I lean over the edge of the water, and start drinking along with my littermates. Mom has taken us to the foraging spot with the creek, and I spot the Finneon that swim below us with a smile.

I lift my head from the water’s surface and notice my wavering reflection.

Then everything happens. Faces, names, cities, cars, planes, space, internet, songs, books, movies, podcasts, sciencemathhistorylanguagepoliticsmemesgamessuygewvbhrjcgsuevbjhdfkgdbfkjlsdvihkjs

I stand up.

Slowly, I look back into the water.

I’m a Buneary.

The brown fur, the white fluff, the rolled up ear. I’m a Pokémon.

I knew this already. Mom taught me the word, said it was the name for all creatures. But Pokémon are made-up. I remember them being made-up. I also remember my life up to this point. What is this?

I observe my surroundings. I take in the heavy canopy, dark green leaves letting through only thin spears of sunlight. The sounds of water and rustling grass, the incessant calls of faraway insects and birds, almost overwhelming if they weren’t being muffled in one ear.

I stand there, in a daze, until mom calls us back to head to the nest for the day. I numbly follow my siblings home.

-0-

Eventually, after the night air is filled only with sounds of breathing and the occasional far-off call, I lay awake staring at the ceiling of the mossy overhang under which my family sleeps in a pile. I begin to get a hold of myself.

First, what happened?

I’m not sure. I remember a whole other world, enough for a whole other life, but not who had these memories, what they were like. Whose memories are these?

More alarmingly, my existence is a fiction in these memories, a media franchise. But is it really the same, or just similar? An astronomical coincidence, however unlikely? No way to know for now.

False memories?

Why? Who would do that, could do that, and for what purpose? I’ve yet to see a human in this forest, which I now realize might be Eterna Forest, and although I have no idea how the Ghost or Psychic type actually works, I doubt a Pokémon would do this. What could they possibly gain?

Reincarnation?

I remember nothing of the human who had these memories, if they’re real. No friends, family, face, nothing. That’s normal in reincarnation I think, but not keeping everything else.

Possessed by a Ghost?

I’ve had no loss of control, my thoughts feel mine. If this is a possession, it’s so seamless that the difference between one being and the other might as well be nothing.

So, what am I left with?

I think I have to go with ‘botched reincarnation’ for now, and wait for new information.

Ok, regardless of how this happened, this is the situation I’m in.

What do I do now?

I look out into the forest night, listening to its sounds. The air is warm and fresh. I feel the heat of my siblings around me, soft fur pillows that border on stifling, and our mother. She lays surrounding us in a half-circle, a Lopunny’s absurdly long ears forming the rest of the enclosure.

Option one: Just live this life.

I consider it for a full minute, but ultimately discard it. I know how much more there is to the world, this world, if what I remember from the games holds true, somehow. I’m comfortable like this, but I can’t spend my whole life here. No.

Option two: Get caught by a Trainer.

Immediately the thought feels disgusting, though it takes me a few seconds to actually articulate why. Imagining myself trapped in a tiny ball, on the belt of some stupid child, following their every order, eating dogfood out of a bowl on the ground every godforsaken day fills me with visceral horror.

No.

I shake myself to dispel the image.

But what is option three?

Are there Pokémon in human society not bound to a trainer? I remember many in the games being kept to help with various professions, or even worse, as pets. Some simply roam the towns and cities, surely, as long as they’re no danger. They can’t catch every bird in the world.

Is that it then? To roam the world, passing places by until I’ve seen all I can see?

The thought feels incomplete somehow.

It can always be amended later.

Abruptly I realize I’m being premature. I remember, just two days ago, seeing a Staravia dive down through the branches and spear a Wurmple on its beak, flying away with it before anyone could do anything about it. This world may have Pokémon, but it is not the world of the games, that paradise where everyone eats berries and rabbits are born out of an egg.

If I’m to make plans, I need actual information, not remembered maybes. I also need to be strong enough to defend myself, for obvious reasons.

My musings are interrupted by shuffling in the foliage, closer than the other noises of the forest. I hear footsteps and soft snuffling, like a dog trying to find a trail, before mom unrolls herself silently from our pile and bounds off into the night.

