The forest darkened faster than expected.
Not because of clouds, or rain, or the curve of the sun—this wasn't a weather shift. It was something in the air. The way the light got trapped between trees. The way shadows stretched just a little too far. Like dusk was cheating its way into the afternoon.
I didn't say anything. Didn't slow my pace either.
Honedge drifted beside me. Not ahead, not behind—just close enough to whisper presence without sound. I'd learned to feel it even when I didn't look.
Luxio was out too, scanning the brush, ears twitching.
Grotle and Tyrunt stayed in their balls. No need to bring a full team if I didn't know what I was dealing with yet. But I could feel it. Something was watching us. Something smart. Not the kind that ran or hunted. The kind that waited. Measured.
We hit a break in the trees near a rocky outcrop. The stone was old. Cracked. A faint groove ran through the center like something massive had once been dragged straight through it.
I paused.
Luxio growled low. His fur prickled. Electricity sparked between his shoulder blades—but it was aimless. Nervous.
Honedge didn't move.
I crouched slowly, brushing my fingers over the groove in the stone. It wasn't erosion. Not natural. Something had burned a line straight through here. Old… but not ancient. Months. Maybe a year.
Then I felt it.
The shadow behind me wasn't mine.
I spun as something lashed from the treeline.
Dark. Fast. Low to the ground and spitting mist as it moved. A Haunter—no, not quite. Bigger. Too grounded for a Haunter. A Mismagius.
Its cry was distorted, echoing twice with different tones. Like two versions of the same voice fighting for control. It blitzed forward, aiming not for me—but for Luxio.
"MOVE!"
Too late.
The Ghost-Type phased through Luxio, who froze mid-leap—eyes wide, body shuddering. Possession attempt. Paralysis through fear.
I reached for his ball.
The second Mismagius doubled back—not for Luxio. For me.
Its gaze locked on mine. And in that heartbeat, I knew it wasn't hunting. It was searching. Feeding. Not on blood, but feeling. On thoughts.
I couldn't move.
Then Honedge disappeared.
Not blinked. Not ducked. Gone.
And the cold hit.
My shadow stretched unnaturally. Wider. Deeper. It twisted like it had substance—and from the center of it, Honedge rose.
Not like a sword being drawn.
Like a warning.
It slashed the air between me and the Ghost with a burst of dark pressure. The Mismagius shrieked, recoiling mid-flight. Its form frayed at the edges—suddenly unsure. Suddenly challenged.
Honedge didn't pursue.
It floated in front of me, blade down, ribbon trailing like a banner in still wind. My protector. My weapon. My line.
The second Mismagius flickered again—but this time, I wasn't frozen.
I stepped forward.
"Shadow Sneak."
Honedge obeyed without hesitation. It didn't strike like a sword. It vanished into the ground again, trailing my silhouette like an echo, and surged up behind the Ghost.
Hit.
The pressure cracked the silence. Not a physical blow. But the kind that made even trees tremble.
The Ghost shrieked and reeled.
Luxio recovered enough to growl and bare his fangs, fur flaring with renewed energy.
"You alright?" I asked without looking.
Luxio snarled once. Then pounced.
The Mismagius retreated.
It didn't vanish—not right away. But it didn't fight anymore either. It hovered, twitching, shuddering in the tree line like a glitch in reality, then folded into the mist and vanished.
I exhaled slow.
The clearing fell silent again. But it was a different silence now. Lighter.
I looked down at my feet.
My shadow shifted… and Honedge slowly emerged again. Like it had been resting there. Watching. Guarding.
I crouched.
"You… hid in my shadow."
Honedge hovered.
I reached out—slow, deliberate. My fingers touched the hilt. Cold, but not biting.
"Guess you don't need to wait for commands anymore," I muttered.
It pulsed once. Not a glow. Just an acknowledgment.
Maybe.
We didn't train that night. No drills. No orders.
I made camp in the hollow of a ruined tree. Luxio curled near the edge, eyes half-lidded but awake.
Honedge stayed at the center. Upright. Watching the fire.
I stared at it longer than I meant to.
It wasn't a weapon.
It wasn't a tool.
It was a memory with teeth.
And it had chosen me as its sheath.
Not because I was worthy.
But because I was willing.
Tomorrow, we'd reach the outer rise of Hearthome's hills. Fantina wouldn't be the kind of opponent to be impressed by strength alone. She'd use field tricks. Light manipulation. Control through confusion.
But she didn't have Honedge.
And Honedge had already looked into my soul… and decided it was a place worth living.
Let her try.
We'd be ready.