Yua's Point of View
I stood there frozen, my Pokegear still raised, watching my two-year-old son laugh in Phantom's grip as the he spun him through the air like he weighed nothing.
Like he hadn't just faced down a Gyarados and a Gengar without a single tremor.
Most children his age would have screamed. Most adults, if I was being honest, would have at least flinched when Kaijin rose from that pond—twenty feet of coiled muscle and teeth designed to crush cars. I'd seen seasoned trainers go pale at the sight of him.
My baby hugged him.
He walked right up to a sea dragon that could swallow him whole and wrapped his tiny arms around Kaijin's snout like he was greeting a family Growlithe.
And Phantom—Arceus, Phantom. My prankster, my terror, the Pokémon who had made three different deliverymen quit their routes after he'd haunted their dreams. He'd materialized inches from Orion's face, teeth bared, eyes blazing, every ounce of his malicious pranking intent on full display.
And Orion laughed.
Not a nervous giggle. Not a startled yelp. A real, full-bellied laugh, like Phantom had just told him the funniest joke in the world.
What kind of child does that?
I lowered my Pokegear slowly, my thumb still hovering over the capture button, and watched Phantom lift Orion onto his shoulder. My son sat there like a little king, one hand gripping Phantom's pointed ear, his black-and-purple hair whipping around his face as they zoomed across the clearing.
Sky had her beak open. Charles had stopped pretending to pout. Even Kaijin's golden eyes had gone wide with something that looked like disbelief.
Aurora was the only one who didn't seem surprised. She just watched Orion with those knowing crimson eyes, her frost-tipped tails swaying slowly, like she'd already decided exactly who he was.
And maybe that was what unsettled me most.
Because I'd spent two years wondering when the other shoe would drop. When Orion's fearlessness would finally crack against something too big, too sharp, too dangerous for a child to face without breaking.
But here he was.
Hugging a Gyarados. Laughing at my Gengar and Greeting a Pyroar as if he was an old friend.
Not wasn't afraid of anything not even the tiniest bit and I had absolutely no idea how was that even possible.
Orion point of view:
I was so excited I could barely contain myself.
Can you blame me? This was the first time I'd ever seen real Pokémon up close—not on a screen, not in pictures, but right here in front of me. And they were all amazing. Charles with his blazing mane. Sky with her royal feathers. Petal with her stardust wings. Kaijin rising from the pond like a living legend. Aurora with her frost-kissed fur. Phantom zooming around like a purple comet.
I ran over to Mom and threw my arms around her waist, squeezing as tight as I could.
"Thank you, Mama!" I shouted into her shirt. "This is the best day ever!!!"
She laughed—that warm, musical sound I loved—and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me close. Her hand came up to rest on my head, fingers threading through my messy black-and-purple hair.
"I'm glad you're happy, my little cub," she murmured against my hair.
I squeezed her tighter, my face pressed into her shirt, breathing in that familiar scent of lavender and warmth that always meant safety. This was perfect. This was everything I'd ever wanted.
But even as I stood there, wrapped in her arms, a question bounced around in my head like a hyperactive Pichu.
Should I tell her?
I'd told myself I wasn't ready. That I'd wait. That I'd keep my secret a little longer.
But she was my mom.
She loved me. She held me when I cried—okay, I only cried once, and that was when that stupid doctor smacked my butt when I was born. I still hadn't forgiven him for that. If I ever saw that guy again, his ass was mine. I'd have my whole future Pokémon team hunt him down in the woods and make him regret ever laying a finger on me heck I might even join in on the fun for the heck of it.
Anyway. Back to the important stuff.
Mom had given me a family when I'd spent forever with nothing but my own head for company. You don't hide things from people you love. Not the important things. Not unless someone's in danger or it's super embarrassing.
And this wasn't dangerous. This was just... me.
Besides, Mom seemed to understand her Pokémon perfectly. The way she talked to Charles and Sky and all of them—it was like she was having a real conversation. Like she understood every word.
Maybe she had aura. That would be so cool!
Maybe I could convince her to teach me how to unlock my own aura or Psychic powers which were more my style anyway. Heck if the possibility existed to unlock both Aura and psychic abilities? That would be awesome!!!!
