The fire had died down to embers, soft red pulses beneath a blanket of ash. The sky above was cloudless and sharp with stars, the forest quiet in that heavy, loaded way it only became after something big had passed.
Seven days.
Seven days of blood and sweat, real pain and real progress.
Now the world held its breath.
Orion sat with his knees pulled up, hands loose over his shins. His eyes didn't leave the flickering core of the coals. He was thinking, but not planning. His muscles were sore but ready. He wasn't tired. Just still.
Turtwig rested on his side near the tree line, tucked into a bed of leaves he'd scraped out with one foreleg. His leaf rose and fell in the rhythm of sleep, slow and sure.
Tyrunt slept near Orion's pack, his tail curled around a stone, jaw twitching as he dreamed of prey or territory.
The wind was calm.
The trees didn't move.
That's when Orion heard it.
The sound wasn't loud. Not a snap or rustle. Just… presence.
He turned his head slightly.
Eyes glinting gold in the dark. Watching.
Not glowing.
Reflecting.
It stood maybe three meters beyond the fire ring, just past the boundary that Orion had drawn in the dirt on Day One. Small. Low. Cat-like.
Shinx.
But not like the others.
Not blue.
Yellow.
A shimmer not natural to the forest—like lightning trapped in muscle and fur.
Orion didn't move. His heartbeat slowed instead of rising.
He didn't need to guess what this was.
It was a shiny.
And it was alone.
The Shinx didn't make a sound. It didn't prowl. It didn't creep. It paced. Slow, even steps. Around the edge of the camp, just far enough to stay outside the light, just close enough to be seen.
Turtwig stirred and opened one eye.
Tyrunt twitched.
The Shinx stopped when Turtwig sat up.
They stared at each other.
Orion rose quietly to a crouch, arms resting on his knees. He didn't speak. He didn't reach for anything. His bag lay a meter behind him, closed.
No Poké Balls.
He'd used his last spare during the raid.
The ones he had left were full.
The Shinx padded a little closer.
It wasn't challenging.
But it wasn't afraid.
Turtwig took a step forward. Just one. His eyes narrowed.
The Shinx didn't blink.
Then it turned—deliberately—and began batting at a fallen pinecone with one paw.
Not playfully.
Mockingly.
Tyrunt growled.
Orion watched.
It was provoking them.
Why?
Why now?
Why after days of silence from the colony?
Why come alone?
He watched the way its fur moved—slightly coarse, like it hadn't been groomed in days. The way it stepped—light, but with uncertainty in the heel. The way it paced—never turning its back fully to any of them.
It had been watching.
Learning.
Now it wanted to be seen.
Orion stood slowly.
The Shinx paused.
Their eyes met.
Something passed between them—neither threat nor understanding.
Orion spoke softly.
"You're not with the colony anymore."
The Shinx didn't move.
He took a slow step forward.
"You were part of them. I know it. I saw you the second night. You were near the back, half in shadow. But you were there."
Turtwig looked at him, then back at the Shinx.
Orion kept talking.
"Not anymore though. Too yellow. Too obvious."
His voice was barely a whisper.
"Too rare to belong."
The Shinx's tail flicked once.
It stepped sideways, then forward.
Still no growl.
Still no fear.
It paced along the ring again—past Tyrunt this time.
The dinosaur lifted his head and bared his teeth.
The Shinx stopped.
Looked him in the eye.
Didn't flinch.
Tyrunt stood fully now, growling low in his throat, not charging—just warning.
The Shinx tilted its head and yawned.
Mocking again.
Orion almost laughed.
"You're doing this on purpose," he said. "You're not hunting. You're not asking for a fight. You're annoying us."
The Shinx didn't disagree.
Orion lowered back into his crouch.
"You want to see if we'll chase you. If we're worth it. You want to matter to someone before you disappear."
The Shinx flicked its ears.
And then—finally—it spoke.
Not in words.
In one sharp yip, not bark, not roar.
Just a sound.
Clear. Electric.
Then it turned and walked away.
No sprint.
No escape.
Just exit.
Orion didn't follow.
Couldn't.
He had no Poké Ball.
Turtwig returned to his bed of leaves, slower this time.
Tyrunt paced the edge of the ring once, twice, before laying down again, facing the woods.
Orion sat beside the fire.
He rubbed his hands over his knees.
Stared at the place where the yellow had vanished into the dark.
A shiny.
Evicted. Alone.
Annoying on purpose.
Bright as lightning in a forest that hated light.
He didn't write in his journal.
Not tonight.
But the image didn't leave him.
He could still see it in the dark.
Too yellow to hide.
Too wild to catch.
Too real to ignore.
Not yet his.
But not a stranger anymore