Ralts

  She had been alone for a long time.

  Not always. Once, there had been others—warmth and presence and the gentle hum of minds nearby. Mother, whose thoughts were soft and protective. Father, whose emotions burned steady like sunlight. Others of her kind, their feelings brushing against hers in comfortable familiarity.

  But that was before.

  Before the loud sounds and the running and the fear that tasted like metal in her mouth. Before she'd hidden in a hollow log while terrible emotions raged overhead—anger, cruelty, satisfaction. Before she'd emerged to find emptiness where her family had been.

  She didn't know what had happened to them. Didn't know if they'd escaped or been taken or something worse. She only knew that when she'd reached out with her mind, searching for their familiar presences, she'd found nothing.

  Nothing but silence.

  The forest near the lake was quiet. Safe, mostly. Other Pokémon lived here—small ones who didn't bother her, larger ones she avoided. The water had fish she could eat, and the bushes had berries, and there were plenty of places to hide when she felt threatened.

  But it was lonely.

  Ralts were not meant to be alone. Her kind lived in groups, their minds intertwined, their emotions shared. Solitude was unnatural, uncomfortable, like wearing skin that didn't quite fit. Every day alone was harder than the one before.

  She'd watched the humans from a distance. They came to the lake often—large beings with loud voices and strange emotions. Some were kind, their feelings warm and welcoming. Others were cold, or angry, or wanted things she didn't want to give. She'd learned to read them, to sense which ones were safe and which ones to avoid.

  None of them had felt right.

  Until him.

  She'd sensed him before she saw him.

  His emotions were... strange. Layered in ways she didn't fully understand. There was calm on the surface—deliberate calm, the kind that came from effort rather than nature. Beneath that, something deeper: grief, old and heavy, but not sharp. Loneliness that echoed her own. And underneath everything else, a current of wonder, of amazement, of joy at simply being alive.

  He's lost, she'd realized. Like me.

  Not lost in the forest—lost in a bigger way. Lost in himself, in his life, in whatever had brought him here. She recognized it because she felt it too: the sense of being displaced, of not quite belonging, of searching for something she couldn't name.

  She'd crept closer, staying hidden, watching.

  He sat on a fallen log with another Pokémon in his lap—a green one she didn't recognize, with a pleasant warmth to its emotions. His eyes were soft, unfocused, not searching for anything. Just... waiting. Being.

  And his mind was open.

  Not in an invasive way—she'd felt those minds before, humans who wanted to grab and take and own. His openness was different. It was an invitation. Come and see, it seemed to say. I won't hurt you. I just want to meet you.

  She'd hesitated at the edge of the clearing, uncertain. Humans were dangerous. Even the kind ones could be careless, could hurt without meaning to. She'd learned that lesson the hard way.

  But she was so tired of being alone.

  She took a step forward.

  His emotions didn't change—still calm, still patient. The green Pokémon noticed her, its attention sharpening, but its human made a small sound and it relaxed again. Trusting him.

  He has one already, she'd thought. A partner. Someone who trusts him.

  That meant something. Pokémon weren't stupid. They didn't bond with humans who hurt them, didn't stay with trainers who were cruel. If this green one trusted him, maybe...

  Another step. Then another.

  She reached out with her mind, tentative, questioning. Who are you? What do you want?

  His response wasn't words—humans couldn't speak mind-to-mind the way her kind could. But emotions could cross the gap, and his were clear: I'm not going to hurt you. I just wanted to meet you.

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  Truth. He meant it.

  She took more steps, drawn forward almost against her will. The closer she got, the more she could sense—the layers of his feelings, the complexity of his inner world. He'd lost people. Important people. He carried that loss like a stone in his chest, always present, never forgotten.

  But he wasn't broken by it. He was still moving forward. Still hoping. Still trying.

  Like me, she thought again. He's trying to build something new.

  She stopped in front of him and looked up. His eyes met hers—or met where her eyes would be, if they weren't hidden—and she felt his breath catch. Wonder. Amazement. The same joy she'd sensed before, intensified now by proximity.

  He thinks I'm adorable, she realized. He thinks I'm special.

  It had been so long since anyone had looked at her that way. Not since her family was gone.

  She reached out and touched his knee.

  The contact was electric—not painful, but intense. His emotions flooded through her, more vivid than before: hope, fear, loneliness, determination, grief, joy, all tangled together in a pattern uniquely his own. And beneath it all, a desperate, aching want: to belong, to matter, to build a life worth living.

