice cracked.
The water type stirred.
Slowly—painfully—it pushed itself to its feet. Its body was trembling. Its breath was shallow. But it stood.
It stood.
"Bubble Beam," Briv said.
Piplup opened its beak. A stream of bubbles erupted outward—each one shimmering with energy—and struck Crawdaunt in a cascade. The dark type recoiled, its armor cracking.
"Again!"
Another Bubble Beam. Another. Piplup was relentless—pouring everything it had into the attack.
Crawdaunt staggered.
"Enough," Raze said. "Knock Off."
Crawdaunt's claw swung—not at Piplup, but at the ground beneath it. The pavement exploded. Piplup was thrown backward by the shockwave.
It didn't get up.
"Piplup is unable to battle," Axel said. "Briv, send out your final Pokémon."
---
Briv's hand shook as he recalled Piplup.
Two down.
One left.
He reached for his final ball.
"Turtwig."
The grass type materialized in a flash of green—its shell gleaming, its sprout fresh, its eyes fierce. It looked at Crawdaunt without fear.
It was ready.
"Crawdaunt, return," Raze said.
Briv blinked.
"What?"
"I'm not giving you an easy win." Raze recalled the dark type. "Sharpedo. Finish this."
---
The water-dark type exploded onto the field.
Sharpedo was a torpedo given flesh—its body sleek and scarred, its jaws lined with rows of serrated teeth, its eyes black and empty. It circled the arena, its dorsal fin cutting through the air like a blade.
Turtwig didn't move.
"Begin," Axel said.
Sharpedo attacked first.
"Crunch."
The water type lunged—jaws gaping—and snapped at Turtwig with terrifying speed. Turtwig dodged, but Sharpedo was faster, turning mid-lunge and clipping Turtwig's shell.
The grass type stumbled.
"Razor Leaf!"
Turtwig whipped its head, sending a storm of leaves at Sharpedo. The water type dodged most of them, but a few found their mark, slicing through its skin.
Sharpedo didn't slow.
"Aqua Jet."
The water type launched itself forward—a blur of blue and white—and slammed into Turtwig like a missile. The grass type was thrown across the arena.
It hit the wall.
"Get up," Briv said.
Turtwig rose.
Its shell was cracked. Its body was shaking. But it rose.
"Curse," Briv said.
Turtwig's body glowed—dark energy pulsing through its limbs—and its movements slowed. But its attack power surged.
"Again," Briv said. "Curse."
Another pulse. Another surge.
Turtwig's body was trembling now—the strain visible—but its eyes burned with determination.
"Finish it," Raze said. "Crunch."
Sharpedo lunged. Turtwig didn't dodge.
"Razor Leaf!"
The leaves erupted—faster than before, sharper than before—and struck Sharpedo point-blank. The water type screeched, its momentum faltering.
"Now! Tackle!"
Turtwig launched itself forward—slamming into Sharpedo with everything it had. The water type was thrown backward.
It didn't get up.
"Sharpedo is unable to battle," Axel said. "Raze, send out your final Pokémon."
---
Raze recalled Sharpedo.
His smile had returned.
"Not bad, champion. Not bad at all."
He reached for his last ball.
"Crawdaunt. Finish this."
The dark type reappeared—battered but standing, its claws still sharp, its eyes still hungry. It looked at Turtwig and roared.
Turtwig didn't flinch.
"Begin," Axel said.
Crawdaunt attacked first.
"Crabhammer."
The claw swung down. Turtwig dodged—barely—and countered with Razor Leaf. The leaves sliced through Crawdaunt's armor, drawing ichor.
"Night Slash."
Crawdaunt's claws glowed dark. It swung. Turtwig dodged again, but the attack clipped its shell, sending it spinning.
"Razor Leaf!"
Another storm. Another hit. Crawdaunt was slowing—its movements sluggish, its breath ragged.
But Turtwig was slowing too.
