Name: Corvin
Origin: Hisui
Affiliations: Galaxy Expedition: Security Corps
Pokemon:
Kishin - Hisuian Aegislash (M)
—— —— —— —— —— —— —— —— —
The Wallflower was chaotically louder than it usually was. Recruitment season always made the canteen feel smaller.
Tables that were commonly only filled with Galaxy Team members were now packed with fresh applicants still wearing the temporary armbands of the entrance exams, mixed in with the occasional tired Security or Survey members who had been pulled into proctoring duty for days.
The air was thick with the familiar scent of steamed rice, grilled meat, bread, and too many warm bodies packed closely together.
Conversations overlapped in a constant low roar of complaints, boasts, and laughter that bounced off the wooden walls of the building.
Corvin sat at the far end of a long table near the wall, methodically working through his bowl of rice and grilled Magikarp. The wood beneath his elbows was smooth from years of use, but slightly sticky in places from spilled sauces.
Kishin rested against the bench beside him, the purple eye on the sword's crossguard closed.
He ate the same way he did most things, quietly and efficiently, listening to the fleeting voices of others around him in search of some entertainment as he ate. The faint, sharp scent of iron mixed with the smell of the food.
Across from him, two Security Corps Officers were deep in an argument that had clearly been going on for a while.
Gared, a muscly, broad-shouldered and permanently loud officer, jabbed his chopsticks in the air for emphasis on the point he was making. He shoved a piece of meat in his mouth, chewing roughly before swallowing, turning to continue talking with his friend.
Having been with the Corps for four years, his boisterous presence and dramatics were a common sight in the canteen. "I'm telling you, that new applicant almost set the entire training dummy on fire yesterday. The thing was burned to ashes! Smoking ash when I left!"
"You gotta take this one!" He pleaded.
Beside him, Vern gave a short, dry snort, adjusting the tinted glasses on his face.
Vern was a leaner, sharper-eyed man compared to Gared and had his small reputation of saying little to none, unless something happened to successfully enrage him. "Doesn't matter. You still owe me for covering for your last wards."
"That was different."
"It was the exact same thing! You got stuck watching a new batch of recruits and pawned them off on me when I wasn't looking!"
"I went to the toilet, and the people in my group doubled!" Vern's voice rose a few decibels, garnering the attention of a few nosy onlookers.
He slammed a tightly clenched fist onto the table, causing Gared, who was smiling nervously, to flinch in guilt.
"You know how hard it was to keep four idiots alive, when the most dangerous thing they've seen is a Bidoof?" A visible vein popped on Vern's forehead as he strained a smile.
"Hard?"
"Extremely difficult!" he hissed.
Sensing his defeat on the horizon, Gared turned toward Corvin for support. "Oi, Corvin. Back me up here. You've seen this year's applicants. Half of the brats can't even throw a Poké Ball straight, the other half think they're already 3-Stars."
"Vern's a way better teacher than me, so he should train the recruits, right?" He pointed back at the seething man with a thumb.
Corvin didn't look up from his bowl, pushing another bite of his lunch into his mouth. The rice was warm and the perfectly seasoned fish had a slight char at the edges.
Delicious. He thought as he absentmindedly sifted through his memories of the past week to recall the recruits that Gared mentioned.
Most of it blurred together—missing Poké Balls, recruits tripping over their own feet, one kid who somehow managed to get stuck in a supply crate. He filtered those out almost automatically, until one incident surfaced clearly.
A recruit had taken a wooden practice sword, coated the entire blade in oil, and set it on fire because he thought it would look cool.
The coolness of the flaming sword lasted about four seconds before the dummy caught on fire, and by the time anyone put it out, the training post was little more than smoking ash.
"Ehh, I've seen worse." Corvin stated curtly, before returning to his meal.
"That's not a yes." Vern immediately announced.
"But it's also not a no." Gared countered.
The two men stared at each other then snorted in amusement, before sharing a short laugh. Vern leaned back into his chair and tipped his ceramic cup of sake toward Corvin. "Leave him be."
The cloudy liquid inside sloshed faintly as he took a sip, the alcohol soothing his irritated mood. "The kid's in one of those phases again. Haha."
He shook his head, a chuckle escaping him as a flush built on his face as the drink took effect.
