The morning air carried a crisp chill, the faint scent of dew clinging to the cobblestone paths of the school courtyard. Beneath a towering tree whose bare branches stretched upward like skeletal hands, a small cluster of students were huddled, chatting animatedly as they waited for the school bell to signal the start of the day. It wasn’t the Orbital Clique’s usual meeting spot, but for now, it would do.

  Amélie Lévesque was the first to arrive, as usual. Her pleated navy skirt swayed lightly as she walked, the light blue accents on her blazer catching the early sunlight. She perched herself on the edge of a low stone planter and began fiddling with her VireBand, the screen flashing as she customized it. Her other hand held a flaky croissant, which she occasionally tore pieces from, popping them into her mouth with absentminded grace.

  “Perfect,” she murmured to herself, smiling as she added a pastel Leafeon charm to the screen interface. “Très chic.”

  A soft shuffle of footsteps behind her broke her focus. Milo Tanner appeared, his posture slightly hunched as if he were trying to make himself invisible. His blazer was perfectly pressed, but his tie was crooked—typical Milo. Clutching his overstuffed messenger bag like a shield, he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible.

  “Morning, Stats Guy!” Amélie greeted brightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “How’s our human calculator today? Cracked the code to the universe yet?”

  Milo stopped in his tracks, adjusting his glasses with a nervous twitch. “It’s not the universe,” he mumbled, his voice soft but resolute. “Just… trying to decrypt that file.”

  Amélie let out a playful laugh, leaning forward. “Ah, yes. The infamous floppy disk. You know, if you keep mumbling like that, people might mistake you for an actual algorithm.”

  Milo blushed slightly but didn’t reply, instead muttering something about “focus” as he joined her by the tree. He shuffled his bag open and pulled out a notebook, his light blue eyes scanning its contents with intense concentration.

  A few moments later, Stefano Marino made his entrance. The tall, athletic boy strode across the courtyard like he owned it, his confident gait drawing a few curious glances from passing students. His blazer was impeccably fitted, and his polished shoes clicked against the stone. Over one shoulder, he carried a large, sturdy case, the weight of it doing nothing to diminish his swagger.

  “Well, good morning, mes amis!” Stefano announced with a grin, his deep green eyes twinkling. “Am I the last one again? Typical Stefano, always fashionably late.”

  “Not late, just predictable,” Amélie quipped, smirking as she dusted crumbs from her skirt. “And what’s with the case? Is that your ego in there, or are we finally getting a peek at this ‘masterpiece’ you keep bragging about?”

  “You’ll see,” Stefano replied, setting the case down with a dramatic flourish. “Patience, Amélie. Great art cannot be rushed.”

  “Art?” Milo raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “You said it was a model.”

  “It’s more than a model. It’s a vision,” Stefano declared, brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve.

  Before the banter could escalate further, two more figures approached. Isabelle walked beside Clara, the latter exuding her usual air of disinterest, her long black hair streaked with purple catching the light as it swayed behind her. Clara’s grayish-blue eyes scanned the group with a calculating sharpness that felt a little too early for the morning.

  “Wow,” Clara deadpanned as she surveyed the scene. “The nerd squad is in full force today.”

  “Good morning to you too, Clara,” Amélie shot back, rolling her eyes. “Don’t you ever get tired of being edgy?”

  “Not really,” Clara replied with a shrug, though the corners of her lips twitched ever so slightly.

  Isabelle remained quiet, her navy blazer neatly pressed, though her tie felt suffocating around her neck. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying fragments of the glitch during the demonstration, her fingers twitching at the memory of the static-laden chaos. And Professor Ardene… Why did she ask me to meet her? Why no time or date?

  Her gaze fell on Stefano’s case as he spoke animatedly about his latest project. The words washed over her, her thoughts spiraling inward. Do they notice? How distracted I’ve been? No, they’re too caught up in their own antics. That’s good. I don’t need them worrying about me.

  “Earth to Isabelle?” Amélie’s cheerful voice cut through her thoughts. Isabelle blinked, realizing the group was looking at her.