"Curse," Briv said.
Turtwig's body glowed. Its attack rose. Its speed fell.
"Crabhammer."
The claw swung. Turtwig couldn't dodge. The impact sent it flying.
It hit the ground.
It didn't get up.
"Turtwig is unable to battle," Axel said. "Raze wins."
---
The arena was silent.
Briv stood frozen, his hand still extended, his eyes fixed on Turtwig's fallen form. The grass type was breathing—shallow, pained—but alive.
That was something.
That was everything.
He recalled Turtwig and walked to the center of the field.
Raze met him there.
"Good battle," Raze said.
"Good battle."
They shook hands. Raze's grip was firm—respectful, even.
"You're still good," Raze said. "But you're distracted. Something's eating at you."
Briv didn't answer.
"Whatever it is," Raze continued, "fix it. Because when the League starts, I want to face you at your best."
He released Briv's hand and walked away.
---
Patricia reached Briv first.
She didn't speak. She just took his hand and held it.
Nicola appeared at his other side.
"Second loss in a row."
"I know."
"You're slipping."
"I know."
Nicola's jaw tightened.
"Whatever's going on—whatever happened with Samantha, whatever's happening with this Eclipse Squad bullshit—you need to get your head straight. Because if you don't, you're going to lose more than battles."
Briv looked at her.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"It's not confidence. It's honesty." Nicola's eyes were hard. "You're the champion. Act like it."
She walked away.
Dariana approached next.
"Don't listen to her."
"I should. She's right."
"She's harsh." Dariana touched his arm. "But she cares. We all do."
Briv nodded.
"I know."
Misty appeared at his side, her expression unreadable.
"Tough break."
"Story of my life."
"Hey." She punched his shoulder—light, playful. "You've got time. The League's still a month away. Use it."
Briv looked at her.
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me. Just win next time."
---
They regrouped at the inn.
The plan was still on. The heist was still happening. The key was still waiting.
But something had shifted.
Briv sat on the bed, staring at the wall, his mind replaying every moment of the battle. Every mistake. Every hesitation.
Patricia sat beside him.
"You're thinking too much."
"I know."
"You lost. It happens."
"I lost twice."
"You'll win again."
He turned to look at her—her blue eyes, her blond hair, the quiet strength in her jaw.
"How do you know?"
She kissed him.
"Because I know you."
---
That night, they didn't sleep.
They held each other in the dark, listening to the city breathe, and they didn't speak. There was nothing to say.
Tomorrow, they would steal a key.
Tonight, they just held on.
=====
The morning came cold and gray, the kind of light that seeped through the curtains like water through cracks in a dam. Briv woke first, his body stiff from sleep, his mind already racing through the day ahead.
Patricia stirred beside him, her hair spread across the pillow like spun gold. She opened her eyes and looked at him—no words, just that quiet understanding they'd built over years of battles and victories and defeats.
"We should eat," she said.
"I'm not hungry."
"You need to be."
He knew she was right. He always knew.
---
The inn's common room was empty except for Samuel, who sat at a corner table with a cup of tea and a notebook. His dreadlocks were tied back, his expression distant, his fingers tapping a rhythm against the wood.
"Morning," Briv said.
Samuel looked up.
"Morning. You look like shit."
"Thanks."
Patricia slid into the seat across from him.
"What are you working on?"
"New song. Something about loss." Samuel shrugged. "Seemed appropriate."
Briv ordered coffee. It came black and bitter, and he drank it without tasting.
Nicola and Dariana arrived minutes later, followed by Misty. They gathered around the table, maps spread out, notes scrawled in margins, the plan taking shape in quiet whispers.
"We move tonight," Dariana said. "My contact confirmed the tournament starts tomorrow. Most of the Eclipse Squad will be at the opening ceremony."
"Including Samantha?"
"Especially Samantha. She's competing."
Briv's jaw tightened.
"Good."
