Roselia lay sprawled on the rock, letting the heat wash over his petals as his Aura flowed in tandem with the sun’s warmth. It felt good, soothing even, though he knew the sun wouldn’t last much longer. Even so, that should have been enough: a chance to relax, to simply enjoy the well-earned rest.

  But honestly, he wasn’t good at staying still.

  Roselia tilted his face, letting his gaze drift to the humans below. They had settled into a loose circle and, lacking a proper inn, had simply decided the surrounding forest was good enough. Then they'd started tearing into it for firewood.

  Just like that.

  Roselia paused, then grabbed at the rock as he felt himself begin to slide. His arms protested at the motion, but he dragged himself back up and, with a slight twist, settled into a stable seat atop the stone.

  He glanced back at the humans.

  The scene hadn’t changed… Or, well, it had, but only in the subtle, restless way humans always made things change.

  They’d turned the firewood into a bonfire.

  It never ceased to unsettle him, the way humans did things. Without hesitation. Without ceremony. They made fire without honouring the trees they harmed. Built cities without caring whose territory they were building on. They simply… decided. That, more than anything, was what he didn’t understand.

  Their decisions.

  Pokémon were simpler, in many ways. He liked performing, so he made sure his audience was amazed. He wanted to grow stronger, so when a trainer gave him that chance, he followed.

  But humans?

  A blue-haired girl spun into a boy’s arms near the fire. She smiled, until she looked up, realized who it was, and stiffened. An awkward laugh escaped her lips before she ducked her head, said a few words, and slipped away, running off before anyone could ask.

  Roselia’s mouth curled slightly.

  She’d been enjoying herself. Then she touched the wrong boy, and the joy vanished like it had never existed.

  Just like that.

  That was the problem. They didn’t change their minds because of like or dislike. It was something deeper. Something hidden. A world he could only half-see, like watching shadows dance across the wall of a cave.

  When he had first awoken in this forest, everything had confused him. He felt there should have been... something.

  A city.

  A gathering.

  A place he could return to.

  A place to steal from.

  But there wasn’t, and every Pokémon he reached out to rebuffed him. Hell, some fought him outright.

  Still, when a Pokémon chose violence, it made sense. He’d invaded someone’s territory. He’d taken their food… or fainted a flock of Starly that thought he’d taken their berries, causing half a dozen Staravia to chase him. There was always a reason. Always a direct cause.

  But humans?

  A girl danced, then fled from the very thing she’d been enjoying and—

  Roselia closed his eyes, mouth thinning into a line.

  —and a group of humans walked into the forest, saw Ralts, and decided that the chance of death was worth trying to steal her.

  Even if it meant fighting Flygon.

  Even if it meant…

  He squeezed his eyes shut and took a breath.

  Even now, the name hurt to think about. Ralts didn’t understand. She hadn’t been around long enough. She hadn’t seen how incredible the dragon had been.

  When he was lost and confused, Flygon descending from the sky had been a miracle.

  He had seen Roselia walking around, the same kind of scarf around his neck, and simply decided that meant they were friends. More than that, when Flygon had learned Roselia had also just woken up in the forest, no memories to his name?

  They had been family.

  It was like fate.

  After that, for a time, everything had felt magical. Flygon was a titan, the strongest in his area. He had protected his territory but allowed Pokémon that needed it to gather around him. Then he taught them things Roselia still struggled to understand. To not just take what they needed. That they could trade, that they could build a community, that they could prosper together. And, for a while, Roselia thought this was it. His new life. No more stealing, no more lies.

  Just strength, earned the right way.

  Then Flygon heard about her.

  Ralts.

  Roselia had told his trainer, and the strange human boy, that they’d found her weeks into their time in the forest. But that wasn’t true.

  Not really.

  Roselia had met Flygon a few weeks in.

  Ralts?

  They hadn’t even known she existed until just before they met his trainer. Honestly, it was almost funny. It all started with a Murkrow trying to trade a scarf, one that looked just like his. When he saw it, Roselia thought the Murkrow was another one. Another Pokémon who just appeared like him and Flygon. Still, after a bit of talking, he realized the truth. Murkrow was native, born in Eterna and lived there his whole life.

