The morning sun hit the kitchen counter in Orion's home, illuminating a half-empty mug of coffee. His phone vibrated against the wood, the screen flashing Valeria's name.
Orion wiped his eyes and grabbed the device. A lingering tension from the previous night's silence still sat in his chest.
"Orion."
"You're up early, Val."
"Doom said yes. We leave for Latveria today."
"Today?"
"He wants the report reviewed on his own ground. Don't ask for details, just get ready."
Orion stared at the phone as the line went dead. She wasn't interested in his preparedness or his nerves. She was delivering the news.
He looked toward the living room where Pikachu sat, already watching him with wide, expectant eyes. Celebi hovered near the window, her wings shimmering in the morning light. He couldn't walk into a kingdom ruled by a man like Doom without his partners.
"Pack your things, Pikachu," Orion said. "We're going to Latveria."
The arrival at the Latverian border was a study in rigid, intimidating order. Heavy iron gates swung open with a mechanical precision that matched the soldiers standing at attention. Faces obscured by expressionless helmets, the guards wore polished armor that reflected the grey, overcast sky.
Orion walked alongside Valeria and Metang through the ceremonial courtyard. The stone under his boots felt ancient and heavy, as if the ground itself obeyed a strict set of laws.
A guard at the secondary checkpoint stepped forward to check their credentials. His gaze drifted from Valeria to the small, glowing figure of Celebi hovering near Orion's shoulder. The soldier's posture faltered for a fraction of a second, his hand tightening on his pike before he caught himself and returned to a stiff salute.
"The Monarch awaits you in the throne room," the guard said.
The doors to the palace were massive, carved from a single slab of dark metal. They groaned open to reveal a hall that felt larger than the building itself, draped in deep green banners that hung perfectly still.
Doctor Doom sat upon a throne of intricate, geometric steel. His green cloak spilled over the armrests like a slow-moving tide, and his silver mask caught the light of the high, narrow windows. He raised his gaze as the group approached, his presence filling the vast space, the air itself seeming to hold still.
Valeria stepped forward, her expression remaining neutral as she approached the throne.
"Uncle Doom."
The Monarch did not move, but the slight tilt of his head acknowledged her presence.
"Valeria."
He gestured toward the steps with a single, armored hand.
"You arrive with an unusual entourage, but your timing is efficient."
She stood at the base of the dais, looking up at the steel mask. Seeing the most feared ruler in Europe act as a reluctant uncle to a girl who could out-calculate most supercomputers was strange.
He grew up in a dirt-poor corner of Latveria, raised by a father who spent his days as a local healer. His mother had been a woman of serious, old-world witchcraft, and her death left him with nothing but her old spellbooks and a relentless need to master everything. He was a genius who bridged the gap between magic and physics, eventually landing a scholarship to a top university in America.
He met Reed Richards there, the only person capable of actually keeping pace with his intellect. They were supposed to be peers, but their rivalry turned permanent during a failed experiment. Victor built a machine to contact his dead mother, and Reed pointed out a mathematical error. Victor's ego wouldn't let him admit the mistake, so the machine blew up in his face.
The scar barely mattered. Being proven wrong by Richards, in public, broke him. He was expelled and humiliated, eventually wandering off to Tibet to find the strength to return. Wearing a mask and a suit of armor, he came back and built himself a throne. He turned Latveria into a powerhouse, and he had never let the grudge against Richards go.
The connection between them was just as complicated, though much more personal. When Sue Storm was pregnant, the pregnancy turned into a medical nightmare due to the cosmic radiation and Negative Zone interference floating around the family's gene pool. Reed was busy with a crisis, so Johnny Storm had gone to the only person capable of handling both science and sorcery to help stabilize the situation. Doom had stepped in, drawing on his mother's old spellbooks to ensure the child survived. He didn't want money or political favors for the help; he only asked to choose her name. The family that viewed him as their greatest enemy had an odd bit of history because of it. Somewhere between the miracles and the many battles, "Uncle Doom" had become part of the family's weird, complicated reality.
Orion stepped forward, his posture steady despite the hall's vast, echoing scale. Pikachu moved from his shoulder to his side, his red cheeks sparking with a soft, rhythmic light. Celebi hovered just behind Orion, a small, mint-green presence that softened the hard edges of the throne room.
"Monarch Doom, I am Orion Oak, Owner of Pokémon Home," Orion said. He bowed his head with the precise, controlled courtesy required for a head of state. "I come as a partner to the interests of your nation, accompanied by Pikachu and Celebi."
The Monarch remained motionless, his silver mask reflecting the light of the high windows.
"Orion Oak," Doom said.
"The presence of the Pikachu is noted. Its electrical output appears remarkably stable for a biological entity."
Doom's attention moved to Pikachu. The interest in his eyes was the calculated observation of a scientist, not the polite curiosity of a host.
"He is capable," Orion said.
"The capacity for such concentrated energy discharge is a phenomenon that warrants study."
The Monarch turned his attention toward Celebi.
The air in the hall did not move, but the atmosphere around the small, winged creature shifted. Something was wrong. A strange, layered pressure settled at the edge of Orion's senses, nothing like a sound or a sight. The sensation felt like the vibration of a bell that had already been struck, a resonance that bypassed the ears to settle directly against the mind. Even the magic that fueled the palace seemed to ripple, as if a force that shouldn't exist made the high windows' light waver and the banners flicker without a draft.
Doom went still.
The iron-clad composure of the Monarch flickered. His eyes narrowed, tracking the subtle, ethereal shimmer of Celebi's wings. He did not even blink, but his hands, resting on the armrests of the throne, tightened slightly against the cold metal. The sensation was too specific to be a mere anomaly, too personal to be a simple magical surge. Something that moved through time, rather than existing within it, had left this residue behind.
He stood there for a heartbeat too long, his mind racing to categorize the sensation through the lens of his sorcery and his science. Nothing in his libraries or his calculations could name the specific, unsettling texture of that presence.
Then, the tension broke.
Doom straightened his posture, his expression smoothing back into a mask of absolute, regal indifference. He turned his attention past the group as if the momentary lapse in his focus had never occurred.
"Valeria," he said, his voice returning to its formal, commanding cadence. "Show us the specific technical discrepancies you identified in the LexCorp report."
***
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