Chapter 97: Dariana Trains
The League headquarters buzzed with the electric hum of preparation.
Trainers moved through the corridors like blood through veins—purposeful, urgent, alive. The opening ceremony was six hours away. Six hours until the stadium gates opened. Six hours until everything they'd worked for crystallized into the single, brutal clarity of competition.
Dariana felt it in her bones.
She stood at the entrance to Training Hall Seven, her fingers wrapped around a pokéball that pulsed with warmth. Combee. Her newest partner. Her smallest. Her most vulnerable.
And the one she understood best.
---
The training hall was empty.
Good.
She'd booked it for two hours—a luxury in the crowded League complex—specifically because she needed the silence. Needed the space. Needed to think without Briv's easy confidence or Patricia's quiet intensity pressing against her thoughts.
She walked to the center of the hall.
Released Combee.
---
The small Flying type materialized in a flash of light.
It hovered before her, its three honeycomb faces swiveling in different directions—the brave one facing forward, the playful one tilting sideways, the cautious one hanging back. A microcosm of every conflicting emotion Dariana had felt since she'd caught it in the Green Space.
"Hey, little one."
Combee buzzed.
The brave face—the top one—hummed with recognition. The playful face—the left—spun in a quick circle. The cautious face—the right—remained still, watching.
Dariana smiled.
"You're still not sure about me."
Combee didn't deny it.
"That's okay. I'm not sure about you either."
---
She'd been honest with Combee from the start.
She hadn't pretended to be a savior. Hadn't promised safety or glory or any of the things trainers usually promised their Pokémon. She'd simply offered partnership—a place on her team, a chance to grow, a path forward.
Combee had accepted.
Tentatively.
---
They started with basics.
Gust. Sweet Scent. Bug Bite. Combee executed each attack with hesitant precision—the brave face leading, the playful face adding flourishes, the cautious face watching for danger. It was a fractured performance, beautiful in its way, but fractured.
Dariana watched.
"Again."
Combee repeated the sequence.
"Faster."
Again.
"Together."
Again.
---
The issue wasn't power.
Combee had power—more than its size suggested. The issue was unity. The three faces thought separately, moved separately, fought separately. They were three individuals sharing one body, and until they learned to act as one, they'd always be limited.
Dariana understood that.
She'd spent years learning the same lesson.
---
She called a halt.
Combee drifted lower, its three faces all turning toward her. Waiting. Wondering.
"You're fighting yourselves," Dariana said.
Combee buzzed.
"Not each other. Yourselves. Your fear. Your doubt. Your memories."
The cautious face flinched.
Dariana stepped closer.
"I know what that's like."
---
She sat on the floor.
Crossed her legs.
Pat the space beside her.
Combee drifted down, settling onto the polished wood with a soft click of chitin. Its faces were all looking at her now—truly looking.
"Before I became a trainer, I was an athlete," Dariana said. "A dancer."
Combee's playful face perked up.
"Yeah. I was good. Really good. I competed. Won medals. Traveled the world."
She paused.
"And I hated every second of it."
---
The words hung in the air.
Combee didn't move.
"I was good because I was afraid. Afraid of failure. Afraid of disappointing everyone. Afraid of being ordinary."
She laughed—a soft, bitter sound.
"So I pushed myself. Harder than anyone. Harder than I should have. And I won. I won everything."
She looked at Combee.
"And I was empty."
---
The cautious face softened.
The brave face tilted.
The playful face stopped spinning.
"I quit," Dariana said. "Walked away. Started over. Became a trainer because... because I wanted to find something that mattered. Something that wasn't just about winning."
She reached out.
Touched Combee's central face.
"Something like you."
---
Combee buzzed.
A different sound this time—not the sharp hum of uncertainty, but something deeper. Something warmer.
Dariana felt it.
The connection.
The trust.
---
"Let's try again."
She stood.
Combee rose with her.
"Together this time. Not three. One."
---
They started with Gust.