Gared grinned wide, revealing his canines, and leaned forward, pointing his chopsticks at Corvin like he was about to deliver a solemn life lesson and a phrase to live by.
"Don't worry, kid. We've all gone through that whole quiet, serious, staring-into-the-distance thing." He let out a loud, good-natured laugh that turned a few extra nearby heads.
Corvin paused, looking up at the man. "What?"
"You know! Thinking you look cooler if you barely talk and acting like you've got the weight of the world sitting on your shoulders." He explained. Upon seeing Corvin's face of confusion, the man coughed, clearing his throat before tilting his woven kasa hat to shadow his face.
Gared's voice lowered into a gravelly, guttural whisper. "I am vengeance, I am the night!" His voice rumbled.
"I—am—Corvin!" He bellowed to the world, spreading his arms out wide as if expecting an embrace, grabbing the attention of the entirety of the Wallflower.
The entire canteen was silent for a moment as Gared held the pose, face completely serious, chopsticks still in-hand, pointed like a dramatic prop.
For a few long seconds he managed to keep it together. Then the corner of his mouth twitched.
His shoulders started to shake. The serious expression cracked, first at his eyes, then across his whole face.
He tried to hold it in. He really did.
A strangled snort escaped him, and then the dam broke. Gared burst out laughing. Loud and unrestrained, his mouth wide open, sending a fine spray of spit and bits of food across the table.
Vern swiped his half-eaten plate of roasted Magikarp away to avoid the unsanitary barrage. "Eww! That's fucking disgusting!"
Gared nearly fell backward off the chair, one hand slamming down for balance as he wheezed.
The silence shattered. Snickers and open laughter rolled through the Wallflower as people turned to watch. A few applicants covered their mouths. Even Vern, despite his revulsion, let out a short, reluctant chuckle behind the mask of his cup.
Corvin sat frozen for a second, face warming. He lowered his head slightly, staring at the remaining rice in his bowl as if it had suddenly become very interesting.
"…I don't do that," he muttered, his tone strained. He reached out and calmly pushed Gared's chopsticks down until they pointed at the table instead of the ceiling. "Sit properly."
Gared was still catching his breath, one hand on his chest as the last of the laughter wheezed out of him. He wiped at his eyes, grinned wider, and leaned in again like he hadn't just made a scene.
An arm slung around Corvin's shoulders, much to his displeasure.
"Don't worry. I used to do the same thing when I first joined. Barely spoke to anyone, always looking off in the distance like I was carrying some heavy burden."
"Thought it made me seem experienced. Turns out it just made me look constantly constipated!" Gared slapped the table like he just told the funniest joke in history, still grinning. "You'll grow out of it. Happens to the best of us."
"Embarrassing as hell when you look back on it, though. One day you'll remember sitting here all serious and want to crawl into a hole."
He leaned back, clearly pleased with himself, shoved another piece of meat into his mouth.
"You can act real dramatic all you want, until you remember you're just sitting in the canteen eating potato with the rest of us losers!"
"Bahahaha!"
A voice from the other side of the room called out. "You're the only loser here, Gared!"
"Who said that!" Gared twisted his body, swinging his chopsticks in a wide arc, nearly hitting Vern.
"Watch it!" The bespectacled man screeched.
But the brawny man ignored him, scouring the back of the room for the source of the voice.
"What the—fuck you, Maru!"
"Fuck you too, Gared!" A tall, thin man rose from his chair. Gared half-risen from his own seat, pointed his chopsticks at Maru like a weapon.
"Keep running your mouth and I'm dragging you out back and beating your ass!"
Maru's laugh rang out from the back of the room, joined by a few others who had clearly been waiting for the show. "You'd have to catch me first, you fat fuck!"
"What?! I am pure muscle, you scrawny bitch!"
"Talking a lot of shit for someone who got chased down by a Snorlax," Maru called out, his voice full of mockery. A couple of nearby applicants ducked their heads, snickering, trying not to look like they were watching the argument escalate.
"It was an Alpha!"
"Still a Snorlax! Ahaha!" Maru burst out laughing, pointing a taunting finger at the growing rage of Gared's face.
Just as Gared opened his mouth for another retort, Vern reached over, grabbed the back of his uniform, and yanked him back down onto his seat with a sharp tug.
"Sit. Down," Vern muttered. "Before Beni throws the both of you out. Again."
