The city where fire is forged, and legends are tempered.

  The air shimmered with heat, warping the horizon like a mirage caught between dream and furnace.

  Even before they reached the city gates, Isabelle felt the temperature rise—not just warmth, but a weight pressing into her skin, crawling beneath her collar, coaxing sweat from the nape of her neck. Her haori jacket felt heavier with each step, the dark navy fabric clinging slightly to her back despite the breathable shirt beneath. She resisted the urge to pull at her collar, her fingers twitching near the edge of the intricately embroidered hem. The delicate patterns—Virelia’s mountain peaks under a stitched aurora—were reminders of home, of cool mornings and quiet skies.

  Now, even the sky looked angry—stained in hues of orange and copper, cloudless and pulsing with the city’s heat.

  Collin strode ahead of her, seemingly unfazed by the furnace they were walking into. His wiry frame practically bounced with energy as he adjusted the strap of his bag. Pancham, matching his rhythm, tossed a small stone into the air and caught it with ease, utterly unfazed by the temperature.

  “You feel that?” Collin called over his shoulder, grinning. “That’s the energy of a city built to test you. It’s like it’s daring us to quit before we even get inside.”

  Isabelle gave a tired snort. “It’s daring me to evaporate.”

  Azzy squeaked in agreement from her side, the small Water-type waddling along on stubby legs with increasing reluctance. Her round tail bobbed sluggishly with each step. Isabelle reached down to scoop her up, cradling the Pokémon gently to her chest. Azzy sighed contentedly against her, her cool body a welcome relief. Isabelle murmured softly, “Hang in there, bébé. Almost there.”

  “Pika-zzt! Meltdown imminent!” Rotom cried from her shoulder, his screen flickering with a cartoon sweat-drop. “Trainer core temperature exceeding ninety-nine point seven degrees Fahrenheit! I recommend immediate teleportation to the North Pole—or at least a smoothie bar!”

  “You don’t even have a teleportation setting.”

  “I do now! Adapt or perish, fleshlings!”

  “Drama queen,” Isabelle mumbled, though her lips curved faintly.

  Collin laughed. “Even your Rotom’s giving up. You sure you didn’t program him with ‘melodramatic mode’?”

  “I think he inherited it,” Isabelle mumbled.

  Up ahead, the road widened into a checkpoint plaza. The gates of Blazebrook loomed in the distance, wrapped in volcanic stone and smoke-traced banners. Dozens of trainers filled the square in bustling groups, some chatting, some arguing, others battling their nerves. League Officials moved with practiced efficiency under steel-framed tents, scanning VireBands, checking identification, and occasionally separating Pokémon from their Trainers for inspection.

  A banner fluttered overhead, hung between two poles of twisted blacksteel:

  Welcome to Blazebrook City – Forge Your Legacy

  League Circuit Entry Week: Check-In Required | Badge Verification | Medical Station →

  “Sulfur, heat, and capitalism,” Isabelle muttered. “Feels like I never left Lumora.”

  “Blazebrook’s got charm,” Collin said with a nostalgic tilt of his head, eyes scanning the skyline. “You just have to squint through the smoke to find it.”

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “Last year,” he said, a bit more quietly now. “Didn’t make it past the second badge. Blazebrook was the first Gym I beat—but barely.”

  She blinked. “Wait—you beat the Gym Leader?”

  “Yup!” He puffed out his chest a little. “Third attempt. Pancham and I pulled it off right before the circuit window closed. There’s even a clip on the forums if you wanna—”

  “Nope,” Isabelle cut in immediately.

  “…What, why?”

  “Because the last thing I want to do in this heat is scroll through battle threads and watch people rate your footwork like it's a dance critique.”

  Collin gave a helpless laugh. “Okay, fair. I just thought, y’know… battle footage can be really useful—”

  “Still no.”

  “Alright, alright. Let me at least explain it before you roast me alive.”

  A League official waved them forward. Collin flashed his Trainer ID Card, a physical ID card, grinning wide.

  “Collin Alden. Here for the League Circuit.”

  Pulse. Green.

  “Approved,” the woman said. “Welcome back.”