After a few seconds, I hear a thump and the sound of a great weight hitting the ground.

Mom soon returns, hopping daintily into our alcove. She settles back into her protective position, while the sound of whines and footsteps fades into the distance.

Damn.

Ok, first step, ask mom for fighting lessons.

So, learn fighting from mom, then ask about humans. Maybe see if there’s a Route nearby I can observe them from.

My course for the immediate future decided, I give in to my tiredness and finally snuggle back into the bunny pile to sleep.

-0-

“Mom, will you teach me how to fight?”

In the morning we’re led to one of our usual foraging spots, a small clearing created by a fallen giant of a tree, home to juicy root vegetables and a pair of Cherri trees. We share this spot with a band of Kricketot that nibble on a bush of tiny red berries mom warned us away from, as well as a pair of Burmy swaying silently in the soft wind. My siblings immediately scamper to whichever spot caught their fancy today, but I linger with mom to put my plan into action.

She looks surprised, then saddened.

“Already? You have only seen one moon cycle…”

Her speech is composed of soft trills and squeaks, but I understand it instinctually. Some kind of genetic memory?

“Why not just play with the others? It is too soon to be thinking of fighting.”

I shake my head.

“No, I… I want to leave the forest, one day. Not tomorrow, maybe not soon but… I want to see other places, do other things. I can’t just stay here.”

She looks at me for a while. Then back to the others, hopping and sniffing at everything, no concern for their surroundings in their minds.

Eventually, she sighs. “They told me it would be like this.”

At my confused look, she explains. “The Elders at the Burrow, they told me some would leave. You all are my first litter, and I want to do my best, but I am not sure what I should do.”

“The Burrow?”

“Our ancient breeding grounds. I will take you all there next Spring, to meet other Buneary and hopefully find a mate.”

Interesting, but not important for now. Curiosity satisfied, I let her think.

“Can you not just be happy here? You have seen how cruel the world can be. We have predators. Luxio and Luxray prides, Staraptor who appear from the sky in an instant. Are you sure about this?”

I look her in the eye for a few seconds, waiting, to show I’ve thought about this.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

Once more, she inspects me.

“...Alright. I hope this makes you happy, because… Well, I do.” She shakes her head softly. ”But it is only the third moon of Spring, and you are young and small. That cannot be changed, except by waiting. We will train until Winter at least, when you will be fully grown, for a Buneary. If you will leave us for the world, you will leave strong, and return stronger. Understand?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Good. I will wake you tomorrow to begin. Today, enjoy yourself with your littermates. Please.”

Mom bends down and nuzzles my head, and I respond gladly. Hopping into the clearing to eat my fill, I notice she looks at me frequently throughout the rest of the day.

I try to balance on my ears with my siblings, and one of us tries to jump over the other five, in what I’ve come to think of as ‘Xtreme leapfrog’.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

When we finally huddle to sleep that night, I end up getting the most coveted spot, enveloped in mom’s arms.

-0-

The following morning I’m awoken by the sensation of being lifted.

I open my eyes blearily in the midst of a chorus of my siblings’ unintelligible complaints, only to be set on the ground shortly after.

“Wake up, child. This is what you wanted, right?”

I nod, then shake myself awake.

“So, how do we start?”

Before answering, mom looks around the vicinity of our little home. The morning is crisp and somewhat windy, and very few Pokémon approach this spot. For obvious reasons, thinking back to two nights ago.

She spots a Wurmple spitting silk onto a nearby branch, looking like it intends to make a cocoon. I don’t see the face mom makes at it, but it reconsiders, and soon we're alone. Satisfied, she turns back to me.

“Before training, it is very important to stretch. Do as I do.”

I stare as mom begins a standing toe-touch.

This is a surprisingly modern approach.

I feel guilty immediately, realizing I’d been thinking of Pokémon as incapable of this kind of sophistication. Like they were more akin to animals, when I clearly remember what my thoughts were like before the memories. I knew almost nothing, but that doesn’t mean I was stupid.

