Chapter 81: Briv Trains
The training grounds sprawled before them like a scar on the city's edge—a massive expanse of packed earth, scattered boulders, and shallow pools that mirrored the gray morning sky. The air smelled of ozone and turned soil, and in the distance, the crystal towers of Aethelburg caught the first weak rays of sunlight, throwing prismatic glints across the horizon.
Briv stood at the center of the field, rolling his shoulders, feeling the familiar pre-battle tension coil in his gut.
Patricia sat on a low stone wall at the edge of the grounds, Lopunny beside her, its long ears twitching at every sound. Nicola leaned against a crumbling pillar, arms crossed, her sharp eyes tracking the stranger who approached from the eastern gate. Dariana stretched on the grass, her body bending in ways that made Briv look away, and Samuel sat cross-legged near Axel, his dreadlocks spilling over his shoulders, his expression serene.
Axel stood at the referee's position, Rotom flickering above his shoulder like a living flame.
The stranger was tall, lean, with weathered skin and sun-bleached hair tied back in a knot. He wore practical clothes—scuffed boots, worn trousers, a faded jacket—and carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone who'd spent years on the road. Three Pokéballs hung from his belt, their surfaces scratched and dull.
He stopped across from Briv and inclined his head.
"Name's Kael."
"Briv."
Kael's eyes narrowed slightly.
"The champion."
"Last year's."
"Same thing."
Briv didn't argue.
Axel stepped forward.
"Three-on-three. No substitutions. Begin when I signal."
Kael drew his first ball.
Briv drew his.
"Slowking."
"Grotle."
---
The two Pokémon materialized simultaneously.
Grotle landed with a heavy thud, its sturdy legs sinking into the soft earth, the shrubs on its back rustling in the morning breeze. It blinked slowly, its calm eyes surveying the field, and settled into a patient stance.
Slowking stood across from it—tall and regal, its lavender skin gleaming, its shell crown tilted slightly to one side. Its eyes held a distant, knowing look, and it moved with the deliberate grace of a creature that had already calculated every possible outcome.
"Begin."
Grotle moved first.
"Razor Leaf."
The leaves shot from Grotle's shell in a spinning arc, sharp and fast, cutting through the air with a whistling sound. Slowking didn't dodge. It raised one hand, and a shimmering barrier materialized—a psychic shield that absorbed the leaves and sent them clattering to the ground.
"Water Pulse."
The ring of water shot from Slowking's mouth, expanding as it flew. Grotle took the hit, its body shuddering, but it didn't fall. It dug its feet deeper into the earth and shook off the water.
"Curse."
Grotle's body tensed, its muscles coiling, its shell hardening. The shadows around it darkened, and its eyes gleamed with renewed intensity.
"Psychic."
Slowking's eyes flared.
Grotle screamed.
The invisible force lifted it from the ground and slammed it back down, once, twice, three times. Grotle's shell cracked, and it roared in pain.
"Grotle, hold on!"
Grotle's eyes snapped open.
"Seed Bomb."
The seeds erupted from its mouth in a concentrated burst. Slowking's barrier flickered—it hadn't expected the attack so soon after the Psychic—and the seeds slipped through, exploding against its chest.
Slowking staggered.
"Now. Razor Leaf."
The leaves shot forward again.
Slowking tried to raise its barrier.
It was too slow.
The leaves struck its face, its throat, its arms, and Slowking stumbled backward, its regal composure shattered. It fell to one knee, breathing hard.
"Water Pulse."
The ring of water caught Grotle across the side.
Grotle didn't fall.
It had taken too much damage to keep fighting—Briv could see it in the way its legs trembled, the way its breath came in ragged gasps—but it wasn't done yet.
"Grotle. One more."
Grotle's eyes met his.
"Seed Bomb."
The seeds flew.
Slowking raised its barrier.
The seeds exploded against it.
The barrier shattered.
Slowking fell.
It didn't get up.
"Slowking is unable to battle," Axel said. "Grotle wins."
---
Kael recalled Slowking.
He didn't look upset.
He looked interested.
"Pinsir."
---
The Stag Beetle Pokémon materialized in a flash of green and brown, its massive pincers gleaming, its compact body trembling with barely contained aggression. It was smaller than Slowking—barely four feet tall—but it radiated menace, its eyes fixed on Grotle with predatory intensity.
