Chapter 68: Starly's Bigger Wings
The Aethelburg aerie stood at the edge of the floating district, a crumbling stone tower that had once been a watchtower in the old city before the crystal spires rose up and rendered it obsolete. Now it was a training ground for Flying-type specialists—a place where trainers could work with their aerial Pokémon without worrying about the wind currents that plagued the lower levels or the air traffic that constantly crisscrossed the main canals.
Nicola had discovered it three days ago.
She had been walking the city, trying to clear her head, when she'd spotted the tower silhouetted against the evening sky. The door had been unlocked. The stairs had been treacherous. But the roof—the roof was perfect.
A wide, open platform, ringed by a low stone parapet, with nothing but sky on all sides. The wind here was strong and clean, unbroken by the buildings below. And the view—the view stretched from the crystalline spires of the upper district all the way to the industrial haze of the lower wards, a panorama of light and shadow that made Nicola feel small in the best possible way.
She had come here every day since.
And every day, she had brought Starly.
The little bird Pokémon stood on the parapet now, its feathers ruffled by the wind, its sharp eyes scanning the horizon. It had grown in the weeks since Nicola had caught it—its wings were stronger, its movements more precise, its instincts sharper. But it was still small. Still fragile. Still struggling to keep up with the rest of Nicola's team.
"You're thinking too much," Nicola said.
Starly turned its head.
"I can see it in your posture. You're overthinking every movement. You're trying to calculate the wind speed and the angle and the distance instead of just trusting your wings."
Starly chirped—a short, frustrated sound.
"I know." Nicola crossed the platform and stood beside it, her arms folded on the parapet, her eyes on the distant towers. "I do the same thing. I overthink. I plan. I strategize. It's what makes me good at what I do."
She paused.
"But it's also what holds me back. Because sometimes—sometimes you have to stop thinking and just act."
Starly looked at her.
Nicola looked back.
"We're going to work on that today," she said. "No calculations. No hesitation. Just instinct."
She stepped back from the parapet and pulled a small, weighted ball from her pocket—a training tool she had picked up from a specialty shop in the lower district, designed to mimic the erratic flight patterns of wild Flying-types.
"I'm going to throw this," she said. "It's going to move unpredictably. I want you to follow it. Don't think. Don't plan. Just chase."
Starly nodded.
Nicola wound up and threw the ball.
It shot into the air, spinning wildly, the weights inside shifting its trajectory in unpredictable arcs.
Starly launched itself from the parapet.
For a moment, it faltered—its wings beating frantically, its eyes tracking the ball's chaotic path. It tried to anticipate. It tried to calculate. And the ball slipped past it, tumbling toward the edge of the tower.
"Don't think!" Nicola shouted. "Just move!"
Starly twisted in midair.
Its wings caught the wind.
And then—for just a moment—it stopped trying to control its flight.
It let the wind carry it.
It let its instincts take over.
Its body angled toward the ball, and it dove.
The ball was falling fast now, spiraling toward the ground. Starly tucked its wings and shot downward like a bullet, its body a dark streak against the stone. It caught up to the ball ten feet above the roof, its talons closing around it, and then it pulled up—wings spreading wide, feathers catching the air, momentum carrying it upward in a graceful arc.
It landed on the parapet, the ball clutched in its claws, its chest heaving.
Nicola stared.
"That," she said, "was perfect."
Starly dropped the ball.
It chirped—a happy, surprised sound.
"Again," Nicola said.
She threw the ball.
Starly caught it.
Again.
Caught it.
Again.
Caught it.
Each time, the little bird moved with more confidence. Each time, it trusted its instincts more. Each time, it stopped thinking and started flying.
The sun climbed higher.
The wind grew stronger.
And Starly—small, sharp-eyed Starly—began to transform.
---
It happened during the seventh throw.
Nicola had launched the ball at a steep angle, sending it rocketing toward the upper atmosphere. Starly had launched itself after it, wings pumping, body streamlined, chasing the weighted sphere with single-minded determination.
It caught the ball at the apex of its flight.
And then it kept going.
It didn't pull up. It didn't turn back. It just kept climbing, higher and higher, until it was little more than a speck against the blue.
