South of the trails, through a vast forest and hidden from any mundane explorations, there was a village. Surrounding the village were wooden palisades; constructed, reinforced, and occasionally replaced over the course of centuries, they stood proudly in defiance of whatever might dare to challenge them.
To the returning Ralts they were a familiar and welcome sight indeed. Closing in on one of the few gates built into the barricades, she waved to a spear-wielding Kirlia who was on guard. She frowned at said guard's lack of reaction. Why wasn’t he waving back or—oh, he was asleep.
Slowing her pace, she snuck up on the snoozing guard. The Ralts observed him, wistfully imagining her evolved self through his image. All Kirlia looked more or less the same and he was no different: his horns had both lengthened and migrated to just above both ears and his hair now flowed off both sides of his head—under his horns to his shoulders—and over his face, naturally parting to reveal both of his currently closed eyes. His coat had split apart into six wide strips which swayed gently in the breeze, exposing his green legs that tapered down to the tiny nubs that constituted feet. He was currently leaning on his spear, gently snoring.
With a mischievous smile, the Ralts stepped behind a tree, telekinetically picked up a stick, and jabbed him in the side. The guard jerked upright and screeched, swinging his spear wildly. His head twisted around rapidly, eyes frantically searching for what had hit him. The Ralts burst out laughing, falling out from behind the tree in mirth. The guard stared at her, surprised, before scowling, practically radiating embarrassment and outrage.
“Oh you little brat, I oughta whack you!” he yelled, waving around the blunt side of his spear.
The Ralts caught her breath and got to her feet, smirking at the Kirlia. “It’s not my fault you were sleeping on the job!” she taunted, sticking out her tongue. “What if I’d been a hungry Poochyena? What kinda ‘stalwart protector of our walls’ are you anyhow?”
The guard coughed and looked away, his embarrassment and shame fading from the Ralts’s senses as his empathic control restored itself. “W-well, it’s not like those blank-minded mutts come this close anyway! I haven’t seen one all season; it’s not my fault standing out here all day gets boring!”
“Of course, of course,” the Ralts said, nodding along. “Well, since it’s not your fault, I guess you wouldn’t mind me telling—”
“Now, now, let’s not get carried away here!” the Kirlia interrupted, holding his hands up and laughing nervously. He paused, turning a cheeky grin on his opponent. “Then again, I think you might be in more trouble than I am; after all, you’re not supposed to be wandering outside the village without an escort. Maybe I should tell your grandfather?”
“You wouldn't,” she said, gasping loudly. “You’d get scolded for letting me leave!”
“Ah,” the guard countered, grinning like a Poochyena. “I could simply suggest that you climbed a bit of the wall out of my range. How could I have possibly known?”
“Well darn,” the Ralts huffed, grinning at the guard. “You’ve got me there. I don’t suppose one of these,“ she reached into her bag and held an Oran berry aloft, wiggling it enticingly, “would change your mind?”
Quick as a flash, the berry shot from her hand and into the Guard's, the Kirlia already taking a bite. “Mmm,” he hummed, blue juice dribbling into the grass. “Absence? What absence? Never saw her leave, honest.”
The Ralts giggled at the display. “Thanks!”
“Hey, no problem. As long as I get one of these babies, it’s all good.” He took another bite and smiled. “Ah, that’s the stuff. You just don’t get this kinda quality from the garden too often. You gotta tell me where you found a premium Oran bush out there someday.”
The Ralts winked. “It’s a secret~”
“Fair enough,” the guard said, shrugging. He paused, looking at the Ralts curiously. “Though, you’re looking a little scratched up there; anything I need to worry about?”
The Ralts waved him off. “Ah, just had a little run-in, it’s fine.”
“A run-in? With what, a Poochyena?” He scanned the forest behind her. “It better not have followed you; wall duty might be boring but that doesn’t mean I actually want to use this thing.” He nodded to his spear meaningfully.