"Begin."
Pinsir moved first.
"X-Scissor."
The pincers snapped shut.
Grotle tried to dodge.
It was too slow.
The attack caught it across the shell and sent it tumbling. Grotle hit the ground hard, rolled twice, and didn't get up.
"Grotle is unable to battle," Axel said. "Pinsir wins."
---
Briv recalled Grotle.
He looked at the ball in his hand for a moment—the cracked shell, the fading warmth—and then clipped it to his belt.
"Gible."
---
The small Dragon-type burst onto the field with a shriek of excitement, its red belly gleaming, its tiny legs pumping as it sprinted in a tight circle. It stopped, turned, and faced Pinsir with its mouth wide open, displaying rows of sharp teeth.
Pinsir didn't look impressed.
"Begin."
Gible moved first.
"Dragon Rage."
The blue flames erupted from Gible's mouth.
Pinsir dodged.
It was fast—faster than Grotle, faster than anything Briv had expected—and it closed the distance in seconds.
"X-Scissor."
The pincers snapped.
Gible ducked.
It was a clumsy dodge—more instinct than skill—but it worked. Gible rolled under the attack, scrambled to its feet, and bit down on Pinsir's leg.
Pinsir roared.
"Vice Grip."
The pincers closed around Gible's body.
Gible screamed.
"Gible! Hold on!"
Gible's eyes blazed.
"Dragon Rage."
The flames erupted point-blank.
Pinsir staggered backward, its chitin smoking, its pincers loosening. Gible dropped to the ground, panting, its small body trembling.
"Now. Bite."
Gible lunged.
Its teeth sank into Pinsir's throat.
Pinsir thrashed.
Gible held on.
"X-Scissor."
The pincers snapped—once, twice—but Gible was too close, too low, too stubborn. It held on, its teeth buried deep, its eyes squeezed shut.
Pinsir's thrashing slowed.
Its legs buckled.
It fell.
Gible let go and stumbled backward, blood dripping from its mouth, its body covered in cuts and bruises.
"Pinsir is unable to battle," Axel said. "Gible wins."
---
Kael recalled Pinsir.
He looked at Gible.
Then at Briv.
"You're good."
Briv didn't answer.
He was watching Gible—watching the way its legs trembled, the way its breath came in shallow gasps, the way its eyes still blazed with defiance.
"Rhyhorn."
---
The Spikes Pokémon materialized with a ground-shaking thud, its rocky hide gleaming, its single horn pointed at the sky. It was massive—easily six feet from nose to tail—and its small eyes burned with a dull, patient anger.
Gible looked at it.
Gible looked back at Briv.
Briv nodded.
Gible turned and faced Rhyhorn.
"Begin."
Rhyhorn moved first.
"Rock Blast."
The boulders shot from Rhyhorn's mouth in rapid succession.
Gible dodged.
It was fast—faster than it had been against Pinsir, faster than Briv had ever seen it—and it moved with a desperate, fluid grace that seemed almost impossible for such a small creature.
"Dragon Rage."
The flames caught Rhyhorn across the flank.
Rhyhorn grunted.
"Take Down."
Rhyhorn charged.
Gible dodged.
Barely.
Rhyhorn's horn grazed its side and sent it spinning. Gible hit the ground, rolled, and scrambled to its feet, blood streaming from a fresh wound.
"Gible—"
Gible didn't wait.
It lunged.
Its teeth sank into Rhyhorn's leg.
Rhyhorn roared.
"Rock Blast."
The boulders shot point-blank.
Gible took the hit.
It didn't let go.
"Take Down."
Rhyhorn slammed into the ground.
Gible was crushed beneath it.
"Gible!"
The dust cleared.
Gible lay beneath Rhyhorn's bulk, its body broken, its eyes closed.
It didn't move.
"Gible is unable to battle," Axel said. "Rhyhorn wins."
---
Briv recalled Gible.
His hand trembled.
He looked at the ball—the small, warm sphere that held his brave, reckless, impossible little dragon—and felt something crack in his chest.
"You did good," he whispered. "You did so good."
He clipped the ball to his belt.
He drew his final Pokémon.
"Prinplup."