  “Huh? Oh, sorry. What were we talking about?”

  “Stefano’s so-called masterpiece,” Clara replied with a smirk, crossing her arms. “Apparently, it’s going to blow our minds.”

  “Obviously,” Stefano interjected, standing taller. “But you’ll have to wait for the big reveal.”

  Isabelle forced a small smile, nodding absently as the group’s conversation continued. She glanced at Milo, who was furiously scribbling in his notebook, and then at Clara, who was leaning casually against the tree, her expression unreadable.

  I’ll figure it out later, Isabelle thought, adjusting the strap of her bag. For now, just get through the day.

  The classroom was alive with the murmur of early morning chatter, the clatter of books against desks, and the soft whirring hum of VireBands syncing up. Projects were scattered across the room—holographic maps, model ecosystems, even a miniature terrarium simulating a Pokémon habitat.

  Elliot Price was already at his desk, hunched slightly, his ever-present headphones slung around his neck. He barely acknowledged their arrival, scrolling through something on his VireBand with an expression of mild disinterest. Typical Elliot.

  "Sleeping with your eyes open again?" Clara quipped as she slid into her seat.

  Elliot exhaled sharply, not even looking up. "I wish."

  Isabelle walked past him, offering a nod before catching sight of the covered-up project at the front of the classroom. A large sheet draped over a sturdy table concealed whatever Stefano had put together. She tilted her head slightly. "That’s it? The model?"

  Stefano, who had been stretching like he was preparing for a grand performance, grinned. "Correction: the rough draft of the model."

  Clara raised a skeptical brow, arms crossed as she leaned against her desk. “Is this where we pretend to be impressed?”

  “Doubt all you want,” Stefano said, stepping up to the table. “But this—this is going to be the presentation.”

  Clara sighed. “For the love of—just show it already before you pull a muscle patting yourself on the back.”

  With dramatic flair, Stefano yanked off the sheet.

  The group’s reactions were immediate and varied.

  Isabelle took a step closer, her hazel eyes scanning the intricate details. “Huh.”

  Milo adjusted his glasses, scrutinizing the craftsmanship. “Interesting.”

  Amélie let out an impressed whistle. “O-kay, not what I expected.”

  Clara, however, cringed. “Arceus help us.”

  The model was, shockingly well done.

  It was a legit science-fair-level project—a sculpted 3D representation of the Forces of Nature. Tornadus, Thundurus, and Landorus stood as towering figures, their respective storm effects crafted with clear resin and small mechanical components that gave a swirling effect. Though not entirely accurate—not like any of them knew what the legendaries truly looked like—the craftsmanship was undeniable.

  The shrines dedicated to the Forces of Nature scattered across Virelia had provided Stefano with some form of reference, though Isabelle knew firsthand that even the oldest records were more legend than fact. None of them had definitive images. What existed were vague descriptions, abstract engravings, and fragmented accounts.

  Stefano, basking in the attention, crossed his arms. “Well? Thoughts?”

  Isabelle ran her fingers lightly over the edge of the model. “I have to admit… I expected, I dunno, feathers, glue, and a bunch of popsicle sticks. But this is actually—” She nodded. “Legit.”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Stefano’s grin widened. “Merci. Finally, some appreciation.”

  Clara, arms still crossed, let out an exaggerated groan. “Oh no, it’s definitely a mess. Those proportions? Weird. The cloud spirals? Overdramatic. And whatever you did to Landorus’ face makes him look like he’s in pain.”

  Stefano huffed. “It’s a rough draft, Clara. You want hyper-realism? Get me a live interview with the guy.”

  Milo, who had already pulled out his notebook, flipped through a few pages and adjusted his glasses. “The reference points are solid, but if we’re going for accuracy, we need more than shrine engravings. The texts aren’t even consistent. Some say they’re constantly surrounded by storm clouds, while others describe them as taking on different forms entirely. The oldest accounts claim they appeared only to ‘restore balance in nature,’ but that’s—”

  “A myth,” Clara finished flatly.