  So that raised the question, where had he gotten the scarf then?

  Roselia talked to him some more and he learned about her.

  A Ralts who lived alone. Who only survived because of the kindness of strangers. Who was the easiest prey Murkrow had ever seen… and who once wore the scarf Murkrow had wanted to trade for a handful of Oran berries. Roselia hadn’t really thought too much about it, hadn’t felt finding her was pressing, but Flygon hadn’t hesitated. Within hours, he returned with Ralts cradled on his back.

  At first Roselia hadn’t liked her.

  She was too quiet, too fragile, too... trusting. She didn’t know how to steal, how to bluff, how to fight dirty and win beautifully.

  She was soft in a way Roselia had never been allowed to be.

  Flygon had called him family, but he’d wanted to make Ralts his daughter. That had made it worse. Not to say he was jealous, he wasn’t, not really. It was just... a shift. A change. A lesson in what it meant for two to become three.

  He would have adapted; he was good at that.

  But then—

  Roselia’s Aura flared unbidden.

  —then the humans came.

  And they decided.

  Just like that.

  Flygon was stronger than anything they had. None of their Pokémon could even scratch him on their own. But Flygon had people to protect, and so they wore him down.

  Poisoned him.

  Tore him apart.

  Bled him dry.

  They didn’t care when one of their own died. Didn’t care that they soaked the battlefield in enough venom to injure a dozen nearby Pokémon.

  Pokémon that weren’t even targets.

  No, they didn’t even care when Flygon begged, offered them to take him instead.

  They just kept going.

  Kept going until everybody else had to flee.

  Until Flygon had to flee.

  Roselia felt his jaw lock slightly, the memory burning. It had been shocking, to see Flygon brought so low, low enough that they had to retreat. Still, after a little bit of searching, they found a small hill, and through the last of Flygon’s power they had made their hideout.

  But, it wasn’t like things were going well.

  Flygon was too injured to fight, Ralts had been poisoned, and Roselia... he was the only one still standing.

  The days that followed blurred together. He remembered stealing from every passing human, desperate to find medicine that could cure them. He remembered walking away, aching to hurt them the way they’d hurt him.

  But he didn’t do anything more than steal, not back then anyway. Because he still had hope. For Flygon and for…

  Rosalie let out a low laugh.

  And for Ralts.

  It was almost funny; how much he had hated her.

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  Because he had.

  He had hated Ralts.

  She cost him medicine.

  She cost him time.

  She was why he had to watch Flygon die.

  At one time, he was sure he would just leave when that happened even.

  Leave Ralts to her fate.

  Then…

  Then…

  He paused for a moment, letting the thought through.

  Then Flygon died.

  No final attack. No grand sacrifice. Nothing. Just a few last words, and the slow closing of his eyes.

  “Take care of her, she’s your little sister, even if you don’t know it yet,” he’d said.

  Roselia looked down from the rock. The blue-haired girl stomped into the forest, muttering angrily. She bent to gather a few dead branches, scowling.

  It was odd.

  Roselia should have hated Ralts more after that… But he didn’t—and not because he couldn’t. No, it was because as he realized something.

  She had no one else.

  So he protected her.

  Because he had no one else.

  “Seriously, Luke,” the girl muttered, snapping up a few dry twigs, “what do you think ‘I’m not interested’ means?”

  Still, it wasn’t like he stopped stealing. No, during that time, Roselia stopped stealing only what he needed.

  He took everything.

  Because humans didn’t deserve consideration. They were evil. Selfish. They only existed to hurt—

  “Ugh, where are all the dead branches?” the girl said, then sighed.

  Roselia paused, glancing down at her. He honestly thought that way, felt that way until—

  Cynthia.

  Roselia let a wry smile grow to his lips. She was different, he couldn’t deny that. Helped, even when she didn’t have to. Rescued Ralts, even when she didn’t need to. Offered him a choice, even when he wouldn’t have.

