The tunnel narrowed, then opened again.

  Al could feel the change before he saw it—the weight of stone lifting, the air shifting. The moisture on the cave walls dried, the echo softened, and a faint, golden light crept over the edges of the rocks ahead. They were close.

  Gardevoir floated beside him, her posture more relaxed than it had been in hours. Breloom, just ahead, moved with a sharper bounce in his step, the slope upward lending a touch of momentum.

  The cave had been kind to them—no conflict, no trouble—but it had pressed in all the same. Al’s shoulders ached, and his ears longed for silence that didn’t echo.

  Then they reached the mouth of the tunnel.

  And stepped out into the sky.

  (break)

  It was late afternoon, sun dipped low but still strong. The world outside Union Cave was open and warm, the grass thick and tall in patches, the trees dense but soft-edged, like nature here had no need to be harsh. Wind swept across the clearing, dry and fragrant with wildflowers.

  Al stopped just past the threshold, tilted his head back, and let the sun touch his face.

  Gardevoir closed her eyes, face lifted to the warmth. Breloom dropped into a crouch, then sprang up with a loud, satisfied grunt—landing in a patch of tall grass and rolling in it like a child released from chores.

  Al pulled four Poké Balls from his belt, one by one, and without fanfare, released the rest of his team.

  Manectric exploded into view first, sparks popping off his coat as he landed mid-sprint and let out a bark that rang across the clearing. He skidded in a circle before darting off to chase his own tail, barking twice more just for the joy of it.

  Swampert came next—landing with a low, satisfied rumble and stretching both arms high. He rolled his shoulders, stomped once for emphasis, and immediately flopped chest-down into the mud by a shallow nearby spring fed by cave runoff.

  Metagross appeared silently, hovering three feet off the ground, red eyes pulsing slowly. He didn’t move, but his weight in the air felt different—loosened, less compressed. The way he rotated just slightly, spreading his limbs wider, was his version of relaxing.

  And then came Salamence.

  He unfolded from his Poké Ball in a ripple of light and power, wings extending with a heavy crack of displaced air. The grass bent beneath his weight as he stepped forward, neck low, eyes half-lidded against the sun.

  He inhaled deeply—then let out a long, slow breath.

  And the world around him bent just a little, like it, too, knew what had returned to the sky.

  (break)

  Al didn’t say anything at first. He watched.

  Manectric chased a breeze. Swampert rolled in the shallows with a groan of contentment. Breloom stretched in the sun, arms crossed behind his head. Metagross scanned the treeline like a sentry on holiday. Gardevoir hovered quietly behind him, occasionally shifting her gaze between team members, a faint smile on her lips.

  Salamence lifted his wings.

  Al stepped back instinctively.

  The dragon launched straight up.

  The wind from his wings hit them like a heavy exhale, rustling clothes and grass. Breloom whooped and threw an arm up as dust flew past.

  Salamence circled once, twice, then dove—pulling out before he touched the trees and swooping low, brushing treetops with his belly, before gliding back into the clearing.

  He landed without sound. Just a whisper of impact.

  Al approached him.

  “I know you like to be out.” he said softly.

  Salamence exhaled through his nose—no complaint.

  “I’ll try to give you sky more often.”

  A pause.

  Then a quiet nod.

  (break)

  They stayed in the clearing for a while. Long enough for the last rays of light to start dipping into orange. Al passed out water and simple protein bars—nothing fancy, but appreciated.

  Even Metagross accepted a moment of stillness.

  Eventually, he stood.

  “Let’s go.”

  The trail into Azalea wasn’t long. A worn dirt path threaded through the trees, wide enough for carts but not paved. Birds called again overhead. The wind shifted from dry to damp as they approached the town line, where the forest thickened just before opening again.

  As they walked, they passed a few other travelers—none close, but distant shapes moving along side trails. One woman paused long enough to stare in awe as Salamence emerged into view behind Al. Another, a boy with a net, nearly dropped it when he saw Metagross hovering past without a sound.

  Al said nothing. He didn’t slow.

  But he did notice how his team’s pace changed. How Swampert walked just a little straighter. How Gardevoir pulled her field in tighter. How Manectric fell into step beside Breloom.

  (break)

  The trees parted.

  Azalea Town came into view—quaint, sunlit, surrounded by low wooden fences and the faint smell of apricorn smoke. The houses were small and spread wide, their roofs moss-touched and lived-in. A single windmill turned lazily at the town’s edge. There were no skyscrapers, no neon signs.

