Chapter Text
“Go Larvesta, protect Scraggy!”
Larvesta moved at once, flames flaring as it surged forward and loosed a burst of Ember toward the charging Galvantula. The attack struck true, forcing the Pokémon to recoil, electricity snapping angrily against the fire.
Just as soon as N had realized that this was exactly what he must do in this situation, N stood frozen at the realization that he had spoken. No, that’s not right. He had commanded.
All his life, N had devoted and shaped himself around peace. The realization hit him hard. His voice, the one he had always used to still conflicts, to soothe and listen and mediate, had issued an order meant for battle. For the first time in his life, he had told a Pokémon to fight.
Not even as he played house with Darmanitan and Zorua and Anthea and Concordia did they play pretend in Pokemon battle. N was never a Trainer. N had always been a hero.
This shock to his system had rendered N immobile as the Galvantula horde realized that Larvesta was not as powerful despite its type disadvantage. The Galvantula screeched in agitation, clinging higher into the tree as threads of electricity webbed between branches.
With all the chaos he had inside of him, N had forgotten one very important thing: Larvesta was still a newborn. He wanted to scream but his fear of using his voice to command had overridden his senses.
“SCRAGGY! LARVESTA!”
N turned sharply as Ash burst into the clearing, sprinting full force. He didn’t hesitate, as though his body moved before his mind could even think. Ash threw himself forward, arms scooping Larvesta and Scraggy close to his chest as he turned his body sideways and braced.
N saw it all in slow motion.
The Galvantula drew back together, blue eyes glowing as orbs of electricity began to form. Electro Ball. A lot of them. And Ash would take the hit.
N could see Pikachu’s horrified face as the mouse struggled to run away from his battle to go to Ash. Zorua was in a similar predicament. And N—
N was a hero, but he couldn’t move.
He called himself a hero.
And now, when it mattered… he was useless.
Scraggy had made a mistake. It was a mistake. He hadn’t meant for things to go this far. He just wanted to prove that even if he was new, even if he was small, he was strong. He wasn’t weak!
He wasn’t.
It was humiliating that he was helped by another Pokemon that was just a day older than he was! But as he countered Headbutt to every Ember the Larvesta had fired, Scraggy could feel that the Galvantula were not taking them as seriously now as they had been back then. Why?
But then, the group of spiders had a ball of electricity forming from their mouths and Scraggy’s knees were trembling. Just as he thought he was done for—
“SCRAGGY! LARVESTA!”
That voice.
That trainer.
This was the trainer that had held him when he was an egg, carried him around in a backpack, who had laughed loudly and battled fiercely and believed with his whole. The strong one.
Scraggy just wanted to impress him. He needed to be worthy of Ash.
But before he could move, Ash was there. Hands firm, body solid, night clothes pressed around them as Ash pulled both Scraggy and Larvesta against him and turned protectively. When Scraggy looked up, their eyes met.
Ash smiled.
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Everything’s gonna be just fine.”
Something warm flooded Scraggy’s chest. He didn’t know this feeling… but it made him feel safe.
Then, the air shifted. Scraggy knew what this presence meant, every Pokemon since birth knew. This was instinct passed down to every single one of them.
A Legendary Pokemon.
And just as suddenly as it came, it vanished and Scraggy heard a set of voices.
N had finally broken free of his paralysis, taking a step toward Ash when the chill washed over him. The Galvantula froze, their Electro Balls sputtering uselessly in the air.
But it vanished just as soon as it happened. Before N could ponder what that was, he heard Misty’s voice.
“Corsola—go my steady!”
“Excadrill!”
“Pansage, let’s help our friends!”
The clearing erupted.
Relief crashed into N so hard it almost knocked him over as Misty, Iris, and Cilan burst into view. Their Pokémon launched into battle immediately, attacks flashing bright against the night. The joy on Ash’s face was almost tangible as he laughed brightly. He reached for his belt—
“Alright, everyone, help us out!”
The chorus of Ash’s Pokemon rang out as they each materialized out of their PokeBall. Almost immediately, Rufflet, despite the type disadvantage, soared up above and dived straight to the Galvantulas harassing Pikachu and Zorua, both having a hard time fending off the horde.
Snivy lashed another group with Leaf Storm, sending spiders airborne as Larvitar’s Hidden Power made more damage. As the spiders fell, Oshawott cut them with Razor Shell, before Tepig finished off with Flame Charge.
