At Myst’s words, the kids' heads snapped toward them, and Cynthia’s hand, midway to Queenie’s Pokéball, froze in midair. Neither of them looked physically hurt, not a scratch on their clothes, no visible injuries, but…

  She recognized one of them.

  It was the girl who had asked for Johanna’s autograph. Grace, or something like that. She was still wearing the same outfit as when they’d met earlier today, hair styled the same way. The only thing that had changed was that the sunny brightness that had once lit up the girl’s face was gone. Now, her cheeks were streaked with tears, her eyes red and swollen, and snot ran unchecked from her nose. She looked like she’d been crying for a long time, and couldn’t quite stop.

  A low, rumbling growl broke through the silence, coming from the Sandslash. It took a step forward, and the movement revealed a splash of Dark-type energy slightly discolouring its belly. Not enough to injure it, but proof it hadn’t been long since its last fight.

  Beside Grace, the boy clutched the egg tighter, his small body tensing like he might bolt toward them, but before he could move, Cynthia’s mind snapped back into focus.

  “Don’t move!” she shouted.

  He froze. His wide, terrified eyes locked onto hers. He couldn’t have been older than ten, probably even younger than Grace. Cynthia’s heart twisted at the sight.

  But still, he couldn’t move.

  Not now.

  Her gaze flicked to the Sandslash. Its body coiled tight with tension, eyes narrowed to slits, and claws half-buried in the dirt. It wasn’t watching her, or the boy, or the girl.

  It was staring directly at the egg.

  But it wasn’t moving yet.

  Honestly, given the circumstances, the kid holding its egg, the fresh marks of battle still visible, that was more patience than she could have hoped for. Most Pokémon in its place wouldn’t have waited; the moment they saw their egg in someone else’s hands, even a child’s, they would have attacked. No questions. No hesitation.

  But this Sandslash?

  It hadn’t moved a muscle.

  Not yet.

  Not that it really needed to.

  Cynthia could feel the warning radiating off it, in the taut line of its spine, in the way its claws hovered just above the dirt, in the unnatural stillness that spoke louder than any growl. She didn’t need anyone to explain, she just knew: the only reason Sandslash hadn’t already attacked was because it saw children. That fact alone bought them a narrow window of safety.

  Children, after all, could get away with more around Pokémon, even wild ones. It was a well-documented phenomenon, and part of why trainers began their journeys around fifteen.

  Cynthia shifted her stance subtly, lowering her shoulders, trying to appear less threatening.

  But even that mercy had very real limits.

  Her eyes tracked the boy’s trembling hands, clutched tightly around the egg. If he so much as flinched the wrong way, if he even looked like he might bolt—

  Sandslash wouldn’t hesitate.

  And that couldn’t happen.

  A fight with the Ground-type, one they couldn’t get a jump on and commanding a pack? That would turn the whole situation from one about protecting the kids to one about surviving. A single overcharged Ground-type move, and it wouldn’t matter if their Pokémon could win the fight. The question would be whether any of them would survive the ceiling collapsing on their heads.

  …Or, maybe more accurately, if Navi could teleport them all out fast enough.

  “Rei still isn’t fully recovered,” Myst murmured beside her, voice low and tight.

  Cynthia didn’t respond immediately. Her hand hovered over her belt, fingers inching toward Queenie’s Pokéball as she absorbed his words. Slowly, her eyes shifted from the Sandslash to Rei.

  And that was another good point, even if they could win the fight, they also had to protect the children while doing so. Easier said than done, when the only Pokémon currently in position to do so was Rei.

  It had been over an hour since the Gym battle. Rei would’ve regained a fair bit of type energy by now, and her Aura reserves were likely stabilizing. But that didn’t mean she was ready. Not even close. She’d burned through an immense amount of energy against Byron, more than most Pokémon used in a single match. And no matter how fast she bounced back, there were limits.

  In a normal battle, just Rei against one opponent, that might not be a problem. She was fast enough to control the tempo, to dodge, pressure, disengage. That hit-and-run style had eventually worn Mawile down and could even have worked on Lairon.

  But if this turned into a real fight?

  It would be anything but normal.

  Fighting while protecting someone was always harder. And with two terrified kids caught in the middle, Rei wouldn’t just be dodging and striking—she’d be shielding, intercepting, burning precious energy just to hold the line. Even with Riolu already out and ready to jump in, it might not be enough. Rei would be forced to use Quick Attack not to escape but to block, to break lines of sight, to draw attention away from the children.

  Hell, even if Queenie, Roselia, and Navi joined in, it would still be dangerous.