I pulled back from the hug, looking up at her face. She was smiling down at me, her purple eyes soft and warm.
Yeah.....I was going to tell her.
But how?
Should I be shy about it? Act all confused? Or should I just be totally innocent—like it was the most normal thing in the world?
I thought about it for like half a second.
Innocent. Definitely innocent. Shock them all and play it cool.
As if Arceus and every Legendary in existence were listening to my thoughts, Petal fluttered over and hovered right in front of my face.
"Butterfree! Butter free free!" (Oh, you are just the cutest little hatchling I've ever seen! Look at you! A total mama's boy! The cutest in all of existence!)
Her wings scattered shimmering scales across my cheeks, and her deep red eyes sparkled with pure, unfiltered adoration.
I puffed out my cheeks and put on my most serious face—the one I used when Mom tried to brush my hair and I was pretending I didn't love it.
"I am NOT cute," I said, trying really hard not to laugh. "I am handsome."
Then I couldn't help it. A giggle exploded out of me, and I grinned at her. "Okay, maybe a little cute."
The silence that followed was SO quiet I could hear a Weedle crawling three miles away.
Mom froze.
Her hands stopped. Her smile locked in place. Her purple eyes went wide and glassy, like someone had turned her into a statue.
Her Pokémon followed her lead.
Petal's wings stopped flapping.
She dropped straight out of the air and landed on the grass with a soft thump, her little legs kicking once before she went completely still.
Charles's mouth fell open so wide I thought his jaw had unhinged. His mane flickered like a confused campfire.
Sky's feathers puffed out until she looked like an angry marshmallow. Her beak hung open, and her amber eyes were round as dinner plates.
Kaijin's massive head rose up from the ground, his golden eyes blinking slowly, like he was trying to do math and failing.
Aurora just tilted her head, those beautiful BLUE eyes narrowing with interest. Her tails stopped swaying.
And Phantom—Phantom actually fell out of the air. Just dropped. He caught himself at the last second, hovering a few inches above the grass, his red eyes wider than I'd ever seen them.
Mom's Pokegear slipped from her fingers.
It tumbled through the air, spinning end over end, and hit the grass with a soft thud.
Being the amazing, wonderful, perfect son that I was, I bent down, scooped it up, and held it out to her with my biggest, most innocent smile.
"Here you go, Mama," I said cheerfully. "You dropped this."
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
"WHAT?!"
Everyone yelled at once.
Charles's roar shook the trees. Sky's screech sent birds flying everywhere. Petal shot up from the grass like a rocket, wings buzzing so fast she was just a blur. Kaijin's bellow echoed off the pond. Phantom's cackle turned into something wild and delighted.
Aurora just watched me with those blue eyes, and I could have sworn she was smiling.
Mom stared at me.
Her hands shook as she took the Pokegear from my fingers. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"Orion," she said slowly, her voice barely a whisper. "Did you just... understand Petal?"
I tilted my head, keeping my expression perfectly innocent.
"Yeah?" I said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Doesn't everyone?"
Mom stared at me for a long moment. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, like a Magikarp trying to breathe on land. I could literally see her brain rebooting behind her eyes.
Then she took a deep breath and knelt down in front of me, her hands resting on my shoulders.
"Orion, baby," she said slowly, carefully, like she was explaining something to a very confused Growlithe. "Pokémon... they can't talk like us. Not really. Not until they reach something called King Rank, anyway. That's when they unlock the ability to speak Terran—the language we're speaking right now."
She paused, her purple eyes searching my face.
"I can understand them because I've spent years with them. And because I have aura abilities, sweetheart."
My brain stopped.
She has aura.
SHE HAS AURA.
My mom has FREAKING AURA.
She opened her mouth to keep talking, but I couldn't help it—the words just exploded out of me.
"That's so cool, Mama!" I practically shouted, bouncing on my toes. "So does that mean you can throw an Aura Sphere like Lucario?!"
I was practically vibrating with excitement, jumping up and down like a hyperactive Spoink. An Aura Sphere. My mom might be able to throw an actual Aura Sphere. This was the best day of my entire life—both of them!
Mom blinked at me. Then she laughed—that warm, musical sound that always made me feel safe—and shook her head.
"No, sweetie," she said, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "I can't do that."
Oh.
