I didn't wake up early.
I woke up sore.
The kind of deep, joint-aching soreness that starts in your spine and radiates outward until even blinking feels like work. The mattress underneath me wasn't soft anymore—it felt like a trap. A reminder that I'd be back on the road soon, where the only thing worse than sleeping in the dirt is knowing you used to sleep somewhere clean.
Luxio was sprawled across the floor near the wall, half-curled with one paw twitching in a dream. Grotle had been returned to his Poké Ball before lights out—center policy. Too big. Too unpredictable. Too capable of knocking over reinforced beams just by turning around. Tyrunt, obviously, was inside his ball too. Having him loose in a place with ceramic tiles and automatic doors was asking for a lawsuit.
I sat up. My ribs didn't crack, but they threatened to.
Breakfast was quiet. Not emotionally quiet—just quiet in the way cafeterias are when you eat alone. I sat by the back window with a cheap tray of carbs and sodium, poking at it while mentally counting my supplies. Two days of trainer food. Three and a half days of Pokémon rations if I stretched it. One potion. No revives. Zero full heals. And a wallet light enough to make a bird-type carry it.
But we were done here.
No more move tutors. No more circuits or prep or battles looming at the edge of every hour.
We had done the thing.
And I needed to move.
I clicked Luxio's ball, but he didn't resist. Just narrowed his eyes at me with that "You're the boss, I guess" expression before vanishing in a red blink. Outside, the sky was overcast but warm. Late morning. Light traffic on the outer roads of Eterna. A few other trainers were also heading out—some with bikes, some walking, one on a massive Rhyhorn that made my knees hurt just watching it thunder down the cobblestones.
I took the back route.
Less visibility. Fewer people.
And I needed the quiet.
The first thirty minutes were just adjusting. Backpack weight. Boot tightness. Trying to find that rhythm again. After a few days in the city, even walking felt weird. Like I'd forgotten how to move without rails or walls or streetlights. The air smelled different too—fresher, yes, but also heavier. Damp soil. Pine sap. Something older and less structured than cement.
Grotle came out first. Not because I needed him, but because he hated staying in the ball for too long. He exhaled like someone waking up after a coma, stomped twice, then sniffed the ground and wandered forward like he already knew where we were going.
"Glad someone has a map," I muttered.
He turned his head slightly. I swear he smirked.
We didn't talk much, but there was a weight to having him there. A grounding.
Tyrunt joined an hour later once we were clear of the outer zone perimeter. The second he emerged, he went stiff—nose flaring, eyes scanning for danger like he expected a fight out of the grass.
"Easy," I told him. "We're not ambushing anything yet."
He didn't look convinced.
Still, he didn't bolt either. Small victories.
I didn't release Luxio. Not yet. Even if he was the smallest of the three, the city had reminded me how much attention a shiny drew. That electric coat didn't blend in with much, and we didn't need curiosity slowing us down.
We kept walking.
The route twisted upward into rocky terrain by late afternoon. Not mountain levels, but uneven enough to keep my ankles on alert. Trees thinned out. Wind picked up. I let Grotle scout ahead while Tyrunt prowled just off to my right. Every few minutes, I'd call a command—short, clipped whistles we'd started reinforcing after the last tutor session. Still early days, but they responded more often than not.
At one point, Tyrunt tried to lunge at a flock of Pidgeotto overhead. He didn't get close, of course, but the way he bared his teeth as they scattered said he wasn't playing.
"Stop chasing birds," I called. "You can't fly. We've been over this."
He growled.
"Also, you're not a dog. I don't care how badly you want to be one."
Grotle grunted approvingly and swatted Tyrunt with a vine as he passed.
That got a snarl in return.
Good.
We kept going.
By midafternoon, we stopped for water at a stream. Grotle drank deep, Tyrunt dipped his snout, and I filled my bottle slowly while watching the water curve around the stones. It was quiet. Not peaceful, exactly, but calm. I could almost forget how much everything still hurt—feet, shoulders, brain.
I checked the map.
The next city was a good four days out, assuming no detours, no serious injuries, and no getting stranded on the wrong side of a river.
That was generous math.
Still, the plan held.
We were heading east, toward Hearthome. Another Gym. Another leader. Another impossible test.
But not today.
Today was movement. Realignment.
At dusk, I let Luxio out. He stretched once, glanced around, and immediately found a patch of grass to roll in.
"Yeah, that's sanitary," I muttered. "I'm sure that doesn't have ticks or anything."
He ignored me.
Then trotted over, ears perked.
"Food?"
I gave him a ration bar.
He sniffed it, turned his nose up, then ate it anyway with the kind of pained dignity usually reserved for royalty eating hospital food.
"Sorry we don't have caviar."
He licked his paw and smacked my boot.
Fair enough.
We camped near a rock shelf, using it as a wind break. The fire was small, more for light than heat. Tyrunt circled it three times before finally curling up like a prehistoric croissant. Grotle half-buried himself in leaves. Luxio, of course, tried to sleep on my jacket.
"You know that's mine, right?"
He didn't move.
I sighed and lay beside him.
The wind changed direction once during the night, carrying the scent of something... bigger.
Wild.
I didn't wake the others.
Just kept my hand near a Poké Ball.
Didn't sleep much after that.
But I didn't need to.
We were already moving again.