It's dark, can't see. Why isn't mother here, why is she taking so long?
Muffled screams and gunshots from outside. Mother said it would be safe here.
Together they would wait inside. Once they arrived, the army people would let them out.
Kanto isn't safe anymore. They would live in Johto, a nice place not far away.
Rumbling. The train is taking off. Where is she?
He lays down the lantern on the grass. A gust of wind whistles over him. The burial site is not a warm location to visit, but memories of his mother are amongst his most treasured.
Over the past few years he has learned much of the events that happened in his youth, but nothing would set his mind at ease. Why did you leave me? The question wouldn't leave him alone.
His heart jumps as a Sunkern leaps from behind him, settling by the lantern. His instinct is to kick off the Pokémon, disrespecting his mother's grave. But as the Sunkern turns around, he can't help but mirror its smile as its beady eyes gaze up at him. Despite their iconic status as the weakest of Johto, the little seed‐like creatures are known for their happy and carefree expressions under their two‐leaf sprouts.
How a creature like this would find it so easy to adjust to a world so dangerous, he couldn't understand. "No place is safe," he mutters as the Sunkern continues staring at him. Its bright yellow body twitches as a breeze blows past them. The flame on the candle inside the lantern drifts for a moment, before returning upright as the wind quietens.
The harsh, low cry of a Murkrow breaks their staring contest, and he looks up. A pair of blood‐red eyes glow amid its night‐blue body. Its bold yellow beak and talons look ready to tear its victims' flesh apart.
Overcome with an instinct to protect, he shifts a foot to enter a lower and wider stance, leaning forward with his arms above the Sunkern. With heavy breaths he watches as the Murkrow takes flight. It lets out a hoarse cry, and lands on a further branch. Relaxing his tensed body, he sighs and looks away. Common sense would say there's no reason for the two to fight. But then, what reason is there for anything?
Gravestones of various shapes and sizes lie scattered about the hilly terrain. In the distance are a mix of pines and firs, even a spruce here and there. The coniferous outliers clash with the human‐planted sawtooth oaks lying about the cemetery. While fast‐growing for its genus, the species is a grim choice for a graveyard, named for its sawtooth‐edged leaves. Seemingly as disorderly as nature can be, the cemetery showcases how human methods oppose the ways of the wild. He looks up to the sky. Clouds of pure, cottony white move about in an endless sea of a bright, fresh blue.
In the wilderness, there are no rules. There is no pretense. Everything is raw and real. Sometimes, that means brutality. But always, it means honesty. Cunning as Pokémon can be, their intentions are clear. Their instinct is for their own survival, and they don't hide it. That is something he has always admired them for.
His eyes dart around, his feet shift, his body turns. Paths curved and straight, paved and unpaved, some tread upon, others without life. Leaves carried in the wind, the living visiting the dead. Calming his breath, he focuses on a couple further down the hill.
Well‐dressed, they stand before a large gravestone surrounded by a patch of grass extending far enough for a mass grave. Perhaps it's for an extended family, all buried together. What would he know, he has no family. The two throw some flowers onto the grass, and he turns his mind and body back to his mother's grave.
Only the lantern remains, its candle puffing out a pillar of smoke, swaying in the wind. Perhaps the Sunkern had sought warmth, and was frightened away by his sudden movement. The little scene reflects his relation to Pokémon all too well.
The Murkrow preens its feathers on an oak branch. Would such a creature understand the kind of area it's visiting, who knows. Some consider Pokémon little more than tools for humans, while others insist they ought to be seen as equals. As for himself—
A droplet hitting water, rippling its surface. Visualizing the image is a technique taught to Pokémon, helping them concentrate for battle. A calm mind knows its way around its opponent.
But what is his opponent in this world? What is the battle that he's fighting?
Why is it he who ended up living, and his mother who lies below the ground?
Once again he reads the engraving on the tombstone, feeling in his pocket the medal many would be proud of, but to him brought nothing but tears.
Through her outstanding bravery she delayed the enemy in the Battle of Saffron, preventing the capture of key equipment and supplies.