Nicola's heart lurched.
"Starly!"
The speck didn't respond.
It just hovered there, impossibly high, suspended between earth and sky.
And then it began to glow.
The light was brilliant—a white-hot radiance that seemed to pulse in time with the wind itself. It spread outward from Starly's body, illuminating the clouds, casting shadows on the tower roof, turning the morning into something strange and beautiful.
Nicola shielded her eyes.
The light intensified.
And then—with a sound like a thunderclap—it burst.
Nicola lowered her hand.
Something was falling toward her.
Something large.
She braced herself.
The Pokémon landed on the parapet with a heavy thud, its talons scraping against the stone, its wings spreading wide for balance. It was bigger than Starly had been—much bigger. Its body was sleek and powerful, its feathers a deep, rich brown, its chest a brilliant white. Its head was crowned with a sharp, swept-back crest, and its eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—held a new depth, a new intelligence.
It looked at Nicola.
Nicola looked at it.
"Staravia," she breathed.
The Pokémon inclined its head.
Then it spread its wings and screeched—a long, piercing cry that echoed off the towers and shattered the silence of the morning.
Nicola laughed.
It was a strange sound—sharp and surprised, almost disbelieving. She wasn't a laugher. She wasn't a celebrator. But something about this moment—the wind, the light, the sheer unexpected joy of it—broke through her usual composure.
"You evolved," she said. "You actually evolved."
Staravia flapped its wings and hopped down from the parapet, landing on the roof beside her. It was almost as tall as she was now, its head level with her chest, its wings wide enough to wrap around her shoulders.
It pressed its beak against her hand.
Nicola felt something crack open in her chest.
It was the same thing she had felt when Magnemite had finally bonded with her. The same thing she had felt when Tangrowth had evolved. The same thing she had felt when Shieldon had first opened its eyes and looked at her with trust.
She had spent years building walls. Years keeping people at a distance. Years telling herself that she didn't need anyone, didn't need anything, didn't need the messy, complicated, vulnerable connections that seemed to come so easily to everyone else.
But here, on this rooftop, with the wind in her hair and the sun on her face and a Pokémon she had raised from a tiny, fragile chick now standing tall and strong beside her—
She couldn't pretend anymore.
"Thank you," she said.
Staravia chirped.
"For trusting me. For growing. For—" She stopped. Swallowed. "For proving me wrong."
Staravia tilted its head.
"I thought I was too cold," Nicola said. "Too calculated. Too distant. I thought I couldn't form bonds like other trainers do." She reached out and stroked Staravia's feathered crest. "But you proved me wrong. You all proved me wrong."
Staravia leaned into her touch.
And Nicola—fierce, competitive, walls-up Nicola—let herself lean back.
---
They stayed on the roof for another hour.
Nicola ran Staravia through the same drills she had been doing with Starly—the ball throws, the diving catches, the rapid changes in direction. But Staravia was faster now. Stronger. More confident. It caught every ball. It made every catch. It moved through the air with a grace that Starly had never possessed.
"Wing Attack," Nicola commanded.
Staravia's wings glowed with energy, and it lashed out at an imaginary target—a stone pillar near the edge of the roof. The attack struck with a crack that echoed across the district, leaving a deep gouge in the stone.
"Again."
Another crack.
"Again."
Another.
"Good." Nicola nodded. "Now let's work on Aerial Ace."
Staravia launched itself into the air and executed a perfect set of aerial maneuvers—loops, rolls, sharp turns—before diving back toward the roof and striking the pillar with pinpoint accuracy.
The pillar shattered.
Nicola whistled.
"That's new."
Staravia landed beside her, its chest puffed with pride.
"Alright," Nicola said. "I think you've earned a break."
She pulled a small bag of berries from her jacket and offered one to Staravia. The bird Pokémon took it delicately, its beak barely grazing her fingers.
"You know," Nicola said, "the League's coming up. Patricia's facing Revan in the first round."
Staravia's eyes sharpened.
"I know. He's dangerous. He's Eclipse Squad. He's probably got some trick up his sleeve." Nicola's jaw tightened. "But Patricia's strong. She's got Roselia now. She's got Buizel and Magby and Cranidos and Gligar and Buneary."