  After all, Pokémon were just that much stronger than humans. One stray move landing in the wrong place, that could be fatal.

  Which just meant that—

  This couldn’t become a fight.

  “We don’t want the egg,” Cynthia said at last, voice calm but firm.

  The Ground-type turned its gaze to her, flexing its claws ever so slightly, a low growl vibrating in its throat.

  Cynthia’s eyes flicked briefly toward the kids. “Lay it on the ground,” she said gently.

  The boy didn’t move. He just stood there, frozen, his grip tightening around the egg.

  “Sandslash,” the wild Pokémon growled, louder this time, its stance sharpening.

  Riolu stepped forward instinctively, and the Sandslash’s eyes snapped to him.

  “Riolu, riolu,” he said, his tone steady.

  We came for the human children.

  “Riolu.”

  You can have the egg.

  Sandslash barked something back, and in an instant the two Pokémon launched into a rapid exchange. Words flew back and forth, growls and chittering too fast for Cynthia to follow. She caught fragments from Riolu—territory, protect, intruders—but the meaning slipped through her grasp. Still, she could see the shift. Gradually, the tension in Sandslash’s body began to ebb. Its muscles, once coiled and rigid, loosened; its claws lowered ever so slightly, no longer angled to strike.

  The fact that Riolu was a Riolu lending weight to his words.

  Finally, after a glance towards the rest its pack, the leader gave a slow, deliberate nod.

  Riolu turned to Cynthia and mirrored the motion, subtle but certain.

  “Riolu riolu, riolu.”

  Tell them to let the egg go, and the Leader will let them leave.

  Cynthia stared at him, then glanced back up to where the boy still stood, clutching the egg to his chest like a lifeline.

  For some reason, she had the sinking feeling that getting the boy to drop the egg would be easier said than done.

  But, before she could even open her mouth to try, Myst stepped forward slightly, voice gentle. “Hey,” he said, eyes locked on the boy, “what’s your name?”

  The boy sniffled, “…Camron.”

  Myst smiled faintly, crouching just a little, until he was almost at eye level. “Well, Camron, we just talked to Sandslash. It said if you leave the egg behind, you can come over here. So how about you lay it on the ground and apologize, okay?”

  Camron’s face flushed red. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” he burst out, voice cracking. “I was just trying to—trying to—”

  Cynthia took in his words, then felt heat rise. First, he’d run off into the tunnels, and now he was making excuses?

  “Put it dow—”

  The word caught in her throat.

  She froze, the frustration hitting a wall as Camron started shaking. His small fingers clutched the egg like a shield, tears welling in his eyes, his chin lifted in a defiant tremble as if he could bluff his way through the fear.

  Of course he’d been reckless. Even he had to know that. But right now, that didn’t matter.

  Anger wouldn’t help. Not here. Not now.

  Cynthia forced herself to take a long breath and then let it out slowly. Using it to push her own anger back down, to steady herself.

  “Of course you didn’t,” she said, voice as low and warm as she could manage. “But Sandslash is just worried about its egg, you know? The same way your parents would be worried about you. So, please… just put it down. Your parents are worried sick.”

  Camron hesitated, glancing down at the egg in his arms. His fingers twitched, uncertain.

  Before he could decide, Grace moved.

  She wiped her cheeks with one last sweep of her sleeve, took a shaky breath, then stepped forward, eyes locked on him, fierce and unblinking. Without a word, she marched up, grabbed the egg, and yanked it from his arms. Then, with firm precision, she crouched and placed it on the ground, just hard enough for it to settle upright.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Gracie—!” Camron gasped, reaching for it, but she seized his hand instead.

  “Come on,” she muttered, not slowing, dragging him toward Cynthia and Myst with quiet, furious purpose.

  Rei retreated with them, slipping into step behind the kids as silent cover.

  Cynthia exhaled slowly, only now realizing she’d been holding her breath. Her heart still pounded in her chest, but when she turned her gaze toward the Sandslash, the wild Pokémon met her eyes.

  For a long second, it simply stared.

  Then it gave a small, deliberate nod, and stepped forward. With careful movements, it gathered the egg into its claws, cradling it close.

  …

  It took until the entire pack had retreated for her to feel somewhat calm again. One by one, the Sandslash, and its kin, had vanished into the stone, burrowing into the walls and floor instead of walking out through the nearby connecting tunnels. Quiet, natural, like they’d never been there at all, their exit didn’t even leave a mark.

  Myst let out a shaky breath.

  She glanced over at him—and noticed his hands were trembling slightly.

