It was just before dusk when I saw the smoke.
Thin. Pale. Controlled. The kind of fire built by someone who knew what they were doing. Not a wild blaze from an amateur or a careless trainer letting their Torchic get bored. Just a small signal curling into the air from somewhere down in the ravine below.
I almost kept walking.
But food was low, my legs were worse, and if I could trade trail silence for some shared heat and a bit of guarded conversation, I figured that was worth the risk.
Didn't mean I lowered my guard. I never do.
The descent took about fifteen minutes. Narrow switchbacks. Loose stones. Enough dry brush to hide a Sandile if I wasn't careful. Luxio stuck close, ears perked. I didn't even have to say anything—he'd already caught the scent of another human. Tense posture, tail flicking in slow, even beats. Watching me for cues. I gave him none.
When we reached the edge of the clearing, I saw her.
She was sitting cross-legged beside the fire. Still. Not meditating, not sleeping—just... still. Like a statue that happened to breathe. Pale blond hair tied loosely at the base of her neck, black jacket worn open over a dark tunic, travel-worn boots resting just close enough to the flames to dry.
I waited.
She didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't even look at me.
Just said, "If you're going to join the fire, do it. Otherwise keep moving. I don't like being stared at."
Voice smooth. Unbothered.
I stepped into the edge of the clearing. "Didn't realize this was your private campsite."
She glanced up then. Eyes like weathered steel. Calm. Direct. Unamused. "It is now."
Luxio let out a soft growl. She looked at him, then at me, then turned back to the fire.
"I'm not interested in a fight," she said. "But if you're the kind of idiot who picks one anyway, I'll make it short."
I raised an eyebrow. "You always this friendly?"
She shrugged. "You're still standing. That's something."
I decided to take that as permission. I moved to the opposite side of the fire, far enough to stay out of reach, close enough to feel the heat. Luxio settled beside me, his fur bristling just enough to show he wasn't happy about any of this.
Neither was I.
But the warmth helped.
She didn't speak again. Just fed another small stick into the flame, let it catch, and stared into the embers like they held answers. I sat with my hands wrapped around my knees, gaze bouncing between her boots and the flickering light.
Minutes passed.
Eventually, I asked, "You always camp alone?"
She didn't look up. "Isn't that obvious?"
"Could be temporary."
"Isn't."
Right.
"Let me guess," I said. "People slow you down."
"They talk too much. Take too long to learn. Assume you'll carry them if things go wrong."
"Sounds familiar."
That got a twitch of her mouth. Not a smile. Just... a brief shift. A flicker.
Progress?
"You got a name?" I asked.
"Do you need one?"
"I like to know who I'm not fighting."
Another pause. Then, reluctantly, she said, "Cynthia."
I nodded. "Orion."
She didn't react.
Good. I preferred that.
We sat in silence again. The fire cracked once, then settled. A pair of Noctowl called to each other from somewhere high in the trees.
Eventually, she said, "Your Luxio's not badly trained."
"Yours hiding?"
She didn't answer right away. Just reached into her coat, pulled a Poké Ball from an inner pocket, and thumbed it once.
Didn't open it. Just held it.
"I don't let him out around strangers," she said. "He doesn't like being looked at."
"Sounds dramatic."
"He's earned the right."
That stopped me for a beat.
She didn't elaborate. Didn't offer anything more.
I didn't ask.
Instead, I said, "I've got a Grotle and a Tyrunt."
At that, she looked up. Really looked this time. Something flickered behind her eyes.
"You're serious?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"A live Tyrunt?" she asked, quiet.
I nodded.
"From a dig site?"
"Something like that."
She turned back to the fire. "That explains the way your Luxio watches you."
I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," she said, "you've got the posture of someone who sleeps with one eye open. And your Pokémon act like they're trained to intervene first, ask questions later."
I didn't answer.
She was right.
But I didn't like hearing it out loud.
"You on the circuit?" I asked.
"Something like it."
"Gym badges?"
"Two."
Same as me. I didn't mention it.
"What about you?" she asked.
"Two," I said.
"Which Gym?"
"Eterna was the last one."
She nodded slowly. "Grass-type. I heard it's not an easy fight."
"It wasn't."
"I don't like Gym battles," she said. "They're too clean."
"Clean?"
"Predictable. Public. Performative." She turned her gaze on me again. "Out here, you make mistakes and things die. In a Gym, you faint and get patched up."
I stared at her across the fire.
"What are you really doing out here?" I asked.
She stared back.
And then—finally—a small smile. Cold. Distant. Not friendly.
"Training," she said. "The kind no one teaches."
I didn't press further.
I didn't need to.
She'd given me more in twenty minutes than most people gave in a week. And she hadn't once tried to sell me a dream, ask for help, or show off.
I respected that.
The fire burned low. I added a branch. She didn't thank me.
We sat for another hour.
She didn't ask me what my goals were. I didn't ask hers. We didn't compare strength or backstories or reasons. Just shared the fire and let the silence do what silence does best—fill the space with everything unsaid.
Eventually, she stood.
"I'm heading out early," she said. "You're free to use the fire if it's still burning."
Then she turned and walked toward the tree line, no hesitation, no backward glance. She moved like someone who never stumbled. Someone who already knew which step came next and where it would land.
"Lux," I muttered, "I think we just met someone important."
Luxio flicked his tail.