Combee's wings beat in unison—the brave face leading, the playful face supporting, the cautious face trusting. The wind they generated was stronger than before. Sharper. Cleaner. It whipped through the training hall, rattling the equipment racks, sending loose papers flying.
Dariana smiled.
"Good. Again."
Again.
"Faster."
Again.
"Harder."
Again.
---
They moved to Bug Bite.
Combee dove at the training dummy, its small mandibles glowing with green energy. The attack landed—not perfectly, but solidly. The dummy shuddered.
"Better. Again."
Again.
"Angle your approach."
Again.
"Lead with the brave face."
Again.
---
An hour passed.
Combee improved with every repetition—its movements growing more fluid, its attacks more devastating. The three faces still thought separately, but they were learning to move together. To trust each other.
To trust Dariana.
---
She called a halt.
Combee hovered before her, its faces all smiling.
"You're doing great."
Combee buzzed happily.
"Really great."
The playful face did a little spin.
Dariana laughed.
"Okay, okay. Take a break."
---
She sat on the floor again.
Combee settled beside her.
The training hall was quiet now—just the hum of the ventilation system, the distant murmur of the city outside. Aethelburg was waking up. The League was coming.
Dariana closed her eyes.
She thought about the competition.
About her opponents.
About the battles to come.
She thought about her team—Gallade, Pachirisu, Gastrodon, Glaceon, Croagunk, Combee. Six partners. Six pieces of her soul.
She thought about how far she'd come.
How much she'd changed.
---
A soft buzz.
She opened her eyes.
Combee was watching her.
The cautious face—the one that had always hung back, always doubted—was looking at her with something new. Something unfamiliar.
Trust.
---
"You feel it too," Dariana whispered.
Combee buzzed.
"The change."
---
The air shifted.
Dariana felt it—a pressure, a warmth, a presence. The light in the training hall seemed to dim, then brighten, then pulse with a rhythm that matched her heartbeat.
Combee rose.
Not by its own power.
Something was lifting it.
---
Dariana scrambled to her feet.
"Combee?"
---
The small Flying type was glowing.
Not with attack energy.
With evolution.
---
The light grew brighter.
Brighter.
Brighter.
---
Dariana shielded her eyes.
The glow pulsed—once, twice, three times. Each pulse sent a wave of warmth through the training hall, rattling the windows, humming through the floor. Combee's form blurred inside the light, shifting, growing, transforming.
---
The light exploded.
And when it faded—
Vespiquen stood before her.
---
Dariana stared.
The Pokémon was tall—much taller than Combee, standing with a regal, almost imperial bearing. Its body was a mix of amber and black, its wings delicate but strong, its face framed by a crown-like structure of honeycomb. Red eyes gleamed with intelligence. An aura of command radiated from every pore.
It looked at Dariana.
It spoke.
---
Not with words.
With presence.
---
Dariana's knees buckled.
She caught herself on the wall.
"What—"
---
Vespiquen moved.
It was fast—faster than its size suggested. It crossed the distance between them in a blur of amber and shadow, stopping just inches from Dariana. It looked down at her—not with affection, not with warmth, but with something deeper.
Recognition.
---
"You're... you're beautiful," Dariana whispered.
Vespiquen inclined its head.
A queen accepting tribute.
---
Dariana laughed.
She couldn't help it.
The laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her—a release of tension, of fear, of everything she'd been holding back.
"I—I don't know what to say."
Vespiquen didn't respond.
It didn't need to.
---
They trained for another hour.
Vespiquen was transformed—not just physically, but in every way that mattered. Its attacks were devastating. Its movements were precise. Its control was absolute. It launched Gust after Gust, each one powerful enough to knock training dummies off their mounts. It executed Bug Bite with surgical precision. It used Sweet Scent to control the battlefield, drawing invisible lines of influence that Dariana could feel in her bones.
The Vespiquen wasn't just a Pokémon.
It was a commander.
---
Dariana called a halt.