  Stefano scoffed. “You say that, but the League doesn’t deny their existence.”

  “They don’t confirm it, either,” Clara pointed out.

  Milo sighed. “Regardless, if we want this to be convincing, we should cross-reference different shrine designs. The engravings in Leaflink Hamlet have clearer depictions than the ones near Azure Bay—”

  “I know, I know, research—” Stefano waved him off. “But this? This is about presentation."

  That’s when Amélie suddenly gasped, eyes lighting up. “Oh, wait-wait-wait! You know what this needs? Lights. Or effects. Maybe even—” she clapped her hands together, “a mini-storm simulation!”

  Milo turned, horrified. “Amélie. No.”

  “Yes,” she insisted, dramatically slapping the desk. “Yes! If we’re taking artistic liberties anyway, why not lean into it? We could make this an experience. A whole theatrical demonstration—imagine a miniature thunderstorm while we talk! Lightning flashes! Mist! Drama!”

  “You’re not turning this into a theme park attraction,” Milo deadpanned.

  Amélie flicked her wrist dismissively. “Oh, c’mon, Stats Guy. We’re already halfway there!”

  “Halfway to insanity,” Milo muttered.

  Clara smirked. “What’s the difference?”

  Stefano, meanwhile, looked like he had just won the lottery. “I love where this is going.”

  Before they could continue their chaotic brainstorming, the classroom’s chatter died down as Ms. Chambers walked in, a stack of papers in one arm and a travel mug of coffee in the other. Her dark eyes scanned the room with a calculating sharpness, her usual no-nonsense demeanor settling over the class like a silent warning.

  “Alright, everyone, settle down,” she called out, setting her materials on the front desk. “Today, we’ll be refining and structuring your presentations. Remember, you’re not just reporting—you’re teaching. Your goal is to make something engaging, informative, and structured.”

  She adjusted her glasses and scanned the room. “That means clear information, a cohesive narrative, and yes, that means citing your sources.”

  A collective groan rippled through the class.

  Isabelle sat at her table, absently tapping the end of her pen against the wooden surface. Around her, the discussion had become a chaotic mix of enthusiasm, resistance, and blind optimism—in other words, typical.

  Milo and Amélie were still at each other’s throats, debating whether or not adding a storm simulation to Stefano’s Forces of Nature model was worth it. Stefano, of course, was reveling in the moment, fully on board with the idea of turning their presentation into an experience. Clara, ever the observer, had checked out entirely, resting her chin against her palm, watching the room with thinly veiled disinterest.

  Isabelle, however, wasn’t paying attention to any of them.

  Her gaze had wandered across the classroom, where another group was huddled over a regional map pinned to a board, colorful strings connecting different locations across Virelia. The Dragon Migration group.

  Their conversation was a hushed but intense back-and-forth as they traced potential routes through the region.

  "The Verdantia Plateau shouldn’t even be on the map," Kai muttered, pushing a red pin slightly eastward. "It’s too dry. Flygon wouldn’t migrate through there—there’s not enough moisture in the air."

  "Then explain the documented sightings," Deven shot back, crossing his arms. "Trainers have reported them during late spring, and we’re not talking about just one stray Flygon—we’re talking entire flocks."

  "That doesn’t make sense," Mai interjected, adjusting her glasses. "Unless—" She frowned. "What if it’s not about the climate? What if they’re following something else?"

  There was a moment of silence before Kai muttered, "Shrines."

  Isabelle tensed slightly at the mention.

  Dragon type Pokémon had always been a pillar of Virelia’s culture, but their connection to the Martial Clans was even more deeply ingrained. They weren’t just rare and powerful– they were revered. A symbol of strength, endurance, and balance.

  Across Virelia, shrined dedicated to different Dragon Pokémon were scattered, each tied to specific legends and regional traditions.

  There were others, some lost to time, others fiercely protected by the clans who still honored them. The migrations of these Pokémon weren’t just ecological phenomena—they were woven into Virelia’s identity, dictating festivals, rites of passage, even aspects of martial philosophy.