The Ralts scratched her head, laughing nervously. “Nah, it was...just a Zigzagoon. I’m fine, really.”
The guard peered at her for a moment, then grunted, leaning back against the log wall. “If you say so. Hey, drop a few of those off at the fermenters for me, will you? I bet they’d make a delicious drink.”
The Ralts’s face scrunched up. “Ew, no. I’d like to eat these myself, thanks!”
“Tch, how lame. Whatever. Thanks for the berry; see ya later,” he said, dismissing her with a solitary wave.
“Goodbye!” she waved back, stepping through the open gate. On the other side she was treated to the familiar sight of the village proper. Wooden buildings crafted by generations of families were peppered throughout the massive trees; some alone, some stacked upon each other, and some even resided upon the boughs of the trees, connected through sturdy bridges anchored to the thick branches. Firepits lay scattered in open areas, though most lay cold.
The Ralts wandered down the hard packed road, nodding at other passing Kirlia and Ralts as she went and politely ignoring the flashes of poorly shielded emotion some of the younger Ralts sometimes let loose. She snuck a look at her leafy bag and frowned at the flash of red hidden therein. What was she supposed to do with this? How could she figure out how it worked? They had been trying to hit her with it, but just throwing it at another villager was out of the question. What to do…
She glanced to the side as singing became audible, spotting a cluster of newly hatched Ralts surrounding an older Kirlia. Oh, they were learning that old song. She listened with half an ear as she passed them by.
“–Rust, rock, and rime, were punished for their crime; rust, rock, and rime, locked below for all of time~,” the Kirlia sang, the hatchlings telepathically following along in offkey asynchronicity. The Ralts grinned awkwardly as she passed, hearing more than one hatchling simulcast their own thoughts or rush through individual words. In time they’d learn how to say exactly what they wanted to say, as fast as they wanted to say it, to only the person they wanted to say it to, but for now they’d still be a font of unfiltered thoughts and emotions whenever they tried to speak.
The Kirlia leading the pack clapped, smiling softly. “Well done! Remember, follow my speed, and only say what I say. Feel how I am speaking, and try to match it as best you can. One more time, all together now. Here we go, three, two, one—Once on a mountaintop way up high, there lived a giant with seven eyes wide—”
It was kind of a morbid song, the Ralts mused. She’d always wondered who had made it—were they describing an event, or was it just a fanciful story? She had asked once when she was younger, but the storyteller had only told her it had been passed down. She distinctly remembered the odd, pinched expression the Kirlia wore when she asked her to elaborate.
“It was from someone who isn’t around anymore,” was the only answer she received.
The smell of roasting Magikarp broke her out of her thoughts. Just ahead of her, she spotted several Ralts and a Kirlia standing very still alongside the river that ran through the village, a large fire burning merrily a short distance from the shore. Each of them held a sharp fishing spear and gazed into the waters with a tangible intensity. They could have just plucked one from the waters from afar, but it was said a Magikarp would bring great misfortune if they had time to panic before they were caught, which seemed to manifest in tasting worse.
She spotted a flash of orange before one of the Ralts slammed their spear into the depths. The waters churned for a moment before he raised the spear up in victory, a writhing Magikarp impaled upon the end. Clamoring out of the bank, the lucky fisher merrily began preparing his catch for the fire.
The Ralts spotted several Magikarp already roasting on the firepit. They smelled so good…ah, if only she wasn’t carrying so many berries. She would have to catch one for herself later. Tearing her eyes away, she walked across the river’s bridge and continued on.
Just a short while later, she turned off the main path onto a side trail. Soon enough the Ralts came across a steep grassy hill with a thick layer of vines hanging over a large opening into the rock. Pushing the vines apart, she smiled as she felt the constant breeze that flowed into the hollow. Stepping forth into the entrance of the small cave system, she made her way through the short entrance tunnel and paused at the inner threshold of her home.
