Chapter 2 Back to school

  The front door creaked open to the warm scent of cinnamon and pine needles, a reminder that the holiday season still clung to the walls of the house.

  “Wendel?” his mother called from the kitchen. “You’re back already?”

  “We brought company,” Wendel said, smiling as he stepped into the light.

  Cecilia floated in behind him, the hem of her dress softly brushing the doorway. Gretchen fluttered out and settled on the back of the couch. Rhys walked beside Wendel, quiet and alert, aura sensors twitching as his eyes scanned the room.

  Wendel’s mother stepped into the hall, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “Oh—my stars,” she gasped softly, hand rising to her chest. “He’s precious.”

  Rhys gave a short bow, mimicking what he'd done for Cecilia. Wendel’s father stepped in next, raising an eyebrow.

  “Who’s this little guy?” he asked.

  “That’s... kind of a long story,” Wendel said. “We met someone in the forest.”

  “Who else would be out there?” Clara asked.

  “Red,” replied Wendel.

  Both his parents froze.

  “Red?” his father repeated. “The Red?”

  Wendel nodded. “He challenged us to a battle.”

  “His Lucario was… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Cecilia gave it her all. But his Lucario wasn’t even trying, not really.”

  “Afterward, he left this Poké Ball behind.”

  “And that’s him?” his mother asked softly, crouching down and smiling at Rhys. “This is the Riolu?”

  Rhys tilted his head, studying her with those curious, intelligent eyes before stepping closer. He gently pressed a paw to her knee. She laughed.

  “Well, he certainly knows how to make a good impression.”

  Wendel’s father let out a low whistle. “Red doesn’t give out Pokémon lightly. That’s...huge, son.”

  “I know,” Wendel said, exhaling. “It’s still sinking in.”

  The next morning, Wendel stood in his room packing the last of his books into his satchel. He glanced at the small pile of gifts and winter supplies his mom had prepared—extra gloves, a thermos, a stack of neatly folded scarves. Rhys sat cross-legged on the bed, watching curiously.

  “Back to school,” Wendel said, zipping the bag shut. “New classes and a brand-new wing. You are going to love it Rhys.”

  Wendel hugged Clara and Mathis one last time, whispered a promise to write, then joined Cecilia. In the shimmer of psychic light, they blinked from the warmth of home to the cold outskirts of Corriway town.

  The Plateau Regional Academy stood tall against the snowy hills, its stone walls frosted with winter's breath. Corriway town lay at the bottom of the hill it was an odd mix of technology and classic architecture.

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  Students in scarves and coats gathered on the wide stone paths, some hugging after weeks apart, others dragging trunks of belongings up the steps.

  Wendel neared the entrance of the school with Cecilia at his side, Gretchen and Rhys tucked safely in their Poké Balls.

  “There she is,” Cecilia said, pointing mentally.

  Annabelle approached, Hank padding alongside her, a pink scarf was tied neatly around her neck. Her cheeks were red from the wind, but she smiled as soon as she saw him.

  “Welcome back, stranger,” she said, stopping in front of him.

  “You too,” Wendel grinned. “Happy New Year.”

  They shared a brief, warm hug before Hank gave a low grumble, reminding Wendel not to get too comfortable.

  “Are you ever going to warm up to me?” Wendel chuckled.

  “Don’t let him fool you he missed you, we both did.”

  “Well, well, well look at what we have here.”

  Both Annabelle and Wendel turned to see Dale Forrester strolling up the sidewalk.

  “I didn’t know they let just anyone into this place.” Dale said with a grin on his face.

  “Really?! Then how did you get in?” replied Wendel.

  A moment of silence hung in the air before everyone started laughing.

  “Man, I’m glad to be back.” Dale proclaimed loudly

  “Yea me too, let’s go gets seats before we end up sitting front and center.”

  The Great Hall was buzzing. Chandeliers blazed overhead, lighting the long tables piled high with food. Platters of roast vegetables, seared fish, and baked berry pies filled the air with warmth.

  Headmaster Jorgen stood on the raised platform, his charcoal-gray cloak swept over one shoulder, flanked by professors in full regalia.

  “Welcome back, students,” he said, voice echoing effortlessly through the chamber. “This year brings new challenges, higher expectations, and the promise of discovery. We’ve seen triumphs and trials this past semester—but your greatest growth lies ahead. I hope your minds are as hungry as your stomachs.”

  There was laughter, clapping, and then the feast resumed.

  Wendel leaned toward Annabelle. “Same speech again?”

  “More or less,” she smirked.

  After dinner, Wendel followed a broad-shouldered counselor with gray hair and half-moon glasses down a carpeted hallway lined with ornate wooden doors.

  “Room 14,” the man said, stopping and handing Wendel a key. “I’m Counselor Merlo. If you need anything, my office is at the end of the hall. Third Wing means you’ve earned a few comforts—don’t make me regret it.”

  “Understood,” Wendel said, accepting the key with a grin.

  The room was nearly twice the size of his old one. Warm oak floors gleamed beneath soft rugs. A tall window let in moonlight, framing a view of the mountains. The bed was large, its blanket plush and embroidered with the academy crest. There was a kitchenette with shelves of spices and a small hearth. A desk, a bookshelf, and a coat rack by the door.

  Even a small seating area with a plush armchair by the fireplace.

  Cecilia appeared behind him and whistled. “I could get used to this.”

  Wendel let out a slow breath. “If this is third wing… what’s first wing like?”

  The cold morning air stung Wendel's cheeks, the sun was just cresting the horizon painting the world in pale blue light.

  The snow-packed training fields were silent, undisturbed save for the crunch of Wendel’s boots and the breath clouds curling from Cecilia’s lips as she stretched her arms overhead.

  Gretchen landed with a soft flutter, shaking frost from her wings, while Rhys dropped into a runner’s stance—his aura sensors twitching, energy humming around his small frame.

  “4:52 a.m.,” Wendel whispered, checking his watch. “Let’s get to work.”

  “Let’s keep it simple—Gretchen attack and distract, Rhys you exploit any opening, I want to focus on rhythm and teamwork."

  "Cecilia you're on defense."

  Cecilia narrowed her eyes and nodded once, her hair lifting slightly in the still morning air as her power flickered to life.

  “Gretchen, start with Supersonic, then dive-bomb left. Rhys, wait for the gap and then Bullet Punch!”

  She burst forward with a high-pitched shriek, her wings vibrating the air as she flitted around Cecilia like a blur. Cecilia raised a Light Screen reflexively to block her blind side, but that was the signal.

  Rhys moved like lightning.

  His fist gleamed silver as he lunged from behind, aiming low under the shield—but Cecilia turned, catching the punch with a flicker of psychic energy wrapped around her palm.

  She was grinning.

  “So close,” she teased, twisting slightly and releasing a controlled telekinetic push that sent Rhys skidding backward across the snow. He tumbled, rolled, and came up panting.

  “Again,” Wendel said, hands in his coat pockets. “That was great. But faster.”

  They trained nonstop for an hour. The field was filled with the sound of fluttering wings, telekinetic pulses, and the rhythmic crack of fists hitting barriers. When the sun finally crested the mountains, painting the school’s towers in gold, they stopped.

  Everyone was exhausted.

  “Okay,” Wendel said, rubbing his hands together. “Showers, then classes.”

  Cecilia staggered to his side and smirked. “You mean sitting in class thinking about techniques.”

  Wendel grinned. “Guilty.”