The climb began late morning, though neither Cyrus nor Kina had slept well enough to call it morning. Their legs remembered the chaos from the night before: the cries of frightened townsfolk, the crack of rifles they hadn't expected, and the weight of a wounded Bloodmoon Ursaluna inside Cyrus's last capture sphere. Despite treatment, the creature's breathing still rumbled like a storm waiting for its moment.
Mist streamed between the ridges of Bloodmoon Mountain like restless spirits drifting down to warn travelers away. As they hiked, a steady wind carried the metallic bite of altitude and something darker beneath — a sour, mineral tang, like old wounds that never quite healed.
Cyrus adjusted the straps of his pack, feeling the subtle shift of Blue, his Ditto, forming a snug scarf around his neck. It pulsed lightly, almost like a heartbeat. Kina noticed.
"He's clingy this morning."
"He's tired," Cyrus muttered, brushing a thumb over the slick fabric-like texture.
Kina huffed, stepping over a root twisted like a clenched hand. "You could've let someone else intervene."
"Did you really want me to let those idiots put a bullet in its skull, because you keep bringing it up?" Cyrus shot back.
Kina didn't answer right away. The mountain's incline pulled her attention forward, breath puffing in steady bursts. She kicked a small rock, watching it tumble down the slope.
"No," she finally admitted. "But I also didn't want to watch you take a rifle round to the chest because you can't stay still for two damn seconds."
Her voice cracked, soft but sharp. The honesty tightened the air between them.
Cyrus slowed. "Hey. I'm not trying to scare you."
"You didn't scare me," she lied.
He didn't call her out. He didn't need to. The tension in her shoulders said enough.
They kept walking.
The forest thinned as they climbed, replaced by tall, pale reeds that whispered like breath through teeth. Every gust made them sway in waves, hiding the path in rolling sheets of motion. Somewhere deeper, they heard distant roars — not aggressive, but mournful — rising and falling with haunting cadence.
Even Kina, who rarely showed fear, paused to identify the sound.
"Those aren't bears," she murmured.
"No," Cyrus agreed. "Too resonant. Too… layered."
"Great," she muttered. "More fun surprises."
A few minutes later they reached a ridge where the earth dipped into a wide bowl-shaped meadow. Broken stone markers protruded from the soil — some cracked, some tipped, some swallowed halfway by moss. They didn't look like tombstones; more like ancient boundary posts made by hands long gone.
The path curved through the center of the abandoned meadow where an old wooden structure stood: a small information station, weather-aged but still upright.
Cyrus nudged Kina. "Looks official. Think they have a map? Or a warning? Or maybe a comforting pamphlet titled 'Bloodmoon Mountain Won't Eat You Alive, Probably'?"
Kina snorted. "Please. This place definitely eats people alive."
They approached the sign: an engraved stone placard set into a bronze frame, streaked with green patina.
Kina brushed off the dust. "Whoa. This thing's old."
Cyrus leaned closer as the morning light hit the etched words.
"THE ELDER TITAN OF BLOODMOON MOUNTAIN"
Before settlers brought roads and towns to this region, the slopes of Bloodmoon Mountain were home to a colossal species of Goodra unlike any other in recorded history.
Known locally as the Elder Titan, this Goodra towered over its modern descendants, bearing armor-like plating that shimmered with opal tones during rainfall. Ancient writings describe it as the guardian of the mountain's 'heartstream' — a mineral-rich aquifer said to nourish every living creature on these slopes.
The Elder Titan's presence kept the environment stable. Ursaring and their predecessors (now known as Ursaluna) thrived under its regulation, migrating in predictable cycles, evolving only when guided by the Goodra's influence.
When the Elder Titan vanished several centuries ago, the balance fractured. The mountain's wildlife began to display heightened aggression, disrupted migration routes, and unpredictable evolution patterns. Bloodmoon-variant Ursaluna were noted as becoming increasingly territorial in its absence.
Although no living specimens of this Elder Goodra remain, its influence is said to linger within the deepest chambers of the mountain. Some local legends claim its spirit still watches — restless, seeking resolution for wounds never mended."
Kina read it aloud quietly, voice low and steady, but both of them felt each line settle like weight on their chests. The cold breeze needled between the trees while they absorbed the implications.
Cyrus rubbed his jaw. "So the mountain basically had a giant dragon-slime guardian that kept everything sane."
"Yep," Kina murmured. "And now it's gone."
"Which means the Ursaluna haven't had guidance for… what? Hundreds of years? And now something's messing with their cycle again."
She turned to him slowly. Her eyes were sharp — calculating.
"You think something else moved into the Goodra's old territory."
"Something big enough to disrupt the entire mountain."
"Something powerful enough that even the Bloodmoon line is panicking."
Cyrus exhaled, long and tight. "And something that might be directly above us."
Blue tightened around his neck like a nervous squeeze.
Kina crossed her arms. "If there's a titan-level Pokémon up there, you know damn well we shouldn't go in blind."
"Agreed. But we're not turning around."
"Wasn't planning to," she said, flicking her braid over her shoulder. "Just making sure you aren't being stupid again."
Cyrus smirked. "Only on Thursdays."
"It's Saturday."
"Then I'm overdue."
She cracked a reluctant smile — the kind that tugged something warm and slow in Cyrus's stomach. Then she stepped past him, boots crunching over brittle grass.
"Come on. If we move now, we'll hit the next ridge before the sun breaks over the slope."
He followed, matching her stride. The path ahead cut through the reeds like a trail carved by something huge — not naturally worn, not maintained, but flattened by force. Almost like something dragged itself along the route recently.
"Hey, Kina?"
"Yeah?"
"When you said you were worried last night… you meant it, right?"
She cleared her throat, eyes forward. "Don't make it weird."
"I'm not."
She shot him a sideways look. "You almost died."
"You were worried."
"Obviously I was worried."
There was that warmth again — rising, steady, impossible to ignore.
He let the moment sit.
Then she changed the subject like she always did when emotions got too close.
"Let's keep an eye out for signs of Ursaring movement. If they're heading downhill, there's a reason."
"Yeah."
But Cyrus still couldn't help glancing at her, watching the tension in her features soften as she scanned the treeline. She caught him looking.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Liar."
"Maybe."
She rolled her eyes, but the faintest red dusted her cheeks.
The slow burn continued — steady, patient, unspoken — as the mountain waited above them with its own secrets, murmuring through the wind.
And somewhere deeper, past the reeds, past the ghostly old markers, past the forgotten stories etched in stone…
Something enormous shifted.
Something wet, heavy, dragging.
Something ancient.
Something awake.