Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Quenched Torch

Chapter 49: The Descent

"Well, uh, everyone say 'bye, Westgrove'," May said, sitting curled up on the floor of our wagon as it rocked along.

"Good fucking riddance," Arden scoffed. Rye seemed to agree with the Quilava for the first time in a while as I watched Westgrove-on-Sea shrink into the distance, gulping down the first breaths of fresh air I'd had in nearly a day. With the seedy city disappearing into the horizon, I took a look out at the rural surroundings we were now traversing.

Despite the nice ride and view, to say I was relaxed would be a fat lie. I knew where the expedition's wagon caravan was heading. By the end of the day, I'd probably be down in these Caverns of Being. I had no idea what I'd be met with down there, what I'd find down there if anything, or what this had to do with anything. I knew it had to have been planned by someone or something if that feeling at the stadium was any indication, but why?

Everything I'd been through over the past month and a half had been building up to this, and I had no clue what to expect.

With a glance at my partners and the somewhat humanized Team Apex, though, I managed to keep myself decently reassured. Whatever happened, someone would have my back, at least. Whether I came out with some sort of answer... I could only hope.

I kept staring out the front of the covered wagon as we slowly rocked along, speeding towards destiny at about five miles an hour.

The few hours following were a mercifully slow and uneventful road trip, the only disturbance being the occasional bump in the road. Rolling golden prairies and busy cotton farms gave way to thick forest as time dragged on, and as the sun first climbed then descended, more and more craggly rocks began to show themselves. It was early afternoon by the time our caravan ground to a halt, and as I poked my head out to check up on things, Arcanine hopped from his wagon to glance around. It didn't look any different from the forest I'd already seen save for the river flowing through, but evidently, that wasn't the case.

"This should be the place. Fingers crossed," Delcatty said as she hopped out and glanced around. Arcanine didn't respond, only snuffing at the air a bit as he scanned the area for a moment.

"Mudsdale. Might you try and sense if there is any sort of anomaly in the ground?" he requested of one of the Mudsdale pulling the wagons. The wagon-puller glanced at him, seemingly about to say that wasn't his job, but he nodded and gave the ground a hard stomp.

"...mmmyup. Got a hollow spot a bit to the... er, north," the Ground-type said. Looking in that direction, Arcanine scanned the area for a moment before gesturing to us and starting in that direction. After a moment, he stopped at the shore of a small lake connected to the river, staring at an unassuming, overgrown isle sitting at the center. He squinted for a moment at the vegetation, not moving an inch before simply pursing his lips.

"I must confirm. Do forgive me for this," he said. With a deep inhale, he let out a mighty roar and an enormous plume of white-hot fire, larger than I'd ever seen coming out of any Pokemon's mouth. The flames quickly cleared the fifty feet to the island and engulfed it, and as Arcanine let up with his Flamethrower, the vegetation on the isle crackled and burned. As the carbonized foliage crumbled into ash and fell to the ground, a previously unseen feature made itself apparent: a rather large earthen mound jutting from the ground, a large opening in its side. With smoke billowing from the isle, the Guildmaster took a map out, peered down at it for a while, then turned and smiled wide.

"Hoist your tents and prepare for excursion. We have found the Caverns of Being," he declared.

-o-

Unfortunately for us, our tent had been among those burnt to a crisp on the way home from our last outing, so we didn't have much to do as the rest of the expedition excitedly bustled around us and made their final preparations. Among the rows of tents the Guild had set up, items were counted, plans were drawn, and nervous looks were directed at the still-smoldering stone mound at the center of the pond. As for us, our preparations consisted of Rye fishing a little parcel out of his bag and unwrapping it gingerly.