The mountain path began as a gentle rise behind Ashfall Crossing, a narrow trail carved between dark pines and thorny underbrush. The morning sun had barely crested the ridge, painting the world in thin gold as Cyrus and Kina followed the fading trail markers upward. Their breath fogged in the cold air, rising like steam from a kettle.
Neither spoke at first. Their boots crunched over frost-stiffened needles. The woods were too still, too watchful. Even Growlithe, normally eager to surge ahead, walked heel-to-heel beside Kina—ears perked, muscles taut.
Cyrus adjusted the straps of his pack. "It's quiet."
Kina glanced sideways. "Yeah."
"…Too quiet?"
"That's what I was thinking."
Blue Ditto draped across Cyrus's shoulders like a scarf shifted, its jelly form rippling uneasily. It gave a soft, watery chirp—an uncertain sound, one Cyrus had learned meant I don't like this.
He didn't either.
The previous night replayed in flashes he wished would fade—the screaming Ursaring, the blood on the packed earth, the sickening crack of overcharged attacks, and that Bloodmoon Ursaluna collapsing under a crossfire it had never deserved. The moment he dove between the shooters and the creature still made his ribs hurt. Kina's anger afterwards… he felt that too.
She hadn't yelled. She hadn't needed to.
Just: "Don't do that again. I thought they shot you."
And then she refused to meet his eyes for the rest of the night.
Now, she walked a few steps ahead, stiff but alert, her expression caught between worry and irritation. Her Sliggoo rode in her arms, antennae waving like low-hanging vines in a storm.
The trail rose sharply.
And then, without warning, the forest to their left moved.
A crash of branches, sharp hooves slamming earth, a flurry of reddish-brown shapes. A herd of Hisuian Stantler burst through the pines, eyes enormous, nostrils flaring. Their antlers shone with morning frost as they barreled across the path.
Growlithe snarled automatically, but Kina put a hand on its back. "Easy. They're running."
Cyrus stepped aside quickly as the Stantler thundered past—six, maybe seven of them—moving without formation, without the usual nervous caution. They didn't even glance at him.
Something had scared them past the point of instinct.
Cyrus's pulse quickened. "That's… not normal."
Kina nodded. "They're fleeing."
"From what?"
"I don't know."
The words had barely left her mouth when another rush of movement answered the question none of them wanted to say aloud. A pair of Skiddo burst from the cliffside brush, practically stumbling over their own legs as they ran. Their hooves skidded over ice and loose stone. One bleated weakly, sides heaving.
Cyrus crouched, fists hovering in case they tried to charge, but the mountain goats didn't even see him. They barreled past, scrambling down the trail—back toward the town.
Ditto tightened around his neck, sinking slightly into his jacket.
Kina swallowed. "That's prey animals… and territorial foragers. Both running downhill."
"And ignoring us." Cyrus turned slowly, scanning the trees. "Whatever's up there… they don't care what direction they flee. They just want away."
Wind whistled across the treetops. The mountain seemed to exhale.
Kina moved closer to him—not touching, but nearer than before. "We keep going. But slowly. Eyes open. Ears sharper."
He nodded, though his throat felt strangely dry.
The trail wound upward through a cluster of boulders, damp moss clinging to their shadows. They stepped carefully, senses stretched tight.
A sudden flutter of movement above made Kina look up.
A cloud of Noibat spilled from the mouth of a rocky overhang, their tiny forms diving and weaving through the cold air in panicked spirals. They chirped erratically—high, fast bursts that set Cyrus's teeth on edge. The swarm veered sharply and vanished into the canopy, slipping away like smoke.
"That's a cave colony," Kina murmured. "They don't leave in daylight unless—"
Cyrus finished the sentence for her. "Something disturbed them."
She exhaled shakily. "Something big."
They continued.
Up the slope, the smell of wet stone thickened, mixed with an earthy musk. A patch of churned soil drew their attention—deep gouges, scattered pine needles, upturned roots. Signs of something heavy crashing through.
Not far beyond, they found a Buneary, trembling in a hollow under a fallen log. Its fur was matted with dirt, ears pressed flat. It stared at them, chest hitching as if it couldn't decide whether to bolt or collapse.
Kina crouched a few feet away, speaking softly. "Hey. It's alright. We're passing through."
The rabbit Pokémon didn't move. Didn't blink.
It simply quivered, eyes fixed on the slope above—terrified of something neither of them could see.
Cyrus touched Kina's shoulder. "We shouldn't disturb it."
She stood slowly, brushing needles off her knees. "It's not even running. Just hiding. That's worse."
He didn't argue. She was right.
A little farther up the path, a Carbink waddled out of a split in the rock, crystalline facets dim and cracked. It blinked at them once, wobbling as though dizzy. Carbink were deep-dwellers—quiet, secretive. They had no reason to come to the surface.
Yet here one was, scuttling blindly across the trail.
Cyrus stepped aside, stunned. "Okay, now I'm officially freaked out."
Kina didn't smile. "Good. You're supposed to be."
The wind shifted—colder, carrying a note of distant thunder that wasn't thunder at all. A deep, rolling sound that vibrated through the soles of their boots.
