Isle carefully snuck across the web of branches to track Callula's progress through the mining town. It was impossible to keep an eye on her constantly as she avoided the main streets and kept a low profile, but Isle would at least be able to pick up on any trouble. As expected, however, Callula made it to the larder without a problem.

It had a counter built into the front wall, and as she approached the Claydol on duty to ask them for help, Isle let herself down onto the branch. The poor Comfey would likely be there for a while, so there was no reason to not get comfortable.

"Splitting up? Has betraying Giratina robbed you of your strategic mind as well, assassin?"

Isle felt her adrenaline spike. The harsh masculine voice came from close behind her, though it had the airy aspect of a bird Pokémon. Keeping her guard up, Isle stayed sitting and casually turned her head to inspect the agent of Giratina that had already managed to track them.

Comfortably perched on a branch a few meters away was a Swellow, his lidded eyes guarded. Isle was only side-eyeing him and was thus unable to see him clearly, but she didn't need to see a mark of Giratina to know that the normal/flying type was his thrall. He knew too much, but he also spoke with the self-assured zealotry that Isle was unfortunately all too familiar with.

"You a fresh recruit, Swellow?" Isle asked from her seat, infusing her voice with disinterested contempt.

"No," he answered simply, giving away nearly zero information.

"Really? You come across as one. Any experienced agent would have ambushed me without a word, not started a conversation like we were in a play—especially when faced with a dangerous opponent. I only hope there's more of you hiding nearby, waiting for some kind of opening."

"I had heard you were a piece of work, but it's a difference experience talking to you myself." The Swellow shook his head, a strange glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "There's no one else here. We are entirely alone."

"And what?" Isle asked as she finally pushed herself to her feet and faced her adversary. "You thought you'd come to prove that you're better than me? That you should succeed me?"

"Perceptive of you." If the Swellow didn't have a beak, he would have been grinning. "I always thought you were overrated. Let's find out, once and for all."

There was no more talking to be done. Isle spit a volley of ice shards at the reclining bird Pokémon hoping to catch it the least bit off guard.

To her surprise, the Swellow didn't try to dodge. Instead, he spread his wings wide and split his beak in a silent screech. The ice shards shattered against a small energy shield just in front of him, and Isle silently spat a curse. She was sick and tired of every Pokémon being trained in quick guard and making her ice shards essentially useless. Her speedy moves being unusable while the Swellow's were uncontested was a serious disadvantage, and he seemed to realize that; immediately after the block he dove into a quick attack faster than the eye could see.

It would be a difficult dodge, so Isle instead paused for a heartbeat to prepare herself. She wanted to disincentivize the abuse of quick attack, so it was time to bring out her sole fighting-type technique: revenge. It wasn't quite a true counter and relied on her reaction speed, but it would sting quite a lot as retribution just the same.

The instant she felt impact, Isle jammed her claw into the Swellow's side. There was no cutting involved: it was a simple but powerful blunt jab meant to bruise. In response, the bird Pokémon shrieked and with one powerful flap of his wings, created some distance.

With some space returned to her, Isle took a moment to feel at her side. It stung in protest—the damage she had taken was not insignificant, but the Swellow had almost certainly come out of the exchange worse. Unlike her, however, he did not stop to take stock of his injury; without pause, a sharp scythe of wind was tearing through the air towards her.

Reflexively, Isle dug her claw into the tree whose branch she stood on and pulled herself behind the trunk. Then, as the air slash severed the branch she had just left, she launched herself upward, rapidly climbing higher on the bark surface.

Isle had intended to lose the Swellow by making it to the canopy above, but she had severely underestimated his air control. Before she could escape, he came tearing around the tree trunk, a wing raised in preparation to send another wave of sharp wind. To buy herself some time, Isle spun after launching herself upwards along the tree; facing her opponent, she spat more ice shards. Predictably, the Swellow prioritized his own safety from Isle's ice attacks and briefly interrupted himself to block with quick guard once again.

Isle completed her rotation in the meantime and, catching herself with a claw buried in the bark, she continued her mad scramble upwards. As she approached the canopy, she glanced below to check on her opponent.

Having maintained his speed coming around the tree, the Swellow deftly spun to convert it to rotational momentum. He used this spin to create an especially powerful air slash—it tore diagonally upwards through leaves and branches alike, creating an overpowering symphony of snapping, crackling, and rustling. Isle had made it to the canopy, but the attack was coming far too fast to dodge while she was off balance. She didn't even have time to block her face as it cut into her and launched her into the air, far above the treetops.