  …Which was fair, considering her own hands weren’t exactly steady either.

  Honestly, the whole situation still felt unreal. Trying to take a Pokémon egg? Cynthia had lost count of how many times she’d been warned as a child never to mess with wild Pokémon, especially when it came to eggs or babies. Really, calling it advice felt almost wrong. It wasn’t just advice. It was common sense, more of a fundamental truth than anything else.

  Normally, wild Pokémon didn’t attack humans without cause. That went double for children… But if they thought you were trying to take their egg, their child?

  Every other rule went out the window.

  Her eyes snapped toward the kids.

  They’d collapsed to the ground, clinging to Rei like she was the only solid thing left in the world. At the sight, the anger that she had carefully kept under control rose again.

  “What were you thinking?” she snapped.

  Both flinched, burying their faces deeper into Rei’s fur. Rei let out a long, quiet sigh, shifting slightly beneath their weight. Her ears moved gently through their hair, brushing in small, soothing motions.

  Cynthia narrowed her eyes and took a step forward.

  “You—”

  A hand caught hers.

  “Cynthia,” Myst said softly.

  He didn’t need to say more.

  Even she knew that getting angry wouldn’t help right now. Not really. And more than that, it wasn’t their job. Sure, she wanted to shake them for even thinking about doing what they did. It was reckless, selfish, irresponsible, and beyond dangerous. Whatever their reasons were, they could have died.

  But still.

  Not the time. Not the place.

  Cynthia took a slow breath, forcing herself to let go of the anger curling in her chest.

  Again.

  “Are you two okay?” she asked, voice tight but measured.

  When neither answered, Rei gently nudged them, pushing just enough to break through their shock. The motion made them stumble back a step, then slowly rise to their feet. Grace stood first, but Camron was the one who turned.

  He looked at them—face blotchy from crying, eyes still wet—and scowled.

  “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Cynthia felt her blood pressure spike at the words. Her jaw clenched on instinct.

  She opened her mouth—

  Honestly, it was probably for the best that Myst was the one who answered.

  “My guy, you did everything wrong,” he said flatly.

  Camron’s fists clenched.

  “We were just trying to help! A Pokémon wanted to take the egg, so we protected it! That’s why…” He trailed off, eyes widening as he looked between Myst and Cynthia.

  Beside him, Grace’s expression shifted, eyes going wide with the same realization.

  Then they turned to each other in perfect synch.

  “Oliver!” they both shouted.

  Without another word, the two of them spun toward one of the tunnels leading out of the cave. But before they could take a single step, Myst lunged forward and grabbed them by the collars. They struggled, flailing against his grip, but even after running for half an hour, Myst still had a clear advantage over two kids half his size.

  “What do you mean, Oliver?” he asked, sharply.

  Grace froze.

  Then she turned to him, eyes wide, wild, and full of something very close to panic.

  “Oliver wanted to get a Pokémon, right? So we thought—we thought we’d go into the mines and maybe find one that wanted to come with us or something, and it was fine at first, just really dark, but we were being careful—I swear we were being careful—but then we split up ‘cause we figured we’d find more that way, and it was taking forever and then—then we got here, and there was this Pokémon with the egg, and it was, like, really creepy-looking, definitely not the mom or dad or anything—it was all shadows and weird eyes and—”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, voice pitching higher.

  “—and then Oliver said he’d distract it, and he ran off before we could stop him, and then Camron thought we should hide the egg so it wouldn’t get taken, which made sense at the time, but then Sandslash came back and saw us holding it and got all mad and we weren’t trying to steal it, we were helping, we were trying to help, and then your Buneary came and saved us, but Oliver’s still gone and we don’t know where he is and—”

  Myst stepped forward and gently pulled her into a hug.

  Grace collapsed into him, her words dissolving into choked gasps as fresh tears welled up. She clung to him like the last thread holding her together had finally snapped.

  “And—and what if he isn’t okay?” she choked out. “The Pokémon looked super scary and—”

  Myst cut her off quietly.

  “It’s okay,” he murmured. “Oliver’s strong, right? Then he’s going to be fine. We’re going to find him. And then we’re getting out of here.”

  He held her a little tighter. “But I need you to breathe. Slowly.”

  Grace sniffled, hiccupping. Myst didn’t let go.

  “In,” he said softly.

  She inhaled, shaky but obedient.

  “And out.”

  She exhaled. Her shoulders loosened, just a little.

  Cynthia stood frozen, staring at them.

  She had never really seen him like this.