---
They spent the morning finalizing details. Entry points. Exit routes. Guard rotations. Misty would pose as a tournament competitor, providing a distraction at the front entrance. Nicola and Patricia would handle the security systems. Samuel would stay outside, watching for patrols.
Briv would go in alone.
"I don't like it," Patricia said.
"I know."
"You shouldn't go alone."
"I won't be alone. Dariana's contact will be inside."
Patricia's eyes narrowed.
"And if something goes wrong?"
"Then I improvise."
"That's not a plan."
"It's the best we have."
She wanted to argue. He could see it in the set of her jaw, the tension in her shoulders. But she didn't.
She trusted him.
That trust felt heavier than any stone.
---
By noon, the group had dispersed—each to their own preparations, their own rituals, their own ways of coping with the weight of what was coming. Briv found himself walking the streets of Aethelburg alone, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the crystal towers that gleamed against the gray sky.
He passed a battle arena.
Not the grand stadium. Not the training ground where he'd lost to Raze. Just a small public court—cracked pavement, faded lines, a single bench where an old man sat feeding pigeons.
And in the center of the court, two trainers were already fighting.
Briv stopped.
Samuel stood at one end, his Doduo crouched low and ready, its two heads scanning the field with sharp, watchful eyes. At the other end, a woman with wild red hair and a Fire-type's confidence commanded a Growlithe that circled like a living flame.
Flannery.
Briv recognized her immediately—the Gym Leader from Lavaridge, known for her fiery temper and equally fiery Pokémon. She'd competed in the League last year. She'd made it to the quarterfinals before losing to Nicola.
She was in Aethelburg for the tournament.
And she was battling Samuel.
Axel stood between them, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
"Three-on-three," he said. "Standard rules. No items. Begin."
---
Flannery moved first.
"Flame Wheel!"
Growlithe curled into a ball—fire erupting around it—and rolled toward Doduo like a burning boulder. The twin-headed bird sprang sideways, both heads screeching in unison.
"Doduo, Agility!"
Doduo blurred—its speed doubling, its movements becoming too fast for Growlithe to track. The fire type skidded to a halt, its flames flickering with confusion.
"Fury Attack!"
Doduo lunged—both heads striking simultaneously, beaks jabbing at Growlithe's flanks. The fire type yelped, trying to dodge, but Doduo was relentless, its two heads working in perfect synchronization.
"Ember!"
Growlithe opened its mouth—a spray of fire erupting outward—and caught Doduo in the chest. The bird staggered backward, its feathers singed.
"Quick Attack!"
Doduo recovered fast—faster than Flannery expected—and slammed into Growlithe before it could react. The fire type tumbled across the pavement.
"Again!"
Another strike. Another. Doduo was a blur of brown and cream, its two heads striking from angles Growlithe couldn't predict.
Growlithe fell.
It tried to rise. Its legs trembled. Then it collapsed.
"Growlithe is unable to battle," Axel said. "Flannery, send out your next Pokémon."
---
Flannery recalled Growlithe with a grimace.
"Not bad," she said.
"Thanks," Samuel replied.
"Don't get cocky."
She reached for her second ball.
"Charmeleon. Let's go."
The fire type materialized in a burst of orange and red—its claws sharp, its tail blazing, its eyes burning with competitive fire. It looked at Doduo and grinned.
"Cute bird," Flannery said. "Shame it's about to get roasted."
"Charmeleon, Dragon Rage!"
The fire type opened its mouth—a wave of purple energy erupting outward—and struck Doduo before it could dodge. The bird screeched, its body shuddering.
"Again!"
Another wave. Another hit. Doduo staggered.
"Get up," Samuel said.
Doduo rose.
Its feathers were smoking. Its movements were slower. But it rose.
"Agility. Then Fury Attack."
Doduo blurred—faster than before—and struck Charmeleon from both sides, its beaks jabbing at the fire type's ribs. Charmeleon growled, trying to catch the bird, but Doduo was too quick.