---
The Penguin Pokémon materialized in a shimmer of blue and silver, its sleek body gleaming, its head held high. It surveyed the battlefield—the churned earth, the scattered boulders, the massive Rhyhorn—and its eyes narrowed with cold determination.
"Begin."
Prinplup moved first.
"Bubble Beam."
The stream of bubbles caught Rhyhorn across the face.
Rhyhorn shook its head.
"Rock Blast."
The boulders shot forward.
Prinplup dodged.
It was fast—not as fast as Gible, but more controlled, more precise—and it moved with a fluid grace that made Rhyhorn's attacks look clumsy by comparison.
"Water Pulse."
The ring of water struck Rhyhorn's flank.
Rhyhorn grunted.
"Take Down."
Rhyhorn charged.
Prinplup didn't dodge.
It stepped forward.
"Metal Claw."
Prinplup's flipper glowed silver.
It struck Rhyhorn's horn.
The impact sent shockwaves through both Pokémon.
Rhyhorn staggered.
Prinplup held its ground.
"Now. Bubble Beam."
The bubbles shot point-blank.
Rhyhorn roared.
"Rock Blast."
The boulders shot wild.
Prinplup dodged.
"Water Pulse."
The ring caught Rhyhorn across the legs.
Rhyhorn stumbled.
"Metal Claw."
Prinplup struck again.
Rhyhorn fell.
It tried to rise—tried to push itself up—but its legs wouldn't cooperate. It collapsed, breathing hard, its eyes glazed.
It didn't get up.
"Rhyhorn is unable to battle," Axel said. "Prinplup wins. Briv wins the match."
---
Silence.
Then applause.
Patricia was clapping, Lopunny bouncing beside her. Nicola was nodding, her sharp eyes soft. Dariana was grinning, and Samuel was on his feet, his dreadlocks swaying.
Kael approached.
He extended his hand.
"That was a good battle."
Briv shook it.
"Thanks."
Kael looked at Prinplup.
"That Prinplup of yours. It's got heart."
Briv nodded.
"I know."
Kael turned and walked away, his Pokéballs clinking at his belt.
---
Briv knelt beside Prinplup.
The Water-type was breathing hard, its body covered in cuts and bruises, but its eyes were bright.
"You did good," Briv said.
Prinplup nodded.
It didn't need words.
---
Patricia walked up.
"That was impressive."
Briv stood.
"Gible did most of the work."
"Gible did some of the work. Prinplup finished it."
Briv smiled.
"Yeah."
She took his hand.
"How are you feeling?"
He looked at her.
"Tired."
"That's not what I asked."
He squeezed her fingers.
"I'm okay."
She studied his face.
"You're lying."
He laughed.
"Maybe."
---
They walked back to the inn together, the group trailing behind, their Pokémon scattered around them. The sun had climbed higher, burning through the clouds, and the streets of Aethelburg were alive with color and sound.
Briv walked in silence.
His mind was on Gible.
The small dragon had fought beyond its limits. It had taken hits that should have knocked it out, pushed through pain that should have stopped it, and held on long enough to give Prinplup a chance.
It had been reckless.
It had been brave.
It had been everything Briv wanted to be.
---
Later that evening, Briv sat on the roof.
Infernape was beside him, its flames dimmed to embers, its eyes fixed on the stars. The city hummed below them, and the canals reflected the moonlight like ribbons of silver.
Briv held Gible's ball in his hand.
"Gible's going to be okay," Patricia said from behind him.
He didn't turn.
"I know."
She sat down beside him.
"You're worried about it."
"I'm always worried about it." He looked at the ball. "It's so small. So reckless. It doesn't know how to hold back."
"Neither do you."
He looked at her.
She smiled.
"That's why you're good together."
He didn't answer.
She leaned against him.
"The League's in twenty days."
"I know."
"Are you ready?"
He looked at the stars.
"I'm getting there."
---
The night deepened.
The stars wheeled overhead.
And somewhere in the city, the Eclipse Squad was watching.
Revan stood on a rooftop across from the inn, his silver-gray eyes fixed on the two figures silhouetted against the sky. His black coat billowed in the wind, and his Eclipse Squad emblem gleamed.
"Briv Ambertone," he murmured. "The champion who doesn't feel like one."
