Training Week : Day 3
The third morning brought mist.
Not heavy—just enough to coat Orion's shoulders as he stepped out of the tarp lean-to. The trees were pale with it, like bones beneath gauze. The ground was soft. Everything smelled of wet moss and smoke from the coals they'd buried the night before.
Turtwig was already up. Not just awake, but pacing. His head moved from side to side slowly, scanning the treeline like a sentry.
Orion stepped beside him and said nothing.
After a moment, Turtwig turned and gave a single, measured blink.
Orion didn't smile.
He nodded and moved to rebuild the fire.
By the time Tyrunt had stretched and emerged with a full-body yawn, the drills had already begun.
"Today," Orion said, cracking twigs into the fire, "we fight for real."
He looked to Turtwig.
"You've learned how to use Bite. You've begun channeling instinct. Now you're going to be tested."
He pointed toward the slope where he'd spotted a family of Bidoof nesting in the ridge hollow.
"You're going to fight one. Alone. No backup."
Turtwig's leaf twitched.
Tyrunt rumbled with amusement, shaking dew from his shoulders.
Orion turned to Tyrunt next.
"You're not off duty. Rock Throw's not reliable yet. You'll spend the morning hitting moving targets. I'll run the motion. You do the aiming."
Tyrunt stomped a forefoot in reply.
Orion grabbed his walking stick, now shaved smooth from drills, and gestured for Turtwig to follow.
They climbed the slope without speaking.
The Bidoof weren't aggressive—but they were territorial. As soon as one spotted them near the den, it let out a flat growl and bounded forward on thick legs, buck teeth bared.
Orion stepped back.
"Turtwig. No Razor Leaf. No orders. I want you to read and react."
Turtwig stepped into the shallow field and squared off with the approaching Bidoof.
There was a moment—brief, suspended—where Turtwig glanced toward Orion.
But Orion said nothing.
The Bidoof struck first.
It charged with a surprisingly fast Tackle, aiming for Turtwig's front shell. The hit landed. Turtwig slid back half a meter but didn't fall. He didn't counter either. Just stared.
"Don't wait," Orion muttered under his breath.
The Bidoof charged again.
Turtwig finally moved. He ducked low, twisted, and fired a wild Razor Leaf—not a spread, just one thick blade. It missed. Badly.
The Bidoof slammed him again.
Turtwig went down.
Orion almost stepped forward.
Almost.
But Turtwig stood.
And this time—he didn't look at Orion.
The next charge came, and Turtwig bit.
Not a Razor Leaf.
Not Absorb.
Just jaws.
The bite landed on the Bidoof's left flank. There was no flash of Dark-type energy, no elemental effect—but the physical power was real. The Bidoof yelped and broke away.
Turtwig followed up with a headbutt and forced the creature into a defensive roll.
When the Bidoof stopped moving, Turtwig didn't press.
He just stood there, body tense, jaw tight.
Orion exhaled quietly.
"That's how it starts."
Back at camp, Tyrunt's training resumed with relentless repetition.
Orion set up a swinging log trap—rope tied between two trees, a slab of bark lashed to it for momentum. He pushed it with his foot and let it swing like a pendulum across the training circle.
"Target's moving now. Hit it."
Tyrunt launched his first stone.
Wide.
Second stone—too late.
Third—dead on.
There was a faint thrum to the rock when it hit. The log shifted hard, rope groaning from the impact.
Orion raised an eyebrow.
"Did you feel that?"
Tyrunt's tail swished with restrained excitement.
"Do it again."
This time, Tyrunt threw before the swing reached its apex.
The rock struck.
The log spun.
The vibration was clearer this time.
Orion stepped forward, crouched beside him.
"That's the difference. A Rock Throw isn't just a rock. It's an amplified strike. You're channeling type energy through inertia."
Tyrunt opened his jaws and gave a short, proud roar.
Orion tossed him another rock.
They kept going.
In the early afternoon, Orion brought both Pokémon to the edge of the stream. He sat on a boulder and pulled out his journal—half map, half strategy book.
He sketched out three columns: Tyrunt. Turtwig. Field Notes.
Under Tyrunt:
Bite – MASTERED
Dragon Tail – UNSTABLE MASTERED
Rock Throw – CHANNELING CONFIRMED
Under Turtwig:
Bite – PHYSICAL FORM CONFIRMED
Absorb – STRONGER, SUSTAINED
Razor Leaf – CONTROLLED SPREAD
He drew a line under Turtwig's list and wrote, in clean capital letters:
LEAF STORM – POTENTIAL BASE FOUND
The next column he marked with tally slashes and circles—symbols he didn't need to explain to himself. Movement trails. Territory marks. Wildlife density.
At the bottom, he circled the word "SHINX."
They found the next opponent while looking for dinner.
A Stunky, rooting near a berry patch under a fallen log. It was alone, irritable, and not impressed by the sight of three strangers.
It hissed and raised its tail.
"Yours," Orion said to Turtwig.
Turtwig stepped forward.
This time, he didn't look back.
The Stunky launched Poison Gas.
Turtwig darted low and used Withdraw, catching the cloud against his shell. As soon as the gas cleared, he fired Razor Leaf—not random.
Three blades. Arced. Controlled.
One struck the Stunky in the eye.
It screamed and charged.
Turtwig dodged, teeth flashing.
This time, when he bit—it sparked.
Only for a fraction of a second.
But it sparked.
Dark-type energy, channeled through motion and emotion, rippled through the impact.
The Stunky dropped like a stone.
Turtwig stepped back, panting.
Orion reached him after a moment and crouched.
"You felt it, didn't you?"
Turtwig didn't blink.
But his leaf moved slowly. Almost like it nodded.
"You're not just following anymore."
That night, they ate in silence.
Roasted root mash for Orion. Wild berries and fungus broth for the Pokémon. Turtwig chewed without hesitation now. Tyrunt curled at Orion's side like a living shield.
From the trees, glowing eyes watched.
The Shinx colony had returned.
Still watching.
Still silent.
Still not moving.
Orion looked into the shadows for a long time.
Then lowered his head and whispered to the fire.
"Tomorrow… we push farther."