Vespiquen stopped immediately—no hesitation, no frustration. It turned to face her, its red eyes gleaming.
"Good," Dariana said. "Really good."
Vespiquen acknowledged her words with a slight tilt of its head.
Dariana felt it.
Pride.
---
They walked back to the athlete's village together.
The sun was fully up now—bright and warm, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Trainers were everywhere—stretching, strategizing, preparing. The air smelled like coffee and nerves.
Dariana found Briv sitting on a bench outside her building.
He looked up.
His eyes widened.
"Is that—"
"Vespiquen," Dariana said.
He stood.
"Holy shit."
"That's what I said."
He walked toward them, his gaze moving over Vespiquen with obvious appreciation. The Bug type tolerated his attention with regal indifference, its eyes tracking him but not deigning to acknowledge him further.
"When did this happen?"
"A few minutes ago. We were training."
"Just like that?"
"It wasn't 'just like that.' We've been working for days."
Briv looked at her.
He smiled.
"I'm proud of you."
She felt warmth spread through her chest.
"Thanks."
---
They sat together on the bench.
Vespiquen stood beside them, watching the courtyard with calm, knowing eyes.
"You ready for tonight?" Briv asked.
"The ceremony?"
"Yeah."
She considered the question.
"I think so."
"Nervous?"
"Terrified."
He laughed.
"Yeah. Me too."
---
Patricia found them a few minutes later.
She was carrying Roserade's pokéball and wearing a fitted blue jacket—training clothes, casual but purposeful. She stopped when she saw Vespiquen.
"Oh my god."
"Vespiquen," Dariana said.
"She's gorgeous."
Vespiquen inclined her head.
A queen acknowledging a fellow queen.
---
Nicola arrived next.
She didn't say anything.
She just looked at Vespiquen—studied her, analyzed her, cataloged every detail. Her expression was unreadable.
"Congratulations," she said finally.
"Thanks."
Nicola nodded.
She walked away.
Dariana watched her go.
---
Samuel arrived last.
He was carrying his guitar—a battered acoustic thing covered in stickers and scratches. He sat on the grass beside the bench, strummed a few chords, and smiled.
"Vespiquen," he said. "Beautiful."
"Thanks."
"Powerful?"
"Very."
"Good."
He played a soft melody.
---
The morning passed.
The League was coming.
Dariana felt it—the anticipation, the pressure, the weight. It pressed down on her shoulders, demanding attention.
She pushed it aside.
Not yet.
She wasn't ready to face it yet.
---
She found Axel in the courtyard.
He was standing alone—arms crossed, eyes watching the crowd with the quiet intensity of a predator. Rotom hovered at his shoulder, its orange body crackling with restless energy.
Dariana approached.
"Hey."
He looked at her.
"Hey."
"Vespiquen."
"I saw."
"Any thoughts?"
He considered the question.
"Your team is balanced now. Powerful. You have a chance."
"A chance?"
"Everyone has a chance."
She smiled.
"Even you?"
He looked at her.
His green eyes were unreadable.
"I don't need chances."
---
She left him alone.
---
The afternoon came.
Dariana returned to her room.
She sat on the bed.
She thought about Vespiquen.
About the evolution.
About the power she felt coursing through her partner's veins.
She thought about the League.
About winning.
About losing.
She thought about her team—Gallade, Pachirisu, Gastrodon, Glaceon, Croagunk, Vespiquen. Six partners. Six pieces of her soul.
She thought about how far she'd come.
How much she'd changed.
---
A knock on the door.
She opened it.
Patricia stood there.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Can I come in?"
She stepped aside.
Patricia entered.
---
They sat on the bed.
"You okay?" Patricia asked.
"Thinking."
"About?"
She hesitated.
"Everything."
Patricia took her hand.
"Talk to me."
---
Dariana looked at her.
"I'm scared."
The words came out before she could stop them. She'd been holding them in all day—all week, all month—but now they spilled out like water from a cracked dam.