Then he reached over, plucked the chopsticks out of Gared's hand, and set them firmly back on the table. "And stop pointing those at people."
Before Gared could push further, the person in question, Beni, approached the table with his usual unhurried gait. The older man carried a wooden tray in one hand, the warm scent of honey and roasted sweet potato following him like a soft current, cutting through the heavier smells of the room.
"Here." He set down three small plates of honey-glazed sweet potato mochi. The glaze shone in the warm light of the lantern-lit establishment, the mochi was glossy and faintly steaming.
"You three look like you need something sweet," Beni grumbled. "On the house, but don't get used to it."
Gared's face lit up immediately at the sight of the dessert. "Beni, you're a saint."
Vern gave a rare, appreciative grunt and pulled one of the plates closer. The soft clink of ceramic against wood was almost lost under the noise. Beni glanced at Corvin and slid the third plate across the table towards him.
"Eat it while it's warm, kiddo. You've been running around all week." Beni nudged the small plate a little closer to him with two fingers, causing the white mochi to subtly jiggle with the movement.
His voice carried a hidden, slightly raspy warmth. "You look like you could use it."
Corvin looked down at the small dish. Up close the sweet smell was stronger—rich and slightly caramelized, the faint trace of roasted sweet potato and honey cut through the heavier scents of the canteen. The surface of the glaze was smooth and unbroken.
He gave a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching in something close to a smile.
"Thanks, Gramps." He shifted his grip on the spoon, turning it once between his fingers, then slowly lowered it toward the nearest piece.
The metal tip hovered just above the glossy surface, close enough that it nearly touched, when the whole establishment of the Wallflower hushed.
A set of hurried, loud, and uneven footsteps echoed sharply through the halls of the canteen.
A young receptionist with messy brown hair tied into a loose bun donned a verdant green uniform. The Supply Corps' hexagonal insignia was proudly affixed at her breast as she rushed up to the table, extremely out of breath.
She gasped for oxygen, her shoulders heaving and her face flushed, as she was clearly unused to running any real distance.
A thin sheen of sweat glistened at her temples and upper lip, threatening to send her round glasses sliding completely off the bridge of her nose. The thin folder under her arm was slightly crumpled from how tightly she had been clutching it.
She skidded to a halt beside the bench, boots scraping against the floorboards, and opened her mouth to speak and froze.
Nothing came out except a wet, strangled noise.
Her eyes widened behind her lenses. She clamped a hand over her mouth, bent sharply at the waist, and vomited onto the floorboards with a loud, ugly splatter that seemed to silence the nearest three tables at once.
Gared jerked backward so hard his bench scraped. "Whoa, what the hell?!"
Vern leaned away with a look of pure disgust, his tinted glasses slipping down his nose. From the back of the canteen came a long, involuntary gag, followed by someone muttering, "Oh come on…"
Sera stayed doubled over for two full seconds, one hand still braced on her knee. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, she straightened up, casually wiped the vomit from her mouth with the back of her sleeve in one fluid motion, and turned to Corvin like the entire event had already been erased from her memory.
"Officer Corvin!" she said quickly, still a little breathless but otherwise completely composed.
"Are you okay, Sera?" He watched as the girl pushed her glasses back up her nose and fumbled with the files under her arm. The dark circles under her eyes were apparent.
"Sorry!" She paused just long enough to catch her breath, one hand resting briefly against the edge of the table, before continuing.
"Sorry to interrupt, but you're currently the highest-ranking Security member on standby. Most of the guild's other Officers are out mentoring applicants or already on assignments."
"This is an emergency quest," she ended, awaiting his response.
Corvin's hand stopped halfway to the mochi. He set the spoon down with a quiet click that sounded louder against the quiet of the room.
"…What kind?"
"Recovery." Sera adjusted her grip on the folder, still a little flushed from rushing. The paper made a soft rustle. "We just received a message from the Mirelands outpost camp. A Starly courier arrived a few minutes ago. They spotted an unauthorized 1-Star scout moving through the wetlands.
"Apparently, he took a restricted guild map and pulled a high-ranked quest off the board without clearance. Captain Zisu isn't available right now, so the desk needs someone to handle it immediately."
Corvin exhaled slowly through his nose. His eyes flicked once to the untouched plate of honey-glazed mochi, a faint look of irritation crossing his face, before he stood and reached for Kishin's scabbard. The purple eye opened at the movement, releasing a faint cold gleam under the warm canteen light.