Isle finally stopped holding her breath once she reached the apex of her flight. She gasped, catching the air rushing by—then, she took a deep breath in as she began to hurtle back down. She desperately scrambled midair trying to right herself during the uncontrolled fall, but it was no good—when she crashed through the canopy, it was back first and upside down.

Luckily, there were no sturdy wood waiting for her at the end of her trajectory. The leaves and weak branches she broke through gave her much more control, and by the time she eventually came across a part of the tree more stubborn than she was, she had rotated enough that her feet landed squarely.

Isle only paused for an instant to right her balance before leaping away—she had to get as far as possible from the crash site. A few moments later she was sitting on a branch a handful of meters away, her back against the trunk.

Isle breathed heavy, allowing herself to relax and check her wound. It stung, but as far as Isle could tell the cut across her was not especially deep. A beak or talon-based attack of similar strength might have been an issue, but as it was, the damage she took was not the worst result. When it had hit, Isle was glancing over her shoulder. As a result, the diagonal slash hit her right shoulder, across the back of her neck, onto her face, and all the way to just above her right eye. Blood was already dribbling down, blinding her; she would have to finish the fight with one eye closed.

The dull tak of talons on wood told Isle that her opponent was near. Peeking her unmarred left eye around the edge of the tree trunk, Isle could see that the Swellow had settled on the branch she had landed on and was leaning down to inspect it.

"Still kicking, eh?" the Swellow called into the forest. "But you're bleeding. Don't worry, though—I won't be asking Giratina where you are. This can hardly be a fair test if I do."

Isle almost laughed to herself. She really wanted to know what had made this Swellow so cocky and obsessed with a proper duel, but that would have to come later. As it was, she had an advantage she had to press.

The Swellow had taken off and was now flying erratically through the forest. It would be difficult to organize a proper ambush with the ability to properly predict her movement, but this gave Isle a unique opportunity. Even as a flying-type subtle sounds nearby the Swellow were likely to be smothered by the rushing air surrounding her, so Isle risked burying her claws into the bark of the tree to once again climb higher, up to the dense foliage where she could hide. Then she found a place within the leaves that was both comfortable and sufficiently obscured—she was going to need to focus.

After sitting, Isle took a slow, deliberate breath in and closed her eyes. There was one large exception to the rule that dark-types were entirely immune to psychic-type energy, and that was a relatively rare technique called miracle eye. A much lesser-known exception was that some dark-types are able to use psychic-type energy on themselves, and that was precisely what Isle was doing. She allowed it to flow, both strengthening and relaxing her muscles, improving her reaction time, and even physically lightening her body. She continued this meditative routine for some time, dimly aware of the increasingly agitated Swellow flying circles below her.

"You didn't seriously run away, did you?" the Swellow's voice finally came. "Arceus, I swear, if I've been alone in this forest all this time..."

Finally, Isle's eyes opened. It was time. Standing, she planted a foot on the tree behind her and prepared to launch a flying ice punch at the Swellow flying erratically below her.

When it came down to it, his evasive movements meant nothing to the projectile that was Isle—in fact, after pushing off of her tree springboard, she was going fast enough that even the sharp cracking of small branches and the rustling of leaves weren't nearly enough warning. In an instant, the blunt of Isle's claw was slammed into the Swellow's back, just between the base of his wings.

At the moment of contact, two things happened nearly simultaneously. First, the Swellow's momentum forward was entirely overwhelmed by the downward force of Isle's attack, and the both of them hurtled towards the ground, Isle riding him like a taxi Pokémon. Then, with a shrill cracking noise, a mass of ice sprouted around the site of impact. It left Isle's claw free, but it spread across the Swellow's back, entirely disabling his wings.

A heartbeat later the two of them crashed into the dirt and the ice exploded, shattering everywhere around them. Isle had leapt at such a steep angle that the landing was a dead stop, and she had brought her legs up so that upon impact so all of her weight crushed him underneath her. A strangled gasp escaped the Swellow's throat, but Isle felt his muscles already beginning to tense up in preparation for a counterattack.

Isle was not about to entertain that. Again using the blunt of her claw, she slammed the Swellow's head into the dirt.

"You've lost," Isle hissed, leaning down to whisper just beside his head. "Give up so I don't have to kill you."

Silence. The Swellow gave no indication he even heard her and kept his muscles poised.

"Relax," Isle said as she slid her left claw underneath his throat. She pressed all three points ever so slightly against the feathered flesh. "It's in your best interest to not worry me right now."