  Isabelle stepped up next, lifting her wrist.

  “…Isabelle Moreau.”

  There was a pause.

  A long one.

  Pulse. Green.

  “Approved,” the woman finally said. “Stay hydrated. It’s hotter than a Charizard’s temper in there.”

  They crossed through the gates—and the city unfolded like something carved from fire and ambition.

  Obsidian towers rose from the blackstone streets, glowing magma canals weaving between them like molten arteries. Glass pipes curled overhead, venting steam, while metallic bridges arched above slow-moving lava. Signs buzzed with neon script, stylized flames flickering around shop names and trainer lounges.

  And at the center of it all—

  The Gym.

  Half-shrouded in heat shimmer and curling smoke, the Blazebrook Gym towered against the horizon like a challenge chiseled in stone. It wasn’t a building. It was a sword—a monolithic blade carved straight into the volcano’s heart. The hilt formed the entrance, framed by carved obsidian and statues of snarling Coalossal with ember-glowing eyes. Magma veins traced along the blade’s edges, pulsing to the beat of the city’s molten heart.

  Collin slowed beside her. His voice lost a little of its bravado.

  “Been a year,” he murmured. “Still makes me nervous looking at it.”

  “You’ve faced the Gym before… and it still gets to you?” Isabelle asked.

  He gave a lopsided smile. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

  She stared up at the obsidian blade. The heat wasn’t just in the air anymore—it was inside her chest, pulsing in time with the city.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she whispered. “It’s like… it was carved out of a dare.”

  “More like carved out of a threat,” Collin said. “You ready for this?”

  Isabelle glanced down at Azzy. The little Water-type was visibly drooping, her tail sluggish and ears tilted sideways from the heat—but when she caught Isabelle looking, she perked up with a stubborn little squeak, puffed out her chest, and gave a determined nod as if to say, “We’ve come this far. I’m not melting yet.”

  A crackle of static broke the moment.

  “OH!~ I LOVE THIS PLACE ALREADY! LAVA! HEAT! A PERFECT PLACE TO SHORT-CIRCUIT IN STYLE~”

  RotomDex popped out of Isabelle’s bag—still dangling with her Li Li Lo Porita keychain—in a flash, zipping into the air like a malfunctioning drone caught in a sugar rush. Its screen flickered with glowing pixel flames, cycling between excitement and mock overheating.

  “HOT-SPOT DETECTED! Geo-tagging: Blazebrook City, a premier volcanic metropolis of Vireliaaaa~!” it sang, spinning in place.

  Azzy flinched slightly at the screechy voice, burrowing deeper into Isabelle’s chest fluff with a silent plea to make it stop.

  Isabelle sighed through her nose. “Could you… not scream right now?”

  “Processing~! Lowering volume by 12%. Beep bop, now sultry and smooth.” Rotom lowered its voice—only slightly. “This city’s got more steam than a dating sim in overdrive. Should I list local points of interest or locate the nearest food stand? Oh wait—I detected your stomach growl. Prioritizing nourishment!”

  “Please don’t say ‘detected.’” Isabelle closed her eyes for a moment. “Just… guide us to the Pokémon Center.”

  “Right this way~! Beep bop! Follow the lava line~”

  The heat didn’t ease up. If anything, it pushed harder now that they were fully inside the city.

  Blazebrook pulsed beneath their feet—lava channels glowing faintly under obsidian glass walkways, and bursts of steam hissing from pressure vents as if the city itself breathed in fire. The air was heavy, humid, and rich with a scent Isabelle could only describe as smoke seasoned with metal and spice. She didn’t hate it.

  Azzy gave a weak chirp from her arms, eyes squinting up at a nearby steam plume like it had personally offended her. Isabelle chuckled and gently adjusted her hold, whispering, “I know, bébé. We’ll find shade soon.”

  The little Azurill squeaked defiantly and swatted the air with her tail. A soft plap echoed off a nearby wall. Determined as ever.

  And Collin?

  Collin was thriving.