  So, yeah, Roselia had to admit it, if only to himself.

  Humans could be hateful.

  Like the ones who hunted him.

  Like the ones who fought Cynthia.

  Like the one from yesterday.

  But they could also be...

  The girl stumbled, sighed, and kept walking, still searching for dead branches.

  ...kind.

  “Seriously, what kind of Contest Star has to pretend to search for firewood?”

  Roselia reached out, gathering the last dredges of his Grass, and loosened two dry branches from a tree above. They floated gently down in front of her. She blinked, then grinned wide, scooping them up.

  “Thanks!” she called cheerfully, skipping back toward the fire.

  Roselia watched her go. He wasn’t the type to lie to himself, never had been. So, he could say it, if only to himself. He hated the hunters, the ones who killed Flygon. He hated the hunter, the one who tried to steal a child from their dying parent.

  But mostly?

  Roselia closed his eyes.

  He remembered.

  Remembered how Cynthia chased him, furious, desperate, trying to recover something he didn’t even understand the value of.

  Remembered the way other trainers, the ones who couldn’t keep up, cried as he vanished into the trees, their medicine clutched in his hands.

  Remembered how he poisoned enemy Pokémon, not out of malice, but because Sleep Powder had failed, and he couldn’t afford to lose.

  Yeah.

  Mostly, he hated how much he understood the hunter.

  That man who hurt others because it was the only way to keep his family whole.

  Roselia had done the same.

  “Ralts?”

  The voice was soft, tentative. Roselia turned, spotting his little sister peeking out from behind a tree, shifting from foot to foot.

  Her horn flickered faintly.

  For a moment he just watched her, but as her head fell, he let out a sigh.

  “Roselia,” he said.

  Come.

  She hesitated. Then shuffled forward and sat beside him, quiet.

  “Ralts.”

  I was useless.

  Roselia’s mouth twitched.

  Honestly, that should’ve been his line. She’d distracted maybe the most dangerous Pokémon on the hunter’s team. He’d lost to the one he was practically made to counter. Still, just because he hadn’t always liked her didn’t mean he didn’t understand her.

  “Roselia, ros-roselia.”

  When are you not?

  She froze.

  Then her eyes narrowed behind her blue helmet.

  “Ralts!”

  Roselia!

  He grinned.

  “Ralts!”

  You dare!

  He shoved her sideways.

  She shoved him back.

  He didn’t stop her.

  Humans made decisions he didn’t understand.

  But he’d made his decision too—

  He dodged out of the way of Ralts, watching her fall forward onto the rock with a pained yelp.

  He was going to get stronger—

  Ralts shoved herself off the ground, horn flaring with energy.

  He was going to become better—

  A weak telekinetic power pushed onto him, and he let himself stumble back.

  He was never going to feel like that again.

  Roselia steadied himself and looked up at Ralts.

  Let the hunters have their justifications.

  Ralts smiled back, a small, lopsided grin that reminded him too much of his trainer’s partner.

  He had his.

  …..

  Kael had absolutely no real justification for being a Hunter.

  He knew that, could see how paper-thin his excuses were.

  After all, he’d been just like any other kid who grew up in an orphanage, he’d wanted to be a heroic Ranger. The kind that protected Pokémon from the terrible, scary, evil Hunters. Who people looked up to.

  Hell, he’d even had a real shot at it.

  Back in his hometown, he’d been the only one actually good at battling. Not just decent, good.

  Though maybe that was the problem. Back when he still had Aipom, before the evolution, before he learned, he’d been undefeated. Even the kids whose parents could afford real strategy books, he’d crushed them.

  Now?

  That version of him felt like another lifetime.

  A wet cloth slapped against his face, and he hissed as a huge, familiar hand gripped the back of his head and held him still.

  “Seriously? Couldn’t you be a little gentler?”

  Was what he meant to say.

  What actually came out was a muffled, pitiful groan.

  Not that it mattered to Hands. His starter just sighed, slow, patient, infinitely resigned, and kept pressing the cloth, soaked in freshly squeezed Sitrus juice, against Kael’s bruised cheek.

