Training Week – Day Two
The second day began before the light had fully reached the forest floor.
Orion sat on a damp stone with steam rising from his canteen, sipping weak berry tea while the forest breathed around him. Dew dripped from the leaves. Birds called once, then fell silent. A breeze whispered down the slopes and stirred the fire ash.
Tyrunt stood at the edge of the training ring, already awake and stretching his jaw by biting down on a length of bark-stripped branch. Turtwig, as always, had risen quietly and waited beside the tarp, eyes on Orion, still, obedient.
He had to break that today.
He rose and walked over to the center of the ring, kicking the soil smooth from the day before.
"We're going deeper today," he said, glancing between the two Pokémon. "No more conditioning. No more obedience tests. We're starting real move training."
Tyrunt lifted his head, tail twitching. He pawed at the dirt with anticipation.
"Tyrunt—you've already got a natural throw. That moment in the Gym wasn't just luck. When you were stuck under rubble and started flinging rock chunks at Roark's Cranidos? That wasn't instinct alone. That was channeling."
Tyrunt cocked his head slightly.
Orion pointed to the nearby pile of stones he had gathered.
"But now, we're going to shape that into Rock Throw—the real move. And that means learning how to draw Rock-type energy."
Tyrunt blinked slowly.
Orion crouched and tapped the ground.
"Every type of move is more than just motion. It's a language of energy. You're a dual-type: Dragon and Rock. You've already learned to pull on your Draconic energy when you use Dragon Tail. You feel that heat at the base of your spine, right?"
Tyrunt gave a short growl of agreement.
"Rock energy's different. It doesn't pulse. It anchors. It's steady, heavy, and starts from your core. Belly, chest, shoulders—weight."
He tapped his own collarbone.
"Before, you were just throwing rocks. Now, you're going to make those rocks strike like a Rock-type move."
He placed a round, jagged stone in front of Tyrunt.
"Focus your body. Feel that anchor. Then throw."
Tyrunt stepped forward and stared at the stone. His muscles coiled. He dipped low. Then, with a powerful twist of his hips and shoulders, he launched it with a sweeping motion of his tail.
The rock soared.
It struck a log near the creek, cracking in half.
Orion watched for the afterglow.
There was none.
"No energy," he said. "Just weight. Again."
They ran that drill until Tyrunt's tail was dusted with stone powder and his muscles twitched with fatigue.
He hit five targets.
Three had the right angle. None of them had Rock-type resonance.
Not yet.
Turtwig's lesson was even more important.
Orion brought him to the edge of the ring and knelt.
"You're going to learn Bite."
Turtwig waited.
"You've seen Tyrunt use it. You've seen how it's not just about your mouth. It's about timing. Bite is a move that begins as a physical act—but only becomes a true move when you channel Dark-type energy into it."
Turtwig tilted his head.
"You're a Grass-type. Not Dark. But that doesn't mean you can't learn it. Bite is what we call a 'cross-type behavior move.' It's not about type affinity—it's about channeling emotion."
He pulled a leather-wrapped rope from his pack and held it up.
"Dark-type energy is instinctive. Reactive. It's born from feelings you're taught to suppress—fear, hunger, aggression, protectiveness. Most Pokémon are told to suppress that."
Turtwig's eyes didn't blink.
Orion held the rope tight.
"First, we learn the bite itself. Later, we'll shape the energy."
He raised the rope.
"Now. Bite."
Turtwig opened his mouth and closed his jaws on it.
No pressure.
"No. Harder."
Another bite. Weak.
"Turtwig, break it."
The Pokémon flinched—then clamped down harder.
Still no tear.
"You don't have to wait for permission."
Orion didn't pull the rope away this time. He left it there.
After a full six seconds, Turtwig's grip suddenly tightened.
Rope fibers snapped.
Orion smiled faintly.
"Now we're starting."
He kept Bite training short.
But he added in Absorb drills immediately after.
He'd scouted a cluster of wild fungi that morning—three Foongus nestled against the northern ridge. When disturbed, they pulsed with bioenergy.
He pointed them out to Turtwig.
"This time, I want range," Orion said. "Sustain the pull. Not one flash. Continuous stream."
Turtwig advanced.
The Foongus hissed.
Green light shimmered.
Orion counted seconds.
Three… five… seven.
Turtwig didn't falter.
When the energy snapped back into him, his stance didn't even tremble.
"You're getting stronger."
Turtwig said nothing.
But his leaf rustled in the breeze.
The afternoon became a cycle of drills.
Tyrunt dragged stones uphill and launched them downhill, trying to find the tension in his chest that would convert weight into Rock-type energy.
Orion could see the frustration in his body—he wanted to roar, to blast the rocks, not throw them.
But that wasn't the move.
It wasn't a Dragon move.
It was a Rock move.
Slow. Heavy. Precise.
Each time Tyrunt failed, Orion made him reset.
"You'll feel it when it happens," Orion said. "Your tail won't swing. It will drop. Like the weight is traveling through you. Like the earth itself is following your motion."
Tyrunt tried again.
This time, the stone thudded into the ground with a faint vibration.
A flicker of resonance.
Only a second.
But Orion saw it.
"Do it again."
With Turtwig, Orion began refining Razor Leaf into tighter spirals.
He planted makeshift targets—bark slices nailed to tree trunks, one meter apart.
"Center of the tree," he called. "Then high right. Then low left. No spread. Controlled burst."
Turtwig focused.
His leaves were cleaner now. Sharper. They sliced through the air like honed blades.
It wasn't Leaf Storm yet.
But the raw control required for Razor Leaf was there—the foundation for that chaotic future.
"You'll earn that storm," Orion said quietly. "But not until you can own it."
It wasn't until evening that the Shinx arrived.
Orion saw it as a flicker of blue behind a log—low to the ground, body coiled. He'd been tossing scraps of burnt root into the fire and watching Tyrunt drag a boulder across the clearing.
The Shinx stepped out without sound.
Turtwig stood immediately.
Tyrunt froze.
Orion raised a hand slowly.
"Not a threat," he said. "Yet."
The Shinx's eyes glowed faint yellow. Sparks curled at its paws.
It watched them.
Then it moved.
Quick. Too quick.
A blur of fur and electricity lunged straight for Turtwig.
Turtwig reacted without command—Absorb flaring into life.
But the Spark landed first.
Turtwig staggered.
Tyrunt roared and jumped in front, shielding his teammate with his full body.
Orion shouted: "Rock Throw!"
Tyrunt twisted, found the rock pile, and—finally—threw.
Not a lunge. Not a swipe.
A drop. From shoulder to tail.
The stone flew.
It pulsed slightly—barely perceptible.
But the impact knocked the Shinx clean off its feet and into the dirt.
It hissed, scrambled upright, and vanished into the trees.
Orion rushed forward.
"Turtwig! Are you—"
Turtwig stood.
Smoke curled from his shell.
But he wasn't down.
He looked angry.
No… alive.
His eyes tracked the last motion of the fleeing predator.
Then he slowly turned toward Orion.
Orion didn't speak.
He just nodded.
Then he looked toward the forest edge.
Glowing eyes.
Four… no, five sets.
Watching.
Unmoving.
A colony.
Not one threat.
Many.
Turtwig stepped back.
Tyrunt snarled.
Orion slowly knelt and tossed a few dried berries toward the treeline.
None of the Shinx moved.
But the message had been sent.
Not prey.
Not challenge.
Just… there.
Orion let the fire crackle.
He didn't chase them off.
Didn't run.
He just sat down, beside his partners, and listened to the wind breathe between the trees.