The bunker was carved into a hill outside the freight yard—an old League fallback station, long since abandoned and stripped of its insignias. The doors still held. The vents still cycled air. And most importantly, no one knew they were there.
Tyrunt lay curled in a nest of blankets and salvaged coats, tail twitching faintly. His breathing was steady but shallow. The sedation had worn off. So had the terror. But the scars—those would take time.
Orion sat beside him, cross-legged on the concrete floor. He hadn't slept. His hands were raw from climbing. His clothes still smelled like metal and ash.
But Tyrunt was here.
That was all that mattered.
Elias stood near the hatch, quietly listening through a cracked radio. Static buzzed softly beneath his breath.
"Any sweeps?" Orion asked without looking up.
"Nothing past the southern valve," Elias said. "But the handlers are looking. You bought time—not safety."
"I know."
"Then act like it."
Orion said nothing.
His fingers drifted to his belt.
Four capsules. One empty. One with Tyrunt.
And one he hadn't opened yet.
He unclipped it slowly.
The green shimmer caught the bunker light just enough to show the Torterra crest etched near the base.
Pedigree.
Real pedigree.
Not something found in alley auctions. Not something bred for volume. This Poké Ball belonged to a bloodline. And somewhere along the chaos, he'd taken it.
Not stolen. Not saved.
Taken.
He stood and crossed to the far end of the room. Elias watched him go, silent.
Orion crouched. Held the ball in both hands.
He hesitated.
Then pressed the button.
The capsule hissed.
Light poured into the air—green-white and sharp, brighter than standard flash protocols. Then it condensed into form.
A Turtwig.
Small. Compact. Muscles dense and coiled beneath leaf-colored plating. Its eyes were sharper than any starter Orion had seen—focused, piercing, steady. The leaf on its head wasn't limp or curled. It was crisp, symmetrical, and glossy, like a blade made of foliage.
Turtwig didn't look around.
It looked at Orion.
And blinked.
No fear. No nervousness.
Just recognition.
Like it expected this.
Orion exhaled slowly.
Elias approached behind him.
"That's not a normal hatchling," he said quietly.
"I know."
The Turtwig took a slow step forward, sniffing once. Its gait was perfect. Centered. Balanced. Every movement looked trained. Bred. Built.
Then it sat.
Like it had done this before.
Orion crouched.
"Were you going to be sold?" he murmured. "Or auctioned?"
Turtwig didn't answer.
Of course not.
But something in its gaze said enough.
"I didn't mean to take you."
Turtwig blinked again.
Then turned its head toward Tyrunt.
Its expression didn't change—but its leaf drooped slightly.
Then it stepped forward. Cautious. Measured.
Orion stood aside, heart pounding.
Turtwig walked all the way to the edge of the blanket pile and sat again—just outside tail range. Not close enough to touch. Just close enough to observe.
Tyrunt didn't stir.
But the growl that had been rumbling in his throat since they entered the bunker slowly faded.
Orion knelt beside them both.
"He's mine," he said softly. "I need you to understand that."
Turtwig didn't move.
But it didn't turn away either.
Elias watched from the wall, arms crossed. "You going to tell the League?"
"What do I say?" Orion replied. "That I took a Pokémon I didn't know I had? That it doesn't belong to anyone yet?"
"It belongs to someone," Elias said. "Poké Balls like that don't sit in a crate by accident."
"I didn't ask for this."
"No," Elias agreed. "But now it's yours."
Orion looked at the Turtwig again.
"It hasn't attacked. It hasn't panicked. It hasn't tried to run."
"Because it's trained not to," Elias said. "That Turtwig's bloodline? You don't raise that. You engineer it. It's probably worth more than your entire journey."
Orion swallowed hard
"I'm not selling it."
"I didn't say you were."
He looked down again.
Turtwig was still there.
Watching.
Waiting