Resin candles were scattered across the main cavern, revealing the richly painted walls depicting verdant vegetation, scenes of villagers performing various activities, and a brilliant depiction of the sunrise along the far wall. Tables and chairs made of smoothly carved stone lined the edges, covered in varied tools and clay pots. Alcoves in the walls were stuffed with keepsakes: small figurines of objects or animals carved out of stone and wood, intricately woven fiber tapestries dyed in myriad colors, ancient spears that still gleamed in the firelight and countless other trinkets. In the center of the room was an ignited fire pit, the smoke lazily curling towards a shaft carved into the ceiling long ago. A metal pot was situated on a sculpted stone platform above the fire, water coming to a boil within.
Spotting movement from the side, the Ralts made to go forward but hesitated when her eye caught the red gleam from her bag. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to carry around proof that she had been out of bounds. She’d just have to ask about it subtly. Removing the sphere, she hid it behind a few clay jars on a nearby table.
“Grandpa!” she called, “I’m back!”
As she entered the room fully, the Ralts spotted her grandfather near the left wall, partially hidden by some shelves. A Kirlia edging into his fading years, his green hair had paled and wrinkles decorated his coat and face, though his eyes were as sharp as ever. He stood on top of a stool, a collection of bowls full of pigment hovering around his waist, with another in one hand and a brush in the other. Behind him was an in-progress depiction of the night sky, particularly the grand cloud of light that streaked its way across the heavens in its full, moonless glory. His face brightened when she came into view and he stepped down, leaving his tools on a table.
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“Welcome back!” he greeted warmly, drawing close and hugging the Ralts. He pulled back and looked down at her, smiling. “Did you get the berries?”
She held up her haul with a grin. “The best I could find!”
Her grandfather's eyes sparkled as he inspected them. “Oh, well done! They are simply magnificent. I must say, your diligence is quite inspiring; I could spend an entire day in the gardens and not find more than a handful of this quality.”
The Ralts giggled, blushing. “It’s no big deal, really! But, uh, are we really making jam today?”
“Indeed,” he said, bringing the berries over to a different table where numerous bowls and jars lay waiting.
The Ralts pouted. “Aw, that takes forever. Can’t we just roast them?”
“Now now,” her grandfather chided, “let’s not be impatient. It is important to make preserved food even this early in the season. Poor yields could strike at any moment, after all, not to mention the winter. Besides, you love jam.” He paused, frowning. Reaching out, he began examining his granddaughter closely, turning her head this way and that much to her confusion. “Did you have any trouble in the field? You look a little battered.”
“Ah,” the Ralts grinned nervously. “I tripped down a hill. It’s nothing, really.”
“You should be more careful,” he admonished, “Still, I am glad you are unharmed. Now, would you like to help me crush the berries?”
“Sure!”
With a thought, her grandfather levitated a few bowls and jars off their shelves. Sitting down, the elderly Kirlia spread the Oran into a small pile.
“Now,” he began, “you’ve been proving yourself quite adept at providing enough power to crush the berries, so I would like you to try to work on your control by reducing the splatter.” Levitating one of the berries, he demonstrated by forming a sphere of psychic power around the fruit, which shrank down and twisted until it was naught more than mush. “Do you see how I fully enclose the fruit in a shell? Try to copy how I did it.”
“Mm!” She took a berry of her own, and concentrated. A flickering shell surrounded it, and it began to shrink. Grinning, she squeezed down. The shell and berry both promptly exploded, showering the area with pulp. The Ralts shrieked in surprise, scrubbing the sticky fluid off her face.
“A bit too much force, I think,” her grandfather chuckled, setting down a small mass of berry remnants. “Ah, you’ve got juice all over your face. Hold still for a moment,” he said, kneeling down and wiping his granddaughter's face with a brush and some water.
The Ralts stood there, face scrunched up as he gently cleaned the juice off. “Sorry…” she mumbled.
