Work here runs on autopilot: haul crusty crates off the battered blue truck, pile them up in the leaky shed, sweep the mess tent while my fingers go numb. The whole place churns along in the same dead-eyed rhythm as the machines that built it. Kade’s crew are just shapes in layers of winter gear, faces buried unless they need to check a name tag or inventory sheet, only speaking if it’s about the job. It’s all rough hands and quiet voices—shovels scraping slush, boots thudding by. I lift, stack, sweep; nobody bothers looking twice unless I’m blocking their path. There’s nothing remarkable about me—not even enough to be a punchline over lunch. Nobody gives me trouble, but no one’s lining up to chat either.

  Teddiursa sticks close like she thinks I’ll disappear if she blinks. She puts up with chores for a bit, keeping those big sad eyes on me, but eventually she can’t help herself—wanders off to sniff at bedsheets for old candy wrappers or noses through the boot pile near the fire hoping for dropped crumbs. The miners ignore her unless she’s actually in their way; she’s figured out how not to make herself a target.

  Beldum floats overhead, never far—red eye fixed on everything, ready to get involved if anything looks wrong. When someone comes too close to me, Beldum tenses up and the air gets that electric edge—it’s a warning I don’t ignore.

  At night, the wind smacks the bunkhouse and the generator coughs along like it's daring us to complain. I try making peace with a cot barely wider than me, breathing in air that smells like old sweat mixed with antifreeze. Teddiursa curls against my ribs—a snoring heater—and Beldum keeps watch by the window, acting like it’s waiting for something nasty to crawl out of the dark. I listen to the wind and think about Rei’s stories—about blood on snow.

  On our second night, the storm really lets loose: wind howling, ice hammering anything left outside. Tarps go flying off sheds; snow comes in sideways and piles up high enough to hide a car. There’s yelling from somewhere outside—then silence as the generator finally gives up for good. Now it’s just us—and that weird blue glow from snow against glass.

  I trip over my own boots getting them on, scoop up Teddiursa, and stumble to the front of the bunkhouse where three miners huddle around a small table, and their emergency rations. No one pretends I’m not there anymore; one guy hands me a bottle of something that would probably strip paint and we pass it around without saying much—just grateful for warmth and company. One miner gets bold and leans in a little too much for Teddiursa's taste—she lets out this low growl—but he only grins and splits his protein bar in half, handing her the bigger piece like he expected it all along.

  Time drags out: the storm rattles the walls and we huddle together in a cramped little circle, handing around the bottle of something that tastes like regret and engine oil. No one’s got anything to say—just the sound of wind pounding overhead and the crunch of protein bars being chewed too slowly. Honestly, it feels less like waiting out weather and more like waiting for someone to come announce we’re done for. Four people crowded in a tin can, shivering while the liquor tries its best to fend off frostbite. Eventually the howling outside fades, replaced by Beldum’s soft hum somewhere nearby, steady as ever. I tuck Teddiursa into a sleeping bag that smells faintly of old boots, let my head tip back against my pack, and finally let sleep take over.

  When I blink awake again, everything’s changed—snow stacked up so high I can barely find the door, trucks and tents half-buried like yesterday was a bad idea. The sky’s got that sickly yellow-blue tinge, clouds low enough to crown you if you dared to stand tall. It takes forever to claw my way outside—fingers stinging, breath turning to fog with every exhale. Out there, Rei’s already at work with her shovel, hacking a path from the mess tent toward the fuel truck. She’s all business: jaw set, cheeks chapped red from wind, elbows working in tight rhythm. I watch her just long enough to feel lazy about it and grab a shovel myself.

  We don’t talk—it’s easier that way. Just lift, fling snow aside, keep moving. By noon my hands are torn up but I don’t quit; in a weird way it almost feels right. Lunch comes and half the camp looks halfway normal again; tents stitched together with tape, the road scraped out toward the river if you’re willing to be optimistic.

  Kade sidles up while I’m slumped on my shovel looking ready for a nap. He throws me a nod like we’ve both survived something stupid together. “You’re cleared to go,” he says, voice flat as always—like he’s telling me my fries are ready instead of giving me permission to leave. “Storm broke east. You’re stubborn—could work in your favour.”

  I look out at where the world turns back into empty white—the camp behind me looking like hell after clean-up on aisle five, everybody glued to their next problem already. There’s nothing back there for me except memories I’d rather not unpack; ahead is just space. Maybe that’s fine.

  Beldum hovers beside me in silence; Teddiursa is practically dragging on my sleeve in anticipation. Then Rei appears at the edge of camp with a sad plastic bag—inside are two packs of protein bars, some duct tape, and what might be a map or just her grocery list scribbled on weathered paper.

  “No shortcuts,” she says without any ceremony, barely glancing up but making sure I’m listening. “Stick to the riverbed unless you want trouble.”