She paused.
"She's got a real shot."
Staravia chirped.
"But I'm not going to let her win just because she's my friend. I'm going to give it everything I have. And if we face each other—" She looked at Staravia. "—we're going to make her work for it."
Staravia nodded.
"Good." Nicola smiled. "That's what I thought."
---
The walk back to the inn took longer than usual.
Nicola had decided to take the scenic route—down through the floating bridges, across the canal district, past the market square where vendors were hawking everything from fresh berries to rare TMs. She had Staravia perched on her shoulder, and the bird Pokémon drew more than a few glances from passersby.
"Nice Staravia," a vendor called out.
"Thanks," Nicola said.
"How long have you had it?"
"A few weeks."
"Evolved fast."
"I know."
The vendor whistled.
"You must be a good trainer."
Nicola didn't respond.
She didn't need to.
But as she walked away, she felt something warm in her chest—something that might have been pride or might have been happiness or might have been both.
She was a good trainer.
She had always known that.
But for the first time, she was starting to believe it.
---
She found Patricia in the inn's common room, hunched over a notebook with Roselia perched on the table beside her.
"Hey," Nicola said.
Patricia looked up.
"Hey yourself." Her eyes widened. "Is that—"
"Staravia."
"No way."
"Way."
Patricia jumped to her feet and rushed over, her eyes bright with excitement. She stopped just short of Staravia, her hands hovering uncertainly.
"Can I—"
"Go ahead."
Patricia reached out and stroked Staravia's crest. The bird Pokémon leaned into her touch, its eyes half-closing with pleasure.
"It's beautiful," Patricia breathed. "You're beautiful."
Staravia chirped.
"She evolved this morning," Nicola said. "During training."
"During training?" Patricia looked at her. "That's amazing. What were you doing?"
"Ball drills. Aerial maneuvers. The usual."
"The usual doesn't usually result in evolution."
Nicola shrugged.
"I guess she was ready."
Patricia smiled.
"Congratulations. Really."
"Thanks." Nicola paused. "I heard about your bracket."
Patricia's smile faded.
"Yeah."
"Revan Stormcloud."
"Yeah."
Nicola crossed her arms.
"You're not worried."
It wasn't a question.
Patricia looked at her.
"I'm terrified," she said. "But I'm not going to let that stop me."
"Good."
"Are you going to tell me to be careful?"
"No." Nicola's eyes were hard. "I'm going to tell you to destroy him."
Patricia blinked.
"Destroy him?"
"He's Eclipse Squad. He's dangerous. He's probably going to try to intimidate you, mess with your head, throw you off your game." Nicola leaned closer. "Don't let him. You're better than him. You've earned your spot in the League. He's just a thug with a jacket."
Patricia stared at her.
Then she laughed.
"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"Don't get used to it."
"I won't."
They stood there for a moment, the silence comfortable, the weight of the coming battle hanging between them but not pressing down.
Then Briv walked in.
He had been out all morning, meeting with Axel about something—Nicola hadn't asked what, and she didn't care. But the look on his face when he saw Staravia told her everything she needed to know.
"Whoa," he said. "That's new."
"Staravia," Nicola said.
"I can see that." Briv walked over and gave Staravia a respectful nod. "She's gorgeous."
"Thank you."
"How'd it happen?"
"Training. Same as always."
Briv looked at her.
"Same as always doesn't usually result in evolution."
"That's what I said," Patricia said.
Nicola rolled her eyes.
"Are you two going to start a routine?"
"Maybe." Briv grinned. "We could take it on tour."
"Please don't."
He laughed.
The sound was warm—familiar—and Nicola felt something shift in her chest. Something complicated. Something she didn't want to examine too closely.
She had been avoiding Briv for weeks now. Not deliberately—or at least, not obviously. But they hadn't been alone together since that night in the hotel room. Since the night they had agreed to keep things casual. Since the night she had realized that casual was the last thing she wanted.
She still remembered the way his hands had felt on her skin. The way his mouth had moved against hers. The way he had whispered her name in the dark.
She still wanted him.