Well, that was a little disappointing. But still! She had aura! That was awesome!
Mom's expression softened, and she brushed a strand of hair from my face. "For regular people—and even for most trainers—they don't understand a Pokémon's words. They understand their intent. Their feelings. The emotion behind the cries. But not the actual words, baby."
I tilted my head to the side, letting my hair flop over one eye like a confused Psyduck.
"That's weird, Mama," I said, scrunching up my nose. "Because in the movies, all the Pokémon talk Terran. Like you said?"
The look on her face was absolutely priceless.
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Her eyebrows shot up toward her hairline, and I could see her scrambling for an explanation. It took everything I had not to burst out laughing right there.
I heard her mutter under her breath, "You are too cute and adorable for this world, I swear."
Then she cleared her throat and tried again.
"No, sweetie," she said, her voice gentle. "You see, they're not real. The Pokémon in the movies are pretending to talk, but another person talks for them. It's called voice acting."
I blinked, letting my bottom lip poke out just a little.
"Oh." I looked down at my feet, scuffing my shoe against the grass. "I'm sorry, Mama. I didn't mean to do anything weird." I peeked up at her through my hair. "Should I pretend I don't understand them?"
Mom's hands were on my shoulders in an instant, her purple eyes wide and a little bit frantic.
"No, baby!" she said quickly. "It's not weird. It's just unexpected, sweetheart. That's all." She squeezed my shoulders gently, her voice softening. "In fact, this can be considered a blessing, sweetheart."
My head snapped up, and I let my eyes go wide and sparkly.
"Why, Mama?" I asked, even though I already knew.
I mean, obviously I knew. The Viridian blessing let me understand Pokémon and heal them too—not that Mom needed to know about the healing part yet. That was my secret. My little ace in the hole.
Plus, I felt like I could create some beautiful chaos in the future by revealing that part without a care in the world. The look on people's faces would be amazing.
Mom settled back on her heels, her hands dropping to rest on her knees. She was smiling now—that warm, proud smile that made my chest feel all fuzzy.
"Well, my little Litleo," she said, holding up one finger. "First, being able to understand Pokémon means you'll never misunderstand what they need. If they're hurt, you'll know exactly where. If they're scared, you'll know why. You can help them better than any trainer who has to guess."
She held up a second finger. "Second, it means you can build trust faster. Pokémon appreciate being understood, Orion. When they know you hear them—really hear them—they'll give you everything they have."
A third finger went up. "And third..." Her smile turned almost mischievous. "you'll build strong bonds with your future Pokemon after all Trust comes easier when someone truly understands you, baby."
I bounced on my toes, letting my excitement show.
"That's so cool, Mama!" I grinned up at her. "I'm going to be the best trainer ever!"
Mom laughed and ruffled my hair. "I don't doubt it for a second, my cub."
Then her expression shifted. Her eyes got that thoughtful look—the one she got right before she asked me something important.
"Orion," she said slowly, "can you do something for me?"
I nodded eagerly. "Anything, Mama!"
She turned her head and called out, "Sky! Come here, girl!"
Sky's head snapped up from where she'd been preening her wing. She hopped forward gracefully, her talons silent on the grass, and stopped in front of us with her head tilted.
"Pidgeot?" (What's up, big sis?)
Mom smiled and gestured toward me. "Tell Orion how you like your feathers to be groomed. Talk normally. Just... say whatever comes to mind."
Sky's amber eyes flicked to me. Then back to Mom. Then back to me.
"Pidgeot pidge?" (You want me to talk to the hatchling?)
Mom nodded.
Sky puffed out her chest.
"Pidgeot! Pidgeot pidge pidgeot!" (Finally! Someone who will LISTEN to my complaints! Okay, little nephew, let me tell you something. The way that woman—" she pointed a wing at Mom "—grooms my wing feathers is ACCEPTABLE at best. She doesn't get the angle right. You have to go WITH the feather, not against it! And don't even get me started on my tail feathers. She rushes. Every single time. I need someone with patience, someone who understands that grooming is an ART FORM, not a CHORE!)
I listened carefully, nodding along like I was receiving sacred knowledge.
Then I turned to Mom.