  Kael pouted slightly.

  Honestly? His Pokémon had zero respect for him.

  They didn’t listen. Never had.

  The bastards.

  As if sensing the thought, Hands pressed harder, and Kael nearly shrieked as the stinging cloth dug deeper into his already-battered face.

  Honestly, even a day later and Myst’s punch still burned. Did he really have to hit him exactly where the Dark-type energy had left him most vulnerable?

  Really, who did that? Punched someone in a trainer fight? It was insane. Didn’t he know how stupid that was? Hell, if Kael hadn’t made a strategic retreat, Myst could’ve died. No one answered his internal complaints, and a second later, the pressure eased. Hands drew back enough for Kael to see the look on his face.

  Narrowed eyes, deadpan and unimpressed.

  Promising pain if Kael so much as twitched the wrong way.

  “Ambipom.”

  Kael held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I get it, I fucked up. You get to press torture juice into my face. Fair trade.”

  Hands exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. The same long-suffering sigh he always gave when Kael was being an idiot.

  Kael hesitated.

  He recognized that look.

  From the left, a dry chitter of laughter echoed through the air.

  “Cro-crobat.”

  Do you ever learn?

  Kael winced. He turned toward Crobat, scowling. “Oh, don’t you start—”

  He didn’t get to finish. Hands’ eyes snapped open—

  —and the cloth slammed back into his face with righteous vengeance.

  Kael screamed.

  …

  Later, Kael sat in the middle of a loose circle, surrounded by his team. His lips were still sore. His cheek throbbed. His pride?

  In shambles.

  So, you know. Pretty normal.

  Still, even as he waited no one moved. They didn’t speak. They just stared at him.

  “…Okay,” Kael muttered, licking his lips. “This one was on me.”

  Everybody nodded.

  “I underestimated them.”

  More nods.

  “I wasted everyone’s time, promised this would be our last big gig, and then I fucked it up.”

  Unanimous nods, again.

  For a second Kael just paused, staring back at his team.

  Then he narrowed his eyes.

  “Okay, wait, this is the part where one of you tells me it was a team failure. That we win together, we lose together, yada yada, right? That’s what you’re supposed to say.”

  Bibarel clicked his tongue.

  “Bibarel.”

  We do lose together

  “Bibarel.” He continued.

  That’s the problem.

  Kael raised a finger, like he was about to object. Then stopped. Because… yeah. What was he even supposed to say to that?

  That was exactly what he wanted them to say.

  He lowered his hand; let it rest against his knee. It should make him feel better.

  Really.

  It was what he wanted to hear after all.

  It didn’t though. In the end that answer was too familiar. Because that’s how it always ended, wasn’t it? They tried to do something together. Something big, something that might actually change things.

  And then they lost.

  Together.

  Kael sighed, slumping back slightly.

  “…Well. If nothing else, we’ve got experience.”

  There was a beat of silence, then, with theatrical weariness, Kael raised a hand again.

  “I vote we change tactics. I say… I try growing the beard again.”

  Crobat made a noise like he was physically gagging at the idea.

  Kael grinned, just a little.

  “…Yeah, fair.”

  Then he paused, just a beat.

  “Might have to though, honestly. Messing with a Shirona? That’s not exactly the kind of thing people forget.”

  ….

  Kael wasn’t going to lie, the fact that he’d stumbled into another trainer this soon after everything?

  Bad luck.

  The fact that she had a Spinarak that looked two seconds from lunging for his throat?

  That was pushing into statistical anomaly territory.

  “And you’re saying you hurt yourself… by falling onto a Poochyena,” the girl said flatly, voice bone-dry, her eyes radiating disbelief.

  Kael nodded, utterly serious.

  “Well, not fell, exactly. More like, Crobat dodged, the Poochyena used Bite, I dodged sideways into it. Because I was so close, the move landed. Grazed the skin, tore a bit. Happens.”

  The girl tilted her head, lips curling into a slow, knowing half-smile. “Ah-hah.”

