The trek across Eravate resumed, in spite of the obstacles in George’s path. Mystery Dungeons, packs of roaming ferals scavenging, Alliance minions scouring the countryside. Even the weather played the Renegade’s game, it seemed: Rains battered the hills and plains of southern Eravate, causing the rivers to surge.

  This was one of many reasons why Hein and Terez refused to go further south, opting instead for the foothills of the Dragonspine mountains. George went along with it, taking mental notes of how to get around.

  ‘Southern Eravate, many rivers. That checks out, we’ve had quite a few to cross. A lot of settlements too, mostly along the roads. Big surprise. Don’t go into dungeons, stay off the roads, know what berries are edible. Don’t know why surging rivers are such a big deal, though. I know I’m not the most skilled at telekinesis, but crossing rivers shouldn’t be a problem. I got up a cliff, over small lakes, what gives?’

  Though the explanation held little water for the Dewott, the others spoke for themselves: They were headed for Whitiara, the great north. What was south, besides the sun, warmth, and more Corrupted than you could shake a stick at? With the Alliance’s tendrils having spread to the western shores, the civilians caught in the middle were doomed.

  North it was, through the Dragonspines. Rains came and went, stirring the flowers into their blooming season; the first specks of green emerged from their slumber, the forests and bushes showing life in the face of the darkening skies. The light might’ve been tainted, but the plants got their energy. Crops would grow, the sun would shine, the Corrupted would live whatever life the Renegade had created for them.

  Eravate’s new ruler had plans for the continent. Plans that didn’t include him. He’d visited his dreams again a few days ago, once again coaxing him to give up. Supposedly, his parents had made a bed for him. Supposedly, the foster kids were handing out flyers, asking if anyone had seen George Wilkinson recently. And definitely, the Alliance, Smaugus and their collaborators were ready to make their wishes come true.

  George sighed. If only he could silence his dreams. Alas; he resorted to distracting himself by tugging on his whiskers. When he felt it in his cheeks, he’d done a good job.

  Days into their travels, George got to help set the direction they were going in. Since they had to bypass Luminity, and since the Ruby Province wasn’t an option, they needed to find a pass through the Dragonspines. It took sleuthing on his part, for the mountains towered high above. No major roads ran through them. In the end, he and his guardians headed up various streams, eventually finding a country road that wound its way to a plateau.

  From one side of the plain to another, grasses reaching up to George's waist covered the landscape, a wafer thin mist drifting through the blades. The lone breaks were the footpath, where dust and dirt had replaced the reaped grass. Bits of black matter reeking of soot remained visible on the path.

  Like all other things on Eravate, the grass and the path were tinted purple. High above, the skies bled ever darker, the Corrupted energy choking the atmosphere and the clouds drifting within. Trails of black broke through the clouds; in the distance, a dark cluster served as their genesis. The Renegade's heart.

  George gritted his teeth. 'We've gotten so close. Way too close.' "Are we on the right track? I think we've gotten lost."

  A hollow harrumph echoed behind him. "Fat chance, lad. Look ahead." Hein pointed past the Dewott, to a cluster of homes on the far side of the plateau, close to the edge."If memory serves correct, we are either in the Dragonspines, or on the border."

  Terez walked ahead of the group, tightening the flaps of the bag hanging from her shoulder. "It doesn't look encouraging, to be honest. Half the buildings appear to be damaged. And I am sensing things."

  "Hmpf. That should not stop us," the Dusknoir suggested. "Whatever has become of that town, we shall see for ourselves. If abandoned, perhaps there are supplies there."

  Hein stretched his previously injured arm towards the buildings. His ectoplasm has recovered, it seemed; he no longer struggled. "If the dragons are as stubborn as ever, then that will be to our advantage."

  George tapped his foot. Morals weren't on the mind; the Alliance and the Crest before them had buried and rolled over those long ago. Looking ahead, the tiles and reeds which once covered the roofs of the buildings had either caved in, or burnt to a crisp. Nothing about the town's architecture screamed dragon to him, either. Then again, Pokemon culture worked in ways unexpected. Given no one's tried to eat him yet, he should've expected as much.

  "Do you know the town ahead?"