But she wasn't going to admit that.
Not to him.
Not to herself.
"Anyway," she said, "I should go. Tangrowth needs training."
"Right," Briv said. "See you at dinner?"
"Maybe."
She turned and walked toward the stairs.
She didn't look back.
But she felt his eyes on her the whole way up.
---
That night, Nicola trained alone.
The rooftop aerie was dark now, lit only by the moon and the distant glow of the city. The wind had picked up, cold and sharp, whipping her hair across her face as she stood at the edge of the platform.
Tangrowth stood behind her, its massive body a dark silhouette against the stars. The Grass-type was patient, watchful, its vines coiled at its sides, its eyes fixed on Nicola with quiet trust.
"Alright," Nicola said. "Let's run the Vine Whip drills."
Tangrowth extended its arms.
The vines shot out—four of them, each one as thick as a rope, each one moving with deadly precision. They struck the stone pillars at the edge of the roof in rapid succession, cracking the ancient rock.
"Good. Again."
Again.
Again.
The pillars crumbled.
Tangrowth retracted its vines.
"Now let's work on Power Whip."
Tangrowth's arms glowed with green energy, and it lashed out—a single, devastating strike that shattered the parapet in three places.
Nicola smiled.
"Good."
She paused.
"You know, I've been thinking. About the League. About the Eclipse Squad. About—everything."
Tangrowth watched.
"I've been thinking about what I want. What I'm fighting for. And I realized—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I realized that I've been fighting for the wrong reasons."
Tangrowth tilted its head.
"I've been fighting to prove myself. To show everyone that I'm strong. To prove that I'm not just the cold, calculating trainer who can't connect with her Pokémon."
She looked at Tangrowth.
"But I don't need to prove that. Not anymore. Because I've already connected. I've already bonded. I've already—" She laughed. "I've already become the trainer I was afraid I couldn't be."
Tangrowth extended a vine and gently touched her shoulder.
Nicola leaned into the touch.
"Thank you," she said. "For believing in me."
Tangrowth hummed.
And Nicola—for the first time in years—felt at peace.
=====
The aerie's wind carried the smell of rain from the western districts, cold and clean and sharp.
Nicola stood at the parapet with Tangrowth's vine still resting on her shoulder, staring out at the city lights scattered below like spilled embers. She felt lighter than she had in months. Maybe years. The weight that had been sitting on her chest since the League announcement—since Revan's name had appeared on Patricia's bracket—hadn't disappeared, but it had shifted.
She could breathe.
She could think.
She could—
Her Pokédex buzzed.
Nicola pulled it from her jacket, frowning at the screen. A message from Axel. Short. Direct. Typical.
Training yard. Tomorrow. 6 AM. Bring Staravia.
She typed back: Why?
The response came almost instantly: Briv found a sparring partner. Wants you to watch.
Nicola stared at the message for a long moment. Then she pocketed the device and turned to Tangrowth.
"Looks like we're not done yet."
Tangrowth rumbled.
"No," Nicola said. "I don't know what he's planning. But I'm going to find out."
---
The training yard was still dark when Nicola arrived.
The rain from the previous night had left the cobblestones slick and gleaming, and the air smelled of wet stone and ozone. A single lantern burned near the inn's back door, casting a weak pool of yellow light that barely reached the center of the yard.
Briv was already there.
He stood in the trainer's box at the far end of the field, his hands in his pockets, his breath misting in the cold. Monferno was beside him, the Fire-type's tail flame casting flickering shadows across the stones. Turtwig sat at Briv's feet, its tiny sprout still drooping with sleep, while Gible bounced on its heels nearby, its massive mouth already open in a wide, toothy yawn.
Nicola crossed the yard.
"You're early," she said.
"Couldn't sleep."
"Thinking about the League?"
"Thinking about everything." Briv turned to face her. His brown eyes were tired, but there was something sharp beneath the exhaustion—something focused. "I needed to clear my head."
"And this is how you clear your head? A battle?"
"Better than sitting around waiting for the world to end."
Nicola couldn't argue with that.
"Who's the sparring partner?"
Briv nodded toward the far end of the yard.