Scraggy watched as Ash’s Pokemon fought and then… Pikachu.
The electric mouse stepped forward, growling as sparks flew out of his red cheeks. Then, electricity roared—and despite the Galvantula having a similar type, the thunder that Pikachu released was powerful enough to hurt them; shrieking as they scattered and fleeing into the forest at last.
Scraggy’s eyes shone.
The moment they returned to camp, exhaustion claimed them all.
Sleep came hard and fast, dragging even N under despite the storm of thoughts still churning in his mind. He was awoken by a savory aroma drifting through the clearing, carrying with it the gentle clatter of cookware. N stirred and slowly opened his eyes.
Cilan stood near the fire, sleeves rolled up, directing a small culinary orchestra. Pansage chopped with practiced precision, Dwebble dutifully hauled ingredients, and perched proudly near the pot was a tiny Petilil, newly sprouted leaves trembling as she sprinkled herbs into the stew with utmost seriousness.
N smiled faintly as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stood. Nearby, Iris was seated on a fallen log, carefully polishing Excadrill’s claws while Axew peeked out from her hair, eyes wide with fascination. A little farther off, Ash knelt amid a cluster of Pokémon, Scraggy now safely inside a Poké Ball. He released him again almost immediately, reintroducing the newborn to the team with the same enthusiasm.
“Hey, you’re awake,” said Misty softly. N turned to see her approaching with a woven basket of berries balanced on her arm. Psyduck waddled at her side, Larvesta perched comfortably atop his head, while Zorua bounded ahead the moment it spotted him.
“I woke up early to forage,” Misty explained, a touch sheepish and apologetic as she laughed under her breath. “I invited Zorua and Larvesta to come with me and Psyduck. They wouldn’t leave your side at first, but I promised we’d save some of the berries for you. Hope that’s okay?”
“There’s no need to worry,” N said gently.
Misty smiled at him before excusing herself and heading towards Cilan. Zorua skidded to a stop in front of him, tail flicking, eyes bright with expectation. Larvesta slid down from Psyduck’s head and hovered nearby, flames low and cautious. Psyduck, having completed its duty, trundled back towards Misty.
“…You did that for me?” N asked quietly.
Zorua huffed, as if the answer were obvious.
Of course, N. You’re our friend. And I saw how stressed you were last night, I figured this was the least we can do.
Emotion tightened N’s chest.
“Silly you,” he murmured to Zorua, kneeling. “You didn’t have to… but thank you.”
Then his gaze shifted to Larvesta.
The little Pokémon hovered uncertainly, eyes reflecting something between worry and restraint. N understood immediately.
He knelt fully, lowering himself until they were eye to eye. Larvesta’s flames flickered but did not flare. Slowly, N reached out, brushing his hand along its warm body. Larvesta nudged forward, resting its head against his palm.
“I’m sorry,” N said softly. The words pressed heavily against his ribs as he spoke them. “I thought battling only ever meant oppression. I thought if you entertained the idea of battling and fights would mean forcing you into something cruel.”
Larvesta tilted its head.
“But last night… it wasn’t cruelty. It was instinct. It was defense. But more than anything, it was choice. Your choice.” N swallowed. “You fought because you cared.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
N noticed Larvesta’s gaze drifting toward Ash and his Pokémon. The team was laughing at Oshawott’s antics and the way he kept being ignored by Scraggy, and N could sense it was made possible by easy bonds and shared battles. This must be what Larvesta found interesting.
His heart clenched sharply, but tried to ignore the ugly feeling of jealousy that was rearing inside him. N exhaled shakily, trying to compose himself before posing the question.
“There’s something I need to ask you,” he said, voice trembling despite his effort to keep it calm. “Would you… like to be Ash’s Pokémon?”
Both Zorua and Larvesta lurched and backed away from N, while N looked away.
“I can understand battles better now,” N continued, each word heavy. “But I still don’t like them. I may never like them. But you… you do. I’m afraid I can’t give you the life you want.”
N looked down, his breath shallow, heart pounding painfully in his ears. Tears threatened to spill, and shame followed close behind. Tears were unbecoming of a hero—that was what his Father had always told him. Swallowing thickly, N forced himself to look up and found Larvesta watching the distance before landing back at N.
Both of them held each other’s gaze before the small Pokemon made his move.
Towards N.
