A stranger saves his airship from a horde of Staravia.

The skies above Paldea had darkened to a bristling shade of grey, the kind that promised nothing good. Thunderheads gathered like vultures over the cliffs, casting jagged shadows across the Brave Olivine’s hull as it cut a sharp line through the clouded air. Wind howled against the ballooned canvas, the storm dragging its claws over the metal fixtures with a predator’s patience.

Friede stood at the helm, boots braced against the groaning deck, coat snapping violently behind him. “How many?” he barked, voice barely carrying over the wind.

“Too many!” Orla shouted back, knuckles white around the rail as she wrestled with the controls. “Thirty, maybe more! They came outta nowhere!”

Wild Staravia. Aggressive, territorial, fast. The kind that didn’t give a damn who you were or what ship you flew—they wanted the skies, and they were ready to bleed for them.

Friede’s jaw tightened. The first of them had struck minutes ago, dive-bombing the port side with shrill screeches and steel-like talons. Captain Pikachu had driven one off with a thunderbolt so bright it lit up the clouds like a second sun, but they just kept coming. A horde—swarming, spiraling, shrieking. Angry, relentless sky-born fury.

The airship veered sharply, jostling the crew, its balloon shuddering under the weight of impact after impact. Talons tore at the canvas. Wings battered the rigging. Sparks flew as a pipe burst near the engine, spewing steam.

Friede didn’t flinch. He vaulted onto Charizard’s back in one smooth, practiced motion. “We draw them away,” he said, voice low, calm. The storm churned around him, wind lashing against his face. “Pikachu, let’s go.”

Captain Pikachu gave a sharp nod, leaping to his shoulder as Charizard launched into the storm.

They met the first wave head-on. Lightning cracked. Wings collided. Friede’s shout was lost to the gale as he and his team became little more than streaks of motion among the chaos—flashes of gold and fire and steel. Staravia screamed, scattering in arcs, but more came in their place.

Another cry pierced the clouds—a different one this time. Not from a bird. A signal. A call. Then, a presence.

It wasn’t subtle.

The wind shifted.

A Staravia lunged for Friede’s unguarded flank—its talons raised, beak wide, murder in its eyes—and then it wasn’t there anymore. One moment: attacking. Next moment: gone. Swallowed in a burst of something fast, something fierce, something wielded by—

He turned.