They’d been wandering without much direction for a while, the path narrowing into one of those half-forgotten routes that didn’t quite justify a number on the map but absolutely justified existing anyway. Grass brushed at their knees, wildflowers leaned in like they were eavesdropping, and the air had that soft, sun-warmed stillness that made Avery slow his steps without even meaning to.
The sun sat low and warm, light catching on the edges of D3r’s armor as he moved. The plates were scuffed and scratched from actual use rather than aesthetics, dark metal etched with pale lines where attacks had glanced off. He walked easily in it, like it was just another layer of clothing instead of something that weighed more than Avery’s entire backpack. Virgil’s Poké Ball hung at his hip, faintly gleaming, and Avery had long since learned that if Virgil was out, the two of them would look almost eerily similar—tall, angular, steel-edged silhouettes with controlled stillness baked into their posture.
Avery kicked a pebble ahead of him, hands laced behind his head, Honey trotting along at his side with her ribbon-like feelers swaying in an idle, happy rhythm. “I still don’t get how you don’t overheat in that thing,” Avery said, glancing sideways. “I’m dying and I’m wearing, like, three layers max.”
“There’s ventilation,” D3r replied calmly.
Avery squinted. “You sound like a brochure.”
“It is an accurate description.”
Honey chirped softly, bumping her head against Avery’s leg. He laughed and dropped a hand to scratch behind her ear. “See, she agrees with me. You’re ridiculous.”
D3r made a thoughtful sound that might have been a hum.
Avery kicked the pebble off the path and watched it disappear into the grass. Honey trotted ahead of them, ribbons swaying, occasionally doubling back to make sure they were still there. The Sylveon’s ears flicked, picking up on sounds Avery couldn’t hear yet, but for now she seemed content—tail high, steps light, humming that soft, pleased little noise she made when the world felt safe. Avery smiled without thinking about it, then glanced sideways at D3r.
“You ever notice,” Avery said, mostly to fill the comfortable quiet, “that Pokémon routes always feel like they’re built for conversations? Like, you’re not supposed to rush through them. You’re supposed to talk.”
D3r considered that, helm angled slightly as if he were weighing the idea. “I think,” he said after a moment, voice calm and thoughtful, “they’re built for encounters. Conversations just happen to be one of the gentler kinds.”
Avery snorted. “You’d say that.”
They kept walking. The path curved, then dipped, the grass growing shorter and more trampled—as if something had been pacing back and forth with a lot of purpose and very little height. Honey stopped abruptly, ears straight up, ribbons going taut. She made a questioning trill and looked back at Avery.
“Hey, what is it?” Avery asked softly, crouching a little.
D3r had already paused, posture shifting from relaxed to attentive in that subtle way that made it obvious he’d been a Trainer for a long time. “We’re not alone."
There was a rustle, then another, and then six small, helmeted heads popped up from the grass in near-perfect unison.
Falinks.
They lined up instinctively, shields raised, little blue eyes peering out from beneath their helmets. For half a second, Avery braced himself for the usual—curiosity, maybe aggression, maybe that stiff little march they did when they decided you were an enemy to be dealt with in formation.
Instead, every single one of them froze.
Their helmets tilted. One dipped. Another shield wobbled.
Then, as if a silent command had been given, the entire Falinks formation pivoted—not toward Avery, not toward Honey—but toward D3r.
Avery blinked. “Uh.”
The Falinks shuffled closer, still in formation, but their rigid discipline was already breaking down. One leaned forward a little too far and bumped into the one ahead of it. Another did a tiny hop, clearly excited but trying very hard to pretend it wasn’t. Their eyes tracked the lines of D3r’s armor, the way the plates overlapped, the way the helm flared just enough at the edges to look ceremonial, ancient, important.
D3r… also froze.
He looked down at them slowly, as if sudden movement might startle whatever strange spell had been cast. “Avery,” he said carefully, “I believe they think I am… one of them.”