Stay.
And it took all the strength in the world not to sob like he was still the child who wandered around a cruel world, who found a Zorua that ran away at the sight of him. Who came back bringing an old Darmanitan in tow, and they both took N and cared for him when no one did. And when Darmanitan handed him an apple, tears flowed down his cheeks as he cried his heart out being comforted by two Pokemon who had rescued him from loneliness.
N scooped Larvesta up and Zorua looked at N with a wistful expression before tottering over and placing a paw at his knees, just as he did all those years ago.
“Hey,” Ash said quietly, slowing his steps until he was walking beside him. “You okay, N?”
N glanced over and found Ash watching him with those wide brown eyes. Open, curious, and far wiser than his years suggested. The others noticed too. Misty stopped short, Iris turned around mid-stride, and Cilan adjusted his backpack, all of them waiting.
They had reached Pinwheel Forest now. The towering trees stretched endlessly ahead, sunlight filtering through leaves in fractured beams, the air alive with rustling and distant Pokémon cries.
“I think I am,” N said after a moment, exhaling as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Or… I’m getting there.”
He kept walking, and after a beat, the others followed but not without exchanging curious glances.
Iris was the first to speak. She always was.
“What’s bothering you?” she asked plainly.
N almost smiled. Iris had no patience for circling an issue, no instinct for polite distance. Ash, ironically, was gentler with these things—direct, yes, but careful, thoughtful in a way that surprised him more and more each day.
Back when N traveled alone with Zorua, he could sink into his thoughts and let them spiral undisturbed. His companion would try to distract him; although unsuccessful. But, in a group, that wasn’t an option. If one person noticed something was off, everyone noticed. And no one would let it slide.
It had unnerved him at first. But now, he didn’t mind it nearly as much as he thought he would.
“I can’t quite shake the feeling,” N began slowly, choosing his words with care, “that by participating in that battle, I betrayed something fundamental about myself.”
Misty opened her mouth, then closed it, catching herself. N noticed. He appreciated that.
“I know,” he continued quickly, “I understand the difference now. I understand why it was necessary. But even without saying much… directing Larvesta, using my voice that way, that alone was enough to send me into shock.”
Ash’s brow furrowed slightly.
“I don’t know if you noticed,” N went on, turning toward him, “and I should apologize for it, but after I gave Larvesta permission… I froze. Completely. I couldn’t move. It was so far outside my nature that it overwhelmed me.”
He clenched and unclenched his hands as they walked.
“Larvesta enjoys battling,” he said quietly. “And I don’t resent that. But liking battle and leading one are two very different things. Accepting that battles exist doesn’t mean I’m ready to take on the role of a Trainer in them. I’m not even fit to be one.”
The words rushed out more urgently now.
“Larvesta is not even my Pokemon. He’s my friend. A companion who had chosen to stay with me but if his nature is inclined to battling then I may have to help him… which means learning to battle. Perhaps, one day, I may learn. I will certainly try to, for the sake of my friend but I don’t know how to reconcile who I’ve been my entire life with who I might need to become.”
Thoughtful silence settled over the group.
Then Ash spoke.
“That makes sense.”
N blinked and looked at him.
“I mean it,” Ash continued, scratching the back of his head. “You don’t have to be ready all at once. And you don’t have to be a Trainer like me or anyone else. Just look at it in a way that Larvesta needs guidance to gauge its capabilities and you’re helping him. Simple as that.”
Iris nodded vigorously. Cilan folded his arms, thoughtful, as he piped up. “Besides, growth doesn’t require immediacy.”
Misty stepped closer, her voice gentler. “And remember, you didn’t betray yourself. Your beliefs were challenged and you faced it despite your fear and reservations, which takes a lot of courage.”
N stopped walking.
For a moment, he just stood there beneath the canopy of Pinwheel Forest, the weight in his chest shifting. Before he could express his gratitude, an unruly Sewaddle suddenly attacked Pikachu.
“I am absolutely blaming you if we don’t make it to Castelia by tomorrow, Ash Ketchum!” Misty yelled, tic marks appearing on her face.
Everyone collectively sweatdropped.
The group had been led astray from the otherwise straightforward path of Pinwheel Forest because Ash had veered off after a particularly aggressive Sewaddle that had launched itself at Pikachu with surprising audacity.