I swallow my recriminations and begin to copy her as best I can.

With a background of sleepy complaints and snores, we continue our stretches for a good while.

I’m reminded that Buneary and Lopunny can have the Limber ability in the games. Does that work here too?

After hopping on one foot for a while with the other held behind my back while mom stands, holding her pose perfectly still, she speaks again.

“Do you plan on evolving?”

“Of course. Why would I not?”

She shrugs. ”Some do not. Other than the way to evolve, which we will talk about later, there is the problem of what to teach you. If you wish to be a strong Lopunny, you will be a weaker Buneary.”

I think about her words for a bit.

“Is it the ears?”

“Yes,” she nods, “a Buneary’s ears are their strongest weapon, but as a Lopunny, they are too long without a muscle or bone to support them.”

Experimentally, I unroll the right ear I usually keep coiled as fast as I can. It snaps up with a faint sound of rushing air, and I’m reminded of those metallic bracelets that are slapped on the wrist at concerts, only in reverse.

“Our kind’s arms are weak, so we Lopunny use our powerful legs for attack and escape. We will train with your legs if you want, but you will only be truly strong once you evolve.”

I put my foot back down so I can concentrate.

Hopefully I'll spend the majority of my life as a Lopunny. Training a fighting style that will inevitably become obsolete seems wasteful, not to mention dangerous if, later down the line, I happen to instinctually try to use a weapon I no longer have.

On the other hand, I have to get there first. This world is not kind to the weak, and handicapping myself for future gains is also dangerous. There is also the matter of actually evolving, which mom alluded to earlier.

“How do I evolve, then?”

God, I hope it’s not trainer friendship. Please Arceus, anything but that.

Mom gives me an indecipherable look.

“When a Buneary finds a mate, someone they trust to start a family, they evolve into a Lopunny. Usually in Spring, during mating season.”

Fuck. Literally.

“Is that… the only way?” I ask, worried now.

Mom looks uncomfortable at that.

“Well, there is mating that does not result in evolving, and stories from the Burrow about friends evolving, so I think the important part is trust.”

Oh. So I just need to make a real friend. I can do that. Surely.

“Okay, I’ve decided. Train me like a Lopunny.” I fully intend to make sure it pays off.

Mom looks me up and down, then nods to herself.

“Then the first thing you need to learn is how to stand.”

“My… balance?”

“Hmm, that too, but this is what I mean.”

For a second I’m horrified as it looks like mom broke both her legs simultaneously, only to realize she is now standing like a rabbit from Earth would, long, thin feet on the ground, almost sitting. What I thought were just long legs are in fact a digitigrade stance, which makes complete sense looking at how small her footpads are.

She rises smoothly from the position, her ankles straightening once again with her shins so perfectly that I lose track of where the bend is.

I’m going to be spending my life tiptoeing everywhere. Wonderful.

“It is hard to see with your fur, but you are standing with your whole foot on the ground. You must rise to only the pads, and train to walk like that always. This is essential for kicking properly. Many Lopunny grow used to bending only their knees, since that is what we use to walk, but a powerful kick makes use of all available force. Like this.”

Mom adopts a one-legged stance, arms close to the chest and torso leaning slightly back, balancing a raised leg in front of her. It reminds me of an accordion, folded at the knee and ankle.

“Ha!”

A rush of wind sends me stumbling onto my butt, mom’s leg now extended without having travelled the space in-between.

She relaxes into a standing position and looks to me, a smug glimmer in her eye.

“Now you try.”

The rest of the morning is long indeed.

-0-

One Week Later

After tripping everywhere for the first few days, to my siblings’ great amusement, I’m finally getting used to tiptoeing everywhere. I look significantly taller than them too, which they don’t like nearly as much.

We were scouted out again last night, and unlike last time, mom didn’t look satisfied when she returned from her defence. She looked scared. We start our training even earlier than usual.

After practicing what she calls the ‘front kick’, we added standing up from the ground to the training program. Mom was adamant that standing up was one of the most important parts of fighting. ‘If you’re on your back, you die’.

