Chapter Text
The days slid quickly into weeks, and before long the academy was shifting into the rhythm of endings. The final lessons had wrapped. Exams were marked and returned. Students poured through the halls with luggage in tow, their voices carrying down corridors as they called plans to one another.
Winterstar was close. The great holiday that lit the region with lanterns and warmth meant the academy emptied for a month, families waiting in every corner of Paldea to welcome their children home.
Kieran caught glimpses of his classmates as he made his way back to his dorm.
Lizzy was loud as always, tugging Riolu along while boasting about the feast her family always made. “Fire Punch practice every morning, dessert every night—that’s Winterstar done right!” she crowed to Melody, who only nodded in quiet amusement, arms full of carefully stacked textbooks she intended to reread on break.
Oliver lingered by the common room window, Litwick perched on his shoulder, murmuring something to Charlotte. She was carefully sliding the Violet Book into her satchel before closing it tight, her words clipped and short as if she didn’t want anyone noticing.
Reuben leaned against the wall with Shinx at his feet, chatting with Peter about how they’d fit in training before the holiday dinners. Their voices rose, competitive as ever.
It should have felt festive. Warm, even. But for Kieran, the air was heavier.
He sat by his desk later, half his things already packed, but his mind elsewhere. His fingers turned a Poké Ball over and over—Charmander’s, though now it held a Charmeleon, still recovering from the fight at the grotto.
He exhaled slowly. His thoughts drifted not to his newly evolved partner, but to Scarlet. Jacq had promised daily check-ups while Kieran was back in Montenevera, but that promise hadn’t quieted the knot in his chest. Scarlet had only just begun walking without a limp. Leaving him behind felt wrong.
A knock broke his thoughts. Max stood in the doorway, shifting awkwardly. “Clavell’s looking for you,” they said simply.
Kieran blinked, pocketed the ball, and pushed to his feet. His legs carried him through the half-empty halls, up the winding stairs, and into the headmaster’s office.
Inside, Clavell was standing by the window, hands folded behind his back. Jacq sat nearby, his usual warmth muted by something heavier.
Kieran stepped in. “You wanted to see me?”
Clavell turned slowly. For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze weighing Kieran down. Then his voice came, low and steady. “I owe you an apology.”
Kieran stiffened. “…For what?”
“When we met in the grotto,” Clavell said, “I recognized the kind of Pokémon you were protecting. Not its species, but its nature. I should have told you sooner.”
Kieran’s breath caught. “Wait. You—what is it, then?”
Clavell’s eyes softened. “…I don’t know.”
Kieran’s brows knitted. “But you just said—”
“I said I knew what kind of Pokémon it was. Not its name. It belongs to a category known as the Paradox Pokémon.”
“Paradox…?”
Clavell nodded. “Few people on this planet even know they exist. Fewer still have studied them. In truth, there are only two living individuals I would call experts.”
The realization hit Kieran like lightning. His voice sharpened. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t—”
“Yes,” Clavell cut in, calm but firm. “I told them. Because I believe they are the only ones who can help your companion regain his full strength.”
Kieran’s fists curled at his sides, anger and betrayal warring with the quiet, desperate hope that maybe this meant Scarlet had a chance.
Clavell lifted a hand gently. “I ask only that you suspend judgment until you speak with them yourself.”
Kieran hesitated, then gave the smallest of nods. “…Fine. Where do we meet?”
“They reside in Area Zero, which is strictly off-limits to the public,” Clavell said. “So you cannot meet in person. Instead, I’ve arranged a call.”
The large monitor at the back of Clavell’s office came to life with a low hum, the glow washing over the room. Two figures resolved into view: a woman in a white coat, her posture composed, and a man beside her, his hands folded neatly.
Their voices came in unison, oddly precise, almost mechanical.
“Greetings, Student ID 63827-Zarek, Kieran. We have been informed of your case.”
Kieran blinked. “You… you know my student number?”
The man inclined his head. “It is the most appropriate attribute for a primary key identifier. Names are subject to duplication. Numerical values are not.”
The woman continued without missing a beat. “We are Professors Sada and Turo. Our work is conducted primarily within Area Zero, at the heart of the Great Crater of Paldea.”
Kieran glanced between them, unease prickling the back of his neck. There was something about their tone—flat, too measured—as though every word had been chosen by a program instead of a person.
“What… kind of work?” he asked carefully.
“Research,” Turo said.
“Observation,” Sada added.
“Inquiry into phenomena that surpass standard evolutionary frameworks.”
Their voices overlapped almost seamlessly, leaving only silence in their wake.
Finally, Sada’s gaze sharpened. “Would you like to know more about the Pokémon you have been caring for, ID 63827?”
Kieran swallowed hard. “…Yes.”
“Then we will begin with its designation,” Turo said. “It has been recorded under multiple identifiers: Ancient texts referred to it by the title of "The Winged King". We gave it the primary value Paradox ID: 1007.”
Sada leaned in, her eyes catching the light of the screen, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting across her lips. Her voice, though still clipped and measured, carried a strange resonance.
“But the name we prefer is…”
The silence stretched, deliberate, as if the world itself had paused to listen.
“Koraidon.”