"I'm scared of failing. I'm scared of proving that I don't belong here. I'm scared of letting everyone down."
Patricia squeezed her hand.
"I know."
"You do?"
"Everyone's scared."
"You don't seem scared."
Patricia laughed.
"I'm terrified."
Dariana stared at her.
"Really?"
"Really. I'm terrified of failing. Of proving that this is all just luck. Of letting everyone down."
"You don't show it."
"I'm good at hiding."
Dariana leaned against her.
"So am I."
---
They sat in silence.
The city hummed outside.
The League waited.
---
"Vespiquen is beautiful," Patricia said.
"She is."
"You trained her well."
"She trained herself."
"That's not true."
Dariana smiled.
"Maybe not."
---
Patricia kissed her cheek.
"Whatever happens tomorrow... whatever happens at the League... I'm with you."
Dariana looked at her.
"Me too."
---
Patricia stood.
"I should go. Training."
She nodded.
"Okay."
Patricia walked to the door.
She paused.
"Hey."
"Yeah?"
"Vespiquen's going to destroy whoever she faces."
Dariana smiled.
"I know."
---
She left.
Dariana sat on the bed.
She thought about the League.
About Vespiquen.
About Patricia.
She felt lighter.
---
The sun began to set.
The city blazed with color—gold and red and orange, painting the crystal towers in fire. The canals glowed. The bridges hummed. Aethelburg was beautiful.
Dariana stood at her window.
She watched the light fade.
She thought about tomorrow.
About the battles.
About the victories.
About the losses.
She thought about Vespiquen.
About the power she'd witnessed.
About the transformation she'd caused.
She smiled.
---
They gathered in Dariana's room.
The others were already there—Briv, Patricia, Samuel, Axel, Nicola. Everyone was quiet, contemplative. The weight of the League pressed down on all of them.
Dariana entered.
Vespiquen walked beside her.
Everyone turned.
"Wow," Samuel said.
"Yeah," Dariana said.
---
They talked strategy.
They talked opponents.
They talked about everything except what they were feeling.
Dariana listened.
She contributed.
But her mind was elsewhere.
---
She thought about the League.
About the battles to come.
About the trainer she'd become.
About the trainer she still wanted to be.
She thought about Vespiquen.
About the evolution.
About the power.
She thought about tomorrow.
About winning.
About proving herself.
---
The night deepened.
The others drifted to their rooms.
Dariana stayed.
She sat in the corner, Vespiquen beside her, and she closed her eyes.
---
The morning would come.
The League would begin.
She would face her first opponent.
She would fight.
She would win.
Or she wouldn't.
Either way—
She was ready.
=====
The night air carried the weight of expectation.
Dariana stood at the window of her room, watching Aethelburg transform. The crystal towers blazed with light—not the warm gold of sunset, but the cold, electric white of celebration. The canals reflected the glow back at the sky. The floating bridges hummed with the traffic of thousands.
The opening ceremony was two hours away.
She turned from the window.
Vespiquen stood in the corner of the room, motionless, regal. The Bug type's red eyes tracked her every movement with calm, patient intensity.
"You ready for this?"
Vespiquen inclined its head.
Dariana smiled.
"Yeah. Me too."
---
She dressed carefully.
Not for battle—the ceremony wasn't a battle. But for presence. For the image she wanted to project. For the version of herself she'd been building since she walked away from the dance floor three years ago.
Black slacks. A fitted burgundy blouse. Heels that added two inches to her height. Her hair loose, falling past her shoulders in dark waves.
She studied herself in the mirror.
The woman looking back was not the girl who'd won medals she didn't want.
She was someone else now.
---
Vespiquen's pokéball clicked at her hip.
The others waited in the corridor.
---
Briv was first.
He wore a dark suit—charcoal, tailored, a silver tie at his throat. His brown hair was combed back, tamed for once. He looked... adult. Serious. Like someone who'd won a League and intended to win another.
"You clean up nice," Dariana said.
"I hate this suit."
"Wear it anyway."