  "I'm afraid not," Terez said. "The Dragonspines are a complex place, politically. The Crest never sent many Soldiers here. Neither did the Alliance, for that matter."

  George raised an eye. "Why not?"

  "Because dragons are a stubborn lot, lad," Hein explained, scratching a circle into the dirt, then guarded it with a line. "Outsider opinions are... complicated. They never cared much for the Crest. But the Alliance were a shady lot to them, too."

  "And how do you know this?"

  "By being just as stubborn as they are. It’s a long story."

  The Dewott bit his cheek. ‘I have a hard time thinking of short stories involving you, Hein.’

  Talk aside, the plateau itself was quiet, barring the wind stirring the grasses as it swept across. Even as they approached the village, little more than off handed comments about their surroundings, and small ferals rustling the grass broke the silence. George looked over his shoulder several times, deeming the quiet suspicious.

  ‘We’re not about to be ambushed, are we?’

  As the path reached the stream, and took a sharp bend to follow said stream into the village, Hein once again spread his arms wide open, blocking Terez and George’s paths. “Oh dear. We have trouble.”

  George’s ears folded back. “Trouble?” ‘It’s never a good sign when they don’t just say it.’

  Terez stuck a finger in the air, the tip on level with Hein’s antenna. She pointed it towards the village, a blueish glow flashing through her eyes as she sensed the area.

  George, feeling the pressure as well, tapped into his own psychic senses, and attempted to do the same. Presences made themselves known to him moments later; all of them came from the village just ahead, somewhere past the orchard that flanked the village from the sides. But he couldn’t define for himself what they were.

  Terez snapped her fingers. “Wonderful. The town has become a Mystery Dungeon. Not the biggest I’ve seen, but quite the mess.”

  “It must be actively expanding, I imagine?” Hein prodded her for more information. The Gardevoir looked him in the eye, then nodded, causing the Dusknoir to lower the arm shielding her.

  “Every Mystery Dungeon we’ve encountered is growing. No need to ask for the if. Only how fast,” she explained, her hair fluttering in the wind. She guided Hein and George’s attention to the other side of the stream, where farmer’s fields and long strips of nothing were being reclaimed by weeds. “It starts in the orchards closest to town. The farmers’ fields are clean, for now. No ferals there, either. I imagine they’ve found a new home.”

  Hein raised a hand to the base of his antenna. “Then we have a small conundrum on our hands. Whatever has become of the locals, we cannot say for certain on the outside. But their prospects are ominous. And lest we forget, entering a Dungeon would certainly bring unwanted attention our way.”

  “Do you think it’s worth the risk?” Terez asked, to which the Dusknoir nodded.

  “Certainly. I prefer a conscience kept clean. Besides, I won’t say no to extra supplies. Would you?”

  “Not in a million years. And what about you, George?”

  The Dewott walked out of the Dusknoir’s shadow, aiming to judge for himself what lay ahead. One could hardly see the border of the Mystery Dungeon; were it not for Terez, he wouldn’t have known it himself. Still, focusing his psychic senses on the town, he only detected a handful of presences. Not enough to be overwhelmed.

  But where one Corrupted wandered, a dozen others were sure to follow. He glanced up at the two mentors, who gazed down upon his head. “Are you sure there’s not too many?”

  “We should be fine,” Terez said. “But I cannot promise anything.”

  George clenched his teeth. Taking a plunge for dragons’ sake gave him second thoughts. But said thoughts reminded him of a dragon he knew, who he wouldn’t have reservations for. His heart became heavy in his chest. If only he was still around.

  “We’ll go in,” he said, gulping. “We’ll go in.” ‘Don’t think of what bothers you. Think of what makes others happy. Do it for them, George.’

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “It is decided, then.” The Dusknoir hadn’t finished speaking before floating ahead. “Follow me.”

  A wind carried them over the path on the short distance to the village. No howls, fortunately. A dragon was to a wolf what a wolf was to a rabbit. In George’s mind, they either had been driven off or ended up on the menu. No feral canines had gotten into the foothills, and the mountains seemed no different thus far.

  Still, the Dewott looked over his shoulder, wind stirring the fur on his kilt as it pelted him in the back. His attention was drawn to the mountains, instincts on high alert. For reasons unknown, the Dewott had the sense someone was watching him from afar. ‘It’s probably nothing. Can’t ever be too sure these days. Got to keep an eye out.’

