The officer sat in silence for a while, as if sifting through a long list of unspoken doubts. His expression was unreadable, lips pressed into a firm line. Then, without a word, he stood and gestured toward the door.
Still sore and moving stiffly due to the fresh stitches that ran from his left shoulder to the upper chest—evidence of a brutal encounter—Riven rose with a muted grunt and followed. He kept his gaze low, his thoughts spinning.
They haven't accused me of anything yet. But they're watching. Listening. Every word I say in the next hour might decide my future… or Froakie's.
They stepped out of the Pokémon Center, greeted by the muted bustle of early morning. Velridge Town stirred to life with the sleepy rhythm of a frontier settlement—modest but fortified. Merchants rolled carts into place, weathered trainers chatted beside benches, and Pokémon frolicked along alleyways and fences. Cobblestone paths snaked between simple but sturdy buildings, all painted in warm, sun-faded hues.
But none of it felt calm to Riven. The weight of silent eyes pressed down on him from every angle.
They arrived before a squat, modest building tucked behind a line of merchant stalls. It wasn't tall or flashy, but its steel-rimmed doors and thick glass windows betrayed an air of importance. It didn't look like any guardhouse Riven had seen—not militarized, not judicial. It felt colder, older. Like it had seen things the world had forgotten.
Inside, the scent of sterile metal and recycled air replaced the freshness of the morning. Soft humming noises came from deeper in the facility—machines, maybe. Computers. Hidden tech.
They took an elevator to the third floor. The officer didn't speak. Riven didn't ask.
Finally, they arrived at a large, ornate door. It was dark wood, etched with lines that weren't just decorative—they looked like containment sigils. Ancient, arcane.
The officer knocked twice.
A few seconds passed. Then the door creaked open.
As Riven stepped into the room, he felt the air shift. It wasn't colder… but heavier. Like he'd stepped underwater.
His mind sharpened instantly.
This isn't just a room. It's a stage.
The space was large but efficient. No wasted furniture. No decor for comfort. Only precision. Authority. Control. At the far end, two men sat behind a long obsidian desk stacked with files and digital readouts.
The first was a mountain of muscle, power exuding from every inch of his solid frame. He had the bearing of a man who'd earned command not by politics, but by survival. His jaw was clenched. His eyes were predator-sharp. His uniform—silver with black trim—bore the insignia of Velridge's City Guard. He was the General.
The second was older, leaner, but no less dangerous. White-streaked hair, glasses perched on a thin nose, eyes that seemed to record everything. He wore a long coat with the crest of Velridge's Applied Sciences Institute. If he wasn't the mayor, he was someone close.
A voice spoke—low, hoarse, and carved from authority.
"Riven Valehart. You're here."
Riven gave a shallow nod.
"You likely understand why… but let me clarify."
The officer handed a folder to the General, who flipped it open and read the top page aloud.
"Age: eighteen. Son of Alden and Elira Valehart. From Kaer Vaelen. No criminal record. Graduate of Basic Academy. Certified trainer. Trainer Card issued two weeks ago—currently held by us for verification. Arrived at Velridge's eastern gate with severe injuries, including a stitched wound from your shoulder to chest. Collapsed near the Pokémon Center. You were carrying four Poké Balls. Three were standard. One…" The General held up a photo of a sleek, black Poké Ball with a strange silver core. "This… was not."
Riven said nothing. He didn't dare move.
"That's what brings you here," the General said.
He stood and walked around the desk. Each step was measured, heavy.
"What is your relation to this device?"
Riven blinked. "I… found it."
The General's eyes narrowed.
"Where?"
"In the Dark Woods. I—"
"Be specific," the General cut in. "Location. Time. What direction were you heading? What route did you take from Kaer Vaelen? Did you stop anywhere?"
Riven swallowed hard.
"I took the direct route. Southbound path through the Mourning Veil Wilds. I made camp halfway through. I didn't stop in any other towns. I entered the Dark Woods around midday. It was a bad call. I didn't find anything for hours. Then I got attacked by a corrupted Geodude."
The General crossed his arms, watching him.
"And this Poké Ball? You just 'found' it in the middle of a death-marked forest?"
"It was on the Froakie's neck," Riven replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "It wore it like a necklace. A thread tied around it. After it saved me, I used it to recall him."
The General's lips pressed tighter.
"Convenient."
Riven frowned. "It's the truth."
"Your shoulder wound," the General continued. "Describe it."
Riven's jaw tightened. "Geodude struck with a Rock Throw. I turned to shield Froakie. Took the blow along the left side."
"And yet you ran? While bleeding?"
"I had no choice," Riven replied. "I didn't stop until I got clear of the forest."
A pause. The General's eyes were drilling into him now.
"Why didn't the corrupted Geodude chase you?"
"I don't know," Riven said honestly. "Froakie fought it off—maybe it got distracted. Maybe we got lucky."
"Maybe," the General echoed, though he clearly didn't believe in luck.
He began to pace, slow and deliberate.
"What's your connection to Froakie?"
"I don't know," Riven said. "He wasn't mine. He followed me. I saved him… he saved me. That's it."
"Why didn't you report the Poké Ball immediately?"
"I passed out at the gates," Riven said with slight irritation. "I didn't even get to a desk before I collapsed."
Another pause. The air in the room was suffocating now.
"Are you aware that custom Poké Balls like this are illegal without registration? That certain black market variants can bypass safety limits and suppress Pokémon will?"
Riven's pulse kicked up. "No. I didn't. I just wanted to help him."
The older man behind the desk finally stood. He approached Riven, slower than the General, more curious than suspicious.
He looked at the stitches across Riven's shirt. Then he looked deeper—into Riven's expression, his posture, his soul.
"A boy who throws himself between a corrupted mon and a Pokémon he doesn't even own…" the professor said quietly. "Interesting."
The General turned slightly. "You believe him?"
"I didn't say that," the professor replied. "I said he's interesting."
With a flick of his hand, the professor returned to his seat.
The General studied Riven for another long moment. Then he grunted.
"For now," he said, "you are not being detained. But this isn't over. You will remain in Velridge until we finish our investigation. If summoned, you will answer—no excuses. Understood?"
Riven nodded. "Understood."
A young woman in a white lab coat entered, holding a tray. On it were his Poké Balls, DexNav, and his Trainer Card. She handed them to him with a small bow.
Riven accepted them quietly, relief barely visible in his expression. His fingers closed around the familiar weight of his DexNav and card, grounding him, steadying him.
The General turned to leave, the officer following behind.
Just as Riven reached the door, a soft voice stopped him.
"You're Gideon's grandchild, aren't you?"
Riven turned slowly. His eyes sharpened.
The professor was looking at him again, but this time with something close to familiarity.
"And you're… Professor Obel," Riven said.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of the man's lips. "I thought so."