Orion woke before the first light reached the clearing.
His body ached—not from one movement, but the sum of hundreds. He rolled his shoulders once, twice, then stood. His breath came out slow and even, cloudless in the still morning. Today was not for routine.
There would be no drills. No guidance. No stick commands. No mechanical repetitions.
Today, his Pokémon would fight. And they would fight as they were.
Raw.
Trained.
Real.
He didn't even speak as he walked to the far edge of camp, pulling the tarp closed and tightening his boots. The fire pit stayed cold. His bag remained untouched.
He wasn't breaking camp yet.
First, he had to see if this week had been worth it.
They went west, beyond the ridges that framed their temporary home. Orion had scouted the area yesterday—just far enough to find a cross-section of wild Pokémon territories, dense with edge-dwellers.
Predators. Strays. Scavengers. The kind that fought without pride or show.
Exactly what he needed.
They stopped at a circular depression filled with torn roots and loose soil. An old battlefield. Deep claw marks scored the trees. Burn patterns blackened the bark.
He turned and looked at his Pokémon.
Turtwig's eyes were narrow, alert, yet calm. The edge of his leaf was still wet with dew.
Tyrunt's claws twitched. His breathing was slow, but his stance coiled.
Orion gave a single nod.
"Nothing else today. No breaks. No shields. You go in. One at a time. Everything you've learned—use it. The wild doesn't pull punches."
He reached for his belt, not to release an opponent—but to tap the capsule of his medical kit.
"You get hit bad, I step in. Otherwise—handle it."
He looked at Turtwig first.
"You're up."
The first enemy was a Mienfoo.
It dropped from the trees without warning, landing silently across the pit, eyes gleaming, stance tight.
It didn't even wait.
It just charged.
Turtwig countered immediately—razor-sharp movement, a burst of Razor Leaf that hit square but didn't slow the opponent.
The Mienfoo leapt, twisted midair, and slammed a palm across Turtwig's shell.
A direct hit.
But no crack.
Shell Armor activated.
Turtwig rolled with the impact and came up teeth-first—Bite, fanged with Dark energy, landed along the Mienfoo's forelimb. The fighting-type shrieked, spun, and kicked him in the side.
Turtwig absorbed it.
Literally.
Absorb triggered not from the ground this time—but through sheer contact.
The green glow flickered like a pulse from his mouth down his legs.
Orion narrowed his eyes.
"Good."
Turtwig dropped low, charged, and used Bite again—then pivoted into a Withdraw to shield against a retaliating strike.
The Mienfoo didn't wait.
It came back—fast.
Turtwig sprang sideways, slid, and fired a final Razor Leaf while off-balance.
The leaves hit clean.
The Mienfoo fell.
It didn't rise.
Not unconscious—just unwilling.
Turtwig returned to Orion, body tense but steady.
No limp.
No blood.
Orion didn't praise him.
Just nodded.
Then turned to Tyrunt.
"Go."
The next challenger was a Herdier.
Larger than expected, with long scars under its fur and eyes that gleamed with wild fatigue. It barked once—loud, guttural, challenge incarnate—and rushed forward like a blur of muscle and anger.
Tyrunt met it head-on.
There was no technique in the first clash—just raw force.
They collided with a sound like cracked timber, both reeling. Tyrunt was first to recover—he twisted and launched a Rock Throw mid-pivot. The stone struck true, cracked the Herdier's shoulder, but didn't slow it.
It lunged and tackled again.
Tyrunt rolled through it and fired a quick Bite—not full power, just a scrape to reset position.
The Herdier responded with a wild roar and used Crunch—the real thing.
Orion clenched his fist.
Tyrunt didn't dodge.
He ducked.
The attack grazed the back of his neck—but Tyrunt used the momentum to launch himself upward, tail-first.
Dragon Tail hit square.
The Herdier flipped once.
Then again.
And didn't stand back up.
Tyrunt turned and walked away from the unconscious body without looking back.
Orion took out a spray bottle and gave a short burst across Tyrunt's flank to soothe the bite graze.
No command.
Just action.
No wild roars.
Just a breath.
The last opponent was unexpected.
A Luxio.
Not from the colony.
Bigger. Older. Wandering.
It stalked into the clearing with electric flickers sparking between its fangs.
And it went straight for Orion.
Turtwig intercepted before Orion had to move.
Not on command.
On instinct.
The Luxio struck with Spark, full-body electricity. Turtwig countered with Withdraw—not retreating, but advancing while shielded.
Then—Absorb.
Light drained directly from the roots, surging into him.
Razor Leaf next. Close range.
Electricity met green steel.
The Luxio bit.
Turtwig twisted and Bit back.
Fangs against fangs.
Dark energy flared.
The Luxio recoiled, stunned.
And that was when Tyrunt moved.
He didn't roar. Didn't ask.
He just launched a Rock Throw from across the pit.
The stone caught the Luxio behind the ribs.
The feline yelped, staggered, and ran.
Turtwig didn't chase.
Neither did Tyrunt.
Orion exhaled.
This wasn't coordination.
It was survival.
They knew where the enemy was.
And they ended it.
They returned to camp in silence.
Not because there was nothing to say.
But because nothing needed to be said.
Orion sat near the firepit, untouched since morning, and pulled his journal free.
He didn't list the battles.
Just the facts.
Tyrunt – Upgrades Recap:
Dragon Tail – stabilized. Mid-combat switching functional
Rock Throw – consistent with correct channeling; long-range delivery possible while moving
Bite – fully mastered; now deployed as a reset tool or counter
Conditioning – increased durability, situational awareness, and restraint developed
Instinctual control – now engages and disengages without command
Turtwig – Upgrades Recap:
Razor Leaf – spread refined; tighter arc, mid-air correction achieved
Bite – evolved to include Dark-type energy; usable during grapples
Absorb – now mobile; can drain while moving or from contact
Shell Armor – proven functional in direct high-impact exchanges
Initiative – no longer waits for instruction; reacts independently
He set the pen down.
Closed the book.
He looked at both of them—resting, not asleep. Watching the tree line, not twitching for battle. Calm.
Earned.
He ran a hand through his hair.
Then sat up straight.
And spoke softly.
"We're close to Eterna."
He tapped his finger on his thigh.
"Seven to ten days walking, depending on weather. Longer if we avoid the roads. Less if we push into river trails."
He stood and paced slowly.
"First Gym battle was about surviving with one partner. This one's about knowing what you can do without showing your hand."
He turned to them.
"Turtwig needs more power on his Absorb. Long-term? We'll build toward Mega Drain."
He looked to Tyrunt.
"You need a better answer for Flyers. Your Rock Throw's fine. But accuracy under stress needs work."
He rubbed his chin.
"No more solo focus. No more hiding skills in drills. Next phase? Integrated training. Tactical control. Psychological triggers."
He grabbed a stick and began drawing in the dirt again—positions, Xs, lines.
"Rain, terrain, pressure. We train for context. Not content."
The wind shifted.
The trees stirred.
He didn't look up.
They weren't done.
But they were ready for what came next