  Crossing the Dungeon’s threshold, they passed a broken signpost. Its board lay on the edge of the road, the front end with the text “The dragons of Fafnir’s Tooth welcome you” laying face up. Some other characters had been written on the bottom, but they had faded beyond recognition. Once upon a time, a welcome sight had become a hostile one. What use did Anomalied ferals have for a signpost?

  Inside town, the scale of the ruin became apparent. Doors were thrown wide open, with bits and scraps of various cloth and furniture strewn about. Holes had been torn or gnawn into the building, alternate entrances for those who knew little of doors. Trash lay heaped up on a street corner, gardens trampled apart, and small figurines of mythical looking dragons had been uprooted, then tossed aside into the grass, dirt staining the heads.

  George stared at one of a quadruped, the head resembling the arrows of a clock. “What is that?”

  “Hm?” Hein bent his antenna to have a closer look, picking the figurine off the ground. “Terez would know more of these things than I do. I prefer not to be reminded of religion.”

  “Give it here,” the Gardevoir groaned, prying the figurine out of Hein’s cold hands. One glance later, she handed it to George. “That is a statue of Dialga. The goddess of time, one of many gods dragons revere. I wouldn’t put too much faith in her, if I were you.”

  George set the statue back on the ground, having the courtesy to leave it upright at the very least. “Just wanted to know what it is. Wasn’t planning on praying to it, or anything.” ‘Do I look religious to her?’

  “Good,” Hein stated, floating down a street towards one of many abandoned buildings; it was made from bricklike grey stones, the wall besides the door long caved in.

  The Dewott followed him to the front door.“I take it neither of you are religious, yourselves?” he questioned.

  Terez shrugged as she followed him to the house. “Take a long hard look at the sky. That’s the result of faith. A whole load of good, wouldn’t you say?”

  He clicked his tongue. “Right.” ‘Could’ve guessed that one.’

  “Quit the crap back there,” Hein echoed from inside the house, followed by the sound of stones crashing into something. “We’re here for supplies, not crackpots. I have found something here, come help me retrieve it.”

  George and Terez both rolled their eyes, before following the Dusknoir indoors. He’d been busy clearing rubble for them, his own lack of hindrance being an afterthought. Or so it seemed at first. Upon further investigation, George spotted a passed out Linoone laying at the foot of a hearth, a rock next to its head. So much for the ghost’s charity.

  The investigation into the house brought them little. A few medicinal herbs, a glass bottle of water, and remnants of an abandoned life. Writings made from claw scratches, a Jangmo-o’s self portrait rendered in thick strokes of black ink. George got caught up on the last one, looking at it sticking out of the debris even after Hein and Terez had left the house.

  ‘Reminds me of art class back in school. All that’s missing is the line “I am valuable”.’ The Dewott bit his lip; it was time to leave. ‘Best of luck, wherever you are.’

  Outside, the streets had shifted; whereas they had entered a house on the middle of a street, they came back out to the sight of an intersection. Dungeons working their magic, as usual. Perhaps the homes would restock on resources over time, like berries growing in forests. George had to snort at the thought. That would have made this the tamest Mystery Dungeon in all of Eravate. Leaving it sure wasn't as complicated as a cave or a canyon.

  'Good thing we're not in the Ruby Province.’ The Dewott reasoned. ‘The Dungeons must've taken over there, now. How do the people there even get around these days?'

  Of course, Fafnir's Tooth being a dungeon meant there were plenty of new residents hanging around. Ferals uncorrupted and Corrupted, the latter leaving a smoky black trail in their wake. Most ferals appeared to be asleep for now. Asleep, or distracted; few dared rear their heads, and the exceptions cowered in Hein's shadow. The Dusknoir jumped at the opportunity to take the lead, unsurprisingly, thus the bulk of all feral attention went to him. Most ran. Few stood their ground. All fell from a flick of his fingers.

  "So far, so good."

  The trio went about their business, rummaging through house after house in search of anything useful. Valuables and artefacts were left alone; the trio made sure of that, blowing off dust at most. They also made sure to enter homes together, lest the Dungeon shifted them apart. No feral thus far went against all three. One at a time, however, was a story with a predictable ending.

