Danger On the Road

They left Fallcreek just after sunrise.

No goodbyes. No words exchanged at the gate. The town had seen enough of them, and Orion had no desire to make more impressions than he already had.

Tyrunt walked beside him, quiet and low to the ground. Not anxious—never that—but watchful. Still not entirely comfortable in the open, but more curious than afraid now.

Orion hadn't said much during their camp the night before. He'd made notes in his journal, reviewed everything he'd read, and tried to piece together what he could. The archive hadn't given him the answers he wanted, but it had told him something more important:

People didn't like questions they couldn't answer.

Especially when the question was wrapped in scaled muscle, heavy claws, and the kind of bite strength that could crush a Rhydon skull.

And Orion had walked right into the middle of a quiet town and waved that question in everyone's face.

By midday, they were deep into the ridge trail, the familiar slope weaving through heavy trees and shaded outcroppings. It felt good to return to silence.

Home wasn't far now.

Still a day's walk, maybe two if weather turned.

Orion exhaled as he walked.

And didn't notice the man until late afternoon.

They passed him near the fork where the trail bent toward the southern hunting routes—less traveled, dense with bramble and dry creekbeds.

The man was leaning against a rock outcrop, hands folded, one boot up against the stone. He didn't look startled when Orion approached. Didn't even move at first. Just watched.

Tyrunt growled under his breath.

Orion slowed.

The man pushed off the rock and nodded. "Didn't mean to spook you."

"You didn't," Orion said.

"Good-looking Pokémon," the man added, eyes lingering just a little too long. "Don't see many like that around here."

Orion kept walking. "He's rare."

"I bet. Can't imagine where you picked something like that up."

Orion said nothing.

The man chuckled.

"I'm a Trainer, you know. Mostly wilderness gigs, scouting. Lotta rough roads. You pick up things now and then. You know how it is."

"I don't," Orion replied.

The man gave a mock laugh, like Orion was just playing along. "Sure you do. Kid like you, traveling on your own. Gotta have a few tricks."

"Just one," Orion said.

He didn't stop walking.

The man didn't follow.

Not yet.

They didn't speak again for the rest of the day.

Orion didn't see him again either.

But he felt him.

That strange itch at the back of his neck.

The one that told you you were being watched, even when the trees swore otherwise.

That night, Orion made camp earlier than usual.

He chose a ridge just west of the main trail, where the trees grew tight and the ground was uneven—harder to sneak across without breaking branches or slipping in runoff.

He didn't light a fire.

Didn't unpack food for himself.

Only for Tyrunt.

The dragon sat across from him on the slope, eating in silence, eyes constantly flicking toward the trees.

Orion chewed a strip of dry meat slowly, then muttered, "You feel it too, huh?"

Tyrunt didn't react.

But his tail flicked once.

A sharp, deliberate motion.

Orion didn't sleep much.

Not because of the cold or the wind or the ache in his legs.

But because twice—twice—he thought he heard someone step on a branch.

No follow-up.

No confirmation.

But the sound stuck with him.

Just long enough to settle in his chest like ice.

The next morning, he doubled their pace.

He took side paths when he could. Checked behind him more than usual. He wasn't being paranoid. He was being careful.

Because if that man wanted Tyrunt, he wouldn't be the only one.

And the worst kind of thief wasn't the one who asked.

It was the one who waited for you to get tired first.

By late afternoon, the ridge opened up.

He knew this clearing. The one that split between the trail to home and the old logging path that led nowhere.

He stopped.

Waited.

Listened.

Nothing.

Still—

He reached down and rested a hand on Tyrunt's neck.

The dragon twitched at first, then settled.

Orion leaned in close and whispered, "If someone jumps us, run."

Tyrunt made a low noise.

Not agreement.

Not refusal.

Just... recognition.

They made it back to the cabin just before dusk.

Smoke already curled from the chimney.

Reid was home.

Good.

Orion closed the gate behind them and let Tyrunt into the yard.

The dragon gave a satisfied huff and stomped through the snowdrift with authority, clearly glad to be back somewhere that didn't smell like townsfolk and regulations.

Reid opened the door.

"Took longer than expected."

"Stopped to read."

"You bring trouble with you?"

Orion paused.

Then nodded once.

"Maybe."

Reid didn't seem surprised.

"Tell me."

They talked that night by the fire.

Orion explained the man on the road, the look in his eyes, the way he lingered just long enough to make a point—but not long enough to be accused.

Reid stirred the pot hanging above the coals, then said, "You know what that means."

Orion nodded.

"He wasn't the only one watching."

They'd have to be more careful now.

No more letting Tyrunt roam in sightlines. No more campfires near the trail. They'd move less. Stay close.

And eventually, they'd have to make a decision.

Because a dragon like Tyrunt wasn't going to stay hidden forever.