Today, as we finish our kicks well before I’m too tired to move, mom turns to me with a worried look.

“We are going to try a move today.”

I tilt my head. “What do you mean?” An actual Pokémon move?

She thinks a bit, before looking around at all six of her children. “Actually, we are all learning a move today. Everyone! Come here. I have something to show you.”

The rest of the litter looks at her, confused, but soon start hopping toward us.

I turn to whisper to her, “Is this because of last night? You didn’t look happy. What’s happening?”

She frowns slightly, looking to the approaching rabbits, and whispers back, “There might be trouble soon, be careful and pay attention.”

As I ruminate on the possibilities, the other five settle around me, forming a semicircle.

“Alright everyone, watch closely.”

Mom proceeds to carefully roll up one of her ears, a task made difficult by its length and great white tuft on the end, but eventually manages.

“Now, I want you all to think about the strength of your body. The feeling of jumping around, of playing with everyone, that last big hop of the day before you head off to sleep. Think of that strength, that feeling, and pop you ear up as fast as you can! Like this!”

Her ear glows briefly with a soft white light, before unrolling with a crack of air.

“This is Pound, and if you are ever in trouble and I am not there, or you cannot run away, I want you to use it. Hit whoever is bothering you, then run home. Yes?”

We all nod. My siblings look excited, but I’m getting more nervous by the minute. What did she fight last night that made her feel this was necessary?

“Alright, practice on the walls now. Do not hit each other. I will be watching.” She gives us a motherly glare.

Within the hour, all of us have got the hang of it. The move is incredibly intuitive, like I was born already half knowing it.

This is not what fascinates me, however. That honour goes to the faint glow of a Normal type move, the power of Type Energy that I recall from my human memories. At first I thought it would feel like some magical energy coursing through my veins, like mana or chi or something. Instead, it is a faint feeling of strength that suffuses my body completely. It’s so uniform that I had entirely failed to notice it, attributing my stamina to a Pokémon’s natural resilience.

Now, as I instinctually concentrate it on my ear before snapping it open into the wall of our home, I can feel the difference in its density, a faint feeling of tiredness left in its wake.

Mom demonstrated it again for the couple of us who had trouble with it, and I noticed that when she used Pound, the white glow only appeared after she was tense and ready to snap the ear out. Showing it on purpose, maybe? Perhaps better control doesn’t create this light. It does seem like a waste of energy.

Regardless, as the morning ends and stomachs begin to complain, we head out to today’s grazing grounds. Today mom chooses the one closest to home, near the creek where I first ‘awoke’.

She stays vigilant all throughout the day, and I can’t help but mimic her.

Her nervousness is contagious, except for a couple of the litter who haven’t caught on to the vibe in the air. The mood is tense and quiet.

-0-

It’s dusk, the visible strips of sky turning a dull orange, just before mom would herd us home for the night, when it happens. Mom catches them first.

She shoots up, standing ramrod straight, ears up and turned to the woods to our left. Looking where she turned, I manage to spot yellow eyes stalking the grasses between the trees. Too many. And far, far too close.

“CHILDREN, TO ME! Huddle behind me, now!”

My siblings dash for her, as do I, before I hear the scrabbling and panicked squeaks of one of my brothers. He was digging to get at a tuber and is only now getting his head out of the ground.

He’s not going to make it.

The Shinx emerge from the treeline, five of them, followed by a trio of Luxio. They eye us hungrily.

In a split-second, I make my choice. I run toward my brother.

“NO!”

Mom’s scream rings in my ears as I reach my panicking brother and help him up, followed by another voice.

“You three, get the stragglers. The rest, surround the group. With me.”

Three Shinx divert toward us, keeping us away from mom and the others in a line. The remainder begin to circle around the group. In this moment, the three kittens, sparks crackling in their wrists, are the most Intimidating thing I have ever seen.

Brother clings to me, shivering. I think furiously. Run past them? No, all three are bigger than us, and brother would never make it. Fight them? No. Run away? To where? There’s only one safe place, and that’s where mom is. Then… Wait.