  After a dozen homes had been searched, Terez led the way into one whose walls had been made from red bricks. A peculiar sight in George's eyes, compared to the rest. Either none of the other dragons saw it fit to use bricks for their homes, or he hadn't been looking hard enough.Nevertheless, it caught his attention, as did a wooden sign which had fallen from the wall, and now rested in the grass. George squinted his eyes.

  'Steelhide? I swear, I've heard that name before.'

  By the time George entered the home, he came face to face with Hein and Terez, the former holding the latter back with one of his arms, much to her chagrin. The home reeked of bird droppings, and the Dewott’s face soured at the prospect. The sound of Pidoves purring came from somewhere close.

  “Turn back around. This home will not be worth it,” Hein said, his voice stern and uncompromising. “We should look elsewhere.”

  “Fat chance,” Terez said, attempting to shove the ghost’s arm away without psychic assistance. Her voice matched her pushing, strength wise. “You’ve jumped to that conclusion awfully quickly. We’ve just entered.”

  George leaned sideways to try and see what the ruckus was all about. Before he so much as tilted his head, however, the Dusknoir lurched forward, seizing the Dewott’s arm in a cold grip. “H-hey!”

  “Are you listening to what I’m saying? We have no business here. It’s time to leave.” The Dusknoir’s pupil dilated, a dim red glow manifesting within. “Before bad things happen.”

  ‘Oh, not this time.’ The Dewott squeezed the hand Hein gripped into a fist, his protest thus far a quiet one. ‘I’ve heard this one plenty! There’s always more to the story than that!’

  Terez scowled at her partner in crime, fairy light manifesting at the tips of her fingers. This time, she wasn’t going to leave it at a mere shove. She flicked the Dusknoir on the arm, the impact making him flinch and let go of George in the process, a ripple passing through his ectoplasm.

  “Ngh!”

  “I’m not playing around here. What is your game here, exactly?”

  “It’s real simple, you fools! This-”

  So much for staying quiet. Hein and Terez were on the verge of spitting in each other’s faces, again. Given how they met, George assumed they had to get this out of their system, every once in a while. It’s not the first time this happened, but it sure hadn’t gotten this bad before.

  But with Hein distracted, George had the chance to look around the house. Have his peek around, at the very least: like many other homes, the first room was also the largest in the whole house. The Steelhide family’s living room, in other words: he spotted a counter with what appeared to be a kitchen, rope tatters that had been attached to the ceiling at two points, and a hearth a few steps away. George got onto his toes, hoping to sneak under the Dusknoir’s shadow.

  But alas, he hadn’t kept an eye on the rubble he’d been standing on. As luck would have it, getting on his toes shifted the center of gravity to a feeble spot, where little bits of rubble had gathered on top of each other.

  “Ah!” The ground gave out from under George’s feet, sending the Dewott tumbling forwards, hitting the ground belly first with a big thump. Dust kicked up into his face, as the birds nearby scattered away in a mess of feathers, beating their wings furiously. One bird turned to five, five turned to then. The Dewott plucked himself off the ground with a groan”

  Hein and Terez stopped arguing in an instant. “Fool!” the former grumbled. “Perhaps leaving you outside was a better idea!”

  “What?!” George scowled at the Dusknoir. “Why can’t you just-”

  “Quit blabbering, we’re in trouble now! Half the Dungeon will be here in a minute!” Hein scolded George, waving a finger in his face. He didn’t so much as leave time for the Dewott to reball his fists before moving said finger towards Terez. “We need to get out of here, fast.”

  “Duh.” The Gardevoir grabbed the Dusknoir finger and jerked it downwards, the whole arm budging in the process. “No need to state the obvious. Quick!”

  “What about me-”

  “Later!”

  Terez dismissed George before running out, Hein following right after. George frowned before bolting out the door himself. Forget what was in the house. Terez and Hein would throw him off the cliff if he’d stuck around any longer. Looking around shouldn’t set off anyone like they had been, cursing and berating his name under their breaths. Simple curiosity, what was the harm in that?

  ‘I swear, always something they want to smack me over.’