  I understand, she thought toward him. I feel that too.

  Something shifted in his emotions—recognition, connection, the sudden sense of being seen. He understood. Not perfectly, not completely, but enough.

  You're alone, she felt from him. I know what that's like.

  Yes. She pressed closer, wanting more of that understanding. I've been alone for so long.

  Me too.

  They sat together in silence, emotions flowing back and forth like water. She learned things about him—fragments, impressions. The people he'd lost. The places he'd left behind. The strange sense of displacement that colored everything he felt.

  He learned things about her too. She could feel his curiosity, his compassion, his genuine desire to help. Not to catch her, not to own her—to help her.

  Partner, the green one had called him. My partner.

  Could she have that? Could she belong to someone again? Could she stop being alone?

  He showed her a ball.

  "This is a Pokéball," he said, his voice soft. "If you touch it, you'll become my partner. We'll travel together, train together. I'll take care of you."

  She knew what Pokéballs were. She'd seen them before, in the hands of humans who threw them without asking, who tried to force her inside. She'd always teleported away before they could catch her.

  But this human wasn't throwing. He was offering.

  "But only if you want to," he continued. "It's your choice."

  She looked at the ball. Looked at him. Looked at the green Pokémon—Sprig, he'd called it—watching with quiet curiosity.

  My choice.

  When had anyone ever given her a choice?

  She thought about what she'd sensed in him. The kindness. The grief. The determination to keep going despite everything. The way he'd waited for hours, patient and calm, just hoping she'd appear.

  She thought about what it would mean to go with him. To leave this forest, this lake, this lonely existence. To have a partner. To belong.

  She thought about her family—Mother and Father and the others, lost somewhere she couldn't find. Would they want her to stay here forever, hiding, surviving but not living? Or would they want her to take this chance, to find a new place in the world?

  I don't want to be alone anymore.

  She reached out and pressed her hand against the button.

  The inside of the ball was...

  ...nothing.

  Not nothing like darkness, or nothing like emptiness. Nothing like the space between thoughts, warm and weightless and safe. She floated in it, feeling the ball's energy wrap around her, cataloging her, claiming her.

  It should have felt like a trap. Instead, it felt like a promise.

  Partner, something whispered in the back of her mind. Not a voice—more like an emotion given form. We're connected now. You're not alone.

  The ball rocked. Once, twice, three times.

  Click.

  He released her almost immediately.

  She materialized on the log beside him, blinking in the sudden light. Everything felt different now. She could sense him more clearly than before—not just his emotions, but his presence, a constant awareness at the edge of her mind. The bond, forming.

  Partner, she thought toward him.

  She felt his response—warmth, relief, fierce protectiveness. Partner.

  The green one—Sprig—leaned over to sniff at her. She flinched, instinctive, then relaxed as she sensed no hostility. Just curiosity. And underneath that, a hint of something almost like approval.

  You're with us now, the green one's emotions seemed to say. That's good.

  "Introductions," her human said. "Sprig, this is Ralts. Ralts, this is Sprig. She's been with me from the beginning."

  The beginning of what? She wasn't sure. But she could feel that it mattered to him—that Sprig was special, precious, the foundation of something he was building.

  I can be part of that, she realized. Part of something bigger than just me.

  For the first time since she'd lost her family, she felt something like hope.

  That night, by the fire, her human played music.

  She didn't know what music was—not really. Her kind communicated through emotion, through the subtle exchange of feeling that passed between minds. But this was different. Sounds that somehow meant something, that created emotions without any mind behind them.

  "Wise men say..."

  The melody was soft, gentle. It made her think of safety. Of belonging. Of being held by something larger than herself.

  "...only fools rush in..."

  She felt her human's emotions as he listened—nostalgia, longing, a bittersweet ache that wasn't quite sadness. The music meant something to him. Reminded him of things she couldn't see.

  "...but I can't help falling in love with you."

  She leaned against his arm, letting the music wash over her. Sprig was on his other side, eyes half-closed, apparently enjoying the sounds too.

  This is what it's like, she thought. Having a partner. Having a team.

  It was strange. It was new. It was terrifying in ways she couldn't articulate.

  But it was also wonderful.

  She closed her eyes and let the music carry her toward sleep, wrapped in the warmth of the fire and the presence of her new family.

  I'm not alone anymore.

  The thought followed her down into dreams.