Reid said nothing about the improvement.
He never did.
But Orion started to notice what he didn't say.
No more corrections when he tied a trapline. No more grunts when Orion lit the fire on the first spark. No more subtle glances of doubt every time he grabbed a blade.
It was the closest thing to praise the man seemed capable of.
Orion took it.
The forest was still dangerous—but not alien anymore.
He learned the signs: paw prints, claw marks, broken undergrowth. He learned the difference between fear and caution. And he learned—slowly—that most Pokémon didn't want to kill you unless you gave them a reason.
That lesson came with bruises. And once, a scar on his wrist from getting too close to a Sneasel trap.
But he didn't whine about it. He just cleaned the wound, kept it covered, and moved on.
There were no rest days in Reid's world.
One freezing morning, while Orion split wood by the shed, Reid walked out with his coat already buckled and a folded map in one hand.
"We leave for Fallcreek in five days."
Orion blinked, mid-swing. "...What's a Fallcreek?"
"Nearest town. Southeast. Trade point."
"Trade what?"
"Pelts. Preserved meat. Tools."
Orion leaned on the axe handle. "So, uh. Not exactly a tourist destination."
Reid ignored that.
"And we're just now talking about this… why?"
Reid gave a grunt that might've been a shrug.
"Didn't matter until now."
"Sure. Not like the mysterious child with no memories and zero legal status might need to mentally prepare for walking into society."
Still nothing.
Classic.
That night, over dry root stew and smoked fish, Orion prodded again.
"So. This Fallcreek place. What happens when someone finds a random kid with no backstory?"
Reid didn't even look up from cleaning his knife. "Nothing."
"…Nothing?"
"Lost kids show up all the time."
Orion blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Storms. Bandits. Wild Pokémon. Dumb parents. Towns are used to it."
"That is not a comforting sentence."
"League law says you feed 'em, protect 'em. That's it."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
Orion narrowed his eyes. "That's either very wholesome or extremely dystopian."
Reid tossed a fish bone into the fire. "Doesn't matter which."
He didn't sleep much that night.
Instead, he sat by the porch with a borrowed blanket wrapped around his shoulders and watched the stars cut across the sky like icy threads. They were so much brighter here—too bright. Unnatural.
He tried to find Orion's Belt, but the stars didn't match.
Guess even the universe thought the name was too on-the-nose.
He pulled the blanket tighter, chin resting on his knees.
I don't even know what I'm waiting for. Some sign? A message? A magic quest marker saying, "Your life starts here"?
Nothing came.
Just the wind in the trees. And Houndoom's tail thumping once in his sleep.
The days leading to Fallcreek felt heavier.
Not because he dreaded the walk—but because it meant something new.
New meant risk.
New meant the unknown.
But it also meant... something beyond the woods.
A door. Maybe a crack of one.
Three days before they were set to leave, Reid had him organizing tools in the shed.
Orion ran a cloth over a length of cord, trying to unknot it. "How many Pokémon can a person carry?"
Reid's answer was immediate. "Six."
"Always?"
"In League zones, yeah."
"What if you're not in a League zone?"
"Then it depends."
"On what?"
Reid shrugged. "How dangerous you are."
"That's extremely vague."
"Intentionally."
"So... people just kind of wing it until someone tells them to stop?"
"Unless they're strong enough that no one does."
Orion blinked. "Wow. This world runs entirely on vibes and intimidation."
Later that day, Reid had them walking south—checking old trap paths. Orion moved faster now. Still tired, still sore, but he didn't trip over roots or ask for breaks anymore.
At one point, they stopped at a ridge.
Reid pointed southeast, toward a gap between two mountain peaks.
"Through that valley. Follow the river east for two days."
"And then we reach Fallcreek?"
"No. Then we get close."
Orion let out a breath. "So it's not just a short stroll."
"It's not meant to be."
Orion stared out at the frozen horizon. "You ever think about moving closer?"
Reid snorted. "And deal with people?"
"Right. Stupid question."
That evening, Orion sat by the fire sharpening a stick into something vaguely weapon-like.
Reid dropped a bundle in front of him—leather-wrapped, tied with cord.
Inside was a polished wooden staff. Light. Balanced. Short enough for his frame.
Orion looked up. "What's this for?"
"Training."
He turned it in his hands. The grip was carved, sanded. Someone had spent time on this.
"…You made this?"
Reid didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
Orion grinned, just a little. "Cool. Now I only have to look incompetent when something tries to kill me."
"Don't die with it."
"Wow, thanks. Inspirational."
Reid walked away.
But Houndoom, curled nearby, cracked one eye open and gave a slow tail wag.
That night, Orion sat beside the cabin, watching his reflection ripple in a bucket of water.
He didn't look like the kid who had first woken up here.
Longer hair. Narrower jaw. His eyes didn't dart as much. His hands didn't shake.
I'm not strong. Not yet. But I'm not helpless anymore.
He dunked the bucket out, watched the water vanish into the soil.
Then went back inside.