  I nod and stuff everything into my pack. “Thanks,” is all I manage—not much else feels right.

  She shrugs and stares past me, quiet for a second before she mutters: “Watch out for Teddiursa.” Then softer: “And yourself.”

  She vanishes into the whiteout, already swinging her shovel at the snowbank as if there’s a contest and she’s here to win it. I tuck Teddiursa close to my chest, yank my zipper up tight, and step out. First stretch: nothing but slush that swallows my ankles—my socks quit immediately. Next, ice as smooth as a bad idea—my feet threatening mutiny with every step. Beldum leads the way like it’s guiding a school field trip, gliding ahead without a care while I do my best not to wipe out. I slide once, barely pull off a save, and make myself keep going.

  Camp shrinks behind me with each step—just another speck the wind tries to erase. Teddiursa buries in under my coat, kneading at my ribs and humming tunelessly, making sure I know she’s still there. I force myself to look ahead—to whatever counts as civilization past the pass—and fight down every disaster scenario trying to rush to the front of my thoughts.

  We slog on for what feels like forever. The river mutters along on one side—half-frozen and cranky—while I break through crusted snow in boots that were never meant for this much water. My face burns from the wind, so I start counting breaths in my head, same way I used to count drops back in the lab: careful and steady, because it’s something I can actually control. The trees squeeze in close until there’s barely sky left above us. Here and there are clusters of fresh tracks: some small enough for Buneary or Deerling, then deeper prints that could only belong to something with claws as big as my hand.

  Around noon a wedge of sunlight finally pushes through the clouds—guess it’s lunch. I dig out Rei’s map, squint at her chicken-scratch—bridge is three kilometres ahead; get there and we’re halfway out of whatever hell this is. Beldum hovers within arm’s reach for once, actually warm when I touch it. “Anything?” I mumble—not expecting much.

  Beldum tips its body and hums low: all clear.

  Teddiursa tears into a protein bar like she owes it money until crumbs stick everywhere. I give her some jerky; she polishes it off slowly, not bothering to look up. When we’re done we just sit there for a minute, letting quiet settle over us—and honestly, it’s not bad at all.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  We push on again; the river squeezed even tighter between snowy banks now. My legs feel like dead weight but habit keeps me moving.

  The bridge comes into view—older than any map in existence, black stone bowed over the river, glazed with moss and ice, most of its railing long gone. It makes a perfect cut across the gorge; not even a missing piece anywhere. For about half a second I think crossing will be easy.

  Then Beldum sends a warning jolt straight through my skull so sharp I nearly drop everything.

  Something’s headed our way.

  I clutch Teddiursa tight under my coat and duck behind a crooked birch, shaking so hard I’m sure she can feel it. The river’s noise almost drowns out the crunch of tires sliding over ice, but not quite. A truck bursts from the fog—bigger than anything at camp, fresh coat of blue paint trying way too hard, windows polished up like someone cares. I drop down, barely breathing, while Beldum edges closer, its eye burning a hole in the gloom.

  The truck screeches to a stop just short of the bridge, tires spinning, belching up clouds of exhaust. The bed’s packed—maybe a dozen people in matching white parkas and mirrored goggles, all sporting that Team Plasma logo, obnoxiously big and bright like they’re proud of it. My stomach does a nosedive. Two hop down into the slush, steadying themselves against the wind; then there’s another—guy from camp last night, glaring over his coffee like joy was against company policy. One of Kade’s guys. Figures he’d show up now, probably to sell me out.

  They aren’t in the mood to chat. Each pulls a Poké Ball and flicks it low: first one unleashes a Zubat—just wings and chaos; second is a Patrat, twitchy as hell and baring teeth at everything; third is Machop courtesy of Mr. Traitor himself, already flexing before it lands. Under the truck’s shadow there’s a Trubbish leaking something that smells like it has been rotting for weeks, plus a Seviper coiled and ready to strike, tongue working overtime like I’m already on the menu.

  The rest stay put in the truck while it rolls over the bridge with an ugly squeal, frame bouncing with every rut. The three on foot spread out smart—this isn’t their first time playing hunter.

  Beldum edges closer, humming loud enough my molars hurt. I mutter under my breath, “Reckon we got this?” Beldum fires back a jolt inside my skull—solid yes—and then one more thought: Keep Teddiursa out of the fight. I tighten my hold on her and give Beldum half a nod.

  My eyes dart everywhere—the ground, riverbank, bridge supports—trying to map every way this could go south. My brain tries to run numbers but Beldum’s already settled in: cool and measured as always. All right then—I send back our plan: start with fast targets, don’t let up until they’re finished.