A figure emerged from the shadows near the inn's wall—a man Nicola didn't recognize. He was tall and lean, with dark skin and close-cropped hair, wearing a worn leather jacket and boots that had seen better days. His face was calm, almost expressionless, but his eyes—dark brown, steady—held a quiet confidence that Nicola recognized.
He was a trainer.
A real one.
"Name's Kofi," the man said, extending his hand. "Briv asked me to spar. Said he needed a challenge."
Nicola shook his hand. His grip was firm.
"Nicola."
"I know who you are." Kofi smiled slightly. "Your reputation precedes you."
"Good or bad?"
"Depends who you ask."
Nicola liked him immediately.
---
Axel arrived five minutes later.
He walked into the yard with Rotom flickering at his shoulder, his tablet tucked under one arm, his green eyes scanning the field with the cold precision of a man who had seen too many battles to be impressed by anything. He nodded at Briv, then at Kofi, then at Nicola.
"You're here to observe," he said.
"I'm here because Briv asked me to be."
"Same thing." Axel walked to the center of the field and turned to face them. "Rules are simple. Three-on-three. No substitutions. The battle ends when one trainer has no Pokémon remaining."
He looked at Briv.
"Ready?"
Briv nodded.
He looked at Kofi.
"Ready?"
Kofi nodded.
"Send out your first Pokémon."
---
Kofi moved first.
"Fearow," he said.
The ball opened in a flash of brown and white light, and a large, predatory bird materialized on the field. Fearow stood nearly four feet tall, its long neck extended, its sharp beak gleaming in the lantern light. Its wings were wide and powerful, its eyes cold and calculating, its crest of red feathers standing tall like a crown.
Briv considered his options.
Fearow was fast. Aggressive. A Normal- and Flying-type with access to moves like Drill Peck, Aerial Ace, and Fury Attack. It would be a test of speed and precision—exactly what he needed.
"Gible," he said.
Gible bounced forward, its massive mouth already open, its tiny arms swinging with excitement. The little Dragon-type was small compared to Fearow—barely half its height—but its eyes burned with the same fierce determination that had carried Briv through the League last year.
"Begin," Axel said.
---
Fearow moved first.
"Drill Peck!"
Fearow's beak spun like a drill, and it lunged forward, aiming straight for Gible's chest.
"Gible—dodge!"
Gible threw itself sideways, its round body rolling across the wet stones. Fearow's beak grazed its tail, but the attack missed its mark.
"Now—Dragon Rage!"
Gible opened its mouth and released a burst of blue-white energy.
Fearow tried to dodge.
It was too slow.
The Dragon Rage struck Fearow's wing, and the bird Pokémon screeched in pain, its flight momentarily thrown off balance.
"Again!" Briv shouted.
Gible fired another burst.
Fearow recovered just in time, flapping its wings hard and launching itself into the air. The second Dragon Rage passed beneath it, sizzling against the cobblestones.
"Fearow—Aerial Ace!" Kofi shouted.
Fearow dove.
Its wings glowed with energy.
"Gible—Protect!"
A green barrier shimmered into existence around Gible.
Fearow's attack struck the barrier and bounced off, sending the bird Pokémon tumbling backward through the air.
"Now—Sand Tomb!"
Gible slammed its tiny fists into the ground, and a whirlwind of sand erupted around Fearow.
The bird Pokémon screeched as the sand scoured its feathers and dragged it toward the ground.
"Fearow—break free!" Kofi shouted.
Fearow struggled against the swirling sand.
"Gible—Dragon Rage!"
Gible fired another burst of energy.
The attack struck Fearow dead-on.
Fearow fell.
"Fearow is unable to battle," Axel said. "Gible wins."
---
Kofi recalled Fearow.
He didn't look upset. If anything, he looked impressed.
"Your Gible's strong," he said.
"He's been through a lot."
"I can tell."
Kofi pulled his second ball from his belt.
"Slugma," he said.
The ball opened in a flash of red and orange light, and a strange, amorphous Pokémon materialized on the field. Slugma was little more than a blob of molten lava encased in a thin, rocky shell, its body glowing with internal heat. Its eyes—two bright yellow orbs—floated near the top of its body, and its mouth was a wide, toothless grin.
