Northern Trails – Four Days After Leaving Oreburgh
The rhythm of travel was different now.
No more safe zones. No more hot meals. No more League stations every ten kilometers.
Just dirt paths, forest canopy, the smell of wet leaves and river stone—and two Pokémon that moved like polar opposites.
Tyrunt trailed close behind Orion's left boot, head low, tail twitching. He was still jumpy, still sore, but his weight had returned. The fear in his body had dulled into something leaner: vigilance. His muscles had firmed again. He bit less—but when he did, it was focused.
Turtwig moved on Orion's right. Quiet, deliberate, eyes always scanning. He never strayed. Never stopped. Never made a sound unless given a command.
It made Orion uncomfortable.
So he decided to fix it.
They started training on the second day of the hike—light at first, woven into the natural motion of travel.
"Stride alignment," Elias had called it once. "Most trainers wait until camp to train. Dumb. If your Pokémon can't fight while moving, they won't last a real journey."
So Orion made drills.
Short bursts.
Every hour, on the hour, he'd call out: "Turtwig—Razor Leaf, two rounds, moving."
And Turtwig would snap into motion, firing twin bursts into the air without ever breaking stride.
Then: "Tyrunt—Bite target tree!"
He'd peel off the trail, leap at a marked trunk, and clamp down—testing his power, testing his control.
Sometimes Orion walked backwards, calling instructions mid-step.
Sometimes he ran ahead and made them chase him.
It wasn't polished.
But it worked.
Elias stayed with them for a while.
He kept to the edge of the trees, eyes always on the skyline, ears tuned for League drones or stray merchants. He didn't talk much—not about the Turtwig, not about Oreburgh.
But on the fourth night, he stood at the edge of their campfire, boots already laced, pack already sealed.
Orion looked up.
"You heading out?"
"Yeah."
"You said we'd go as far as Eterna."
"I said we could," Elias corrected. "Not that I would."
Orion stood. "Something happen?"
"No. But you've got your team now. You've got a direction. And I've got… places I shouldn't be seen near for too long."
Orion hesitated. "The League?"
Elias shrugged. "Or someone worse."
There was a long silence between them.
Then Orion asked, "Why'd you help me?"
Elias didn't answer right away.
"I lost someone," he said finally. "Back when I started. Couldn't get them back. Didn't know how. You? You didn't stop trying."
Orion felt the weight of that.
"Thanks," he said.
Elias nodded once, then turned away.
"Hey," Orion called before he vanished into the woods.
Elias paused.
"When we meet again… Don't go easy on me."
Elias gave a rare smile.
"I won't."
Training changed after that.
With Elias gone, Orion had no second set of eyes, no backup plans.
He had to take full control.
So he ramped up the drills.
Tyrunt's regimen was split:
Morning: Bite conditioning on logs, aiming for full jaw lock without rebound.
Midday: Reaction sparring with Orion using a stick wrapped in cloth—jabbing, retreating, forcing the dinosaur to track and pounce without losing balance.
Evening: Defensive movement. Dodging thrown stones. Using terrain. Body rolls and low-sweeps to simulate Dragon Tail.
Recovery time was generous. But it wasn't idle.
"Muscle's still rebuilding," Orion muttered, checking his partner's gait. "But you're moving cleaner."
Tyrunt grunted, then snapped his jaws at a passing leaf out of pure spite.
Turtwig's regimen was harder.
Not because of difficulty.
Because of control.
The Turtwig never missed a command. Never questioned. Never hesitated. And Orion hated it.
So he changed the game.
He stopped giving orders.
"Let's walk," he said. "You choose the pace."
Turtwig stared at him.
Confused.
"Go."
Nothing.
Orion waited.
Eventually, Turtwig took a slow, uncertain step forward.
Then another.
It took them an hour to go 300 meters.
Orion didn't stop him once.
That night, he fed him by hand—sliding the berries closer, then retreating. When Turtwig reached, Orion pulled the bowl away. Made him follow it.
It was exhausting.
But by the fifth day, something shifted.
Turtwig stopped waiting for the food to be offered.
He grabbed the bowl with his mouth.
Orion blinked.
Then grinned.
By the sixth day, Tyrunt had landed his first real Dragon Tail—more reflex than mastery, but enough to send a rock-type boulder flying into a ravine wall.
Turtwig had stopped sitting after every attack.
Now he paced.
Measured. But mobile.
Orion began mixing commands with no instruction.
"React," he said.
And let Turtwig choose.
Sometimes it was Withdraw. Sometimes it was a bash with his shell. Once, he used Razor Leaf so aggressively it sliced the bark off a pine trunk in a clean ring.
Tyrunt watched it.
Snorted.
Then bit a rock in half.
Orion walked at the head of the trail, dusk falling around them, the mountains rising far to the north.
He didn't know where exactly they'd sleep tonight.
Didn't know where exactly the next League badge would come from.
But he had two Pokémon behind him.
One who had come from the past, angry and wild.
And one who had been built for a future that never came.
And they were starting to become something real.