#falkner

The ride into Johto had been smooth. What came after was not. Goldenrod City greeted you with noise, movement, and a faint undercurrent of something less pleasant—something you couldn’t quite name, but felt all the same. Even without seeing the black uniforms, you sensed it: whispers of Team Rocket still clung to certain corners of the city. You didn’t linger.

With a regional map secured from the station and your Sylveon and Alolan Ninetales released at your side, you set out northward.

Route 35 carried you past open stretches and into the wide greenery of the National Park. The air felt different here—cooler and cleaner—and for a while, your nerves eased. Dratini remained tucked safely in your sweatshirt, occasionally lifting her head to peer around before settling again.

From there, you followed Route 36 eastward toward Violet City.

By the time the tall form of Sprout Tower came into view, swaying gently above the city, your legs were aching and your vigilance had worn thin. You’d almost convinced yourself you were in the clear.

The ambush came just past the city entrance.

“Thought you could just slip away?” a voice sneered behind you.

You turned sharply as two figures stepped out from behind a cluster of trees—black uniforms unmistakable now.

Team Rocket grunts.

“We followed you from Goldenrod,” one of them added smugly. “Our friends from the Kanto branch said not to lose that Dratini again.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Arbok!” the first grunt shouted, tossing a Poké Ball forward.

“Raticate, go!”

The Arbok hit the ground with a heavy hiss, hood flaring wide. The Raticate landed beside it, teeth bared.

Your mind moved quickly.

“Sylveon!” you called. “Ninetales, ready!”

Sylveon leapt forward without hesitation. Ninetales stepped ahead of you, fur bristling faintly.

But the Arbok’s presence was immediate, and you felt the disadvantage like a weight. Poison-type against Fairy. There was no way you’d put your Sylveon in danger like that, and while Ninetails was only half Fairy, she was still at a disadvantage as well.

Before the Arbok could strike, a shadow passed overhead. Wind rushed downward in a powerful gust, forcing the Arbok to recoil.

A Pidgeot descended from above in a controlled spiral, landing between you and the grunts.

“Stand down.” The voice was calm but firm.

You looked up just as a young man dismounted gracefully from his Pidgeot, blue hair shifting across one eye as he landed. His white sash fluttered lightly in the wind, indigo shorts and black wristbands marking him unmistakably as a Gym Leader.

“I won’t allow Team Rocket to cause trouble in Violet City,” he continued evenly.

The grunts hesitated.

“Falkner…” one muttered under his breath.

The Gym Leader of Violet City wasted no time.

“Pidgeot, Air Slash.”

The Arbok reeled under the attack, hood snapping back.

You reacted instantly.

“Ninetales—Ice Beam! On Raticate!”

Your Alolan Ninetales responded beautifully, frost-laced energy surging forward and striking the Raticate cleanly. It staggered, skidding backward across the dirt.

With Pidgeot pressing Arbok from above and your Ninetales maintaining pressure on Raticate, the battle tipped quickly in your favor. Sylveon hung back, but remained ready as back up.

Within minutes, both Pokémon were down. The grunts didn’t argue this time. They retreated with threats muttered over their shoulders, disappearing back the way they’d come.

Silence followed.

Falkner turned to you, assessing but not unkind.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” you said quickly. “Thank you.”

His gaze shifted to the bundle in your arms—just in time for Dratini’s head to pop out curiously.

His brows rose slightly.

“A shiny dratini?”

You exhaled slowly and told him everything: Celadon City, the poachers, Lance’s intervention, the journey to Johto, and your destination—Dragon’s Den in Blackthorn City.

At the Leage Champion’s name, something shifted in Falkner’s posture.

“If Lance sent you here,” he said thoughtfully, “then there’s reason enough to trust you.”

His eyes flicked briefly to your Pokémon—noting how you recalled Sylveon and Ninetales without command tension, how they obeyed willingly.

“You handle them well,” he added quietly.

You flushed slightly. “I’m not much of a trainer, but I can get by in a battle.”

Falkner gave you a small, almost amused look. “You handled that well enough.” He studied the road east for a moment longer, before pulling out a pokéball.