"Begin," Axel said.
---
Slugma moved first.
"Flamethrower!"
A jet of fire shot from Slugma's mouth.
"Gible—dodge!"
Gible rolled sideways.
The Flamethrower missed.
"Now—Rock Slide!"
Slugma's body glowed, and a barrage of rocks materialized above Gible's head.
"Gible—Protect!"
The barrier shimmered into existence just in time.
The rocks bounced off.
"Again—Flamethrower!"
Slugma fired another jet of fire.
Gible tried to dodge.
It was too slow.
The Flamethrower struck Gible's flank, and the little Dragon-type cried out in pain.
"Gible—Dragon Rage!"
Gible fired a burst of energy.
Slugma took the hit.
It didn't flinch.
"Slugma—Yawn!" Kofi shouted.
Slugma opened its mouth and released a cloud of pink mist.
Gible inhaled.
Its eyes drooped.
"Gible—shake it off!" Briv shouted.
Gible stumbled.
"Slugma—Flamethrower!"
Another jet of fire.
Gible couldn't dodge.
The attack struck, and Gible collapsed, its body smoking.
"Gible is unable to battle," Axel said. "Slugma wins."
---
Briv recalled Gible.
He whispered to the ball before clipping it to his belt.
"You did good," he said. "Rest."
He looked at Kofi.
Kofi looked back.
"Turtwig," Briv said.
Turtwig stepped forward, its tiny sprout already perking up, its eyes bright with determination. The little Grass-type had grown in the weeks since Briv had caught it—its shell was harder, its movements faster, its confidence stronger. But it was still small. Still vulnerable.
It didn't matter.
Turtwig was ready.
"Begin," Axel said.
---
Turtwig moved first.
"Razor Leaf!"
A storm of sharp leaves shot from Turtwig's sprout.
Slugma tried to dodge.
It was too slow.
The Razor Leaf struck Slugma's body, and the lava Pokémon hissed in pain.
"Slugma—Flamethrower!"
Slugma fired a jet of fire.
"Turtwig—Withdraw!"
Turtwig pulled its head and legs into its shell, and the Flamethrower washed harmlessly over its hardened exterior.
"Now—Tackle!"
Turtwig shot forward like a cannonball, its shell slamming into Slugma's body.
Slugma reeled.
"Again—Razor Leaf!"
Another storm of leaves.
Slugma staggered.
"Slugma—Rock Slide!"
Slugma's body glowed, and rocks materialized above Turtwig's head.
"Turtwig—Withdraw!"
Turtwig pulled into its shell again, and the rocks bounced off harmlessly.
"Now—Tackle!"
Another cannonball strike.
Slugma collapsed.
"Slugma is unable to battle," Axel said. "Turtwig wins."
---
Kofi recalled Slugma.
His expression was still calm, still steady, but there was something new in his eyes now—something sharp.
"You're good," he said.
"So are you."
"Let's see how you handle this."
He pulled his last ball from his belt.
"Chinchou," he said.
The ball opened in a flash of blue and yellow light, and a small, round Pokémon materialized on the field. Chinchou was barely a foot tall, its body a pale blue sphere with two long antennae extending from its head, each tipped with a glowing yellow orb. Its eyes were round and curious, its mouth a tiny, surprised 'o'.
"Begin," Axel said.
---
Chinchou moved first.
"Thunder Wave!"
A wave of electrical energy shot from Chinchou's antennae.
"Turtwig—dodge!"
Turtwig tried to roll sideways.
It was too slow.
The Thunder Wave struck, and Turtwig's body seized up, paralysis locking its muscles in place.
"Turtwig—Razor Leaf!"
Turtwig struggled to move.
The attack failed.
"Chinchou—Water Gun!"
A jet of water shot from Chinchou's mouth.
The attack struck Turtwig dead-on, and the little Grass-type flew backward, its body skidding across the wet stones.
"Turtwig—get up!" Briv shouted.
Turtwig tried.
Its body wouldn't cooperate.
"Chinchou—Water Gun!"
Another jet of water.
Turtwig collapsed.