“Oh, it’s no worry, my dear. Everyone makes mistakes, especially when they are learning.” He put the brush down and patted her on the head. “Why, I’d say that making mistakes is the foundation of learning.”
“Eh?” she blinked at him. “Why? Wouldn’t it be better if everyone got it right on the first try?”
“Perhaps in some respects, but never making a mistake leaves one sorely unprepared for when you or someone else does. Set yourself too rigidly to a process and you might find yourself breaking when it fails.”
“It’s still embarrassing,” she grumbled. “You do it so effortlessly, and all I can do is make a mess.”
“Then make a small mess,” he said, squeezing another berry into slush. “Then a smaller mess, and an even smaller mess, and eventually there will be no mess at all. That is the secret to progress.”
“Hmm.” She frowned, staring at the berry pile. Sitting up, she reached out for another. She had used too much force last time; if she just held onto it tighter, then…
Well, it still exploded, but this time it only hit the table. She grinned.
Some time later, the Oran berries had all vanished, transformed into an indiscriminate blue slurry. The Ralts wiped a stray globule of fruit off her hair, grimacing. While she hadn’t yet perfected the art, there were fewer accidents than last time. But that didn’t make them any less troublesome to clean up.
Humming and kicking the air idly, the Ralts watched her grandfather prepare the mixture for the long boil. It wasn’t very interesting, and her thoughts wandered to and fro until she remembered the little red ball hidden near the door. She bit her lip anxiously. Question after question crossed through her mind, tempered only by the looming threat of discovery. If her Grandpa found out she was out of bounds...but, there was no other way to know. If she didn’t do it now, when would she? Now or never.
“Hey Grandpa?” she called, “do you know anything about humans?”
Her grandfather looked up from the table, bafflement written across his face. “Humans?” he repeated, “Well, I suppose I do, but why the sudden interest?”
“Ah, one of the Kirlia in the garden was talking about them,” she said. “They said that they, uh…went wandering around outside and saw one from a distance?”
Her grandfather's eyes widened. “Oh dear, have the protections faded that quickly? To think they’ve gotten so close…I’ll have to talk to the other elders about this.” He set down a jar, lost in thought. A moment later he blinked, turning back to his granddaughter. “Well, I suppose a quick lesson would be in order. If they are coming closer…yes, it wouldn’t do for you to go wholly uninformed. Just give me a moment to put this batch in.”
He fretted over the metal pot for a moment, pouring in mashed Oran and a handful of other things, then put another log on the fire and rearranged them for a more even burn. Task finished, he turned back to the Ralts and sat across from her, humming. “Humans…hunters, explorers, trainers…was there anything in particular you wanted to know about first?”
The Ralts blinked. “What’s a trainer?” she asked. The term sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
The elderly Kirlia let out a short bark of laughter. “Hah, it seems you haven’t been paying attention to many of your lessons, have you? Ah, to be so carefree again.” He shook his head, smiling gently. “Mmm. Trainers are a specific type of human that wander the wilds searching for creatures to capture.”
That seemed to match with what the boy in the forest was doing. “Why do they do that? Is it like hunting?”
Her grandfather shook his head. “Not quite. While a hunter would prepare his catch for food and material, a trainer would keep his capture alive and take it with them. They use these small red and white spheres called pokeballs to do this. I do not know what becomes of the creatures, but most commonly they are made to fight other Pokemon, either in the wild or owned by a different trainer.”
“I see…” So if she hadn’t dodged, she would be living with that green-haired human boy right now? Living and fighting on his behalf…a cold feeling crept over her. Gramps wouldn’t have known. What would he have done if she had never come back home?
She chewed on her lip and gazed at the ceiling. The celestial artwork above flickered in the firelight. “Why…why would they do all of that?”
“It’s a bit of a mystery. Though when I was young, I often happened to overhear a myriad of conversations humans held on the trails.” He tapped his hand on the table absentmindedly. “As far as I can remember, having strong Pokemon was a mark of prestige, with the strongest trainer becoming a ‘Champion.’”