Pikachu, now perched on Ash’s shoulder, gave a small, apologetic, “Pika…”, but the twitch of his tail betrayed absolutely zero remorse. He wanted Sewaddle to be part of the team just as much as Ash did.
N watched the two of them and felt something close to fond exasperation settle in his chest. Not for the first time, he thought that Ash and Pikachu didn’t merely understand each other but shared a mind. An impulse sparked in one and echoed instantly in the other.
Not for the first time, either, N wondered if Ash had a very specific, almost inevitable pattern when it came to the Pokémon he bonded with.
Rufflet came to mind immediately. Then, Snivy. Scraggy. And then, this Sewaddle that Ash wanted to catch.
Hard-headed. Stubborn. Unyielding.
Just like Ash himself, N realized, startled by the thought.
He was also startled by the fact that this was becoming normal to him now. Only days ago, the idea of a human chasing a Pokémon with the intent to capture it would have left him furious. He would have called it coercion, domination, an imbalance of power he couldn’t accept.
And yet, here he was. Trailing after a group of humans through Pinwheel Forest, searching for one particular Sewaddle among Arceus knew how many others in the forest.
“You and your fondness for Bug types!” Misty grumbled, swatting at an invisible itch as she scanned the trees. “Why can’t it ever be a Fairy type?”
Her tone carried long-suffering misery, something the group had come to recognize as her very real, very infamous entomophobia.
“And is there anything wrong with Bug types, young lady?”
The voice was light, amused and unfamiliar. As one, the group froze and turned.
Standing on a tree branch was a man with bright, expressive eyes and hair styled in layered, wing-like tufts, his clothes splashed with warm colors that somehow didn’t clash with the forest around him. There was an easy confidence in his posture, the kind that came from someone entirely at home in the wild.
Perched comfortably on his shoulder was the very Sewaddle they had been chasing.
N didn’t need a second look. Recognition struck instantly, aided by countless hours of study, especially of Unova’s Pokémon League. The art, the strategy, the philosophies behind each gym leader.
Burgh. The Gym Leader of Castelia City.
Burgh smiled, clearly enjoying their collective shock, while the Sewaddle on his shoulder chirped proudly, as if pleased to have led them all on such an elaborate chase.
“Well?” Burgh continued lightly. “They’re resilient, expressive, adaptable. Bug Pokémon are artists of survival, if you ask me.”
Misty paled.
Cilan, meanwhile, leaned forward with unmistakable awe. “You’re Burgh, right?! Castelia City’s Gym Leader!”
Burgh’s grin widened. “Guilty as charged.”
N had always been distrustful of humans—especially Gym Leaders.
Cilan and his brothers had earned his suspicion the moment he met them. Lenora, too. And now Burgh. In N’s mind, Gym Leaders were complicit by nature; they presided over a system that encouraged combat, spectacle, and suffering. To him, participation alone was evidence enough of their stance toward Pokémon.
Or so he had believed.
What his years of study hadn’t captured, what texts and challenge records failed to convey, was the way a Gym Leader moved when the battles were over. The spaces between matches. The quiet choices.
Burgh noticed Larvesta almost immediately.
His eyes lit up with something closer to delight, a soft intake of breath as though he’d been shown a half-finished masterpiece. He knelt without hesitation, lowering himself to Larvesta’s level, and spoke in a gentle cadence that caused its flames to settle into a steady, content glow.
He gave N careful, practical advice on caring for a Larvesta: how its body heat fluctuated with mood, how newborn flames often flared in uncertainty rather than aggression, how important warmth and reassurance were during rest cycles. Every word carried familiarity. Lived experience.
Then Burgh showed them how to greet Sewaddle: by gently tapping foreheads, a sign of trust among the species.
Everyone tried. Even Misty, who visibly debated with herself for a solid minute before stiffly leaning forward and tapping heads, eyes squeezed shut as if bracing for disaster. Sewaddle chirped happily.
Ash, on the other hand, failed spectacularly; the moment he bent down, Sewaddle tackled him straight into the dirt.
Laughter followed, light and unguarded.
And somewhere between Burgh’s easy rapport with Pokémon and the way he treated them, N felt something within him loosen.
He had to admit it. He knew far less than he had believed.
They camped on the largest tree in Pinwheel Forest where Burgh had made camp. Soft light flickered against bark as Cilan prepared supper, and soon everyone gathered around the makeshift table, the forest alive with quiet nocturnal sounds.