Hesitation, and then compliance.

"Good. Where is your mark?"

"Gnnh," the Swellow groaned with frustration. "Left flank."

Isle shifted in place, switching which claw she held at the Swellow's throat. She then used her left claw to blindly feel at the feathery flank below her. It took a moment as the wound was entirely covered by feathers, but soon Isle was running her claws through the familiar eternally-bloody grooves of a mark of Giratina.

"I'd like to have some privacy," Isle said, hovering her claw over the mark. "Prepare yourself."

More hesitation. Then a single, barely perceptible nod.

Isle cut into the Swellow's side, being careful to excise the mark in its entirety. To his credit the Swellow didn't so much as flinch as his flesh was being gouged out, and within a few short moments Isle had rid them of Giratina's company.

"...Now what?" the Swellow asked.

"That depends. Would you rather I let you go here or take you to be healed by my Comfey companion?"

"Why aren't you killing me?" he asked, sounding unsure about whether he should be mentioning it.

"Would you like me to?"

"Obviously not. But I don't understand why. You know as well as I do—I can get a new mark and be back in no time at all. Was I really that little of a threat?"

"I realize that letting you go is not the safest thing to do," Isle began, electing to ignore the question. "But I'm doing it regardless. Think of it as a gift from a former peer."

The Swellow turned her head sideways, letting it rest on the dirt and casting one eye up at Isle. "Why did you betray Giratina? And how did you convince the medic to join you?"

Isle snorted. "Classic agent playbook. 'Even if you're captured, try to get every bit of information you can'. Giratina didn't tell you anything?"

"You know how he is. He pops in for a moment to tell you something in as few words as possible, then he's gone."

"Not sure that's how I'd describe my experience, though I guess I always was his favorite."

"So why?"

"Giratina was lying to me. I suspect that all of the Pokémon I murdered for him didn't need to die. It's as simple as that."

"And the medic?"

"I told her exactly that." A white lie, but a lie nonetheless. "I have hope that you'll follow suit, but I realize a single Pokémon's story isn't going to be enough for most. Still—the only difference between you and me is a single lucky circumstance. So, I'll ask you again: do you want to be healed before you go?"

"...No."

"Fine." Isle pulled her claw away and stepped off of the Swellow's back. "See you around, Swellow," she said as she backed a few feet away.

The Swellow awkwardly pushed herself up with his beak. He appeared remarkably uninjured given the amount of damage he had sustained thanks to Isle's disproportionate use of blunt attacks, and when they locked eyes, Isle felt a spike of adrenaline. There was overwhelming aggression in his eyes, but it was tempered by indecision—as if he hadn't quite decided if he wanted to continue the fight.

Then he turned away, and the tension was gone. "The name's Pelbly," he said, and with that he took off, flying into the forest.

Isle blinked. The Swellow had opted to leave without being healed, which indicated an unwillingness to consider betraying Giratina. However, he also shared his name which indicated at least some interest in something that wasn't an antagonistic relationship. Quite an odd name, even—Pelbly didn't exactly feel like a name for an agent of Giratina that clearly thought a lot of himself.

Regardless, except in the unlikely event that he would double back for an ambush, it was over. Her first skirmish as a fugitive, survived with only a bruise and a shallow—if a bit large and grisly—cut. Thankfully the bleeding had already mostly ceased, but Isle would be hard-pressed to find water nearby Hornsey to wash off. Callula would have to deal with the scare.

Isle climbed up to the web of low branches. It was lucky that it was a mining day and there were very few Pokémon in town; the confrontation had begun nearly inside the town's limits, essentially directly above a home. If the vast majority of Hornsey citizens weren't in the mine, they surely would have been heard and interrupted—though that was likely an observation taken by the Swellow before he confronted her.

As a benefit of their close proximity fight, Isle was able to regain sight on Callula within only a few moments. She was still floating in front of the larder, apparently waiting patiently. The Claydol was gone—hopefully to get the supplies Callula had asked for—and Isle took a moment to sit down once again. Unfortunately, like before, she was destined not to do so for long; as soon as she was comfortable, the Claydol returned. They came from elsewhere in the town having apparently needed to visit other buildings to get what Callula asked for, and as they floated towards the Comfey they had a cloth backpack hanging from one of their strange nubby appendages.

Callula greeted them warmly, bowing her head in thanks repeatedly. She graciously accepted the backpack and held it between her small hands, letting it hang below her. Then, finally, she happily floated away back the way she came.

