The scent of pine remains as you navigate the dense forest of Galar. The synchronized cadence of marching draws you closer until a unit of Falinks appears before you on the trail. Their movements are sharp, precise, and the leader seems slightly annoyed, but also curious.

"Halt!"

The 'Brass' squeaks unintelligibly, the sound echoing through the trees. It turns to face you, its expression stern, giving you a look that read “State your reasoning in our territory, human!” Though it seems adorable when mad, it’s best if you don’t call it cute, they hate that!