The forest thickened the farther they moved off the known trail.
Orion stopped checking his map hours ago. Landmarks were now chosen by instinct—strange trees bent in the wind, sharp slopes shaped like jawbones, claw-marked trunks that suggested wild company. The League roads were long gone. No drones buzzed overhead. The signal bars on his PokéDex had dropped to zero.
That's what he wanted.
He scanned the woods with a steady eye. Afternoon light poured down through the evergreens in long gold columns, catching motes of dust and pollen that drifted silently in the still air. His boots cracked through twigs and dry underbrush. A squirrel Pokémon darted away through the ferns to his left. He kept walking.
Behind him, Tyrunt let out a low snort and dragged his claws through the earth, tail flicking in slow, broad sweeps. He'd spent the last three days walking like a caged beast finally set loose. But his energy wasn't playful. It was cautious. He moved with tension in his spine. Alert. Watching everything. Expecting pain around every tree.
Orion could tell he was recovering.
But not recovered.
Turtwig followed silently behind them both, never straying more than a few feet. He didn't sniff the air. Didn't stop to look at birds. He just moved. Head low, shell steady, steps perfectly aligned.
There was no curiosity in him.
Only function.
Orion hated that.
He stopped when they reached a rise just above a sunken clearing. The land dipped there, forming a natural bowl ringed by moss-covered stone. Half of the basin was shaded by pine canopy. The other half was wide open to the sky. A small stream ran through the western edge, shallow but clear. Clusters of bitterroot and fungus grew near its banks.
Orion adjusted his pack.
"This is the place."
Tyrunt's nose lifted immediately. He stepped to the edge of the slope and stared down into the clearing, then began trotting a slow, wide circle around the perimeter without waiting for instruction. Turtwig stood beside Orion and blinked, leaf crest twitching.
Orion knelt in the dirt and drew a line with his finger. Then another. Then a full circle.
"This is home. One week. No cities. No League outposts. No respawn zones."
He stood and slung the pack off his shoulder, dropping it beside a flat rock just outside the tree line. Then he got to work.
He erected a lean-to between two low-bending trees using a military tarp and paracord from his pack. Then he began clearing the grass near the stream, stacking rocks to form a low fire pit and using his knife to sharpen a pole for hanging his pot. He boiled a small batch of creek water for testing—adding a reagent tab to ensure no bacteria would poison the system. The strip came up clean.
He didn't speak as he worked. Neither did the Pokémon. The forest did enough talking. Birds shrilled across the ridgeline. Something big thumped through the trees at a distance and disappeared. Bugs zipped across the edges of his vision. A Zubat flitted by overhead, catching the last breath of afternoon light before vanishing into shadow.
He dug his foot into the dirt and began clearing a training space just outside the tarp boundary. One wide circle, maybe six meters across. Open, flat, marked by scratch lines and stones.
This wasn't comfort.
This was discipline.
He stood at the center.
"Tyrunt. Turtwig. In."
Both Pokémon approached. Turtwig sat immediately, posture still and centered. Tyrunt paced the outer edge of the circle, sniffing the lines Orion had scratched into the soil.
"From now until this camp comes down, this ring is for combat and drills. Nothing else. You fight out there—" he pointed to the tree line, "—but you train in here."
Turtwig didn't move. Tyrunt huffed and looked away.
Orion crouched low and pulled a long stick from the pile of debris. He jabbed it into the dirt, then pointed to the edge of the stream where a log had fallen.
"First test. Turtwig: get to that log. Don't walk. Don't run. Improvise."
Turtwig stood. His eyes moved once, calculating. Then he crouched and hopped forward, using his shell to skid down the incline. He struck the ground hard but kept his balance, stumbling only slightly before correcting his path and charging the rest of the way to the log.
Orion watched him stop. Perfect posture again.
"That was acceptable," he said. "Now do it again. No thinking. Just act."
The Turtwig paused for a full two seconds, then turned back and began his return—using the same method.
Identical steps. Same route. Same timing.
Orion crossed his arms.
"Too perfect."
Turtwig slowed, confused.
Orion looked to Tyrunt.
"Your turn."
Tyrunt snarled and broke into a heavy charge. He trampled across the ring, skidded down the hill, missed the log entirely, and tumbled into the creek.
Water splashed everywhere.
Orion flinched but didn't laugh.
Tyrunt stood, soaked and furious. He shook the water from his scales and climbed back out, snarling the whole time.
"That was a mess," Orion said. "But at least it wasn't rehearsed."
Turtwig returned to the ring. He didn't make a sound. But his gaze flicked toward Tyrunt. Then away.
Orion paced between them.
"I don't care about perfection. I care about instinct."
Turtwig stood motionless.
Tyrunt started shaking himself dry in loud, aggressive bursts.
Orion began the real drills then. Not against wild Pokémon yet—not until they were fully rested. For now, it was terrain work. Power drive repetition. Combat positioning.
He made Tyrunt practice pivoting in tight arcs—using his weight to sling his tail through a horizontal swing without overbalancing. He failed. Slipped twice. On the third try, he caught the arc clean and leveled a small stack of branches with the tip of his horn.
Dragon Tail wasn't complete.
But it was being born.
Turtwig's assignment was harder.
He was to move on command—but respond not with an assigned move, but with whatever he chose in the moment. Orion called: "strike."
Turtwig stood still.
"Strike!"
Still nothing.
"Turtwig!"
Razor Leaf fired too late.
The hesitation was there.
He didn't know how to act without being told exactly what to do.
By sunset, they were exhausted.
Orion stoked a small fire with the rest of his dry tinder and boiled the clean water. He used what little he'd scavenged to make a hot pulp of rootstock, grain powder, and crushed Pecha berries. It wasn't good. But it was calories.
Tyrunt sat beside him and devoured his share without comment. Turtwig sniffed it, then looked at Orion.
"You're going to eat it," Orion said.
Turtwig ate.
When the stars rose, Orion stretched out on the dry tarp. The fire burned low. His muscles ached. His knuckles were raw from gripping stones. His back throbbed from dragging logs for makeshift barricades.
Tyrunt fell asleep beside him, breath warm, tail curled near the fire.
Turtwig stayed just outside the tarp, unmoving.
Orion stared up at the night.
The wind whispered in the leaves above.