  The idea of tracking their movements… It almost felt intrusive.

  Still, Isabelle found herself wondering—how much of this migration was natural? And how much of it was something else entirely?

  A loud scoff from the opposite end of the room pulled her back.

  If there was one group that didn’t want to be working together, it was the Porygon team.

  The table was split into two factions—on one side, Haruto, leaning forward with his arms resting against the desk, deep in the philosophical implications of artificial life. On the other, Sophia and Jun, both exasperated, looking like they’d rather be anywhere else.

  And then there was Bianca.

  Bianca–who sat perfectly upright, arms folded, wearing an expression of pure, thinly-veiled disgust.

  "I’m just saying," Haruto continued, "if Porygon was created but can still evolve, doesn’t that mean that artificial Pokémon are capable of natural evolution?"

  "It’s not evolution," Sophia groaned, rubbing her temples. "It’s a software upgrade. It’s literally a program that adapts itself based on human input. That’s not the same thing as, say, a Charmander evolving into Charizard."

  "How do we know that?" Haruto pressed. "What if natural evolution in Pokémon is just a long-term response to environmental stimulus? What if—hypothetically—Porygon was left in the wild and we waited a few centuries? Would it adapt to the world around it the same way flesh-and-blood Pokémon do?"

  "So what, you’re saying we should release Porygon into the wilderness and let nature take its course?" Jun asked dryly.

  "It would be an interesting experiment—"

  "It would be stupid," Bianca snapped, her first words since the debate had started.

  The group turned toward her, but she didn’t elaborate.

  She was seething.

  She hated this. Hated this topic. Hated this debate. Hated the entire premise of having to sit here discussing whether or not a pile of digital scrap code counted as life.

  What she wanted was to be at the Dragon Migration group’s table, discussing things that actually mattered. But no—she was stuck here, wasting time on something so trivial.

  Her jaw tightened.

  She should be out there. She should be preparing for her journey.

  Instead, she was forced to play the role of student—a meaningless distraction from the fact that her family’s expectations were waiting for her like a noose around her neck.

  And to make it all worse?

  Across the room, Isabelle Moreau—Isabelle, who had somehow gotten a 100 on Mr. Kotomine’s exam when no one else did—was staring off into space, completely checked out of her own conversation, while Bianca had to sit here and listen to a pointless debate over Porygon.

  Her grip on her pen tightened.

  Meanwhile, in the farthest corner of the room, three students hunched over a table, desperately trying to fix a broken holographic projector.

  "Just reset it," Mason muttered.

  "That’s the fifth reset," Lana shot back, her tone sharp.

  "Have you tried—"

  "Yes, Mason, I tried, Mason, we’ve all tried, Mason, it’s not working, Mason."

  "Okay, wow, I feel very attacked right now."

  Jace, their third teammate, sighed. "What if we just… don’t use the projector?"

  Mason and Lana turned to him like he had just suggested burning the entire school down.

  Jace shrugged. "Just a thought."

  Mason sighed, flicking a few buttons. The projector glitched, flickered… then shut off completely.

  The three of them stared at it.

  "I hate this class," Lana muttered.

  "—Izzy?"

  Isabelle blinked.

  She turned back to find Amélie staring at her expectantly, hands on her hips.

  "Huh?" Isabelle asked.

  "I swear you are on a completely different plane of existence today," Amélie sighed, dropping into her seat with a dramatic plop. "I asked if you think we should add lightning effects or if Milo’s soul is going to physically leave his body if we do."

  Milo pinched the bridge of his nose. "For the record, my soul is fine. This project, however, will not be if we turn it into a sideshow attraction."

  Stefano smirked. "I vote spectacle."

  “I knew you’d say that,” Milo muttered.

  Isabelle offered a small, absentminded smile, but her thoughts drifted elsewhere.

  Something about this project–something about all of this–felt like it was leading them into something bigger.

  She just wasn’t sure yet.