"Turtwig is unable to battle," Axel said. "Chinchou wins."
---
Briv recalled Turtwig.
His hand was steady.
He had one Pokémon left.
But he had prepared for this.
"Piplup," he said.
Piplup materialized in a flash of blue light, its small body already tense, its eyes scanning the field. The little Water-type had come a long way since Briv had rescued it from the abandoned breeding center—its feathers were sleeker, its posture straighter, its gaze more focused. But there was still a flicker of something fragile beneath the surface.
Fear.
Doubt.
The weight of a trainer who had abandoned it.
Briv knelt and placed a hand on Piplup's shoulder.
"You've got this," he said.
Piplup looked at him.
"I mean it. You're strong. You're brave. You're everything that bastard said you weren't."
Piplup's eyes widened.
"Now go out there and prove it."
Piplup turned to face Chinchou.
Its posture shifted.
Its eyes hardened.
"Begin," Axel said.
---
Chinchou moved first.
"Thunder Wave!"
"Piplup—Agility!"
Piplup's body blurred, and it shot across the field, dodging the Thunder Wave by inches.
"Now—Bubble Beam!"
Piplup opened its beak and fired a stream of glowing bubbles.
Chinchou tried to dodge.
It was too slow.
The Bubble Beam struck Chinchou's body, and the little Electric-type hissed in pain.
"Chinchou—Water Gun!"
A jet of water shot from Chinchou's mouth.
"Piplup—dodge!"
Piplup leaped over the attack.
"Now—Pound!"
Piplup dove down and slammed its wing into Chinchou's body.
Chinchou reeled.
"Again!"
Another Pound.
Chinchou staggered.
"Chinchou—Thunder Wave!"
A wave of electrical energy shot from Chinchou's antennae.
Piplup tried to dodge.
It was too slow.
The Thunder Wave struck, and Piplup's body seized up.
"Piplup—shake it off!" Briv shouted.
Piplup struggled against the paralysis.
"Chinchou—Water Gun!"
A jet of water struck Piplup's chest, sending it tumbling backward.
"Piplup—get up!"
Piplup tried.
Its body wouldn't cooperate.
"Chinchou—Water Gun!"
Another jet of water.
Piplup took the hit.
It didn't fall.
"Piplup—Bubble Beam!"
Piplup opened its beak and fired a stream of bubbles.
The attack struck Chinchou dead-on.
Chinchou collapsed.
"Chinchou is unable to battle," Axel said. "Piplup wins. Briv wins the match."
---
The yard was silent.
Briv stood in his trainer's box, his chest heaving, his eyes fixed on Piplup. The little Water-type was still standing, still trembling, still fighting the paralysis that gripped its body.
But it was standing.
It had won.
Briv crossed the field and knelt in front of Piplup.
"You did it," he said.
Piplup looked at him.
Its eyes were wet.
"You did it," Briv repeated. "You proved him wrong. You proved everyone wrong."
Piplup chirped—a small, broken sound.
Briv pulled it into his arms.
"I'm proud of you," he said. "So proud."
Piplup pressed its face against his chest.
And for the first time since Briv had rescued it, Piplup cried.
---
Kofi approached, his hand extended.
"Good match," he said.
Briv stood and shook his hand.
"Good match."
"You've got a strong team."
"Thanks."
Kofi looked at Piplup.
"That one's special."
"I know."
Kofi nodded.
"Take care of it."
"I will."
Kofi turned and walked toward the inn.
Briv watched him go.
Then he looked at Nicola.
She was standing at the edge of the yard, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
"Good battle," she said.
"Thanks."
"Your Piplup's stronger than I thought."
"He's been through a lot."
"I can tell."
She paused.
"Briv."
"Yeah?"
"Don't let him go."
Briv looked at her.
"I won't."
---
The sun was rising by the time they finished.
Briv sat on the edge of the training yard, Piplup curled in his lap, Gible sleeping against his hip, Turtwig nestled in the crook of his arm. Monferno sat beside him, its tail flame burning low and warm, while Luxio dozed at his feet.
Nicola sat across from him, Staravia perched on her shoulder, Tangrowth looming behind her like a silent guardian.