“Pidgeot, return.”

The great bird dissolved into red light, recalled cleanly into its pokéball.  He turned back to you, expression steady.

“Blackthorn is still some distance from here,” he said. “And you’ve already had more than enough trouble for one day.”

You shifted the bundled Dratini slightly, exhaustion settling back into your limbs now that the adrenaline had faded.

“You’re welcome to stay at my home tonight,” Falkner continued. “I have a spare room. We can discuss travel arrangements in the morning.”

There was nothing flirtatious in his offer. Just responsibility. Gentlemanly.

You looked down at Dratini, then back at him.

“…Thank you,” you said sincerely.

He inclined his head once, then motioned for you to follow.

Violet City felt quieter now, the slender silhouette of Sprout Tower rising above the rooftops as the afternoon light softened. The tension in your shoulders eased with every step away from the battleground.

By the time dinner had been cleared away and the house had grown quiet, the sky outside Violet City had darkened into a deep indigo.

Falkner had allowed you to use his bath for Dratini for her feeding time. The little Dragon had taken to the routine far more quickly this time, slipping into the water with far less hesitation, diving for the rehydrated seaweed with confident little flicks of her tail.

Now she rested on a small pillow near you, warm and drowsy from feeding.

Sylveon was curled comfortably at your side, ribbons draped lazily across your lap. Ninetales rested just behind you, posture elegant even in repose, pale fur catching the lamplight.

Falkner returned from the kitchen carrying two cups of tea, setting one down before you.

“I thought something calming would be appropriate,” he said.

“Thank you,” you replied softly.

The tea was fragrant and warm, subtle but steady—much like its host. For a moment, you both simply sat in the quiet.

Then you spoke. “Can I ask you something about Blackthorn City?”

Falkner glanced up. “About Dragon’s Den.”

You nodded.

He leaned back slightly, thoughtful. “The Dragon Tamer Clan is…traditional,” he began carefully. “More than most people realize. Their customs aren’t for display. They live by them.”

You listened intently.

“They’re protective of their knowledge,” he continued. “And wary of outsiders. Especially those who approach with ambition instead of respect.”

You swallowed slightly. “I’m not going there to prove anything.”

“I know,” Falkner said gently. “But they won’t know that immediately.”

He rested his hands loosely around his cup.

“Dragon Tamers are raised with a specific philosophy. Strength is expected. Patience is required. And loyalty—once given —is absolute.”

It echoed some of what Lance had hinted at, but hearing it from someone else made it feel more real.

“They’re honorable,” Falkner added. “But they won’t bend easily.”

You hesitated. “Lance said he would write to Clair.”

At that, Falkner’s expression shifted—not amused, but reassured. “If  you have the backing of Lance and Clair—two of their most talented clansmen,” he said, “you’ll be granted an audience at the very least.”

That eased something in your chest.

“They won’t treat you lightly,” he continued. “But they won’t treat you unfairly either. Not if you carry yourself honestly.”

You looked down at the Dratini.

“She seems attached to you,” Falkner observed quietly.

“She chose me,” you said.

He gave a small nod.

“Hopefully, that will play in your favor as well.”

The conversation settled there, not heavy, but grounded.

When the tea was finished, Falkner rose smoothly and gathered the cups.

“I’ll show you to your room.”

The home was traditional—wooden beams, sliding shōji doors, tatami mats underfoot. The air held the faint scent of cedar and tea.

He slid open the door to a small but immaculate room.

A shikifuton had already been laid out neatly on the tatami floor.

“It isn’t luxurious,” he said, “but it’s comfortable.”

“It’s perfect,” you replied.

Sylveon hopped lightly onto the futon the moment you set your bag down. The Dratini followed shortly after, coiling in a warm spiral near the pillow.

Ninetales surveyed the room before settling beside the futon itself, preferring the cool firmness of the tatami.

Falkner paused at the doorway.

“You’ll be safe here,” he said.

You nodded gratefully. “Thank you. For today.”

He inclined his head.

“Rest well. We’ll discuss your departure in the morning.”

“Good night, Falkner.”

“Good night.”

The door slid closed with a soft whisper.