Avery clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh my god,” he breathed, already losing the battle not to laugh. “You do kind of look like a bigger Falinks.”
That was apparently the correct answer to something, because the Falinks made a collective, excited little noise—half squeak, half metallic clatter—and surged forward another step. One of them reached out with its shield arm thing and very gently tapped the edge of D3r’s greave, like it was checking to see if he was real.
D3r very carefully knelt, bringing himself closer to their eye level without towering over them. The Falinks gasped—actually gasped—and several of them scrambled to straighten their formation again, shields snapping into place with earnest determination.
“I’m not a Falinks,” D3r said gently, tone slow and deliberate. “But your armor is… impressive.”
The Falinks preened.
One of them puffed up so hard it nearly tipped over backward. Another nudged its neighbor like, Did you hear that? He said our armor.
They crowded closer now, formation fully abandoned, clustering around D3r’s knees and boots. They pointed at his chestplate, then at their own helmets, making little insistent noises. One of them tried to mimic the way he stood, puffing itself up and planting its feet in a wide stance that was far more confident than effective.
Avery had fully given up on not laughing. He crouched beside Honey, who was watching the scene with bright, delighted eyes and a wagging tail. “They’ve adopted him,” Avery whispered. “This is it. You’re a Falinks dad now.”
D3r’s shoulders relaxed, just a fraction. He reached out slowly, letting one of the Falinks sniff his gauntlet, then gently tapped its shield with a knuckle. The Pokémon practically vibrated with joy.
They tried to march.
It went terribly.
Two went left, one went right, one tripped, and the last two bumped helmets with a clonk that echoed embarrassingly loud. They all froze, stared at each other, then looked up at D3r as if awaiting judgment.
“That was… acceptable,” D3r said solemnly.
They cheered.
The cheering devolved into a pile.
Avery wiped at his eyes. “I can’t,” he said weakly. “This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
The Falinks, apparently having decided that D3r was not only one of them but a leader, began tugging gently at his armor, gesturing down the path with their spears. They wanted him to come with them. To lead them. To be Big Falinks.
D3r hesitated, glancing back at Avery. “I… cannot,” he said slowly, apologetically. “My party is already full.”
The Falinks stilled.
Six little helmets drooped.
One of them sat down abruptly, shield clinging against the ground. Another leaned against D3r’s knee like it was the end of the world. Their disappointment was immediate and profound.
Avery’s heart did something painful and soft all at once. “Hey, hey,” he said, scooting closer. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be alone.”
Honey padded forward, ribbons flowing, and made a gentle, welcoming sound. The Falinks looked at her, curious now, eyes flicking between the Sylveon and Avery. Honey tilted her head, smiled, and gave a little spin, ribbons looping gracefully through the air.
The Falinks gasped again.
“She’s very convincing,” D3r murmured.
Avery held out an empty Poké Ball, palm open and nonthreatening. “How about coming with me instead?” he asked softly. “You can still visit him. I promise.”
The Falinks huddled together, whispering in excited, metallic murmurs. One of them peeked up at D3r, who gave a small, encouraging nod. Another looked at Avery, then at Honey, who gently booped it with her nose.
Decision made.
They marched—this time, surprisingly coordinated—right up to Avery’s hand and tapped the Poké Ball with all six shields at once.
The capture was almost instant, the Ball rocking once before clicking closed.
Avery stared at it for a second, then let out a breathless laugh. “I just caught six Pokémon at once,” he said, awe-struck. “That feels illegal.”
The Poké Ball wiggled, then went still.
When Avery released them again a moment later, the Falinks popped out in a neat little line, immediately rearranging themselves around Avery with clear pride. They looked up at him expectantly, then glanced over at D3r, who was still kneeling nearby.
As they started back down the path together, the Falinks marching proudly at Avery’s side, Honey weaving happily between everyone’s legs, Avery glanced over at D3r again. “You know,” he said, fond and amused, “you’re never going to live this down.”
D3r’s voice held a rare hint of warmth when he replied. “I do not wish to.”