Neither of them spoke.
They didn't need to.
The city hummed around them—the distant chime of bells, the rumble of carts, the soft whisper of the canals. The sky was streaked with pink and gold, and the crystal towers of Aethelburg caught the light and scattered it like diamonds.
"We're going to win," Briv said.
Nicola looked at him.
"The League?"
"Everything." He met her eyes. "The League. The Eclipse Squad. Malcolm Vane. All of it."
Nicola was quiet for a moment.
Then she nodded.
"Yeah," she said. "We are."
And for the first time in weeks, they both believed it.
---
Patricia found them an hour later, still sitting in the yard, still surrounded by Pokémon.
"You missed breakfast," she said.
"I wasn't hungry."
"You're never not hungry."
Briv laughed.
"Fair point."
Patricia sat beside him, Roselia settling into her lap. She looked at the Pokémon scattered around them—Gible, Turtwig, Piplup, Monferno, Luxio, Staravia, Tangrowth—and smiled.
"You had a battle."
"How'd you know?"
"The look on your face." She leaned against his shoulder. "You always look like that after a good fight."
"Like what?"
"Like you've figured something out."
Briv was quiet for a moment.
"Maybe I have."
"What did you figure out?"
He looked at her.
"That I can't do this alone."
Patricia blinked.
"I've been trying to carry everything—the League, the Eclipse Squad, Malcolm Vane—like it's all on my shoulders. Like if I don't fix it, no one will."
He paused.
"But that's not true. I've got you. I've got Nicola. I've got Dariana and Samuel and Axel and Jenny." He looked at Piplup. "I've got them."
Patricia took his hand.
"You've always had us."
"I know." He squeezed her fingers. "But I forgot. For a while, I forgot."
"What changed?"
He looked at the city—the towers, the canals, the bridges, the people moving through the streets like blood through veins.
"Piplup," he said. "Piplup reminded me."
Patricia looked at the little Water-type, still sleeping in Briv's lap.
"He's stronger than I thought."
"He's stronger than he thought." Briv smiled. "That's the thing about strength. It's not about being the best. It's about being better than you were yesterday."
Patricia rested her head against his shoulder.
"That's beautiful."
"I stole it from a fortune cookie."
She laughed.
"You're an idiot."
"I know."
She kissed his cheek.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
They sat there in the growing light, surrounded by Pokémon and friends and the endless, humming city, and for a moment—just a moment—everything was right.
---
That afternoon, Axel called a meeting.
They gathered in the inn's common room—Briv, Patricia, Nicola, Dariana, Samuel, and Officer Jenny. Axel stood at the front, his tablet in hand, Rotom flickering at his shoulder.
"I've been doing some digging," he said. "On Revan Stormcloud. On the Eclipse Squad. On what they're planning."
He tapped his tablet.
"Revan's first-round match against Patricia is in two weeks. He's been training non-stop. But that's not what worries me."
"What worries you?" Briv asked.
Axel's expression was grim.
"He's been seen meeting with someone. Someone high up in the League."
The room went quiet.
"Who?" Nicola asked.
"I don't know yet. But I have a source—someone inside the League offices who owes me a favor." Axel paused. "They're going to get me the records. But it's going to take time."
"How much time?"
"A week. Maybe less."
Briv clenched his fists.
"We don't have a week."
"We don't have a choice." Axel met his eyes. "If we move too soon, we tip them off. We lose our advantage."
"We don't have an advantage."
"Not yet." Axel smiled. "But we will."
---
That night, Patricia sat on the balcony of the inn, Roselia in her lap, the city lights flickering below.
She thought about Revan. About Eclipse Squad. About Malcolm Vane.
She thought about the fear that had been gnawing at her since the brackets had been released.
But she also thought about Roselia.
Roselia, who had been small and quiet and dreamy.
Roselia, who had grown into something beautiful.
Roselia, who had proved that strength wasn't about size or speed or power—it was about belief.
She looked at the stars.
"I'm not afraid," she said.
Roselia chirped.
"I'm not afraid."
She said it again, louder this time, as if the words could shape reality by sheer repetition.
She said it a third time, and this time, she meant it.
---