The Ralts tilted her head. “Is that like a really important elder?”
“It might be. Who can say for certain? The title certainly seemed to be said with a sort of reverence. In any case, it is because of trainers that we must hide in our little corner of the world. But dear me, I’m parched. Would you like me to warm up some Oran juice?” At her affirmative, her grandfather reached out, taking an ancient stone kettle off the fire pit. Two cups joined it in short order, and were soon filled with a steaming brew.
The Ralts frowned, gently blowing the heat off. “We have to hide because of the trainers?”
“Oh yes,” he said, pausing to take a sip. “If they knew we were here, I imagine they would flock from the very ends of the world to capture us; our psychic potential would be far too great a temptation to ignore. And so we hide.”
“Oh…” She frowned into her cup. That was…she couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life like that; subordinate to a random human and made to fight at their call. “From the ends of the earth?” she muttered, “Like, beyond the ocean and the forest?”
“Mmm. There are humans across the entire region, and even further beyond. I’d imagine the trainers would travel to all sorts of places to challenge one another. It hardly concerns us, though.”
Oh wow. She’d hardly traveled past the trails; she’d only spent time around the village. Was the world truly that big?
“...What are they like?”
Her grandfather blinked. “Excuse me?”
“What are the humans like? Do they have a village like us? What do they eat?” she asked, staring intensely.
“Er,” her grandfather grunted, looking surprised. “Please, little one, slow down a bit. I can’t say I rightly know the answers to those questions. I’ve only been able to overhear a few conversations, and none that detailed.” He took another sip of his drink. “They do have a settlement like ours; multiple, in fact. Much larger, and called ‘cities.’ As far as I am aware, there are two to the northeast and one large one to the northwest. But does it truly matter what they are like? We cannot interact with them, or we will be discovered and captured.“
The Ralts stared at him, aghast. How could he not even be a little curious? These humans who defined so much of what they could or couldn’t do…shouldn’t they learn more about them?
She wanted to know. She wanted to see. The mysterious places beyond the ocean and the forest… What were they like? If her grandfather didn’t know, then who else could she possibly ask?
“Mmm,” her grandfather hummed, shaking her out of her thoughts. “I ought to gather the elders for a meeting. I think our brief lesson is over, for now. Is that alright?”
“Ah! Yes, I was just getting hungry anyway,” the Ralts said, hopping off her chair.
“Very well. Ah drat, I forgot about the jam. I’ll need to finish the batch or I'll waste perfectly good Oran.” Her grandfather looked back at her. “Dinner might be a bit dull this evening. Will you be okay with garden berries?”
The Ralts shook her head. “I can just get a Magikarp from the river.”
He nodded, turning to the boiling pot. “Fair enough. Be back before dark!”
She promised to try, and moved towards the exit—glancing at her hiding place as she passed. It was safe enough, she decided. Stepping outside, she blocked the noon day sun’s rays with a hand. The village lay in a familiar sprawl before her.
Familiar, but...it had been her home for all her life, and she’d never stepped beyond the trails. What else was out there, beyond the edge of what she’d always known?
Striding past the river, the firepit, and the singing hatchlings, the Ralts strode through the gate, fire blazing in her heart. The guard blinked at her, his brow furrowing. “What, are you going out again? That’s unusual.”
“It’s important,” she said, walking past him. “I might be out for a bit longer than normal.”
The guard squinted at her. “...Well, okay then. But I better get extra for this! If you’re in trouble, you know where the patrols are, right?”
She nodded, passing him by without a second glance. “I’ll be fine.”
She departed the village, heading ever deeper into the woods. Questions and longing coiled together in her gut, a burning curiosity taking root in her soul. If her grandpa couldn’t answer her questions, she would just have to find the answers herself.
There was a human city to the northwest. Maybe there she would find the answers she sought.