"She says you groom her wing feathers okay, but you don't get the angle right. She says you have to go with the feather, not against it." I paused, remembering the rest. "Oh! And she says you rush her tail feathers. She wants someone with patience because grooming is an 'art form,' not a chore."
Silence.
Complete and total silence.
Mom's mouth was hanging open.
Mom then pressed a hand to her chest.
"I..." She swallowed. "I need to sit down."
She didn't sit. She just sort of... folded. Right there on the grass. Her legs gave out and she landed in a heap, staring at me like I'd just evolved into something she didn't recognize.
I rushed forward, my heart skipping a bit in worry.
"Mama? Are you okay?" I knelt beside her, putting my hand on her arm. "You look like you're gonna faint!"
Mom blinked at me. Then she blinked at Sky. Then she let out a breath that seemed to carry all the air in her lungs.
"I'm okay, baby," she said, her voice a little wobbly. "I'm okay."
Then she grabbed me and pulled me into her arms and wrapped herself around me like I was the most precious thing in the entire world. We tumbled backward onto the grass, and she just... held me. Her arms were warm and tight, and her heart was beating so fast I could feel it against my cheek.
I snuggled into her chest, my face pressed against her shirt.
"Love you, Mama," I mumbled.
Her arms tightened around me.
"I love you too, my little Litleo," she whispered. "More than anything in this world."
Yua point of view:
I held him against my chest and did not let go.
My heart was still pounding. He had repeated Sky's complaints back to me like he was reading from a script. My two-year-old son could understand Pokémon. Fluently.
I buried my face in his hair and breathed.
Think, Yua. Think.
This changed everything. Not in a bad way—in the best way possible. He would never have to guess what a Pokémon needed. If they were hurt, he would know exactly where. If they were scared, he would know why. He could build trust faster than any trainer who had to fumble through trial and error.
And wild Pokémon? Negotiating with them was the difference between walking through a territory and starting a fight. If he wanted to catch a Pokémon from a tribe—or stop a conflict before it spiraled—being able to speak to them was the key.
This was a gift. A massive, undeniable gift.
But how?
I thought of the psychic potential my mother told me about by just listening what my baby was doing. Our family hadn't produced a psychic in generations. But if Orion's abilities were so strong that he could understand Pokémon the very first time he had met them... that level of potential was unheard of.
I looked down at his black-and-purple hair, my fingers moving through it on their own.
Then the other thought crept in. The cold one.
The longer he stayed here—in a house without walls, without protection—the more exposed he was. There were people who would take a child like this. Who would see him as an asset, not a person. A weapon to shape.
I couldn't let that happen.
I couldn't waste any more time.
I sat up slowly, keeping him against my chest, then rose to my feet. His weight was familiar and precious. I knelt and set him gently on the grass.
"We need to go, sweetheart."
Orion tilted his head—just like a little Purrloin, confused and curious.
"Where are we going, Mama?"
I smiled, even as my heart raced. "We're going to meet our family, baby. They've been wanting to meet you for a very long time."
I called back my team. Charles, Sky, Kaijin, and Aurora dissolved into red light. Only Phantom and Petal stayed out—Phantom for protection, Petal because she would have cried if I put her away.
My mother had told me the jet arrived yesterday. It was waiting in a clearing about thirty minutes from here. Close enough to walk. Far enough to be safe.
I didn't tell Orion that. He didn't need to know the details yet.
"Come on, my cub." I held out my hand.
He took it without hesitation.
We started walking toward the forest path, his small fingers wrapped around mine. The trees welcomed us, leaves rustling in a breeze that smelled like earth and growing things.
I looked down at him. His black-and-purple hair was already tangling again, falling across his forehead in messy waves. I couldn't help myself. I chuckled and ruffled it.
"Mama!" Orion whined, swatting at my hand. "Not my hair!"
I laughed and scratched behind his ear—his favorite spot, the one that turned him into a puddle.
His eyes half-closed. A sound escaped his throat.
The purr.
Even now, even with everything, it made my chest ache with love.
I kept walking, my hand finding his again.
Everyone is going to love you, I thought. I know they will.
The forest path stretched ahead of us, dappled with sunlight and shadow. Somewhere behind us, our house grew smaller. Somewhere ahead, a new life was waiting.
We walked into the trees.
And I did not look back.