Carnivine
The fire had long burned to embers. Pale smoke curled into the gray morning light, caught in the stillness between pine trunks. Orion stirred beneath the tarp, stiff from a restless night on the cold ground. He blinked up at the fading stars, rolled onto one side, and exhaled slowly.
Tyrunt was already awake.
Not pacing. Not growling. Just awake—coiled and watching, legs folded beneath him, eyes trained on the forest beyond the clearing. His jaw flexed slightly, the faintest twitch in the corner of his mouth like he was waiting for something to blink first.
Orion sat up, pulling the blanket off his shoulders, and ran one hand through his hair. The air smelled of moss and ash. He pulled his canteen from his belt and took a swig before standing fully.
No words. They didn't need them. Not this morning.
After a quick meal, they trained.
Orion had built a pendulum target the night before: bark discs wrapped around a stone core, hung from a branch with a length of paracord. Simple. Durable. It swung at chest height for Tyrunt, just enough to mimic movement.
"Don't just snap," Orion said, standing just off to the side. "Control it. You've got the power. Use it."
Tyrunt's eyes stayed locked on the swinging disc. He was tense, but not angry.
The disc arced right—Tyrunt lunged.
Miss.
"Too soon."
Again.
This time, he waited—then bit. The disc cracked but didn't break.
Better.
By the tenth swing, dark energy flickered briefly around Tyrunt's jaws. Not enough to spark a full Bite, but enough to show it was there, just under the surface.
The control was coming.
Not because Orion told him how.
Because Tyrunt was figuring it out himself.
They moved on.
The forest here was different—thicker, warmer, full of strange sounds and unfamiliar scents. It reminded Orion how far he'd come from the cold ridges near Fallcreek. He relied more on Tyrunt's senses now, less on instinct. The terrain had changed. So had the rules.
They were navigating a ravine bend when Tyrunt stopped cold.
A low growl rumbled from his chest.
Orion froze.
Something was ahead.
Hanging between two trees like a vine-snare.
Carnivine.
Orion had never seen one before. Its bulbous green body swayed in the windless air, vine-limbs dangling, petal-like jaws half-open and twitching. Eyes unblinking. Watching.
Tyrunt didn't wait.
The Carnivine hissed and lashed out with one vine, striking fast. Tyrunt sidestepped, claws scraping the rock, then countered with a Bite—but mistimed it. He caught only air and leaves.
"Back! Watch the cloud!"
The Carnivine spat a burst of green spores—fast, wide, and sticky. Not sleep powder—Toxic.
Tyrunt rolled clear, then snarled and lunged again.
This time, the jaws landed.
Energy surged from his throat to his teeth. A snap of violet-black power, thick and pulsing.
Bite, perfected.
The Carnivine shrieked and crashed through the undergrowth.
It didn't rise.
Tyrunt turned away before Orion gave a word.
They didn't harvest it. This wasn't food. It was a test.
And he'd passed.
They moved quietly that afternoon. The terrain became rougher, the sun higher.
Around the edge of a hill path, they spotted someone ahead.
A young trainer—maybe sixteen—leaning on a walking stick, a Pokéball visible at his belt. He looked up as they approached, smiled faintly.
"Hey. You two been out long?"
Orion nodded once. "Few days."
The trainer gave Tyrunt a long glance. "Is that a real Tyrunt?"
"Yeah."
"Damn. Looks intense."
Orion didn't slow down. "He is."
The trainer shifted his weight. "Cool. I won't keep you. Stay sharp out here."
"Same to you."
They passed with no more than that. Orion didn't risk stopping. Not here. Not without a clear exit. Not with something like Tyrunt walking beside him.
You didn't take fights in the wild unless you were ready to lose something permanent.