  Cynthia was used to being around children. She’d babysat more times than she could count, had taken care of Lily so often she could handle her little sister in her sleep. But being around children didn’t mean she understood them. Not really. They always did things that didn’t make sense, got upset over nothing, lied about things that were obviously true. She could care for them, sure, but never quite connect.

  It was just, for some reason, she had imagined Myst would be even worse.

  After all, he deflected constantly, cracked jokes the second things got too heavy. She’d imagined that if a kid started crying around him, he’d panic—awkward, unsure, fumbling his way through it.

  But here he was.

  Steady.

  Quiet.

  Patient.

  “You feeling better?” he asked, a slight smile on his face.

  Grace nodded, still sniffling, and took a couple of unsteady steps back.

  Myst stood and turned toward the tunnel the children had pointed out.

  “I guess that piece of clothing you have belongs to Oliver, so we should let Riolu keep tracking him. He can’t be that much further ahead, and when we find him, we’ll just have Navi teleport them all out.”

  He took a few steps—then paused, glancing back when he realized Cynthia hadn’t moved.

  “You coming?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer right away.

  She just looked at him.

  Cynthia tried not to think too hard about Myst’s background. Really, she did.

  Even so, sometimes she couldn’t help herself. It was simply too interesting to not theorize about.

  Where was he from? What kind of place could shape someone like him? A place that made sense of the things he knew?

  When he talked about moves and evolution mechanics, she sometimes imagined him as a professor’s assistant—or even their child—raised in a lab, surrounded by theory and practice from the very beginning.

  When he spoke about myths, he became someone else entirely. A grave digger, maybe. Or a young archaeologist. Someone who unearthed a secret no one was meant to find, something ancient and dangerous. Someone who had been punished for it, forced to forget what he saw.

  And when he struggled with Pokémon, their needs, their emotions, how to care for them as living beings, then she imagined a different version of him. One from the distant past, when humans didn’t raise Pokémon to grow stronger, but fought them off with swords and bows. When the idea of partnership was still a distant dream.

  That part, at least, was fun. Harmless, in its own way.

  But sometimes... sometimes she thought about it because of moments like this.

  What him knowing how to comfort a crying child could mean. Did he have siblings who missed him? Ones he’d held the way he held Grace? Ones he’d comforted with the same steady patience?

  Did he have a family he had forgotten about?

  “Cy—”

  She moved. Quick steps forward until she’d passed him, the sound of her boots echoing off the tunnel walls.

  Myst, apparently realizing she wasn’t going to answer, let out a sigh, but still followed. Gracie and Camron hot on his heels.

  …

  Oliver’s lungs burned.

  He didn’t stop to look back, he couldn’t. The echo of claws scraping stone was getting louder, sharper, closer. It was gaining.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  He’d said he’d distract it. He hadn’t thought that meant this.

  A growl rumbled behind him—low, guttural. It almost sounded like a laugh.

  Oliver barely stopped himself from screaming.

  Why did I throw a rock?

  He turned a corner too fast. His shoulder slammed into the wall, pain lancing down his arm, but he didn’t stop. Up ahead, the tunnel forked. He veered left without thinking, chose the darker path, as if his instincts believed the shadows might protect him.

  Left. Just go left. Keep running. Don’t stop.

  Another hiss echoed behind him, followed by the scrape of claws turning on stone.

  It was still coming.

  Without thinking, he caught the glimpse of a crack in the wall—a narrow fissure just barely wider than his shoulders. He turned hard, slamming himself into it. The stone scraped his arms, tore at his sleeves again. He tripped once, caught himself on bleeding palms, and bit down on a scream.

  His breath came too fast. Too loud.

  Quiet. Be quiet. Disappear.

  If it found him, he was toast.

  Oliver clamped a hand over his mouth, pressing his back into the cold rock, trying not to move, not to make a sound. The tunnel was pitch-black, and the crack he’d wedged himself into even darker. His father had said Ground-types could see better in the dark.

  But there had to be limits.

  There had to be.

  A slow rhythm of footsteps.

  Clack clack clack.

  Deliberate.

  Getting closer.

  Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, his breath caught in his throat. He didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to know if it found him.

  For what felt like an hour he just tried breathing as quietly as possible, tried to disappear into his little hideaway.

  He couldn’t hear anything.

  Not a single sound.

  Not of the Pokémon breathing.

  But also, not of it walking away.

  He cracked open a single eye, loosened his grip on the self-lighting marble he’d hidden—

  And stared straight into the dark, toothy smile of the crocodile-like Pokémon.

  Its jagged snout was inches from his own, breath warm and rank against his face. Eyes narrow. Smile wide. Still. Watching.

