They smelled the choir before they saw it.
Not sound. Not movement.
Scent.
A sickly-sweet odor of rotting lilies and ozone, clinging to the wind like a curse. Yumi gagged, pressing a cloth soaked in crushed lagundi leaves to her nose.
Rin went pale. "They're here."
Teo tightened his grip on his obsidian shard—Kaelen's gift, now warm against his palm. "How many?"
"Five," Rin whispered. "But they don't fight alone. They sing together. Their aura merges into one voice."
Lucario's ears flattened. Its aura contracted into a tight shell around its body—Ten, perfected.
They'd been traveling for two days toward the Heartscar Peaks, moving only at night, hiding in collapsed irrigation tunnels and acid-carved caves. But the choir had tracked them. Not by footprints. By resonance.
By the echo of their bond.
Now, as the bruised sky bled into twilight, five figures emerged from the ash dunes.
Not warriors. Not hunters.
Former Trainers.
All dressed in identical gray robes, faces gaunt, eyes vacant—but moving in perfect unison, like marionettes guided by a single hand. At their sides floated their Pokémon: an Alakazam with cracked spoons, a Gengar missing half its jaw, an Absol with one blind eye, a Gardevoir with its chest cavity exposed, and a…
Teo's breath caught.
A Lucario.
But not like his.
Its fur was bleached white. Its eyes empty. Its aura—not blue, but a dull, lifeless gray.
"The Hollow Lucario," Rin said, voice trembling. "They took one just like yours. Broke it. Rebuilt it as a vessel for their chorus."
Teo's stomach twisted. "They're using it to tune into us."
The five stopped fifty meters away.
Then—they opened their mouths.
Not to speak.
To sing.
A single, dissonant note—low, vibrating, wrong—ripped through the air.
Teo's skull felt like it would split. His left eye flared white-hot. Yumi cried out, clutching her head. Rin collapsed to her knees, blood trickling from her nose.
[ WARNING: CHORAL NEN ATTACK — PSYCHIC FREQUENCY AMPLIFICATION DETECTED ]
[ COUNTERMEASURE: SYNCHRONIZATION REQUIRED FOR SHIELDING ]
"Lucario—now!" Teo gasped.
The Lucario didn't hesitate.
It slammed its palms together and unleashed a pulse of aura—not outward, but inward, wrapping around their group like a cocoon.
Silent Guard.
The singing note shattered against the barrier.
But the choir didn't stop.
They stepped forward—in perfect sync—and raised their hands.
Their Pokémon responded as one.
Alakazam: Psychic—not as telekinesis, but as a scalpel of pure mental pressure.
Gengar: Shadow Ball—woven with curses that whispered Teo's deepest fears.
Absol: Sucker Punch—pre-emptive strike timed to his next breath.
Gardevoir: Heal Pulse—but inverted, draining vitality instead of restoring it.
Hollow Lucario: Aura Sphere—cold, precise, aimed at the core of Teo's bond.
Teo's vision tunneled.
He couldn't dodge. Couldn't block.
But he didn't need to.
"Heartstep!" he yelled.
Lucario vanished—reappearing behind Yumi, then Rin, then Teo—each teleportation fueled by the emotional spike of protection.
In less than a second, it had repositioned them all behind a dune of fused glass.
The barrage struck empty air.
The choir tilted their heads—in unison—like puppets adjusting to a new script.
"They're linked," Rin panted. "One mind. Five bodies."
Teo's mind raced. "Then we don't fight five. We break the conductor."
He looked at the Hollow Lucario. "That's the anchor."
Yumi signed urgently: But it's still a Lucario. It might remember.
Teo's chest tightened. "Then we remind it."
He turned to his partner. "You ready?"
The Lucario met his gaze. Nodded once.
They stepped out from cover.
The choir turned as one.
Teo took a deep breath—in for four, hold, out for six—and reached into the bond, not for power, but for memory.
He didn't project anger.
He projected recognition.
"I see you," he sent through the link, aiming it at the Hollow Lucario. "I know what they took from you. But it's still there. Beneath the gray."
The Hollow Lucario froze.
For a fraction of a second, its aura flickered—blue, faint, desperate.
The choir staggered.
The harmony broke.
"Now!" Teo shouted.
Yumi hurled three vials—lagundi, sambong, tsaang gubat—into the air.
They burst in a cloud of medicinal spores.
Rin, drawing on her acolyte training, chanted a single phrase in the Conclave's tongue:
"Break the chain. Remember your name."
The Hollow Lucario screamed.
Not in pain.
In awakening.
Its white fur darkened. Its eyes cleared.
And for one beautiful, terrible moment—it remembered.
The choir collapsed, clutching their heads, their unified mind fracturing.
But the victory was short.
Because as the Hollow Lucario turned to Teo—eyes full of gratitude, of sorrow—it disintegrated.
Not from an attack.
From instability.
Its body crumbled into ash, carried away by the wind.
The last thing Teo saw was its aura—blue, whole—flickering out like a candle.
[ SYNCHRONIZATION: 79% ]
[ WARNING: EMOTIONAL CONTAGION DETECTED — LUCARIO EXPERIENCING PROXY GRIEF ]
Teo fell to his knees, tears streaming.
He hadn't saved it.
But he'd given it back its self before it died.
And in this world, that was the rarest mercy of all.
Later, in a shallow cave, Rin bandaged Teo's arm where the Sunderer had touched him.
"The choir won't recover," she said quietly. "Their link is broken. But the Conclave will send worse."
Teo nodded, staring at his trembling hand. "They see bonds as weakness. But that Hollow Lucario… it chose to remember, even if it meant death."
Yumi approached, her Phantump hovering beside her—its form changing.
Bark thickened. Roots spread. Eyes glowed with ancient sorrow.
[ PHANTUMP EVOLUTION TRIGGERED: TRAUMA + SYNCHRONIZED GRIEF ]
[ NEW FORM: TREVENANT — ABILITY: HARVEST (SOUL RESONANCE) ]
Yumi placed a hand on its trunk. Her eyes filled with tears.
Rin watched, awed. "It evolved… through feeling."
Teo looked at his team—each scarred, each broken, each choosing to stay.
He thought of his lola's face—still blurry, but the love remained.
He thought of the Hollow Lucario's final look.
He stood.
"We keep going," he said. "Not just to survive. To witness. So no one forgets what was lost."
And as the crimson sky pulsed above them, the System remained silent.
But Teo no longer needed its voice.
He had his own.