Isle stood to once again make her way back to the meeting place. She was avoiding moving especially quickly to avoid reopening her cut, and since she had to take a more roundabout route through the trees surrounding the town, she ended up arriving after Callula.

"Isle?" came Callula's voice from the meeting place. "Are you still here?"

"I'm here," Isle called, still making her way across the branches. "But remember—it looks worse than it is."

"Huh? What do yo—" Callula cut herself off with a gasp as Isle revealed herself. In an instant, her medic training took over and she continued in a clinical tone. "Are we in danger?"

"No, I think we're fine now."

"You think?" came the harsh question.

"Yeah, I think. Go ahead and heal me, I know you won't be able to relax until you do."

With an annoyed sigh, Callula allowed the backpack to fall to the ground and complied. "I wish you'd take that more seriously," she said once she had finished. "We're the most vulnerable when I'm healing you, and intelligent opponents will wait for it."

"My opponent was not intelligent."

"All the same. So, what happened?"

"Well as it turns out, the estimate of a few days before we have to deal with marked agents was a bit long."

"...You're kidding. You were ambushed?"

"I wasn't, and that's why I say my opponent was not intelligent. He wanted a fair match to see who was better."

A strange expression contorted the Comfey's face. "Was he a Swellow?"

"Yes, actually."

Callula snorted. "I knew it. Yeah, I'm not sure he's actually attempted an ambush in his life. As much as he's obsessed with surpassing you, he's also obsessed with doing it without what he calls 'cowardly tactics'."

"What? How can you even be an agent of Giratina without things like ambushes or stealth, let alone an assassin? What is he going to do, challenge an entire town to a duel to get to a target?"

"Don't ask me. All I know is he wants to prove that it's possible. And listen," Callula continued, her voice suddenly genuine. "I'm sorry for the bad call. There were no marks assigned to be nearby, so I really thought there wouldn't be any."

"Not your fault. But what was he doing here, then? Pure coincidence?"

"Um... it could have been? Last I heard he was a free agent, meaning he's welcome to do whatever he pleases until Giratina gives him orders. I didn't see him, but if he was at the Explorer Coalition raid it wouldn't be that much of a stretch for him to have traveled this way."

"Is where I was being held public information? If he's obsessed with outdoing me, he might have been planning to come see me in jail. At my lowest, you know."

"No, it wasn't. He would have had to get the location from Giratina. Come to think of it though, he could have been following us all the way from Tradetown, right? Maybe he was waiting for us to split up just so he could have his duel without any trickery."

Isle knelt down, finally opening the backpack. Although not quite to the point that it bulged, the main pocket was entirely stuffed with various types of non-perishable food. "Having Pokémon actually able to sneak up on me or follow me without my knowledge is going to take some getting used to. Either way, I don't think we can know what brought Pelbly here."

"Pelbly?" Callula asked with a smile. It was as if she already suspected that it was the Swellow's name, but she was feigning confusion so Isle would say it.

"Yeah? That's what he said his name was."

"HA!" Callula laughed, her shrill voice filling the forest. "Hahahaha, oh that's great. He never told anyone his name—I thought he was just trying to seem mysterious and cool, but it's because his name was Pelbly."

"What?" Isle said amid the Comfey's giggles. "How could no one know his name? Don't you have to give your name when you're hired?"

"Oh I'm sure it's written down somewhere, but he was shockingly good at avoiding the question. Ahh," she sighed, coming down from her enjoyment of the name. "I feel a bit bad, now. He probably keeps the name for some sentimental reason, but c'mon—Pelbly? He's an agent of Giratina, for Arceus' sake."

"I'm beginning to feel like I shouldn't have shared that," Isle said as she searched the rest of the backpack. Tucked into a side pocket were a total of three face masks of an acceptable size.

"Yeah, probably not. It must have been a sign of respect for him to share it. Still, you can trust that I'll keep it a secret. Not like I have anyone to gossip with aside from you anymore."

"Well, whatever," Isle said, picking out a black-dyed mask. "How'd you manage to get all this stuff, anyways? Especially the masks."

"I asked."

"You're kidding. That's it?"

"Mhm. They didn't even ask what it was for."

Isle sighed as she slung the backpack over her shoulder. "Oh, to be a cute fairy-type. It's a whole different life."

"Cute, huh?" Callula said with a smug smile.

