The trail out of Ashfall Crossing curled upward in a long, uneven spine of stone. A pale dawn cut across the slopes, casting a faint silver sheen over the frost-kissed grass. Cyrus trudged at the front of the two-person line, one hand fisted in his jacket pocket, the other curled loosely around a half-finished breakfast bar he kept forgetting to eat.
A cool breeze drifted down the mountain. The scent wasn't the usual pine and soil he'd expected.
It was… hollow. Thin. Like the air itself had been scraped clean.
Below him, Kina tightened the strap of her pack, boots crunching against stray pebbles. "You okay up there?"
"Define 'okay.'"
She raised a brow. "You're quiet."
"Morning," he said dryly, "so yes. Congratulations, you found the cause."
Her Growlithe trotted at her side, nose low to the ground, tail rigid. Sliggoo peeked over her shoulder from her hood, antennae twitching like tuning forks.
Cyrus pretended it didn't bother him that even the goo-dragon looked uneasy.
The captured Bloodmoon Ursaluna's Poké Ball hung on his belt. He could still feel the heat radiating off the metal from all the Max Potions he'd dumped into it last night. Every time the ball quivered, Cyrus had to resist the urge to tighten his hand around it.
"Kina," he said, "just so we're clear… if the big guy wakes up mid-hike and decides to turn me into raspberry jam, this is your fault for letting me heal it."
"You were going to do it whether I agreed or not."
He shrugged. Can't argue with the truth.
Ditto, currently molded into the shape of a blue scarf, wriggled faintly around his neck, like it was tasting the air. Cyrus tapped the pliant blob absently.
"Yeah, yeah. I smell it too. Relax."
The scarf pulsed once, unimpressed.
They rounded a bend in the trail—and suddenly the mountain came alive.
Not the dramatic way. Not roaring or shaking.
But with movement.
Small movement.
Fast movement.
A scatter of Linoone blur across the path ahead, sprinting downhill so hard their claws kicked up dirt. A trio of Teddiursa barreled past, eyes wide, fur on end, squeaking in blind panic. A single Snover tumbled after them, tripping over its own roots, rolling like an overturned snowman.
Cyrus stepped aside as a frightened Buneary bolted between his ankles.
"Uh," he muttered, "they don't look like they're late for brunch."
Kina's face tightened. "Predator surge?"
"No bites. No blood. That's flight behavior." Cyrus scanned the slope. "Something big is moving hrough here."
A shadow swept overhead.
Not a bird.
A flock.
A massive cluster of Murkrow, each wingbeat frantic, rising from the upper treeline like someone had smacked the forest with a stick.
They swirled, cawed, then vanished toward the horizon.
Growlithe whimpered.
Sliggoo sank lower into Kina's hood.
And the wind shifted again.
This time, Cyrus caught the smell he'd been trying not to name.
Rot.
Not decay.
Rot.
Like something wet had fermented in the dark for too long.
"Hey, Kina," he said quietly. "How much do you know about… slime dens?"
She blinked. "Slime dens?"
"Yeah. You know. Places where dragons like to sit for, say, centuries at a time and ooze into the landscape?"
Her face paled a little. "You're talking about Goodra."
"An offended Goodra line," he corrected. "Plural. Also possibly titan-sized. But hey, don't panic. Worst case, we die."
"Comforting."
"I try."
They pressed onward.
The trees thinned, giving way to wide stretches of frost-coated brush. Tracks marred the earth in long, deep grooves—sets of claw marks, heavy prints, and something that looked disturbingly like melted soil.
Cyrus crouched to inspect one.
"Oh, great," he murmured. "Footprint's wider than my torso. Love that for us."
Kina knelt beside him. "Is that… scorch damage?"
"No. Acid. Something burned straight into the ground." He scraped a finger along the hardened edge. "It's old. Weeks, maybe. But whatever made this is heavy. And not subtle."
She exhaled slowly. "Harlan told us nothing on the mountain matches this."
"Yeah," Cyrus muttered, "because the thing that made this doesn't belong here."
They hiked another thirty minutes before the first sign of something truly wrong appeared.
A dead tree.
Or what used to be one.
It leaned at an odd angle, its bark sagging like melted wax. Viscous trails of purple-gray slime dripped from drooping branches, evaporating into faint vapor the moment sunlight hit it.
Cyrus stared. "…Kina?"
"Yeah?"
"Tell me I'm imagining this."
"You're not."
More trees followed—half-melted trunks, patches of land where the soil drooped as though liquefied before refreezing, stone outcrops pitted with deep gouges.
A cluster of Skiddo darted past them, eyes glazed with fear, heads low. Behind them, a Beartic thundered out of the woods, panting, stumbling in its attempt to flee downhill. The massive Ursaluna nearly collided with Cyrus before swerving sharply.
It looked at him, a pleading, terrified look, before forcing its exhausted limbs into another run.
Cyrus felt a cold spike under his sternum.
"That Usaluna," he said softly, "didn't even try to bluff-charge us."
Kina swallowed. "Everything's evacuating."
"Which implies whatever's up there can make Pokémon turn into a track stars."
He didn't say the rest.