  He pointed out everything with that firecracker energy that somehow never dimmed. “That’s the Geothermal Center—see the turbines? All powered by Camerupts. Oh! And that cart over there? They sell these berry buns that steam like they’re fresh from a lava tube. We have to try them. And wait till you see the Magma Lounge at the Center. They’ll hand you this herbal tea—tastes like someone spiced a cinnamon stick with lava and said, ‘drink up or explode.’ You’d actually like it.”

  Isabelle offered a faint hum that could’ve meant sure, maybe later, or please stop talking before I melt into the sidewalk.

  Her stomach growled again, louder this time.

  Azzy perked up just enough to glance toward a stand with grilled skewers. Isabelle tightened her arms gently around her partner. “I know, bébé. I feel it too.”

  They crossed under an arch of dark basalt, the obsidian bricks glowing faintly from veins of warmth running through them. It was beautiful in that bold, unapologetic way that Blazebrook seemed to embody—but all Isabelle could think about was how much longer she could keep her expression neutral. Her chest had started to tighten somewhere near the Phoenix Fountain, and her fingers had that tingling static of nerves just barely held back.

  She didn’t want to ruin this for Collin. He was glowing with joy, looking around like he belonged in every crack and flare of this place. But her thoughts were turning fragmented again—like noise bouncing off walls, unable to settle.

  I need to sit. I need quiet. I need to breathe.

  Rotom buzzed in a loop nearby, zipping overhead, pausing to look at a fire-dancer Pokémon performance before shrieking: “OH MY DATA, IT’S AN ORICORIO—BAILE STYLE—IN MID-BOOGIE! Uploading rhythm protocol!”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Rotom.” Isabelle didn’t look up. Her voice was flat. “Not now.”

  “...Deactivating rhythm protocol…”

  She glanced ahead—thank Arceus, the Pokémon Center was just up the hill.

  Collin, still a step ahead, beamed back at her. “They’ve got this bench right by the front desk that’s shaped like a Magcargo. You can literally nap on lava rock and it feels like heaven.”

  “Mmm.” Her tone was flat, but he didn’t notice.

  Azzy stirred again, this time pressing her cheek against Isabelle’s collarbone in a soft, grounding nuzzle.

  I just need… to recharge. Not just food. A bath. My own space. A minute without heat or people or…

  Something flickered at the edge of her thoughts—a sensation she hadn’t felt in days. Like someone watching her from inside, just behind the veil of thought. A whisper of something familiar.

  Not now, she thought, forcing the feeling back down. Later.

  Finally, the doors to the Pokémon Center came into reach, built in volcanic glass and traced with glowing lines of orange-gold. The entrance shimmered with cooled mist vents, shielding the interior from the worst of the city’s heat.

  “I’m going to find food after we check in,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “Then I’m disappearing into a bath. For a week.”

  Collin chuckled. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll scout snacks while you steam the burnout out of your bones.”

  She nodded, grateful that he didn’t press. Not for now.

  Rotom hovered nearby, mercifully silent now. But its screen blinked softly, watching.

  Recording everything.

  The air inside the Pokémon Center was instantly soothing—crisp, cool, and tinged with subtle lavender, like the building had figured out how to exhale calm.

  Isabelle followed Collin toward the front desk, Azzy still nestled in her arms, tail twitching slightly now that she wasn’t in danger of evaporating. Rotom zipped beside her like a caffeine-high balloon, its screen displaying a pulsing heart icon labeled: STRESS LEVEL STABILIZING…

  The Nurse Joy behind the counter glanced up—and immediately lit up like a Fire Stone being tossed in a bucket.

  “Oh-ho! Look what the Skiddo dragged in!” she beamed. “If it isn’t Emberleaf’s finest dropout.”

  Collin grinned, already raising his hand in greeting. “Hey, Rina.”

  This Nurse Joy—Rina, apparently—didn’t look like the others Isabelle had seen before. Sure, she wore the standard crisp white uniform, but the similarities ended there. Her hair was a vibrant bubblegum pink, not the usual pale shade, tied into a ponytail that barely obeyed gravity. Her skin had a sun-glazed warmth to it, and when she moved, it was with the kind of barely-contained kinetic energy that made Isabelle think of an overcharged Joltik.