"I am. That's why I'm complaining."
---
Patricia stood beside him.
She wore a deep blue dress that matched her eyes—elegant, understated, the kind of thing that didn't scream for attention but commanded it anyway. Her blonde hair was pinned up, exposing the curve of her neck.
"You look beautiful," Dariana said.
"So do you."
---
Nicola arrived last.
She wore black—always black—but this was different. A sleek sheath dress that hugged her hips and ended mid-thigh. Her blonde hair was straight, sharp, severe. Her eyes were unreadable.
"Nicola."
"Dariana."
A beat of silence.
"You look—"
"Don't."
Dariana stopped.
Nicola walked past her.
---
The others joined them in the lobby.
Samuel wore loose linen—cream and gold, a beaded necklace at his throat. His dreadlocks were tied back, his expression relaxed.
Kay stood beside him. His blond hair was styled. His blue eyes scanned the crowd with calm attention.
Axel arrived alone.
He wore black—always black—but unlike Nicola's, his was formal. A fitted jacket, pressed trousers, boots polished to a mirror shine. Rotom hovered at his shoulder, its orange glow dimmed.
"You look like you're going to a funeral," Briv said.
Axel looked at him.
"Maybe I am."
---
The stadium was massive.
Dariana had seen it from the outside—a colossus of steel and glass, ringed by banners and lights. But from the inside, it was something else entirely.
A cathedral.
---
They walked through a private entrance.
Officials in League uniforms guided them through corridors lined with photographs—past champions, past tournaments, past battles that had defined the sport. Briv's face was on one of the walls. Last year's winner.
He didn't look at it.
---
The tunnel opened into the arena.
Dariana's breath caught.
---
The stadium seats were packed.
Fifty thousand people—maybe more—filled the stands, their voices a constant roar. The field was a pristine battlefield of white lines and green grass, surrounded by barriers that shimmered with energy. The screens overhead blazed with the League's emblem.
The opening ceremony hadn't started yet.
But everyone was already screaming.
---
The competitors' section was cordoned off.
Dariana took her seat with the others—Briv on her left, Patricia on her right, Nicola somewhere behind her. The other qualifiers filled the rows around them.
Some faces she recognized.
Raze Stormcloud lounged with practiced arrogance, his dark hair swept back, his smile sharp. Lucas Noblewarm sat quietly beside him, his silver hair catching the light, his expression serene.
Chigusa stood near the tunnel entrance, her pink hair a warning flag, her arms crossed.
Runo Misaki bounced on her heels, her twin-tails swaying, her teal eyes bright.
More faces—some familiar, some not. The best trainers in Elyssia, gathered in one place.
---
The ceremony began.
Music swelled. Lights swept across the arena in waves of color. The screens flickered to life, showing montages of past tournaments—legendary battles, impossible comebacks, champions crowned.
The crowd screamed louder.
Dariana watched.
She felt the weight of it—the history, the tradition, the expectation. She'd never competed in anything this large. Never stood on a stage this grand.
Her hands were shaking.
She pressed them flat on her thighs.
---
Speakers took the stage.
League officials. Political figures. Former champions. They spoke of honor, of competition, of the spirit of Pokémon training. Their words blurred together—important, but not for her.
She wasn't here to listen.
She was here to prove herself.
---
An hour passed.
The ceremony wound toward its conclusion. The final speaker—the League's current chairman—stepped to the podium.
"Trainers. You have come from across Elyssia. You have faced trials, challenges, opponents. You have earned your place here."
The crowd hushed.
"But earning your place is only the beginning. Now you must prove that you deserve it."
He paused.
"The tournament begins tomorrow. Eight rounds. Three battles each. One winner."
The crowd erupted.
---
Dariana stood.
The ceremony was over.
The League had begun.
---
The crowd dispersed slowly.
Trainers filed toward the exits—some heading to their quarters, others to strategize, others to simply breathe. The buzz of conversation filled the corridors.
Dariana found herself separated from the others.