  Just peace.

  And the slow beat of life.

  Al stopped just outside the final gate and turned to his team.

  He didn’t say it out loud. But they understood.

  One by one, he recalled them—Swampert with a grunt of acknowledgment, Manectric with a light protest, Breloom with a bounce and a wink, Metagross in total silence.

  Gardevoir stepped forward and looked at him.

  He nodded once.

  She vanished in a shimmer of red light.

  Last was Salamence.

  The dragon looked to the town. Then to Al.

  Al raised the Poké Ball without a word.

  And Salamence closed his eyes.

  Gone in a flash.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Al turned toward Azalea.

  And walked forward, alone—for now.

  (break)

  The town gates were low wooden arches, framed by apricorn trees and carved with faded Johto glyphs that flaked in the sun. Al stepped through them without fanfare, boots brushing dust from the old path. The town stretched out gently before him—no crowds, no towers, no urgent noise. Just space. Just rhythm.

  Azalea Town didn’t sprawl. It settled.

  The rooftops were a mix of clay tile and weathered shingles, homes pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with long porches and open windows. Apricorn crates lined doorways. Fletchling called lazily from the rooftops. A pair of young kids raced down the road with Poké Balls bouncing at their hips, laughing like they'd never run out of breath.

  Al walked the main road in silence, his coat catching the wind in slow folds. He didn’t speak. Didn’t draw attention.

  But attention found him anyway.

  (break)

  The Pokémon Center sat near the edge of town, half-buried beneath a towering tree that shaded the building in dappled green. Vines curled around the awning. The doors were carved wood instead of glass, and they creaked faintly when Al pushed them open.

  Inside, it was cool and quiet. The floors were polished stone, the reception desk worn smooth by generations of hands. The scent of herbal cleaner clung to the air, not sterile—just clean.

  Nurse Joy looked up from a logbook and smiled softly.

  “Welcome to Azalea.”

  Al nodded. “Room for one. And a team to rest.”

  She glanced at the Poké Balls on his belt, paused. “Six?”

  “Yes.”

  Her fingers moved with practiced speed as she typed into the terminal. “They’ll be ready in two hours. You’ll be in Room Four.”

  He handed over the six Poké Balls with quiet care.

  “They’ll be healed in no time,” she promised.

  He nodded once.

  Then took the keycard she offered and slipped down the hallway without another word.

  (break)

  The room was small. Clean. A single bed, a desk, a small screen mounted on the wall for League updates. A narrow window overlooked the side alley, where a row of bushes shielded the building from the town’s outer path.

  Al sat on the bed. Didn’t move for a long time.

  Then finally, slowly, he pulled out his notebook and wrote two lines.

  Union passed.

  No encounters.

  (break)

  By late afternoon, he stepped back into the town’s rhythm.

  He wandered with his hands in his pockets, coat collar high against the breeze. The main street had begun to fill—not crowded, but busier. Farmers returning with carts of sweetroot. A young woman arranging jars of pollen and crushed apricorn in tidy rows outside a greenhouse.

  Al stopped to watch a group of kids battling in the dirt near a signpost. A Mareep and a Poliwag traded basic moves—more play than combat.

  The older of the two boys raised his arms and shouted, “Mareep wins again! That’s four badges!”

  “You don’t even have a badge!” his friend yelled back.

  They spotted Al watching.

  Al gave a faint nod. Walked on.

  (break)

  The town square wasn’t much—a circular clearing with benches, a water trough, and a rust-stained statue of Kurt, the famous Poké Ball crafter. The statue leaned slightly to one side, and the base had been tagged with someone’s initials and a heart.

  Nearby, an older man sat peeling fruit with a curved knife. His Growlithe lay at his feet, dozing.

  Al sat on the far bench. Listened.

  The fruit seller and another man were talking near a cart.

  “…Bugsy’s still turning challengers away,” one said.

  “Only the Star Badge ones. He’s prepping something big, apparently.”

  “What kind of ‘big’?”

  “Got an Elite challenger last week. Took them six rounds. And that’s someone ranked.”

  “You think he’s training for a promotion?”

  The other man shrugged.

  “Could be. Or maybe he’s just pissed that a Violet leader got upstaged. You heard about that one, right? Whole damn stadium shook.”

  They both laughed.

  Al didn’t.

  (break)

  The sun dipped lower.