  “You know her?” Isabelle asked, quietly.

  Collin nodded. “Yeah. She’s the one who patched me up last year after Slugma cooked my leg in the gym challenge. Twice.”

  “Three times,” Rina corrected, sliding two room keys across the counter with practiced ease. “You also fell off a steam platform trying to pose mid-battle.”

  “I was trying to hype the crowd,” he muttered.

  “You were unconscious for like… a full minute.”

  Isabelle blinked. People just… talk like this? Casually? Without mentally dissolving afterward?

  “Anyway!” Rina chirped, turning her smile toward Isabelle. “Welcome to Blazebrook. You’ll find room 206 down the east wing. Collin, you’re back in 209. Same as last time. Spa access is active, and your teams are welcome to the lounge while they recover. And yes,” she added, eyes narrowing at Collin like a playful threat, “I will track your battle record this time. I expect better decisions.”

  “I’m wounded,” Collin said, grabbing his key with mock offense. “Truly.”

  “You were actually wounded. That’s why we’re having this conversation.”

  Rina winked at Isabelle before turning to scan a clipboard. “Feel free to call if you need anything. I’ll be here until midnight. After that, it’s Nurse Mara’s shift, and she’s a rule-stickler. So soak up the freedom while you can.”

  Isabelle nodded, tucking the room key into her bag just beneath the familiar clink of her Li Li Lo Porita keychain. “Thank you,” she murmured, then added quietly to Collin, “I’m gonna… go rest. For real.”

  “Yeah, of course,” Collin said, stepping aside. “Take your time. I’ll go see if they still sell those lava buns.”

  Rotom chirped from her shoulder: “PRIORITY TASK: BATH TIME ENGAGED. DESTINATION: SERENITY SPA. Initiating mood stabilization!”

  She didn’t even roll her eyes this time. Just walked.

  The door hissed open, and Isabelle stepped into one of the coziest rooms she’d seen since leaving Verdantia.

  Everything radiated warmth—but not the oppressive, sweat-slick heat of the streets. This was gentler. Amber lamps bathed the stone walls in a soft glow. A tea tray sat untouched on the low table. And in the corner, through frosted glass, she saw the silhouette of the private soaking bath, its surface misting faintly.

  Azzy was already wiggling in her arms, sensing the return of comfort. Isabelle smiled and let her down. The Azurill padded over to the bed and immediately flopped onto her back with a low, satisfied squeak.

  “I know,” Isabelle said. “We earned this.”

  She slipped off her boots—peeling them from her feet like they’d fused to her soul—and didn’t bother with unpacking. Instead, she grabbed the provided robe, set Rotom on the table with a quiet “no peeking,” and stepped toward the bath.

  The moment she dipped into the mineral water, her breath left her lungs in a soft, unfiltered exhale.

  The heat was perfect—not scalding, but wrapping around her muscles like a warm sleep. The room smelled faintly of citrus peel and volcanic stone, and through the vented ceiling, she could hear a low rumble from the volcano’s distant heart. A living lullaby.

  She sank deeper until the water kissed her shoulders, her hair damp and curling from the steam.

  No sound but her heartbeat. No pressure. No voices.

  And no one staring.

  Her thoughts drifted—half-asleep but wide awake in the comfort of stillness. She traced the edge of the tub with a finger, her skin pruned and pink from the heat, and let herself feel it all. The ache. The weight. The quiet triumph of just making it here.

  I’m okay, she thought. Not great. Not perfect. But okay.

  Her fingers flexed once on the stone rim, and for just a moment, she thought she saw something stir behind her eyes—an echo of a presence, watching her reflection from the water’s edge.

  But it said nothing. And for now…neither did she.

  The bath had worked its magic.

  Not all the stress was gone—she still felt like a sponge that had been rung out too hard—but Isabelle moved easier now. Slower, softer. Like her muscles had stopped clenching for the first time since stepping foot into Blazebrook.

  She’d packed light for the heat, and finally—finally—she could make use of it.