Roger stood beside him.
"He's weak."
"No." Revan smiled. "He's vulnerable. There's a difference."
Callum cracked his knuckles.
"So what's the plan?"
Revan turned.
"We wait. We watch. And when the moment comes—" He paused. "We take everything from him."
The night swallowed them whole.
---
The next morning, Briv woke before dawn.
He dressed in silence, grabbed his Pokéballs, and slipped out of the inn. The streets were empty, the canals still, the crystal towers dark against the fading stars.
He walked until he reached the training grounds.
He released Gible.
The small dragon materialized in a flash of light, its body still bandaged, its movements still slow. It looked up at Briv with questioning eyes.
"You're not training today," Briv said.
Gible tilted its head.
"We're just going to sit."
Briv sat on the grass.
Gible crawled into his lap.
They stayed there as the sun rose, the light spilling across the field like gold, and Briv felt something settle in his chest.
He wasn't sure what it was.
But it felt like peace.
---
Patricia found them an hour later.
She sat down beside Briv without a word.
Gible was asleep in his lap, its small body rising and falling with each breath.
"He's exhausted," she said.
"I know."
"He'll recover."
"I know."
She took his hand.
"Briv."
He looked at her.
"What?"
"I'm proud of you."
He blinked.
"For what?"
"For this." She gestured at the field, at Gible, at the rising sun. "For not giving up. For not giving in."
He didn't answer.
She squeezed his fingers.
"I love you."
He looked at her—really looked at her—and felt the words rise in his throat.
"I love you too."
She smiled.
And for a moment, everything was simple.
---
Twenty days.
The League was twenty days away.
And Briv Ambertone—champion, qualifier, survivor—was finally ready to face it.
Not as the person he'd been last year.
As the person he was becoming.
=====
The morning light caught the edges of Gible's bandages, turning them gold, and Briv watched the small dragon sleep with a weight in his chest that had nothing to do with worry and everything to do with wonder.
Patricia's hand was warm in his.
The training grounds stretched empty before them, churned earth and scattered stones, the distant hum of the city rising like breath. Somewhere beyond the crystal towers, the League was waiting—nineteen days now, if the count was right—and Briv could feel it pulling at him like gravity.
"You're thinking too loud," Patricia said.
He smiled.
"Sorry."
"Don't be." She squeezed his fingers. "Just tell me what's going on in there."
He looked at her—really looked, the way he'd been trying to do more often, the way he kept forgetting to do—and saw the morning light catching her blond hair, the blue of her eyes, the slight furrow between her brows that meant she was worried and trying not to show it.
"I'm thinking about Gible," he said. "About how it fought yesterday."
"And?"
"And how I don't deserve it."
She didn't flinch.
"That's not true."
"It feels true."
She turned to face him, crossing her legs on the grass, and Gible stirred in his lap but didn't wake.
"You trained that Gible," she said. "You raised it. You taught it to fight. Every scar on its body is a choice you made together."
He didn't answer.
"You're not responsible for everything, Briv. You're just responsible for showing up."
He looked at her.
"When did you get so smart?"
She laughed.
"I've always been smart. You were just too busy brooding to notice."
---
The sound of footsteps made them both turn.
Officer Jenny walked across the training grounds with the kind of stride that made the earth feel like it owed her something—back straight, shoulders squared, teal-blue ponytail swaying with each step. Her uniform was crisp despite the early hour, and her green eyes swept the field with the practiced vigilance of someone who never really stopped being on duty.
She stopped a few feet away.
"Ambertone."
"Officer."
Jenny's gaze flicked to Patricia.
"Crownleaf."
Patricia stood, brushing grass from her leggings.
"Jenny."
There was no hostility in the greeting—just the quiet acknowledgment of two people who'd crossed paths before, professionally and otherwise. Jenny had helped them during the Shadow incident six weeks ago, had stood beside them when the Eclipse Squad had first shown their faces.
That kind of thing left a mark.
"I heard about your battle yesterday," Jenny said, looking at Briv. "The stranger with the Slowking."
Briv nodded.
"Word travels fast."
"In this city, it sprints." Jenny's expression didn't change, but something in her voice softened. "Your Gible fought well."
"It did."
"Don't lose that."
Briv blinked.
"Lose what?"