Whatever's up there is worse than a Bloodmoon Ursaluna.
A hill rose in front of them, topped with a lonely wooden archway half-collapsed under creeping vines. A faded sign clung to one post, barely held by rusted nails.
Cyrus brushed dirt from its surface.
A carved set of winding lines formed the outline of a wide, sluglike creature with stubby arms and curling antennae.
He leaned back. "Huh."
"What is it?" Kina asked.
"A history placard" then Cyrus paused, "another for...Goodra."
He nodded, wiping more grime off.
The text beneath the carving was cracked, weather-worn, but legible.
THE TITAN OF THE RED RIDGE, STEEL SHELLED GOODRA OF THE ASHEN VALE
Before the mountain was known as Bloodmoon, the marshlands at its base nurtured ancient dragon lineages. Among them lived the Elder Titan Goodra, protectors of the lower valleys.
Their dens formed from hardened secretions that created natural shelters against predators and weather alike. These structures were said to last centuries, even after the Titans themselves moved.
Legends speak of an Elder Titan who grew to such size that its presence reshaped entire habitats. When it slumbered, the land fell still. When it stirred, the mountain trembled.
Its disappearance marked the end of the Ashen Vale marshlands. The soil dried. The Titan's kin migrated. Records say the last Elder rose into the higher crags, leaving only traces of its molten dens behind.
Travelers are warned: should the ground soften beneath your feet, leave the area at once. Titan dens attract storms, poison mists, and dragons who remember the old ways.
Cyrus rocked back on his heels. "Well. That's extremely encouraging."
Kina traced one of the carved lines with a finger. "We knew Goodra could get big. But this is…"
"Biblically proportioned," Cyrus supplied.
Her lips twitched. "I wasn't going to go that far."
"I was."
He stood and dusted off his hands. But the second he turned, he froze.
The path ahead dropped into a shallow ravine.
And the ravine wasn't empty.
The ground had collapsed into a massive crater, easily fifty feet across, the earth sinking inward like a giant bowl. Sludge pooled at the center—thick, viscous, swirling slightly as though stirred from below.
A single ruined den wall—curved, glossy, almost metallic—jutted from the mud like the rib of some ancient giant.
Cyrus's breath hitched.
"Kina," he whispered, "that's not human-made."
She nodded slowly, eyes wide. "This is a Goodra den."
"Not just a den," he corrected. "A Titan den. And—"
He pointed toward the crater's rim.
Heavy Ursaluna claw marks dragged deep into the soil.
Scorched patches marred the stone.
And the smell.
Oh, Arceus.
The smell.
Like the mountain itself had started rotting.
Kina wrapped an arm around her waist. "Cyrus… I think the Ursaluna came here."
"Yeah."
"To fight whatever did this."
"Probably."
"And they lost."
Cyrus didn't answer.
Ditto unwound from his neck, slipping down his chest to the ground, forming a wobbling blue puddle. It quivered once—sharply—then melted back onto his boot, pressing close, seeking safety.
Cyrus crouched and touched the top of the blob gently.
"Hey. Hey, buddy. I got you."
The ground vibrated.
Only slightly.
A faint tremor.
But it came from beneath them.
Under the crater.
Kina's hand hovered toward her Poké Balls. "That wasn't wind."
"Nope."
"It's awake."
"Yep."
Another tremor rippled outward, sending small stones skittering down the slope. A plume of faint violet vapor drifted from the crater's center, dissolving into the air like steam off boiling broth.
Cyrus straightened.
"Kina," he said quietly, "we need to back up."
"Right."
He reached for Ditto—who immediately climbed up his leg like a sticky toddler and flopped onto his shoulder, molding back into scarf form.
Cyrus turned.
That's when he saw movement in the trees behind them.
Not charging.
Not fleeing.
Just watching.
A massive shape.
Tall.
Rounded.
Horned.
He froze.
Kina followed his gaze—and inhaled sharply.
"Cyrus…"
"I see it."
Bloodmoon Ursaluna.
Not the one he'd captured.
Not wounded.
This one was larger.
Older.
Its crimson patterns glowed faintly even in daylight. Its eyes—tired, sunken, resigned—held no hostility.
Only… warning.
It made a low, rumbling sound—nothing like the violent roars from the night before.
More like a plea.
A message.
Leave.
Cyrus whispered, "It's telling us to run."
Kina nodded slowly. "Because it knows what's in that crater."
Another tremor shook the ground.
Stronger.
The sludge in the center rippled.
A thick tendril of violet ooze rose like a serpent, droplets hissing when they struck rock.
Cyrus's heart slammed hard against his ribs.
"Kina."
"Yeah?"
"…Run."
They sprinted.
Not because they were cowards.
But because every instinct—every muscle—every part of the mountain screamed the same thing:
You are not ready to face the thing that lives beneath the den.
Not yet.
Not without a plan.
Not without understanding why it woke.
Ditto clung to Cyrus's shoulders.
Growlithe bounded beside Kina, barking furiously.
Sliggoo peeked from her hood, trembling.
And behind them, the elder Bloodmoon Ursaluna stood sentinel at the crater's edge, staring downward with the haunting stillness of a creature that had already survived one extinction.