"Fire Fang!"
Charmeleon's jaws ignited—flames dripping from its teeth—and it lunged at Doduo with terrifying speed. The attack caught the bird's wing, and Doduo screamed.
It fell.
It didn't get up.
"Doduo is unable to battle," Axel said. "Samuel, send out your next Pokémon."
---
Samuel recalled Doduo with a soft word of thanks.
He reached for his second ball.
"Bonsly."
The rock type appeared in a flash of brown and green—small, timid, its large eyes blinking against the light. It looked at Charmeleon and immediately began to tremble.
"Bonsly, it's okay," Samuel said. "You've got this."
Bonsly didn't look convinced.
"Charmeleon, Flamethrower!"
The fire type opened its mouth—a torrent of flame erupting outward—and Bonsly squeaked, diving out of the way just in time. The flames scorched the pavement where it had stood.
"Rock Throw!"
Bonsly grabbed a chunk of broken concrete and hurled it at Charmeleon. The fire type dodged, but the rock clipped its shoulder.
"Again!"
Another rock. Another hit. Bonsly was moving now—darting between attacks, using its small size to evade Charmeleon's flames.
"Enough," Flannery said. "Dragon Rage!"
Charmeleon unleashed the purple wave—but Bonsly was ready. It planted its feet and raised its arms, taking the hit head-on.
It didn't fall.
"Counter!"
Bonsly's body glowed—a faint, reddish light—and the damage it had taken was reflected back at Charmeleon. The fire type staggered, its own attack turned against it.
"Now! Rock Tomb!"
Bonsly slammed its hands into the ground—and the pavement erupted, rocks and debris exploding upward around Charmeleon. The fire type was trapped, pinned by stone.
It struggled. It failed.
It collapsed.
"Charmeleon is unable to battle," Axel said. "Flannery, send out your final Pokémon."
---
Flannery recalled Charmeleon with a scowl.
"You're better than I thought."
"Thanks."
"But you're still going to lose."
She reached for her last ball.
"Torchic. Finish this."
The fire type materialized in a flash of orange—small, fluffy, deceptively cute. But its eyes burned with the same fire as its trainer's.
"Torchic, Ember!"
The fire type opened its beak—a spray of fire erupting outward—and Bonsly took the hit, its rocky body cracking.
"Rock Throw!"
Bonsly hurled another chunk of concrete. Torchic dodged—fast, faster than its size suggested—and countered with another Ember.
"Again!"
Another hit. Bonsly was weakening.
"Rock Tomb!"
Bonsly slammed the ground—but Torchic was already moving, leaping over the erupting stones with surprising agility.
"Fire Spin!"
Torchic spun—flames erupting around it—and the fire engulfed Bonsly completely. The rock type screamed.
It fell.
It didn't get up.
"Bonsly is unable to battle," Axel said. "Samuel, send out your final Pokémon."
---
Samuel recalled Bonsly with a quiet sigh.
One left.
He reached for his final ball.
"Hippopotas."
The ground type materialized in a burst of sand—sturdy, calm, its large snout sniffing the air. It looked at Torchic without fear.
Torchic looked back.
"Begin," Axel said.
Flannery attacked first.
"Fire Spin!"
Torchic spun—flames erupting outward—but Hippopotas didn't dodge. It opened its mouth and countered with Sand Attack, a spray of grit that smothered the flames.
Torchic screeched.
"Again! Ember!"
The fire type tried again—but Hippopotas was already moving, its sand swirling around it like a protective cloak.
"Sand Tomb!"
The ground beneath Torchic erupted—sand swirling upward, trapping the fire type in a vortex. Torchic struggled, its flames sputtering.
"Dig!"
Hippopotas vanished beneath the earth.
Torchic broke free—barely—and looked around wildly for its opponent. The ground was still. Silent.
Then Hippopotas erupted from below.