These aren't villains from some D-tier rip-off movie. They’re predators, yes, but not evil. Just hungry. All I need to do… is give them something else to eat.

Can I do that? Throw some poor bastard to the wolves just so I can survive?

I look to my brother, trembling in place. Yes.

I grab his hand and turn to run.

“Sister, wait! Where are we going?”

“Stop talking. Breathe, brother. Deep breaths, and follow me.”

My hops have improved tremendously since I started standing on my pads, the jumps longer and faster with two levers instead of one. Brother does his best, and I slow down to let him keep up.

Behind us, the Shinx jump to the chase, their instincts demanding they pursue. Their Leers are mostly ignored in favour of the apocalypse of lightning and impacts that shake the forest behind us.

It occurs to me that strong Pokémon are more like demigods than animals, ultimately.

And those are just Luxio.

Brother and I rush between trees, above holes and beneath roots, this area familiar to us. The Shinx are bigger, faster than us on open ground, but Eterna Forest is anything but open, and they stumble through the unfamiliar terrain.

Finally, we reach our goal.

“The creek? Sister I can’t swim!”

“But you can jump! Mom taught us well and you’re a Buneary, aren’t you? Jumping is what we do! Now c’mon, once we’re on the other side we’re home free!”

He looks nervously at the deceptively deep waters, then back toward the forest, catching a glimpse of yellow eyes. The sound of sparks is getting closer by the second.

He takes a breath.

“Alright.”

“Alright? On three. One, two, three!”

We both jump to the other side of the creek, and I land on soft grass. Brother doesn’t.

“Sister! Help me!”

He scrabbles at the muddy shore, the white fur on his lower body soaked and darkened by river muck.

I hop to take his hand, just as the Shinx finally reach the other side of the creek. Their scowls are thunderous, and the glowing bands on their wrists flare brighter.

I pull on my brother’s arms, dragging him from the river mud. ”Hurry!”

We’re too slow.

The Shinx release their Thundershocks, arcing across the creek, only for two of them to be diverted into the water.

The third reaches my brother, who writhes in agony as the current courses through his body.

His squeals are heartrending, but at least he’s still moving as I drag him back to the grass, only small shocks carrying through our held hands.

We sit on the grass, panting, and watch two of the Finneon that usually live around this area of the creek float towards the surface, only occasionally twitching.

The two smaller Shinx take advantage of the opportunity to swipe into the water with their claws, snatching both fish towards the shore.

The third one looks to his companions, then to my brother, watching him breathe and whimper in the grass. He turns to the creek, looking at the water. Then to me.

His gaze is considering.

The other Shinx turn back to their group, catches in their mouths, but the third lingers a while. His eyes are on mine. I stand up.

He huffs, then turns away, back into the forest.

We sit there for half an hour at least, just breathing. When it threatens to get too dark to find our way home, I help brother up and we walk together upriver, looking for an easier crossing. Eventually we find a fallen tree, dead canopy dipping halfway into the creek, and we cross, balancing on the narrowing trunk. The small jump across nearly lands us in the water again, as brother’s legs seize up from the shock.

When we find our way back to the grazing grounds, it is night proper. The clear late-Spring sky and the light of the moon let us see enough to get by, and we find the remains of our family’s battle. A Luxio lies dead on the ground, skull cracked and leaking. A Shinx is not far away, spine broken and limbs already stiff.

We pass them by without comment.

From there, it is only five minutes until we reach our alcove, even with brother occasionally locking up for a second.

When we’re in sight of our nest, a dark shape dashes through the darkness to envelop us in a crushing hug.

Mom holds us hard enough to hurt, but neither brother nor I complain as she carries us back to the others.

Three siblings await us.

One of them has blood caked onto the fur on the side of her face, deep Scratch marks visible.

Mom forms her enclosure around us, tighter than ever, and her soft keens last through the night. Most of us are silent.

In the morning, when biological needs and the weight of routine force us to rise, she begins a training session for all of us. No one complains.

In the afternoon, mom and I go dump the feline corpses into the creek, to avoid attracting scavengers.