The wind at three thousand feet was a physical weight, pressing against my chest like a sheet of lead. Up here, Mt. Coronet didn't look like a mountain anymore; it looked like the jagged, snow-crusted spine of some ancient, slumbering titan. The ridges below were carved with deep, geometric fissures that reminded me of the plates on a Groudon's back, shimmering with ice that had likely never melted in a thousand years.
I leaned forward, hugging the Staraptor's neck to shield myself from the biting draft. "Stay steady, girl," I whispered, though my voice was immediately snatched away by the gale.
Even through three layers of thermal gear and thick wool gloves, my fingers were beginning to go numb. But as I peered through the high-powered binoculars Officer Jenny had provided, I couldn't help but feel a surge of adrenaline.
"This is incredible!" I shouted into the wind.
It was my first time truly flying since I'd arrived in the Sinnoh region. Back at the lab, I'd helped Professor Rowan tag his Staraptor flock, and I might have "accidentally" plucked a few loose feathers for research (and maybe a souvenir), but being the one in the saddle was a different beast entirely. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and deeply refreshing—a stark contrast to the claustrophobic research logs and gym battles of the past few weeks.
"Okay, focus, Julian," I scolded myself, readjusting the binoculars. "Five idiots. Three guys, two girls. Brightly colored jackets that should stick out like a Sorebel against the snow."
I looked down at the Staraptor. "I'm counting on your eyes. You're the pro here."
Even without the Keen Eye ability common to some of its kin, this Staraptor was a veteran of the Ranger Corps. Its avian instincts were honed for spotting poachers in dense brush and lost hikers in whiteouts. It let out a sharp, confident SKREEE! and tilted its wings, banking right to follow the jagged line of a ridge.
I made sure we stayed at a respectful altitude. In the wild, and especially on Mt. Coronet, the sky wasn't free real estate. Flying too low was an open invitation for territorial Skarmory or flocks of aggressive Murkrow to take offense. Mt. Coronet was a "high-level zone" in every sense of the word; the Pokémon here didn't just fight for food—they fought for every inch of their harsh, freezing domain.
We searched for what felt like hours, circling back and forth over the Route 211 entrance. The snow wasn't heavy yet, but the visibility was dropping. My heart began to sink. If they weren't on the mountain faces, they were still in the tunnels. And if they were still in the tunnels after that massive tremor...
"Wait! Staraptor, turn back! Twelve o'clock!"
BOOM!
A massive explosion of sound echoed from a secondary maintenance shaft halfway up the slope. It wasn't the sound of falling rocks; it was the sound of something heavy hitting stone.
"Rumble!" "Rock!" "Move, you oversized boulder! Get out of the way!"
I recognized that last voice. It was Felix—the irritable tracksuit guy. He sounded desperate, his usual bravado replaced by high-pitched frustration.
I pulled the binoculars tight to my eyes. At the mouth of a narrow cave entrance, I saw the problem. It wasn't a cave-in. It was a Golem.
But this wasn't a normal Golem. The species usually averaged about four and a half feet tall, but the monster blocking the path was easily over seven feet. It looked like a massive, jagged planetoid of grey granite, its skin weathered and scarred by years of mountain life. It was wedged firmly into the mouth of the tunnel, acting like a living, breathing cork.
Through the gaps between the Golem's rocky body and the tunnel walls, I could see flashes of color—the red of Marcus's jacket and the blue of Chloe's coat.
"That thing is huge!" I breathed, my breath hitching. "It must be an Overlord... or at least a Boss."
In the Sinnoh wilderness, especially in places like Mt. Coronet, natural selection occasionally produced "Boss" Pokémon. These weren't just strong; they were anomalies. They had survived countless battles and absorbed the mountain's unique magnetic energy until they surpassed the natural limits of their species. This Golem was likely the true leader of the Geodude colony—the one Jenny and the Rangers had been hunting for.
"It's an Elite-class heavyweight," I muttered, analyzing the situation. "With that size and its defensive typing, those five are trapped. Their attacks are probably bouncing off it like hailstones."
I watched as Marcus's Probopass fired a beam of magnetic energy, but the Golem didn't even flinch. It simply let out a low, vibrating growl that caused a fresh shower of dust to fall from the ceiling.
My first instinct was to dive. I have Sylveon. I have Floette. We can take it!
But logic quickly slapped me in the face.
If I dove in now, Staraptor was already exhausted from the search and would be a sitting duck for a Rock Slide. If I failed to defeat the Golem quickly—which was likely, given its sheer bulk—the Golem would call for its "Family." Within minutes, the cliffside would be swarming with hundreds of Geodude and Graveler. I wouldn't just be failing to rescue them; I'd be adding myself and a borrowed Staraptor to the casualty list.
"We have to go back," I said, my voice tight. "Staraptor, we have to get the Rangers. They have the heavy equipment and the Water-types to move this thing."
I took one last look through the lens. The five Trainers seemed uninjured for now, safely tucked behind the Golem's bulk, but they were trapped. The Golem seemed content to just sit there, acting as a barricade to keep everyone out of its hive.
"It's a territorial standoff," I whispered. "It's not trying to kill them—it's trying to shut the door."
Historically, these Boss Pokémon were the reason humanity stayed within the safety of city walls for so long. Even today, with the League's modernization, Gym Leaders like Gardenia or Maylene were stationed partly to ensure these "Kings of the Wild" didn't decide to wander down into the valleys.
"Staraptor, full speed! Back to base!"
The bird Pokémon didn't need to be told twice. It let out a piercing cry, tucked its wings, and dove toward the flickering lights of the police camp below.
The sound of the Golem's growl echoed one more time against the peaks, a deep, gravelly warning that the mountain didn't want visitors today. I gripped the harness, my mind racing. I had to tell Jenny. If we didn't move fast, the next "shove" from that Golem might not just block the tunnel—it might bring the whole mountain down on their heads.