He stood and reached for Kishin's scabbard. "Of course it's during recruitment week," he moaned.
He took the folder from her. Instead of opening it at the table, he nodded toward the doors. "Follow me. Debrief me on the way out."
Sera nodded, quickly falling into step behind him. As they left, Gared leaned back with a wide grin.
"Duty calls, huh? Good luck! And try not to look too miserable while you save the day!"
Vern didn't glance up from his drink. "Just bring that idiot back alive." He hiccuped, downing another cup. "I don't want any extra paperwork."
Beni watched them go, sighed, then shook his head and reached for the untouched plate. But before his fingers could close around its edge, Gared grabbed his wrist and leaned across the table with a completely serious expression.
"Beni~" Gared gave his more earnest grin as he placed his other hand over his heart. "Be honest with me, old man. Corvin's gone. That mochi's just going to get cold and sad and it would be a crime to waste it. As a senior member of this table, I am willing to take on the noble responsibility of eating it."
Beni didn't even look at him. He picked up the plate, turned slightly, and said flatly,
"Piss off, Gared." The old man sneered as he left.
Gared slowly withdrew his hand, looking genuinely wounded, while Vern choked a laugh into his cup. Beni shook his head again and carried the plate away.
"Every time," he muttered under his breath.
———
The noise of the Wallflower faded as Corvin and Sera stepped out into the open air of Jubilife.
Afternoon light spilled across the packed-dirt streets in warm, dusty shafts, catching on the edges of wooden eaves and the canvas covers of market stalls.
The broader smells of the village rose up around them, dry earth, woodsmoke from cooking fires rose up around them: dry earth, woodsmoke from cooking fires, and various bundles of drying herbs hanging from porch beams, all carried by the faint, salt-tinged breeze drifting in from the distant coast.
Somewhere nearby a cart's wheels creaked, followed by the low murmur of vendors calling out the last of their day's goods. A pair of children darted past, laughing, nearly bumping into a cluster of entrance-exam applicants who still wore their temporary armbands and looked uncertain about where they were supposed to be.
Corvin and Sera turned onto the main path that led toward the village gates. They wove steadily through the flow of people. Villagers carrying baskets, a Construction Corps member hauling a bundle of planks, two Survey recruits arguing quietly over a crumpled map.
Sera matched his pace, though her steps were a little quicker than usual. Her sandals made soft, rapid sounds against the packed dirt.
For a moment she stayed quiet, as if organizing her thoughts, then she spoke in a lower voice than she had used inside the canteen.
"Hey… sorry again for disrupting your lunch, Corvin."
Corvin glanced sideways at her. "It's not your fault."
She gave a small, quick nod, eyes briefly dropping to the folder in her hands. Even after working with him for over a year, she still carried a quiet sort of respect that bordered on shyness whenever she had to pull him into something. Her fingers tightened slightly on the paper.
"I know you don't like being called in the middle of a break," she said, a little softer. "I wouldn't have bothered you if there was anyone else nearby. Everyone else is either out with applicants or already on assignment."
"I know, Sera." Corvin's tone was even, but not unkind. "Just give me the details."
Sera seemed to take that as permission to settle into the report. She gave another quick, apologetic nod and held out the folder with both hands, the gesture neat and careful. "The basic details are inside, along with a portrait sketch. His name is Rylen Kai Torren, ranked 1-Star, Junior Scout. Survey Corps."
Corvin took the folder. The paper was slightly damp at the edges from Sera's grip. He flipped it open briefly to check the sketch of his target, then closed it again.
"The map he took isn't a standard field chart, it's one of the master guild maps. It holds nearly everything the Galaxy Team has collected on Hisui: routes, hazards, outpost locations, restricted zones."
She tapped a finger against her hand for each detail, tracking them one by one. "Those aren't supposed to leave the archive rooms. My best guess is he took it from his mentor during the confusion of the exams."
"There's more," she said. "A few villagers near the east wall reported seeing someone fly over during the lunch pause. They said it looked like a Staravia carrying a rider. That's probably how he left without going through the main gate."
Corvin gave another sideways glance at her. "During Ress's break?"
"Most likely. Departures are paused for about twenty minutes when he steps away for lunch. Someone must have timed it."