“So, are you on some kind of sabbatical, Burgh? Or just taking a break?” Misty asked, helping herself to seconds. “I go out to sea near Cerulean whenever things get too hectic at my Gym.”
Burgh stirred his meal thoughtfully. “I was planning to,” he admitted. “I’d fallen into something of a creative slump. I wanted to live as an insect does for a while. To observe, to feel as they do. Inspiration often requires immersion.”
His expression dimmed. “But troubling news reached me. I couldn’t delay.”
Iris leaned forward. “What happened?”
“My dear friend, Lenora,” Burgh said quietly. “Her museum was attacked.”
The warmth around the table vanished. N’s shoulders stiffened.
Ash nodded, expression uncharacteristically solemn. “Yeah. We were there.”
“You were?” Burgh said in surprise, his eyes sharpening. He exhaled slowly, “Then you must be the trainers who helped defend it. Poor Hawes… But I’m glad Lenora wasn’t alone. What happened was unforgivable. I thought Team Plasma were merely ideological extremists, but to act like common hoodlums…”
Shaking his head, he continued, “When I arrived in Nacrene, Lenora warned me and mentioned another incident prior—one in Striaton.”
“The Dreamyard,” Cilan said quietly.
Burgh inclined his head. “I thought as much. You were there when it happened, weren’t you, Cilan?”
Cilan glanced at the others and Burgh looked between them, concern deepening. “All of you?”
“Yes.”
Burgh’s jaw tightened. “That makes this far more troubling than I hoped.”
Iris frowned. “Why?”
“I was just getting to that,” Burgh said. “Lenora theorized that if Striaton was targeted, and then Nacrene… then the pattern suggests—”
“Castelia,” N finished, teeth clenched.
“Yes,” Burgh confirmed. “And if you were present at both incidents…” His gaze sharpened. “Then it’s likely you’ll be involved again.”
Despite how much N wanted to deny it, he knew deep inside that it was most likely.
Misty inhaled sharply. N turned just in time to catch her staring intensely at Ash, concern written plainly across her face. Barely noticed by the others, Ash offered a slight crinkling of his eyes and a quick smile, one meant to reassure, but it only seemed to deepen Misty’s worry.
N’s thoughts flickered back to the conversation he’d overheard in the Striaton Pokémon Center. About Ash being involved in things far bigger than himself.
Burgh’s hands curled into fists atop the table.
“This is unacceptable. So long as I remain Castelia’s Gym Leader,” Burgh said, voice firm, “no one will be harmed in my city. Not the Pokémon, not her citizens, not even her tourists and my challengers.”
With the conversation lingering at the back of his mind, try as he might, N could not sleep. The camp had long since settled but his mind would not still. It never did anymore.
Ever since he began traveling with Ash, true sleep had become a rarity. Every day brought new fractures in the carefully constructed world he had lived in all his life. Questions stacked atop one another until they blurred, until he no longer knew where one fear ended and another began.
Had N made a mistake joining Ash in his journey? Are his convictions failing because of them? Has his mind been poisoned? Should they be the ones blamed for his confusion?
N turned onto his side, staring into the darkness. All his life, Team Plasma had been his world. It shaped his ideals, molding him into who he was—or still is. Pokémon were victims. Humans were oppressors. Trainers were jailers who called their chains partnership. This was the truth he lived by.
That truth had stood unchallenged for so long. Then, in a single stroke, it had begun to unravel because of an unassuming trainer from Pallet Town and his Pikachu.
A soft rustle broke through his spiraling thoughts. Zorua, who had been curled close earlier, suddenly lifted his head. His ears twitched, body going rigid and alert. The illusion around him shimmered faintly, dark fur bristling.
Before N could speak, Zorua bolted.
“Zorua, wait,” N whispered urgently. He didn’t stop to think as he scrambled to his feet to follow Zorua, desperately hoping that he didn’t wake the others.
The forest at night was different. It was denser, alive with unseen movement. Roots snagged at his boots as he ran, branches clawed at his coat, but he pushed on, heart pounding as Zorua gained ground with ease. Whatever had caught his attention, the fox was not backing down.
The sound reached him first. Zorua was barking.
When N burst into the small clearing ahead, Zorua stood planted between him and a lone figure, fur raised, teeth bared, eyes burning with warning.
The man standing opposite froze. Recognition struck them both at once.