She didn't mind.
She needed a moment.
---
She wandered through the stadium's inner tunnels—the private passages that connected the athletes' areas to the arena. They were deserted now, the officials gone, the staff dispersed.
Her heels clicked against the concrete.
Vespiquen's pokéball hummed at her hip.
She thought about tomorrow.
---
A sound.
She stopped.
Footsteps—quiet, careful, moving in the shadows ahead.
She squinted.
Not enough light.
---
A figure emerged.
Axel.
---
He walked toward her, his expression unreadable. Rotom hovered at his shoulder, its orange glow dim but present.
"Dariana."
"Axel. What are you doing here?"
He didn't answer.
He walked past her.
"Where are you going?"
He stopped.
"To think."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
---
She watched him disappear into the darkness of the tunnel.
Something felt wrong.
She couldn't name it.
---
She returned to the athlete's village.
The others were in the common room—Briv, Patricia, Samuel, Nicola. They were talking strategy, discussing opponents, planning tomorrow's battles.
Dariana sat apart.
She kept thinking about Axel.
The way he'd looked.
The way he'd walked.
---
"You okay?"
Briv was beside her.
"Yeah."
"You seem... off."
"Just tired."
He studied her.
"Where's Axel?"
"Went for a walk."
"A walk?"
"To think. He said."
Briv frowned.
"Alone?"
"Yeah."
---
He looked toward the door.
"Something's wrong."
"What do you mean?"
He didn't answer.
He was already moving.
---
Briv found Samuel in the corridor.
"Where's Axel?"
Samuel looked up from his guitar.
"Don't know. Why?"
"Dariana said he went for a walk."
"So?"
"So something's wrong."
---
Samuel set down his guitar.
"How do you know?"
"I just know."
---
They moved through the stadium together.
The corridors were empty now—the last of the officials gone, the last of the trainers returned to their quarters. Their footsteps echoed against the walls.
Briv led the way.
He didn't know where he was going.
He just knew he needed to go.
---
The tunnel branched.
Left—toward the arena.
Right—toward the maintenance areas.
Briv turned right.
"Why this way?" Samuel asked.
"I don't know."
---
They descended deeper.
The lights grew dimmer. The air grew colder. The sounds of the city faded.
Briv's skin prickled.
Something was wrong.
Something was very wrong.
---
A sound.
A voice—sharp, aggressive.
"Where do you think you're going?"
---
Briv stopped.
Samuel stopped.
They looked at each other.
---
The voice came again.
"Answer the question."
Silence.
Then—
"I'm going where I want."
Axel.
---
Briv moved.
He didn't think. He just moved—down the tunnel, around a corner, toward the voice.
Samuel grabbed his arm.
"Wait—"
---
They saw it.
---
A small chamber—maintenance access, maybe. Two figures in dark uniforms—Eclipse Squad. Their emblems gleamed in the dim light.
Axel stood with his back to the wall.
Rotom hovered before him, its body crackling with electricity, its eyes burning bright.
---
"You're a hard man to find," one of the Eclipse members said.
Axel didn't respond.
"Silent type. That's fine. We don't need you to talk."
The other Eclipse member raised something.
Not a pokéball.
A weapon.
---
Briv's heart stopped.
---
It was a laser—sleek, metallic, pulsing with a sickly purple light. It was nothing like anything Briv had ever seen.
"What is that?" Samuel whispered.
Briv didn't answer.
He didn't know.
---
"Hold him," the first Eclipse member said.
The second nodded.
---
Axel reacted.
He was fast—faster than Briv had ever seen him move. He lunged forward, his hands closing around the first Eclipse member's throat.
Rotom surged.
Electricity arced through the chamber—bright, violent, beautiful.
---
The laser fired.
---
Purple light hit Axel in the chest.
---
He didn't scream.
He didn't fall.
He just... stopped.
His body froze mid-motion—his hands still wrapped around the Eclipse member's throat, his eyes wide, his muscles locked.
