Riven left the guild building with a quiet but determined air, the weight of his recent ordeals still lingering in his bones. The sun was rising higher now, bathing the city of Velridge in a pale golden hue. His destination was the city gates—his departure long overdue—but on his way, he spotted the familiar red roof of the Pokémon Center. Something tugged at him, a lingering unease in his body, a reminder of the wounds both physical and unseen. He decided to stop by for a final consultation.
Upon entering, he found the main hall calm and sterile. The scent of antiseptic filled the air, and the faint beeping of machines echoed from deeper within. Behind a half-open door, he glimpsed the town's doctor checking on another patient. Riven took a seat in the waiting area and remained silent, respectful of the quiet atmosphere. Time passed slowly, each second ticking by with the calm dread of unresolved pain.
When the doctor finally emerged from the room, Riven approached and gave a polite knock on the cabin door.
"Enter," came the voice from within.
Riven stepped inside with deliberate, measured steps. Though his wounds had begun to heal, there was a slight stiffness in his posture—proof that he wasn't fully recovered yet. He pulled the chair back gently and sat down, his breath steady, eyes calm.
The doctor, a tired but kind-eyed man in his fifties, glanced up and smiled faintly.
"Ah… Mister Riven. What can I help you with today?"
"I need a prescription," Riven replied, voice low but firm. "Something for pain, something to speed up recovery. I still have a lot to do."
The doctor nodded thoughtfully and began writing on a pad. "Painkillers, antiseptic for the wound, some antibiotics… and these should help tissue regeneration." He handed the slip to Riven with a measured look. "You should avoid heavy activity for another few days, but I have a feeling you won't listen."
Riven accepted the note with a grateful nod. "You're right," he said. "But thank you."
He made his way to the in-house pharmacy, purchased everything he needed, and packed it carefully in his backpack. With that done, he finally left the center and turned his steps toward the city gates once more.
Now he was truly prepared to move forward.
As he walked through the bustling outer streets of Velridge, his thoughts drifted toward the journey ahead—and more importantly, the training he needed to undertake. The recent battles had proven something important: he was still too weak. He needed to grow stronger, and fast.
But how?
Battling wild Pokémon was the traditional method. Reliable, yes, but painfully slow—especially in regions where the wilds were sparse or the Pokémon too weak to challenge him properly. Then there were the Corrupted Mons, mutated and twisted creatures born of harsh, unnatural environments. Fighting them would undoubtedly yield faster results. But Riven couldn't forget his first encounter with a Corrupted. The sheer ferocity of it—the unnatural aura, the madness in its eyes—it still haunted him.
No. That path was too reckless, at least for now.
Then came the more structured methods. Battling trainers. That was perhaps the most effective and authentic route for growth. Real opponents, unpredictable strategies, real consequences.
But he couldn't just wander the streets, randomly challenging passersby. That would only attract unwanted attention—or worse, legal trouble.
Gyms were the obvious answer, but small towns like Velridge didn't have any. Institutes were another option. Highly organized, resource-rich, and competitive. But he wasn't part of any and had no intention of joining one for now.
Then came a different kind of opportunity—Battle Companies. These private arenas registered licensed trainers and arranged matches based on tier rankings. All he needed was his trainer card. No politics, no formal institution, just battle.
And finally, there was the darkest route: Underground Fighting Rings.
These were brutal, blood-soaked arenas hidden in the back alleys of cities or buried beneath ruins. There were no rules there—only the law of survival. Win, and you gained money, status, and powerful connections. Lose, and you paid with your pride… or your life.
He knew of these underground fights only because of Ethan.
Ethan...
Riven's thoughts shifted. His old friend's name brought both comfort and unease. It was Ethan who'd told him about these brutal matches—how they operated, how they were hidden in plain sight. Riven still remembered the look in Ethan's eyes when he'd spoken of them. Not fear. Not excitement. Something else. A grim understanding of the world's cruelty.
Riven wondered where Ethan was now. Was he alright? Was he also walking this hard, uncertain road?
The sound of gravel crunching underfoot snapped him out of his reverie. Without realizing it, Riven had already passed beyond the city gates. The open wild stretched before him—vast, green, and filled with mystery. The wind was cooler out here, and silence stretched over the land like a blanket.
He stopped on the side of the road and took a deep breath, then unhooked two Poké Balls from his belt.
With a flick of his wrist, he released both.
A burst of white light coalesced into two familiar forms. Aron appeared first, his steel body gleaming in the light. The moment he saw Riven, he let out a happy cry and rushed forward, rubbing his head affectionately against Riven's leg like an excited puppy. Riven smiled and gently ran a hand along his rough back.
Froakie stood farther away, silent and still. His large eyes locked onto Riven's with a deep, unreadable expression. For a moment, neither moved. Then, slowly, Froakie stepped forward and came to stand by Riven's side. He didn't nuzzle, didn't chirp—just stood there, eyes alert, watchful.
Riven crouched down slowly, a small wince escaping his lips from the lingering pain. He ran his hands over both his partners, checking them for injuries or signs of stress. He had wanted to do this the moment he got his Poké Balls back, but caution had held him back. The last thing he needed was for someone to sense something off and start asking questions.
Thankfully, both seemed healthy. Froakie's strange behavior aside, there was no visible harm.
He left them out of their Poké Balls, allowing them to walk freely beside him.
More importantly, he could feel it again—the invisible tether that connected him to Aron. It was faint, but it pulsed gently within him like a shared heartbeat. He hadn't been able to feel it back at the research facility. Later, he learned that place had been a fusion research institute, likely filled with technology that interfered with trainer-Pokémon bonds.
The realization that their bond remained intact filled him with quiet relief.
Together, the three of them began walking toward the next phase of their journey.
His current mission location was still half a day's travel away, and he couldn't afford to push himself too hard in his condition. His pace was slow and steady. He would reach it by sundown, if nothing went wrong.
But even as he walked, his mind remained active, already laying out plans.
He needed power—and soon.
And he would find it, one way or another