Cyrus felt his breath catch. "That came from higher up."
"Yeah." Kina's hand drifted toward Growlithe's Pokéball by instinct. "We're getting close to something."
They kept climbing.
The forest thinned into a scraggly ridge, where scrubby bushes clung to the rocks and fallen logs dotted the slope. The trail dipped briefly before widening into a broad overlook.
That was where they found the next sign.
A lone Mightyena limped across the clearing, fur ragged, flank marred by claw marks—it looked like it had lost a fight it never meant to pick. The predator's eyes flicked toward Cyrus and Kina, but instead of baring its teeth or circling them, it hobbled past.
No threat displays. No defensive stance.
Just a wounded animal retreating, tail between its legs.
Kina's expression hardened. "That's the first predator we've seen."
"And it's running too," Cyrus said quietly.
They watched it vanish into the brush below the trail.
A sinking weight formed in Cyrus's stomach. "Something's clearing out the ecosystem."
Kina met his gaze. "And forcing them downhill."
The thought hit both of them at the same time—a chilling realization neither wanted to confirm.
Whatever disturbed the mountain…
…was strong enough to send predators, prey, and cave-dwellers fleeing side-by-side.
A new sound drifted toward them—low, rhythmic, almost like breathing through stone. The ground under their boots trembled faintly.
Kina touched his arm, just for a moment. "Cyrus…"
"I feel it."
She didn't move her hand right away.
But when the trembling stopped, she stepped back, clearing her throat. "Let's… keep going. Slowly."
"Yeah. Slowly."
The trail bent again, edging into a narrow pass between two jutting cliffs. Moss dripped from the rocks. Water pooled in the divots, shimmering in the weak morning light.
Cyrus slowed first.
"Hold on."
Kina froze. "What is it?"
He pointed.
A weathered stone marker stood at the edge of the pass—three feet high, carved straight into the cliffside. Vines curled around its edges. A metal placard had been bolted to the stone long ago, its once-polished surface now tarnished by rain and wind.
Kina stepped forward, brushing dirt away.
The title stamped at the top read:
THE LOST TITAN OF BLOODMOON RIDGE
Hisuian Elder Goodra — Guardian of the Old Paths
Her breath hitched. "Cyrus… look."
He moved beside her, eyes sweeping across the engraved text:
> Long before humans settled Ashfall Crossing, an ancient strain of Goodra roamed these slopes—larger, heavier, and more territorial than any modern variant.
Called the Elder Titan, this Goodra served as a natural warden of the mountain.
Records from early settlers claim it drove away threats that endangered local wildlife, protected migrating Ursaring herds, and maintained balance along the Bloodmoon ascent.
Its disappearance marked the end of an era of stability among the mountain's apex species.
A faint carving near the bottom showed a hulking Goodra—twice the size of its modern kin—towering over Ursaluna as both species coexisted at the base of the peak.
Cyrus swallowed. "If this thing used to keep the peace…"
Kina finished it softly: "Then without it, everything up here would be… unguarded. Territorial lines blurred. Prey and predators losing structure."
He nodded, staring at the etching. "And if something replaced it—something the Ursaluna line fears—this whole mountain would tear itself apart."
Kina stepped back from the plaque, eyes scanning the trees above them. "Cyrus… what if the Goodra didn't just disappear? What if something drove it off?"
The ground trembled again.
Stronger this time.
A crackle of energy rolled down the ridge.
Cyrus instinctively reached for Ceruledge's Pokéball. "We need to move. Now."
But then he hesitated.
Kina wasn't looking at the trail.
She was staring at him—expression softer, conflicted.
"What?" he asked.
"You don't get it," she said quietly. "Last night… when you jumped in front of that Bloodmoon Ursaluna? I'm still angry."
He blinked, taken off guard. "Kina, I—"
"But." She crossed her arms, gaze flicking away as if embarrassed. "Seeing everything running today… I get why you did it. You couldn't watch something suffer."
He lowered his hand from his Pokéball.
She continued, tone lower. "Just… don't do something reckless without warning me. I'm your partner up here. I need to know you're not going to get yourself killed because your heart breaks too easily."
His chest tightened—not unpleasantly. "I wasn't trying to be reckless."
"I know," she muttered. "That's what scares me."
For a moment, the mountain fell quiet around them.
A slow-burn warmth settled between them—not romantic yet, not fully—but charged enough that Cyrus felt it like a spark in cold air.
Ditto nudged his cheek, breaking the tension.
Kina smirked faintly. "You've got good instincts. Just make sure they don't get you killed before we get answers."
He gave a breathy laugh. "Deal."
Another tremor rumbled through the earth—this one deeper, followed by a distant, echoing bellow.
Kina's hand went to Growlithe. "Time to move."
Cyrus nodded. "Up the mountain."
Side-by-side, they stepped past the ancient plaque, leaving the carved Titan Goodra behind. As they crossed the ridge, the wind carried the unmistakable scent of ozone and broken stone—the smell of something powerful, awake, and hunting.
Behind them, the mountain wildlife continued its silent evacuation.
Ahead, the old paths waited.
And somewhere above, something massive shifted its weight—like a giant turning in its sleep.