"The thing that makes you push past your limits." Jenny's eyes held his. "You've got a team that trusts you. That's rarer than you think."
She turned to Patricia.
"You're still chasing qualification."
"I am."
"How many wins?"
"Eight. Need two more."
Jenny nodded slowly.
"I've got some time this morning. If you want a battle, I could use the practice."
Patricia's eyebrows rose.
"You're offering?"
"I'm proposing." Jenny's lips curved—not quite a smile, but close. "Three-on-three. Your team against mine. No stakes except pride."
Patricia looked at Briv.
He shrugged.
"Your call."
She looked back at Jenny.
"You're on."
---
Axel appeared as if summoned from the ether, Rotom flickering above his shoulder like a living flame. He didn't ask questions. He just walked to the referee's position and crossed his arms.
"Three-on-three. No substitutions. Begin when I signal."
Jenny drew her first ball.
"Arcanine."
Patricia drew hers.
"Roselia."
---
The two Pokémon materialized simultaneously.
Roselia landed with a dancer's grace, its leafy cape rustling, its red and blue roses gleaming in the morning light. It held itself with quiet pride, its eyes fixed on the massive Fire-type across the field.
Arcanine stood like a legend—easily six feet at the shoulder, its orange-and-black fur rippling with muscle, its mane blazing like sunrise. It didn't growl. It didn't posture. It simply existed, and that was enough.
"Begin."
Roselia moved first.
"Leech Seed."
The seeds shot from Roselia's roses in a spiraling arc.
Arcanine dodged.
It was fast—impossibly fast for something that size—and it closed the distance in a blur of orange and black.
"Flame Wheel."
The fire engulfed Arcanine's body.
Roselia tried to dodge.
It was too slow.
The attack caught it across the side and sent it tumbling. Roselia hit the ground hard, rolled twice, and scrambled to its feet, smoke rising from its leaves.
"Roselia, keep your distance!"
Roselia nodded.
"Magical Leaf."
The leaves shot from its body in a wide arc, homing in on Arcanine with unerring precision. Arcanine tried to dodge, but the leaves followed, twisting through the air like living things.
They struck.
Arcanine grunted.
"Extreme Speed."
Arcanine vanished.
It reappeared directly in front of Roselia.
"Fire Fang."
The flames erupted from Arcanine's jaws.
Roselia screamed.
It fell.
It didn't get up.
"Roselia is unable to battle," Axel said. "Arcanine wins."
---
Patricia recalled Roselia.
Her hand was steady.
"Magby."
---
The small Fire-type burst onto the field with a shriek of excitement, its bright red body gleaming, its flame-like features flickering with barely contained energy. It bounced from foot to foot, sizing up Arcanine with eager eyes, and Arcanine looked back with something that might have been amusement.
"Begin."
Magby moved first.
"Flame Burst."
The fireball shot from Magby's mouth.
Arcanine dodged.
It was fast—but Magby was faster, smaller, harder to track. The little Fire-type darted across the field, launching burst after burst, never staying in one place long enough for Arcanine to counter.
"Fire Fang."
Arcanine lunged.
Magby dodged.
Barely.
"Flame Burst."
The fireball caught Arcanine across the snout.
Arcanine growled.
"Extreme Speed."
Arcanine vanished.
Magby didn't have time to react.
The attack caught it mid-leap and sent it crashing to the ground. Magby tried to rise—tried to push itself up—but its legs wouldn't cooperate.
It collapsed.
It didn't get up.
"Magby is unable to battle," Axel said. "Arcanine wins."
---
Patricia recalled Magby.
She looked at her final ball.
Then at Jenny.
Then at Arcanine.
"One left," she murmured.
She threw.
"Cranidos."
---
The Head Butt Pokémon materialized with a ground-shaking thud, its blue body gleaming, its thick skull pointed at Arcanine like a battering ram. It didn't wait for instruction. It didn't hesitate.
It charged.
"Head Smash."
The attack connected before Jenny could call a command.
Arcanine flew backward—twenty feet, maybe more—and hit the ground with a crash that shook the arena. It tried to rise, but its legs buckled, and it collapsed.
It didn't get up.
"Arcanine is unable to battle," Axel said. "Cranidos wins."
---
Jenny recalled Arcanine.
