Missing Pages

The archive didn't look like much—less like a building and more like a shack someone had forgotten to finish. The door leaned. The windows were permanently fogged. And the sign that read "RECORDS" was missing half its letters.

Orion wasn't expecting much.

Which, in a way, made it easier not to be disappointed.

He stepped up to the front step with Tyrunt beside him. The dragon had stopped growling at townspeople by now, but his eyes still tracked every passerby like a hunting instinct he hadn't figured out how to turn off. Orion laid a calming hand on the side of his neck.

Tyrunt stiffened, then allowed it.

Inside, the old woman at the desk didn't even glance up until the door creaked shut behind them.

"You bringing that thing in?" she said.

"He's tame."

"No dragons in the archive."

"He's not going to—"

"No dragons. Not even small ones. Not even quiet ones. No exceptions."

Orion glanced at Tyrunt, who looked unimpressed by the decision. Still, he didn't fight it.

The Pokéball clicked, and the dragon disappeared in a pulse of red light.

Orion didn't like it.

Neither did Tyrunt.

He passed through a pair of hanging cloths into the main room—two aisles of mismatched shelves packed with books, scrolls, binders, and whatever else the town had collected over the decades. It smelled like oil and dust. The light came from slanted glass above, filtered and dim.

"Four items at a time," the woman called from the front. "Don't fold, rip, or write in anything unless it already looks ruined."

Orion made his way to the far wall, where a battered crate had been labeled "Pokémon: TYPE – DRAGON/ROCK." The handwriting was awful. The crate was half full of miscellaneous junk—pamphlets, torn pages, a couple of chipped reference guides, and one half-ruined journal written in shorthand.

He sat on the floor and started sorting.

Most of it was useless.

League-issued trainer primers didn't even list Tyrunt. The books that did talk about dragons were focused on more common ones—Dratini, Axew, Gible. Even those were vague. Behavioral profiles. Training theories. Nothing concrete.

He tried searching by move instead. Maybe he could figure out what a Rock/Dragon type could learn based on its typing.

Still nothing. Just general theory. A few anecdotes. No detailed records.

Orion frowned, flipping back and forth through the only book with diagrams. Some pages had whole sections blacked out. Others had been torn entirely.

Not by time.

By someone's hand.

He brought the stack up front an hour later.

The old woman peered over her glasses.

"No luck?"

"I was hoping to find a list of attacks. Moves Tyrunt could learn."

"Moves?"

"Yeah. TM compatibility, egg moves, tutor techniques. That kind of thing."

She gave a snort.

"You're not going to find that here."

"I figured. But why not?"

"Because nobody shares it," she said, matter-of-fact. "You think people just hand out training secrets? You want to teach a dragon something useful, you find someone who already trained one. And they'll charge you ten times what it's worth."

"I'm not trying to train him for battle. I just want to know what he can do."

"Same difference. Any Pokémon that strong, people get nervous. Trainers keep their methods close. You'll see the results in the field—sure—but not how they got there. That's how people stay on top."

She leaned back in her chair.

"And if your Tyrunt isn't like the others—well. That's your problem, not theirs."

Orion didn't say anything.

He nodded once, thanked her, and left.

Outside, the light was starting to shift—orange-tinged, late-afternoon sun cutting across the rooftops of Fallcreek. Orion stepped out into the square and paused near a bench beside the bulletin board.

He looked around.

No one too close.

He unhooked the Pokéball and let Tyrunt out.

The dragon reappeared in a crouch, breathing slow and irritated. He immediately looked around and let out a low huff—eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar square.

"Calm down," Orion said quietly.

Tyrunt didn't snap, but his tail scraped the stone.

Several heads turned.

"Hey!" a voice shouted. "You're not supposed to let that thing out here!"

Orion turned. A man in a leather apron was pointing at him from the other side of the square. His voice was loud, and a few others started murmuring.

Tyrunt growled.

"It's fine," Orion said, stepping closer. "He's not—"

"You want a riot? Lock it up."

Another voice added, "What if it gets loose?"

More stares now. A ripple of tension through the square. Even Tyrunt, for all his pride, seemed to sense the shift. He backed up a step, confused.

Orion raised his hands. "Okay. Okay."

He returned Tyrunt.

Quick. Controlled.

The square didn't quiet until he'd walked two blocks down and taken a turn into a narrow alley behind the market stalls.

He let out a breath.

Leaned back against the wall.

"Right," he muttered. "That went well."

Back at the camp outside town, he gave Tyrunt extra food and a slow brushing with a thick leather glove. The dragon didn't fight him. Didn't show affection, either.

But when Orion sat beside the fire and pulled out his notes, Tyrunt stayed close.

Closer than usual.

He added a new entry:

Fallcreek notes:

No data on moves

No trainers willing to talk

Archive incomplete

Pokécenter staff seemed cautious—none made suggestions

Theory: Move learning is private knowledge. Either you figure it out, or you pay for it. Tyrunt may not match League data at all if he's not a clone.

He tapped his pencil on the corner of the notebook.

Then wrote:

Watch your back. People are looking.

The next morning, they'd head back home.

He wasn't sure what he'd learned exactly.

But he knew now what he didn't know.

And in this world, that was almost the same as being prepared.