  Shops began to close.

  The Center’s lanterns flickered to life.

  Al made his way back as the breeze picked up.

  (break)

  He retrieved his team at the front desk—each Poké Ball polished and lined in a neat row. Nurse Joy gave a tiny bow as he picked them up.

  “They were quiet,” she said. “But not tired. Just… patient.”

  Al smiled faintly.

  He slipped the Poké Balls back onto his belt, one by one.

  Room Four waited upstairs.

  Tomorrow would bring the Gym.

  Tonight, he would rest.

  (break)

  Morning came quiet and clear.

  Al rose early, before the sun had fully crested over the treeline outside his narrow window. The Pokémon Center was still hushed, lit by low hallway lamps and the faint hum of the staff’s morning routine. He dressed with steady movements, pulling on his coat, slipping his boots over dry socks, tightening his belt without thought.

  Today was a Gym day.

  And it started like every other day.

  (break)

  Outside, the town stirred slowly. The shop awnings still hung closed, morning mist lingering like smoke between the buildings. Pidgey called from rooftops. Somewhere a Tauros snorted in a pen. Apricorn smoke curled faintly from a chimney.

  Al walked the old path toward the Gym.

  He didn’t bring his whole team out. Just the one Poké Ball.

  Gardevoir.

  She hovered beside him, hands folded in quiet repose. She didn’t speak, but her presence was grounding—a weightless reminder that he didn’t walk alone.

  They crossed the square, passed the crooked statue of Kurt, and turned left onto a mossy brick path that curved through the trees.

  Azalea Gym sat near the forest’s edge, nestled in a natural clearing where the sun fell just right. The building was round, dome-shaped, and half-covered in creeping ivy. The roof was sloped in the style of traditional shrines, and the wood along the entrance was dark-stained, hand-carved, and perfectly clean.

  The sign at the gate was plain:

  AZALEA TOWN GYM

  LEADER: BUGSY

  SPECIALTY: BUG-TYPE

  CHALLENGERS MUST REGISTER BEFORE MATCH

  Al stepped through the gate.

  The garden walkway rustled with the sound of low grass brushing against his boots.

  (break)

  Inside, the Gym smelled like old wood and fresh soil. The entryway was dimly lit, natural light filtering through a series of slatted ceiling vents. A pair of potted moss trees flanked the entrance hall. The air was quiet—no hum of fluorescent lights, no echo of loud footsteps. Just soft, focused stillness.

  A woman stood behind the front desk—dark vest, neat braid, sharp eyes. Not quite hostile. But alert.

  “Trainer name?” she asked as Al approached.

  “Al.”

  She tapped a few keys on the terminal.

  “You’re registered from Violet. Star Badge path?”

  “Yes.”

  The woman looked up, and for the first time her gaze changed slightly—something between curiosity and appraisal.

  “You’ll be Bugsy’s second Star Badge match this month.”

  Al said nothing.

  She pressed a button on the desk and a soft chime echoed deeper in the Gym.

  “Confirming opponent status. You’ll be assigned a challenge tier shortly. Bugsy requires all elite-level matches to follow full format.”

  “Six on six?”

  “No substitutions. No item assists. If you lose control of the field, the match ends immediately.”

  Al nodded. “Understood.”

  “Wait here.”

  She disappeared behind a curtained arch.

  Gardevoir hovered slightly closer, her gaze sweeping the entrance hall.

  Al stood still.

  He didn’t feel nervous.

  Just... attentive.

  Like the silence in this place wasn’t silence at all—but expectation.

  (break)

  After several minutes, the woman returned. Her posture had shifted. Less formal. More... respectful.

  “Bugsy accepts. Match is scheduled for tomorrow, noon. We’ll send confirmation to the Pokémon Center. You’ll be expected fifteen minutes early for check-in.”

  She paused, then added:

  “Bugsy doesn’t often speak directly to staff about challengers. But he did ask one thing.”

  Al waited.

  “He asked which one you were.”

  Al raised an eyebrow. “And?”

  “He said... if it’s the one from Violet, tell him this one will be harder.”

  Al’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  He nodded once.

  And turned to go.

  (break)

  Outside, the morning sun had burned off most of the mist. The path back to town felt warmer now. Less distant. The kind of path you walked knowing something was behind you—and something more was ahead.

  Gardevoir hovered silently beside him.

  She didn’t have to say it.

  They both knew:

  Tomorrow, it begins again.