  Gone was the heavy navy haori, folded carefully and tucked into the bottom of her bag. She felt a twinge of guilt packing it away. It was a gift from her father. Her anchor in a way. But in this volcanic oven of a city, it felt like walking around in a weighted blanket soaked in regret.

  Now?

  She wore a crisp, high-collared blouse with puffed sleeves, fitted neatly into tailored black shorts cinched with a bow belt. Golden pins shimmered at her hip, some decorative, some practical. Her legs were covered by patterned black thigh-highs, and her boots—simple, dark, dependable—clicked softly against the lounge’s polished obsidian floor.

  It wasn’t flashy. But she felt... normal. A little more like herself.

  Rotom made a quick “STYLE UPDATE RECEIVED” noise from inside her bag before thankfully quieting again. Azzy, now washed, fed, and nestled against her thigh in a towel cocoon, gave a content chirp as Isabelle dropped onto the low bench across from Collin.

  He looked up from a rented Pokémon Center tablet, his own clothes slightly disheveled from walking too fast with too much energy.

  “Whoa,” he said, half a smile already forming. “You look like you walked out of one of those Lumora streetwear ads. Fancy café meet-up vibes.”

  Isabelle raised a brow, lips tugging faintly. “Should I be offended?”

  “Nah,” he grinned. “You’re killin’ it.”

  A small plate sat between them—three berry skewers, a stale-looking lava biscuit, and two halves of a mochi bun split cleanly. Collin had already eaten his half.

  “Picked up some snacks. Not a feast, but...” he shrugged, then quickly tucked a small receipt stub deeper into his pocket. Isabelle caught the brief motion. Not dramatic. Just a flicker of silence where words might’ve been.

  Still, she didn’t say anything. She took the other mochi half and offered him a small nod of thanks.

  Azzy squeaked, her nose twitching at the fruit scent. Isabelle passed her a tiny piece without thinking.

  “So,” Collin said, booting up the League interface. “Gym registration’s open all week. We don’t have to rush, but the queue is already wild. I heard the line’s like, wrapped around the southern plaza. Like last year.”

  “Great,” Isabelle murmured around a bite of mochi.

  “They process by batch and difficulty tier now, though. If you wait until the second or third week, fewer people. Kieran doesn’t water it down either way.”

  She leaned back slightly, letting her hair dry naturally across her shoulder. “How many actually make it past him?”

  “Last year?” He scratched the back of his head. “First week, maybe 200 tried. Less than 50 cleared it. And that’s being generous.”

  She exhaled slowly. “And we’re... planning to be in that 50?”

  “I mean,” Collin laughed softly, “that’s the goal, yeah.”

  He tapped the tablet, scrolling past a few job boards and market tabs. Isabelle caught the sight of numbers—winnings, payouts, trainer bounties, sponsored gigs.

  “Speaking of goals,” he said, a little too casually. “How much you got left?”

  Isabelle blinked. “What?”

  “PokéDollars,” he clarified. “For, y’know. Food. Room. Items.”

  She hesitated, then pulled up her wristband screen. The numbers flashed back at her in dull green.

  2200

  Not zero. But not... great.

  Collin gave a low whistle. “Oof. Okay. Well. Don’t panic.”

  “I’m not panicking.”

  “You’re doing the thing with your shoulders.”

  Her shoulders dropped. “It’s fine.”

  “We’ve got options,” he said, flipping to the League bulletin board tab. “We can battle other trainers. Quick matches, earn some cash. Some even pay with items.”

  “Hard pass.”

  “Fair,” he grinned. “Or—job board gigs. League posts bounties. People always need a hand running deliveries, wrangling a wild Pokémon, spotting item spawns—easy stuff.”

  “Still sounds like ‘talking to people’ stuff.”

  He tilted the tablet slightly so she could read a highlighted post.

  “Seeking Assistance: Berry field irrigation control malfunctioned. Water-types needed to stabilize flow. Mild danger. 800P + lunch.”

  Isabelle leaned in.

  Azzy’s ears twitched.

  Collin smirked. “C’mon. That’s basically a spa day for Azzy.”

  Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “Maybe.”