  The Dewott ran outside, and was confronted with his answer. A Rattata covered in vapours flew into the wall next to him, then slid down into the grass below. Hein and Terez pushed forward into a street, the trio having emerged on the end of a straight road, homes on both sides having their doors fly open simultaneously. Birds took off from every roof and chimney in town, swarming through the air like a plague of locusts. And down below, rodents burst from the gravel path and popped out of wooden walls, splinters scattering into the wind as they threw themselves at the first intruder in sight.

  Hein and Terez went on the defensive, holding back the hordes while striking back whenever possible. But the enemy never stopped coming, no matter how many of their fellow creatures were ruthlessly dispatched. Hein threw punches and sent trails of ghastly energy from his maw, Terez dazzled the swarms of Rattata, Pidgey, and similarly frail Pokemon with gleams of fairy light, blinding them to the point of flinching and locking up.

  It was not long before George himself had to protect himself, a Tranquil and a Pidgey teaming up with a Paras to snap at him. He spat water their way on reflex, sidestepping the Paras’ slow moving pincers as they snapped. By the time he’d struck the birds, one Paras had become two. A third circled around the building.

  “Where are they coming from?!”

  “Hold fast!” Hein commanded. “You two, telekinesis! Immediately! Anything near you!”

  With all the rubble and clutter littering the town, Hein’s orders weren’t a challenge to follow. The Corrupted and the ferals had made a mess of things, throwing personal possessions out of the homes they’d taken over, as if they had evicted the entire neighbourhood. A whole town of dragons had been overrun - the only question is, where were the bodies?

  George bit his lip as his eyes flashed blue. He did as Hein requested, picking up chunks of rubble and shredded planks to throw at the enemy. The whole neighbourhood became awash with psychic energy; he felt in his bones how even the foundations of the buildings swayed a little. Except, that wasn’t all. Something far more sinister was present, ripping things off the ground.

  ‘What in the world?’

  As a matter of fact, said evil presence went a step further. Looking ahead, the bands on the Dusknoir’s arms glowed a bright yellow as Hein held them aloft. Floating around him were vast numbers of critters, flailing and chirping in panic, feral and Corrupted alike. Seized by a limb or even their heads, some were gripped by a yellow glow, others by a blue one. It was only then that George noticed that Terez was doing the same.

  “On my mark.”

  The Dewott’s jaw dropped with the rubble he’d seized. ‘What the actual-’

  “Mark.”

  On cue, the Dusknoir and Gardevoir flung their hands forward, as if they were flinging a ball across the court. And with an equal amount of force, all the ferals were sent squealing over yonder, some lucky to crash into a caved-in roof at the far end of the street, others disappearing behind it. Corrupted or not, that was the end. The chittering and chirping fell silent somewhere in the distance.

  Mere moments after the ferals landed far away, the streets violently shifted into a different form. Signposts bearing names emerged at every corner, the streets themselves appearing far shorter than before. The dark presence of the Dungeon had vanished, dead from a simple flick of the fingers. The Dusknoir raised his antenna, the yellow bands on his body dimming.

  “Hmpf. Let us get out of here.”

  The glow faded from Terez’ eyes. “Shouldn’t be too difficult. Just about every Corrupted in the dungeon came for us.”

  “For now, yes,” the Dusknoir grunted. “Now then.”

  Don’t ever celebrate too early, the saying goes. Everyone alive has heard the advice at point or another. Undeath didn’t magically make one forget, either. The trio scurried towards the town’s exit, and although it stayed put, the homes did not. Just when the Dungeon seemed gone, it came roaring right back. Homes reappeared on street after street, over and over again. By the time they reached the road they’d entered through, the street behind them had disappeared.

  “Hurry, hurry!”

  Without further ado, they went straight for the invisible curtain at the Dungeon’s edge. Terez went through first; then George made a leap for it, then Hein followed them last. They were back beside the orchard, still alive under the purple sky, just a little wearier.

  But the trouble didn’t end there. The path ahead was blocked off; three dragons glared at the Dusknoir, Dewott and Gardevoir, their pupils thin like a knife’s edge. The tallest, and covered in scars, the Garchomp in the middle raised her head.

  “And what do we have here?”