---
Rotom screamed.
Not with words.
With energy.
Electricity exploded from its body—desperate, uncontrolled, devastating. The Eclipse members stumbled back, their uniforms smoking.
The laser fired again.
---
Rotom vanished.
---
Not recalled.
Not defeated.
Vanished.
Like it had never existed.
---
Briv moved.
He didn't think.
He just moved.
---
Samuel grabbed him.
---
"Don't."
"Let me go—"
"Don't."
"Samuel—"
---
Samuel's grip was iron.
His eyes were wide.
His face was pale.
"We can't save him if we disappear too."
---
Briv looked at him.
Then at Axel.
---
The purple light was spreading.
Not across Axel's body.
Across his form.
He was... flickering.
Like a signal losing connection.
Like a photograph burning from the edges.
---
"Samuel—"
"I know."
"We have to—"
"We can't."
---
Axel disappeared.
---
Not all at once.
Piece by piece.
First his hands. Then his arms. Then his chest. The purple light consumed him—not violently, not painfully, but completely.
He was there.
Then he wasn't.
---
The Eclipse members looked at each other.
Then at Briv and Samuel.
---
"Shit," one of them said.
"Run."
---
They ran.
---
Briv stood frozen.
Samuel still held his arm.
---
The chamber was empty.
Axel was gone.
Rotom was gone.
Everything was gone.
---
"What... what the fuck..."
Samuel didn't answer.
---
They ran.
Not toward the Eclipse members—toward the exit. Their footsteps echoed through the tunnels, harsh, frantic, desperate. Briv's heart pounded in his chest. His lungs burned. His mind raced.
Axel.
Gone.
Just like that.
---
They burst into the main corridor.
Trainers moved around them—oblivious, chattering, planning. The League hadn't noticed. The world hadn't noticed.
One of their own had vanished.
And no one knew.
---
Briv grabbed Samuel.
"What the fuck was that?"
Samuel shook his head.
"I don't know."
"That laser—what did it do?"
"I don't know."
"Axel—"
"I know."
---
Silence.
The crowd moved around them.
The League continued.
---
Briv's hands clenched.
"We have to tell someone."
"Who?"
"I don't know—Officer Jenny. Nurse Joy. Someone."
"And say what?"
"That we saw Axel get zapped by a laser and disappear?"
"Yes."
---
Samuel grabbed his shoulder.
"Briv. Listen to me."
"I'm listening."
"No, you're not. You're panicking. I get it. I'm panicking too."
He paused.
"But we can't tell anyone. Not yet."
---
"Why not?"
"Because we don't know what we saw. We don't know who those Eclipse members were. We don't know where Axel went."
He paused.
"And if we start screaming about disappearing trainers, the League will lock us down. There won't be a tournament. There won't be anything."
---
Briv stared at him.
His chest heaved.
"Then what do we do?"
---
Samuel looked toward the tunnels.
"We find him."
---
The night deepened.
The city blazed.
The League waited.
---
Briv stood at the window of his room.
Patricia was beside him.
He hadn't told her.
Not yet.
He didn't know how.
---
"Where's Axel?" she asked.
"I don't know."
"Dariana said he went for a walk."
"He did."
"And?"
"And nothing."
---
She looked at him.
"You're lying."
He didn't respond.
---
Briv closed his eyes.
He thought about Axel.
About the way he'd stood there.
About the way he'd disappeared.
---
Piece by piece.
Like a signal losing connection.
Like a photograph burning from the edges.
---
He opened his eyes.
The League blazed before him—fifty thousand lights, fifty thousand voices, fifty thousand dreams.
And somewhere in the darkness—
One had been stolen.
---
He would find it.
He didn't know how.
He didn't know where.
But he would find it.
---
Patricia's hand touched his.
He didn't pull away.
---
Tomorrow, he would fight.
Tomorrow, he would battle.
Tomorrow, he would pretend everything was normal.
---
But tonight—
Tonight, he would plan.