  Oliver didn’t scream.

  He couldn’t.

  A paralyzing fear had taken hold of his entire body. His limbs refused to move. His breath caught in his throat. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to do something, but he was frozen, trapped in place by that grin and those narrow, waiting eyes.

  The Pokémon just tilted its head, slow and deliberate, as if curious how long he’d last like this.

  As if it enjoyed the silence.

  A soundless sob caught in Oliver’s throat. His fingers trembled around the faint warmth of the marble still clutched in one hand.

  At the sight, the Pokémon laughed.

  A low, guttural chuckle—menacing, mocking.

  He was dead.

  Then, slowly, it began to close in.

  One step.

  Then another.

  Oliver screamed.

  The Pokémon opened its mouth and—

  BOOM!

  —vanished.

  The shockwave knocked Oliver backward, the sound of the blast ringing in his ears. Dust exploded through the tunnel, swallowing everything in a haze of smoke and scattered debris.

  He coughed, eyes stinging, throat raw from screaming.

  And then—

  A voice.

  Low. Angry.

  “Grass Knot!”

  Oliver forced his eyes open, but all he could see was a small blue—

  His eyes went wide.

  Riolu!

  A growl of exertion rang out nearby, but Oliver barely registered it. Riolu darted forward, grabbed his arm, and yanked him out of the narrow crevice he’d wedged himself into.

  He stumbled, blinking against the sudden light.

  Just in time to see a flashlight beam catch the form of the Pokémon that had been chasing him.

  Brown with jagged black stripes. A long snout full of teeth. Eyes narrow and strange, its silhouette closer to a dragon than anything Oliver had ever seen.

  His instincts screamed at him to run, but he didn’t.

  Because the Pokémon wasn’t moving.

  Grass had spiralled tightly around its legs, climbing its torso, vines writhing and pulsing with energy as they held it firmly in place.

  Then—a blur of blue.

  Another dragon-like Pokémon shot past him, fast enough to stir the dust in its wake.

  Oliver barely had time to open his mouth in shock before the Pokémon that had chased him raised one claw in desperation.

  Too slow.

  A burst of shimmering blue energy twisted mid-air into the shape of a scythe, then slammed into the Pokemon’s chest with a violent crack.

  Dragon Claw.

  The hit sent the Pokémon flying backward, snapping the last of the vines. It slammed into the wall and crumpled.

  Oliver had just enough time to register the full shape of the Pokémon that landed in front of him—sleek, sharp, and unmistakably blue—as it opened its mouth

  A spark of pale flame flickered inside its jaws.

  A Gabite.

  A Riolu.

  His eyes widened.

  That meant—

  The Dragon Rage roared forward.

  The Pokémon raised a claw, dark energy flickering at its tips, gathering into a desperate counter.

  The blue flames swallowed it whole.

  Like a storm snuffing out a flickering candle, the fire surged over the energy, then slammed into the Pokémon’s chest. The creature screamed, once, before the sound cut off in a heartbeat, the thud of its body collapsing against the tunnel wall echoing out.

  For a few seconds, Oliver almost forgot his earlier thoughts, but the sight of Gabite starting to move again reminded him.

  He turned, heart still hammering in his chest.

  And saw—

  Roselia.

  The Grass-type he’d been obsessing over ever since its match against Grotle a week ago stood calmly amid the haze, hand-petal raised, red scarf fluttering like a cloak in the breeze. The fear he had been holding onto didn’t vanish, but it changed. His heart kept racing, but now it beat to a different rhythm entirely as his eyes drifted slightly, just to the side. Standing beside Roselia was one of the trainers he had only dared to imagine would save him. The one he had proudly told Gracie would be the strongest of her generation.

  Cynthia let out a slow sigh and brushed a lock of blond hair from her eyes. Then, the next moment, her gaze snapped to him, as sharp as cold steel.

  He didn’t notice.

  Oliver just grinned, bright and wide with relief.

  “You came! I knew you wou—”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  He stopped mid-sentence.

  Oh.

  Right.

  He’d kind of… caused a huge mess, hadn’t he?

  Children are always tough to write. I'm not completely sure I did them justice here, it's a hard balance to strike between having them be naive and still giving them believable motivations for their choices.

  Honestly, while writing, I kept remembering an encounter I once had with a couple of eight- or nine-year-olds at a bus stop. They looked me dead in the eyes and, with absolute sincerity, told me they'd found a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

  I am not sure what I want to say, except maybe this: what seems obvious to us isn't always obvious to kids.

  GG, experience diff, I guess.