  Kael shrugged. “What do you want me to say? That some mystery Pokémon blasted me with Dark Pulse and nearly took my head off? That make more sense?”

  She took a small step back, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t know. But I’ve lived here my whole life. And I’ve never seen a Poochyena on this route. So unless you ran into the world’s weirdest Stunky…”

  Her smile dropped.

  “You’re hiding something.”

  Kael stared at her, irritation prickling under his skin. Of course the first trainer he ran into had to be nosy.

  Like the universe wasn’t done fucking with him yet.

  Still, none of it touched his face. He let a lazy smile curl across his lips and raised both hands in mock surrender.

  “Okay, you got me,” he said, voice light. “Heard a rumor there were Larvitar sightings around here. Figured I’d take a peek.”

  He paused, for just long enough to have the girl raise an eyebrow, before dryly adding, “Turned out it had a mom.” A shrug. “Who knew?”

  The girl stared. Then, to his surprise, sighed.

  “Dude, you suck at lying.”

  Kael blinked.

  She went on, matter-of-fact. “Like, stop giving out a million details. Stick to one or two sentences. Keep it vague and people won’t question it. Don’t tell them, I lived in a house two meters away from here, tell them I lived here. Don’t specify everything, that’s lying one-oh-one. I swear, you could be an actor if someone else wrote your lines.”

  Kael took a half-step back, caught off guard. For the first time since they met, he actually looked at her. Long silver hair, messy, tied back like she’d tried to tame it and gave up halfway. She was pretty, but in a harsh way.

  “Your face gives away nothing,” she said, nodding to herself. “You’ve got that perfect sort of clueless energy.”

  She wore a big, dark jacket, too large for her frame. Honestly, they sort of swallowed her shoulders and made her look almost bulky.

  “If you just stopped trying to sound so reasonable, so consistent, then people would probably believe you.”

  She was around his age, maybe a year or two younger.

  “As it is, people just get curiou—.”

  Kael cut her off.

  “Who the hell are you.”

  She stared at him, then sighed.

  “Seriously, who else would be here right now, K?”

  Kael’s spine stiffened.

  She tilted her head.

  He forcefully relaxed, letting his hands drop to his side, sliding over the belt containing his Poke Balls.

  “…You’re from the Cabin, I guess. Considering you’re calling me that.”

  She smiled, practiced, polished, and just fake enough that he could see right through it. “Got it in one.”

  His mouth tightened. “And why are you here? I thought nobody else was wasting time on this one.”

  She grinned faintly. “I wasn’t going to. Zoroark’s a joke. I only came because I figured I’d recruit you for something better.” Her eyes flicked up to his head. “Then I saw your wound.”

  She took a step closer.

  “Care to tell me where you really got it… K.”

  Kael didn’t move.

  Didn’t blink.

  But his brain clicked into motion.

  She didn’t know.

  Didn’t know the egg was gone, that Zoroark—

  He shut that thought down. Not helpful. Not now.

  Instead, he focused on the important parts: he was out of supplies, needed time, needed cover. Going into town right now, especially one of the cities with gyms and connections through the Pokécenter's computers, that would be a one-way ticket to prison. But she could go into town, get what he needed and come back.

  He smiled.

  “Well, maybe I could let you in on the job… if you’re willing to trade.”

  Her eyes gleamed.

  “Oh? And what kind of trade are we talking?”

  Kael stepped forward, ignoring how Spinarak’s eyes twitched toward him.

  “You know, information for some help. Food, clothing, easy stuff, really.”

  She didn’t stop smiling. Neither did he. That was the game, after all. Just because he knew the egg now belonged to someone else, didn’t mean she did.

  Really, he was doing the world a service.

  Keeping her from chasing after other jobs.

  Really, he was the best among them.

  Nobody else he worked with would’ve looked at a Shiny Ralts and walked away.

  Really, he was the kindest.

  Letting Cynthia and Myst win, so the egg could go to someone who would actually love it.

  Honestly, who even said he was a loser anyway?