“…Lord Gorm.”
The sage’s eyes widened, his gaze darting from N to the snarling Zorua, then back again. Suddenly his face broke into something dangerously close to joy.
“My King!”
The title landed like a blow.
Before Gorm could say another word, N surged forward and seized him by the wrists, grip tight and shaking. Zorua snapped sharply in warning as N dragged the older man off the path and deeper into the trees, branches scraping at their clothes, moonlight splintering through the leaves. Only when the forest swallowed them whole did N stop.
“Lower your voice,” N hissed, eyes wild as he released him. “What are you doing here?”
Gorm blinked, clearly startled. Not by the question, but by the force behind it. “Merely passing through,” he said smoothly. “And yourself, my King?” His smile widened, reverent. “Your father assured us of your well-being. He said your sabbatical was nearly at its end.”
“What?”
N stiffened. “Sabbatical?”
“Yes,” Gorm continued, unfazed. “News has spread quickly of the Hero’s homecoming. And who else could that be but you?” He inclined his head. “I am on my way to Castelia City for the celebration… and to assist with the fulfillment of our recent plans.”
The word plans made N’s stomach drop.
“…Plans?” he echoed faintly. “What plans?”
Gorm waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, well. Despite the… setback in Nacrene, everything proceeds as intended. A minor inconvenience, truly.”
N’s breath caught.
“You were responsible for that attack in Nacrene?” His voice cracked, sharp and incredulous. “It wasn’t just a rogue faction? All this time I had thought there were growing dissenters and extremists inside our noble organization but you’re claiming you did that?”
Gorm’s smile thinned. “Responsible is such an ugly word. Necessary is more accurate.”
Necessary.
N recoiled as if struck. Images flooded his mind. Lenora’s shaken resolve, Hawes lying injured on the floor, the whole group fighting back Plasma members.
“People were hurt,” N’s voice trembled, fury and disbelief mixing into a strange, icy resolve. “Pokémon were terrified! What happened to liberation, Lord Gorm? Whatever you’re calling this, it isn’t liberation. It isn’t freedom. It isn’t in line with our ideals!”
Gorm seemed as though he visibly aged a couple more years in front of N. “Ah, my King, after the failed ceremony, Lord Ghetsis had taken up measures to secure the success of Team Plasma. This is something we have hidden from you… but it was—and still is—necessary.”
N’s body went rigid as he remembered the failed crowning ceremony. Of Reshiram and Zekrom denying him before they fled. That was the reason he was searching out the world and widening his perspective. So that in time, he would grow worthy of either dragon.
Why did they deny him? Why did not a single dragon choose N? Were his convictions lacking? What should he do to be worthy?
But just as these whirling thoughts had visited again, N focused on the present. His father… Ghetsis. He’s approved all this violence? Something inside N broke.
“Was it necessary,” N said, voice low but cutting, “to turn to Poké Balls and use Pokémon to convince people to liberate theirs? Do you know what that looks like from the outside, Gorm? Hypocrisy. Power. Control. Not freedom. You’re betraying everything you swore to uphold!”
“They refuse to liberate the Pokemon!” Gorm shot back, eyes flashing with irritation.
“Only because you force them!” N’s words were sharp, every syllable carrying the weight of years of indoctrination breaking apart. “You want them to free their Pokémon, but the method you chose, using Pokémon to coerce them, makes it look like oppression. You steal Pokemon now. You’ve turned liberation into domination!”
Gorm’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, N saw uncertainty flicker in the elder’s eyes. “My King… you’ve changed. What… what has happened to you?”
N took a deliberate step closer, his gaze unwavering. “Tell me, Lord Gorm… if I frisked you right now, wouldn’t I find a Poké Ball or two hidden in your robes? You were supposed to be a sage, a mentor, one who understands the balance of power. And yet, it is you inflicting cruelty. You, Lord Gorm. Do you see the irony?”
Heat rose to Gorm’s face. Whether from shame, anger, or disbelief, N could not tell. The forest around them was eerily still, as though even the wind was holding its breath. N turned away, resolving himself to return to camp, when a rustling sound caught his attention.
A Sewaddle emerged cautiously from the underbrush, its tiny head tilting as it observed the tense scene.
“Hey! Sewaddle, where are you?”
N looked up at that familiar voice. Then came Ash who stumbled upon them like a deer caught in headlights.
“N?”