  Beldum narrows its eye, calculating in silence. The Zubat flutters overhead, oblivious, scanning the shadows for trouble it never finds. Before it can even shriek a warning, Beldum surges from cover—silent as a bullet. Its psychic hold clamps down mid-flight, so sharp I swear the air splits open. The Zubat doesn’t even have time to flail before Beldum whips it into a birch trunk—one solid crack and it’s out cold. The rest haven’t even realized we’re here yet.

  The moment Beldum drops Zubat, our cover shatters. The Plasma grunts jerk upright, startled shouts echoing through the trees as they spot movement. For a breathless second, nobody moves—then Patrat bolts right in, hugging the ground, eyes wild. It darts left and right, then locks onto me, baring its teeth. My pulse spikes as it makes a beeline for my throat. I try to sidestep, but Teddiursa explodes out of my coat like she’s spring-loaded. She catches Patrat mid-leap—three fast swipes and blood splatters across the snow. The Patrat hits the ground twitching.

  I barely have time to gag before Trubbish lumbers in, hacking up a cloud of foul, purple gas that scorches my sinuses. Beldum shoves through it like it’s nothing. Trubbish twists for another attack, but Beldum crashes down with a metallic shriek—slamming it so hard the garbage sack bursts, spraying sludge and filth across the snow with a wet, explosive pop.

  Everything goes weirdly quiet for a moment.

  Seviper locks onto me from behind the haze, tongue flicking out like it’s sizing me up for dinner. Machop grunts, fists clenched, digging in its heels while the handlers shuffle backwards—not running, just smart enough not to get flattened. Machop charges—way too quick for something built like that—but Beldum’s already calculating and shifting into position.

  There’s this beat where everyone freezes: trainers slack-jawed, snow streaked red from Zubat and Patrat. Machop clocks what he’s walking into—eyes almost comically wide—while Seviper coils tighter, venom already dripping.

  It finally dawns on them they’re not in control here; nobody expected a scrawny runaway and one steel bowling ball to clear house this fast. Machop hesitates and glances at his handler—whatever orders he’s barking don’t carry over the river noise. Doesn’t really matter; they want us flattened.

  Beldum doesn’t bother waiting for Machop to make up its mind—I shove the command down our link: low and hard, now!

  Beldum draws back and launches forward with enough force to rattle teeth. Machop throws up an arm to block but Beldum connects with a metallic smack—Machop cartwheels backward, slamming into its own trainer and sending both grunts sprawling in a mess of boots and curses.

  Now it’s just me, Teddiursa, and Seviper. The snake flicks its tongue, tasting the air like it’s collecting receipts for all the violence so far. She’s twice Teddiursa’s size, every muscle coiled tight, scales gleaming with venom. Beldum’s warning about keeping Teddiursa out of the mess flashes through my mind—not that she cares. She plants herself by my shins, claws out, eyes hard as gravel.

  Seviper’s handler actually has a brain—he stays put, letting the Pokémon do her thing. One sharp finger snap and a word I don’t catch, and Seviper kicks up a spray of snow to blur everything. Before I can blink, she’s a blur of black and red, arrowing straight for my face.

  Beldum surges to intercept but Seviper slips the blow like she saw it coming; her body whips around and that tail comes down so close I can feel splinters as it gouges the birch behind me. I lurch sideways on instinct while Teddiursa launches herself at Seviper’s flank, shrieking bloody murder. Her claws rake across scales but Seviper barely seems to notice—she wraps around Teddiursa in two tight loops and goes right for her neck.

  I yell—panic-raw—but Beldum rockets over and slams into Seviper’s head with enough force to rattle teeth. Seviper snaps her jaws shut on nothing; Teddiursa squirms free and bolts back into my arms, shivering but furious.

  Seviper staggers but refuses to stay down. She looks ready to tear us apart just out of spite. I see Beldum hovering, drained, and Seviper drawing herself together for one last lunge.

  So I barrel toward her before she can finish winding up—Teddiursa clutched to my chest, both of us yelling now. Beldum drops low in front of us, eye blazing. There’s a surge in the air that rattles fillings.

  For a beat, Seviper locks up mid-strike—frozen by some flicker of psychic static. That’s all we need. Beldum slams point blank into her skull with a sickening crack. The impact whips Seviper sideways; she smashes into the birch hard enough that the whole tree caves in with a groan.

  The tree doesn’t totally break apart—it just gives out under her weight, splinters everywhere with Seviper dangling limp in the wreckage. Her jaw is bent all wrong; even looking at it makes my stomach turn. A final twitch—then nothing.

  The Plasma grunts are still untangling themselves from Machop on the bridge—too slow for me to care. My legs take over before my brain catches up; I sprint for the far end of the bridge, boots skidding through smeared snow. Teddiursa wails into my collarbone, claws digging in deep, but we cling to each other and run like hell while Beldum glides beside us—calm as ever.