Isle ignored the comment as she finally pulled the mask's straps over her crown. They were horizontal around the back of her head as opposed to relying on any particular feature like ears so the mask was usable by a wide range of Pokémon, but they were tight enough that it was delightfully unlikely that the mask would be flying off her face during combat. As the sturdy fabric slipped in front of her face, Isle relished the feeling of security. It had been far too long.

"Ready to go, then?" Isle asked.

"You don't want to wash the blood off first?"

"If I recall correctly, there aren't any suitable bodies of water nearby. I figure we'll find one on the way."

"Oh, then in that case, I'm ready. May I?" Callula floated up above Isle's head and, when she offered no complaints, settled in comfortably tucked behind her crown. "OK, ready," came the whisper.

A moment later Isle was once again free, skipping from branch to branch in the lower canopy. She relished it for a minute, but then it was time for business.

"Hey Callie," Isle said under her breath as she flew through the air. "Can you hear me OK while we're traveling?"

She could feel some movement on the top of her head, but it could have been anything.

"Is it hard to talk? Let's do one tap for yes, two taps for no."

A single tap on her skull.

"Talking to Pelbly after the fight, it occurred to me that I haven't told you much of anything. You came along with me, but you did it blindly. Can I share what happened to me? Why precisely I betrayed Giratina?"

Another single tap.

"OK. We'll be going for a while, so do you want the whole story? Every little detail? It might pass the time."

One final tap.

Isle smiled under her mask. "It all began with me coming out of the bushes, pretending to be lost..."


Miles upon miles away, at the northeastern edge of the mountain range known only as the Great Forest Highlands, a Riolu and a Charmeleon shared a campfire just outside the mouth of a cave. Both of them were tired and injured, each nursing various cuts, bruises, and puncture wounds. However, as battered as they were, neither of them were anything less than battle-ready.

As the Charmeleon leaned into the fire to bask in the warmth, the Riolu warily surveyed their surroundings. Satisfied with the apparently empty snowed-in hills behind her, she turned her attention back to the satchel in her lap. Each of the many, many pockets were splayed open, and the Riolu's thick, stubby fingers rooted through them. With great surprise, she fished out an item from the pack she believed to be entirely empty. Tucked between the toes of her paw was a yellow seed, entirely unremarkable save for its exceptional size.

"Hey, did you know this was in here?" the Riolu asked her partner across the campfire.

The campfire popped and crackled. "Dante," she pressed.

"Mmm," the Charmeleon hummed, pulling his face from the fire. "What is it?"

"I found a seed in this pack. Has it been in there since we found it in the dungeon?"

The Charmeleon's eyes appraised the seed carefully. "It must have been. Maybe this isn't a satchel from someone exploring a dungeon on purpose, but of a farmer that stumbled in. Interesting."

"Not especially helpful, unfortunately."

"True. You nervous?"

The Riolu stared into the fire. It had been a long eight days of travel through the mountains, and this was their very first campfire. Trees were not in abundance in the mountains, but even when their travel took them through forests, their small party was not equipped to cut them down. They only had the campfire now because they got lucky: the cave they had spent the previous night in was apparently some kind of staging ground for expeditions into the mountains. It had various old supplies including climbing gear and canteens, but after a long trip in the cold both of them had been far more interested in the stacked firewood.

"Yeah, I'm nervous," Luca finally answered. "You know as well as I do how much more dangerous longer dungeons are. We may have skirted by thus far, but when it comes down to it we're a team of two, and one of us is still getting used to her new body. If I was reading this in a report, I'd prepare to label it with the death tag."

"We'll be OK," Dante reassured her, his dull blue eyes fixed on her. "You need to give yourself more credit, but we also have a pack full of magic berries. And remember, once we're out we'll be a leisurely stroll through the forest away from a town. We'll be done."

"A town that we need to stay away from because there's a cult after us."

"Granted, but at least we won't be in the mountains anymore."

Luca returned the seed to the depths of the pocket she had found it in. "Let me know when you're ready, then."

"Mhm." Dante leaned back into the fire, closing his eyes. "Just a bit longer," he said, speaking more to himself than to her.

In the meantime, Luca took a moment to close and secure all of the pockets of her satchel. Despite Dante's reassurance, she couldn't help but feel an impending sense of doom. Somehow she couldn't picture them traveling through the forest later the same day, and it felt far more likely that they simply wouldn't make it. She looked across the campfire at her Charmeleon companion and his stupid, blissful expression. She really, truly hoped they would be OK, but despite the warm fire in front of her, Luca was hit with a full body shiver of anticipation.