  He closed the tablet. “Look—we don’t have to decide tonight. We’ll register for the gym tomorrow. Scope out the scene. And if we’re broke by next week... we’ll figure it out.”

  His tone was light, but there was a quiet steadiness behind it. A confidence she’d come to lean on more than she liked to admit.

  Not a plan. Not a fix. Just… a promise to not fall apart.

  And for some reason, it was enough to make her throat tighten.

  She stared at the half-eaten mochi in her hand, then at him.

  Because the truth was... she didn’t know what she was doing. Not out here. Not in this city. Not even next to the guy in front of her who somehow still had the energy to believe.

  Collin didn’t have money. Or parents wiring him funds. No League sponsor patting him on the back, no company dangling contracts in front of him with glittery bullshit promises. No stage lights. No shortcuts.

  Just him. And that damn Pancham. And this relentless, infuriating ability to keep looking forward like the next step might actually be better than the last.

  She didn’t get it. Not really.

  But he was still here. Showing up. Choosing to believe that “figuring it out” was a thing people could just... do.

  And her?

  She could’ve left. Could’ve split off after the forest—after the screaming, chest-ripping panic of that Beedrill that still made her flinch at every buzz in tall grass.

  He didn’t ask her to stay. Didn’t say hey, stick around, I’ll protect you.

  But she stayed anyway.

  She didn’t know why.

  Maybe because he’d been kind. Maybe because Azzy trusted him.

  Maybe because she didn’t know how to keep walking alone anymore without collapsing in on herself.

  But that scared her too.

  She didn’t want to use someone just because they made the world a little less impossible to stand in.

  She didn’t want to be that kind of person.

  But here she was. Sitting across from him. Listening to him talk like they had a future. Like maybe tomorrow wouldn’t suck.

  She didn’t believe in that future—not yet. But she did believe that she hadn’t walked away. And that had to count for something.

  Collin broke the silence, gently bouncing the tablet against one knee. “Market’s probably still open. Wanna walk through it? No pressure to buy anything, but it’s cool to see at night.”

  Isabelle blinked, caught in the web of her thoughts. “We’re not made of money, remember?”

  He smirked. “That’s why it’s called window shopping.”

  Azzy perked up at that, letting out a cheerful “Zurii!” from her towel cocoon.

  “I swear to Arceus,” Isabelle muttered, rubbing her temple, “if either of you makes me spend even one goddamn Pokedollar—”

  “I got you,” Collin said, raising both hands. “Scouts honor. You can even hold your wallet closed the whole time if it helps.”

  RotomDex zipped out of her bag with a sassy buzz, flashing the words:

  “MOLTEN MARKET TRIP ENGAGED! TRAINER FUN FUN WALK MODE: [ON]”

  Then it let out a digital chime that suspiciously sounded like a shopping register.

  “Turn that off,” Isabelle deadpanned.

  “Cannot comply,” Rotom chirped. “Excitement protocol is locked in! Do you need a map? Market layout uploaded. Suggested route: left lane—hot buns. Right lane—black market. Middle lane—chaotic everything.”

  Collin stifled a laugh.

  Isabelle sighed and stood, scooping Azzy into her arms again. Her voice was quiet, but dry: “Remind me again why I’m doing this?”

  “Because deep down, you love the chaos,” Collin said, getting up and stretching. Pancham hopped down from his seat and shadowboxed at his heels.

  “No,” Isabelle corrected. “I tolerate the chaos. Barely. Because I haven’t found a goddamn escape route yet.”

  Collin’s grin widened. “Well, when you do, I hope it’s not half as fun as walking next to me through a lava-lit street full of overpriced berries and sketchy incense stalls.”

  Isabelle snorted. “You’re so fucking lucky I’m too tired to argue with that.”

  Together, they moved toward the lobby doors, the faint neon glow of Molten Market already lighting the obsidian street beyond like a flame-washed river.

  And as the doors slid open, Isabelle tugged her shorts down slightly, brushing off invisible lint like it mattered.

  We’ll figure it out, he’d said.

  Maybe that didn’t mean they’d win. Or thrive. Or come out of this richer than they started.

  But maybe—just maybe—it meant they wouldn’t have to do it alone.