The impact sent Torchic flying—its body tumbling across the cracked pavement—and it landed in a heap.
It didn't get up.
"Torchic is unable to battle," Axel said. "Samuel wins."
---
The court was quiet.
Then Flannery laughed.
"You're good," she said. "Really good."
Samuel grinned.
"So are you."
He crossed the court and offered his hand. Flannery shook it—her grip firm, her eyes bright.
"Rematch sometime?"
"Anytime."
Axel approached.
"Nice battle," he said. "Both of you."
Flannery looked at him.
"You're Axel, right? The one with the Rotom?"
"That's me."
"I've heard about you." She tilted her head. "You're one of those trainers who doesn't need a full team. Interesting."
Axel didn't respond.
Flannery shrugged.
"Whatever. Good to meet you."
She walked away, her red hair catching the gray light.
Samuel turned to Briv, who had been watching from the sidelines.
"Your turn next."
Briv nodded.
"Something like that."
---
They walked back to the inn in silence.
The city was waking up around them—shops opening, trainers gathering, the distant roar of the stadium echoing through the streets. Aethelburg was alive with the promise of competition.
But Briv felt none of it.
His mind was elsewhere. On the key. On the heist. On Samantha.
On the thing beneath the marsh.
"You're quiet," Samuel said.
"I'm always quiet before a fight."
"This isn't a fight."
"It's worse."
Samuel nodded.
"Fair."
They stopped at the inn's entrance.
"Tonight," Samuel said. "We do this."
"Tonight."
Samuel clasped Briv's shoulder.
"Whatever happens—you're not alone."
Briv looked at him—at the calm in his eyes, the steadiness in his grip—and felt something loosen in his chest.
"I know."
---
Patricia was waiting in their room.
She stood by the window, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. The afternoon light caught the angles of her face, softening the tension in her jaw.
"Did you see him fight?"
"Samuel? Yeah."
"He won."
"I know."
Patricia turned.
"You're going to win too."
Briv stepped toward her.
"It's not about winning."
"I know." She reached out and touched his face. "It's about surviving."
He kissed her.
Not gently. Not softly. With the kind of desperation that comes from knowing the world might end tomorrow.
She kissed him back.
---
They fell onto the bed together—clothes torn away, skin against skin, the heat of her body the only warmth in the room. Briv's hands moved across her hips, her waist, her thighs, tracing every curve like he was memorizing her.
Patricia gasped when his mouth found her neck.
"Briv—"
"I need you."
"You have me."
He pulled back—just enough to look at her. Her blue eyes were dark with want. Her lips were parted. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts.
"Tell me what you want," he said.
"You." Her voice shook. "Just you. All of you."
He entered her slowly—inch by agonizing inch—and she arched beneath him, her nails digging into his back.
"Fuck," she breathed.
He moved.
Not fast. Not rough. Just deep—steady, relentless strokes that made her gasp, made her moan, made her whisper his name like a prayer.
"Harder," she said.
He gave her harder.
The bed creaked. The headboard slammed against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper, her body meeting his thrust for thrust.
"I love you," she gasped.
"I love you too."
He felt her tighten around him—felt her body convulse—and he followed, spilling inside her with a groan that tore from somewhere deep in his chest.
They lay tangled afterward—sweaty, breathless, spent.
Patricia traced circles on his chest.
"Tonight."
"I know."
"Be careful."
"I will."
She kissed his collarbone.
"Liar."
---
Night fell over Aethelburg like a curtain.
The crystal towers blazed with light. The floating bridges hummed with energy. The canals glowed with bioluminescence.
Briv stood at the window, dressed in black, his Poké Balls at his belt, the weight of the coming hours pressing down on him.
Patricia stood beside him.
"Ready?"
He looked at her—at the woman who had stood by him through everything.
"No."
She smiled.
"Good. That means you're smart."
He took her hand.
"Let's go."
They walked out together.
The door closed behind them.
The city waited.