She didn't look upset.
She looked impressed.
"Lucario."
---
The Aura Pokémon materialized in a flash of blue and silver, its sleek body poised, its red eyes gleaming with quiet intelligence. It didn't move. It didn't need to. It simply stood there, radiating calm power, and waited.
Cranidos charged.
"Head Smash."
Lucario stepped aside.
Cranidos barreled past, its momentum carrying it forward, and Lucario's fist connected with its flank in a precise, surgical strike.
Cranidos stumbled.
"Close Combat."
The barrage of punches and kicks came faster than Patricia could track—a blur of blue and silver that drove Cranidos backward, cracking its rocky hide, forcing it to its knees.
Cranidos roared.
"Head Smash."
It lunged.
Lucario dodged.
"Bone Rush."
The bone staff materialized in Lucario's hand.
It struck Cranidos across the skull.
Cranidos fell.
It didn't get up.
"Cranidos is unable to battle," Axel said. "Lucario wins. Jenny wins the match."
---
Silence.
Then Jenny walked across the field.
She stopped in front of Patricia and extended her hand.
"Good battle."
Patricia shook it.
"You too."
Jenny looked at the fallen Cranidos, at the recalled balls on Patricia's belt, at the determined set of her jaw.
"You're close," Jenny said. "Two more wins and you're in."
"I know."
"Don't let up."
Patricia nodded.
"I won't."
Jenny turned and walked away, Lucario falling into step beside her, Manectric's ball still clipped to her belt—unused, unneeded.
---
Briv walked up.
"That was rough."
Patricia didn't look at him.
"It was."
"You okay?"
She turned.
"I'm fine." Her voice was steady, but her eyes were bright. "I just—I thought I had it. For a second, I thought I had it."
"You almost did."
"Almost isn't enough."
He took her hand.
"It's not the end. You've got four matches left. You need two wins."
"I know."
"So you'll get them."
She looked at him.
"How do you know?"
He smiled.
"Because I know you."
---
Later that evening, Briv sat on the roof of the inn.
The stars were out, scattered across the sky like spilled salt, and the city hummed below him, alive and indifferent. Infernape sat beside him, its flames dimmed to embers, its eyes fixed on the horizon.
Patricia was downstairs, going over battle notes with Dariana.
Nicola was training somewhere in the dark.
Samuel was playing music in the garden, his guitar a soft counterpoint to the city's noise.
And Briv was alone with his thoughts.
He thought about Gible, about the small dragon's reckless courage, about the way it had fought past its limits. He thought about Prinplup, about the pride in its eyes when it had landed the final blow.
He thought about Patricia, about the way she'd looked when Cranidos fell.
He thought about the League—nineteen days—and the weight of expectation that came with being last year's champion.
And he thought about the Eclipse Squad, somewhere out there in the dark, waiting.
"What do you want?" he whispered.
The stars didn't answer.
---
Footsteps on the roof.
He didn't turn.
"Couldn't sleep?" Nicola asked.
"No."
She sat down beside him.
They didn't speak for a while.
"You're thinking about the League," she said eventually.
"Yeah."
"Scared?"
He considered the question.
"Not scared. Just... aware."
"Of what?"
He looked at her.
"Of everything that could go wrong."
She nodded slowly.
"I know the feeling."
He looked at her—really looked, the way he'd been trying to do more often—and saw the sharp lines of her face softened by starlight, the way her blond hair caught the breeze, the quiet strength in her eyes.
"You're going to qualify," he said.
"I know."
"No doubt?"
"No doubt." She smiled. "I've got four matches left. I need two wins. I'll get them."
He believed her.
---
She leaned against him.
He let her.
The night deepened around them, and the city sang its quiet song, and for a moment, everything felt possible.
"The League's going to be different this year," Nicola said.
"How?"
She looked at him.
"Because we're different."
He didn't answer.
She took his hand.
"Last year, you won alone. This year, you've got us."
He squeezed her fingers.
"I know."
She smiled.
"Good."
---
They sat together in the dark, their hands intertwined, and the stars wheeled overhead.
Nineteen days.
The League was coming.
And Briv Ambertone—champion, qualifier, survivor—was finally ready to face it.
Not as the person he'd been.
As the person he was becoming.