Corvin gave a short nod. They continued in relative silence as the heavy main gates of Jubilife came into view, the thick wooden doors reinforced with dark metal bands.
Ress stood at his permanent post beside the entrance. The moment he noticed people approaching, his posture tensed.
Shoulders squaring, his weight shifting forward as one hand drifted closer to the whistle at his belt. Then he recognized Corvin's stride and the familiar shape of Kishin at his hip.
All rigidity drained from his frame almost at once, and he straightened into a more casual stance, arms folding loosely across his chest.
"Heading out?" Ress asked.
Corvin didn't answer. He simply held up the folder, open to the portrait of the 1-Star scout. The paper caught a thin slice of sunlight as Ress leaned in, studying the face for a moment. His brows scrunched and drew together.
"…I don't recognize him."
"You shouldn't," Corvin scoffed, twirling Kishin in his palm, much to the sword's protest. "He's a Survey scout who somehow got past you."
He paused, looking back down at the folder. "With a guild map, too."
Ress's expression darkened. "You're kidding, right? I didn't let anyone walk out with a restricted map."
"He didn't walk," Corvin replied, smothering a snicker. "Someone saw him fly over the east wall on a Staravia while you were on your lunch break."
Ress stared at him for a second longer, then muttered a quiet curse under his breath and looked away. The muscle in his jaw flexed as he gnashed his teeth.
"Are you fucking—Twenty minutes. I was gone for twenty minutes!" he screamed, slamming a fist against the wooden gatepost with enough force to cause the iron-clad gates to rumble and groan.
"I can't eat a single bite of food—I can't even shit!" He stopped to suck in a sharp breath.
"—without some dumbass trying to kill himself!"
A few villagers nearby glanced over, then wisely decided to keep walking as Ress took his frustration out on the village wall. Sera shifted her weight, looking faintly apologetic on Ress's behalf, and gave a quick bow in their direction, but said nothing.
Corvin waited, checking the straps on his pack and the seating of Kishin's scabbard while Ress finished the outburst. When the older guard finally ran out of steam, Corvin spoke again, his voice casual and even.
"I'll bring him back. And the map."
Ress dragged a hand down his face, still visibly annoyed. "You'd better. If that thing ends up in the wrong hands or gets ruined out there, the higher-ups are going to have someone's head. Probably mine for letting him slip past."
"It won't. What, you don't trust me?"
Ress froze. His mouth opened, then closed again. One hand came up to scratch the back of his head as he suddenly found the clouds extremely interesting, pointedly avoiding Corvin's eyes.
"…Wow." Corvin's voice was completely flat. "I'm hurt."
"It's not about skill," Ress muttered, still not looking at him. "You're fine in a fight. Better than fine. It's just… whenever you handle something, half the usable materials end up destroyed."
He closed his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose.
"Fur gets shredded, scales are cracked, ores are full of sword marks. You and Kishin don't exactly leave things in one piece, and not everyone has self-repairing armor and swords. Supply Corps keeps complaining that your collection quests come back looking like they went through a meat grinder."
Kishin's purple eye cracked open at the mention of its name, giving a soft, almost offended metallic hum. Corvin glanced down at the sword, then back at Ress.
"I'll bring the scout back alive," he said. "And the map in one piece. There, satisfied?"
Ress finally met his gaze again, still looking vaguely pained. "…Just try not to turn the map into confetti. Okay?"
Corvin gave a short, dry sound that might have been a laugh and stepped through the gates. Afternoon light stretched across the road ahead, the packed dirt already softening into the broader trails that led toward the Obsidian Fieldlands, and eventually, east to the Crimson Mirelands.
Behind him, the noise of Jubilife, the market calls, the creak of carts and the sound of Ress still grumbling under his breath about shitting, began to fade.
Sera lingered at the threshold of Jubilife for a moment longer.
"Good luck, Corvin," she said quietly, clasping her hands in front of her. "Please be careful. Hisui has been a little unsettled lately."
He glanced back once and gave her one last nod.
"Thanks, Sera. I will."
Then he turned fully toward the open road. Kishin's scabbard tapped lightly against his leg with each step, the sword's eye half-lidded but alert. The purple jewel opened a fraction wider, sensing the shift from village to field.
Corvin adjusted his grip on the folder, then slid it into the inner pocket of his uniform. He exhaled once, and picked up his pace.