The morning light slanted through the curtains, soft and golden, spilling across pale walls that smelled faintly of antiseptic and herbs. Beneath that sterile note lingered the earthy scent of kibble and feathers, the lived‑in proof that their partners had never left their side. The Pokémon stirred in little ways — Butterfree's wings gave a faint, steady hum near the window; Pikachu yawned against Ash's side, stretching tiny paws; Doduo shifted in the corner, both heads twitching awake. The noises stitched together a fragile normalcy, as if to reassure them the world had not stopped moving.
Ash shifted against the pillows, a twinge running sharp through his ribs. He drew a shallow breath to keep the pain at bay, his hand pressing briefly against his side. Pikachu blinked up at him, whiskers twitching in sleepy concern. Ash managed a half‑smile, rubbing between his ears. "I'm fine, buddy." It wasn't true, not really, but the lie came as easily as breathing. Pikachu leaned into his touch anyway, as if to say he didn't believe him but would accept the comfort for now.
Butterfree drifted closer to the bed, compound eyes glinting in the light. Its wings scattered dust‑motes that shimmered like gold sparks in the morning glow. The hum of its wings was steady, soothing, like a lullaby that had never stopped since the night before. Ash's gaze dropped then to the faint stains on the blanket — dark patches of broth from the meal Chansey had brought. Worse, the same stains marked both his and Yellow's clothes where the soup had splashed in their clumsy, exhausted hands.
He grimaced. "We should… clean this before it sets."
Yellow followed his gaze. Her expression tightened, and she tugged the blanket higher around her shoulders, as though hiding would erase the mess. For a moment, she sat still, eyes darting toward the window as if hoping the light would distract him. Then, with a small sigh, she wriggled awkwardly beneath the folds until her tunic slid free. Her bandaged fingers fumbled with the fabric, catching on the seams, but at last she pulled it loose. Without meeting his eyes, she extended the bundle toward him. Her cheeks were faintly pink, the tips of her ears red.
Ash flushed too, but accepted quickly, careful not to brush her hand. "I'll… take care of it." His voice was rougher than he meant, and he cleared his throat. He forced himself upright, ribs protesting, and shuffled toward the bathroom. The door closed behind him with a quiet click, giving her the privacy she needed.
Inside, he filled the basin with water, added soap, and set to scrubbing. The motions jarred his bruised ribs, every pull a dull ache, but he gritted his teeth and kept going. His knuckles stung as the rough fabric scraped over them, the sting oddly grounding. He worked through both tunics, rinsing and wringing until the worst of the stains faded. The water turned cloudy, then pale again. He hung the damp cloths over the rail, droplets pattering softly into the basin. For a moment, he leaned against the counter, catching his breath, listening to the muffled sounds of the Pokémon shifting in the other room.
When he returned, Yellow was still bundled in the blanket, sitting cross‑legged on the bed. Her hair was mussed from changing under the covers, strands sticking in odd angles, but her eyes were steady despite the flush lingering on her cheeks. She gave him a small, grateful nod, the kind that carried more weight than words.
Ash laid the damp cloth aside and eased back onto the mattress with a wince. "There. Not perfect, but better."
Her lips curved faintly. She raised her bandaged hands and signed, halting but clear: thank you.
Ash smiled back, softer this time. "Anytime."
Yellow reached for the small slate Chansey had left. The chalk scraped unevenly under her stiff fingers, jagged lines forming crooked letters: A, B, C, D, E. The "B" slanted wildly, one loop stretching like it was trying to escape the board entirely.
Ash chuckled softly. "Still looks like it's running away."
Yellow huffed through her nose, then signed clumsily: trying.
Ash nodded, referencing the book on the side table, and signed back slowly, carefully: keep going. His fingers moved with deliberate patience, each gesture exaggerated so she could follow.
Encouraged, she pressed the chalk down again, shaping a shaky F. The crossbar was crooked, but it was new. Ash's chest tightened with quiet pride. He remembered how, only days ago, she had barely been able to hold the chalk at all.
Her gaze shifted then to the flute resting across the blanket. She picked it up gingerly, her bandaged fingers stiff. Doduo perked up immediately, both heads tilting in expectation, feathers rustling as if they already knew what was coming.
Ash straightened, ignoring the tug in his ribs. "Remember your trill? The one you worked out before the gym?"
Yellow nodded once, lifted the flute, and blew. The uneven trill wavered in the air, thin and uncertain. Doduo squawked — one head stamping the ground in excitement, the other craning, confused.
Ash grinned. "Half the time's better than none."
Yellow lowered the flute, lips pressed thin. She signed again, halting but deliberate: friend.
Ash reached out, squeezing her bandaged hand gently. Her skin was warm beneath the gauze, trembling faintly with the effort of holding steady. Pikachu leaned closer, brushing his tail against Yellow's arm, while Butterfree hovered above, wings humming like a soft applause.
For the first time since Pewter, the future didn't feel like a weight pressing down. It felt like something they might shape together — one letter, one note, one halting sign at a time. The room smelled faintly of soap now, the damp cloths drying in the corner, the morning light still spilling across the walls. It wasn't perfect. They weren't healed. But in that fragile moment, surrounded by their Pokémon and the quiet rhythm of recovery, it was enough.
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They lingered longer than they meant to. Nurse Joy had checked their bandages twice, her expression soft but unyielding, and Chansey had fussed over Yellow's hands until she squirmed, cheeks pink with embarrassment. Ash had been forced to sit still while his ribs were prodded, jaw clenched against the sting, his pride stung almost as much as the bruises. The antiseptic smell clung to them as they finally gathered themselves, a reminder of how fragile they still were, how close the line between recovery and collapse remained.
Not all their belongings came with them. Their packs and spare clothes stayed behind in the small room Nurse Joy had set aside. This wasn't a journey, not yet—just a step outside, a chance to breathe air that didn't taste of medicine and boiled herbs. Ash carried only the Pokédex and a few Poké Balls clipped to his belt, the weight familiar against his hip. Yellow clutched her flute case and slate, the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders like a shield, its edges trailing faintly in the dust.
The Pokémon clustered close as they stepped into the morning light. Pikachu scrambled up to Ash's shoulder, pressing against his neck with a soft squeak, as though to reassure himself that Ash was really leaving with him. Ash tilted his head slightly, brushing his cheek against Pikachu's fur in a wordless promise. Butterfree drifted lazily above, wings scattering motes of dust into the air, each shimmer catching the sun like sparks. Doduo stamped impatiently, both heads bobbing as if eager to move, feathers catching the light in restless flashes. Even Eevee, who had curled close to Yellow's ankles, padded forward with cautious steps, tail flicking as though testing the air.
The city stretched behind them, its stone streets already alive with carts and chatter, the smell of bread and iron and dust mixing in the air. The clatter of hooves and the bark of vendors carried faintly even here, a reminder of the world's indifference to their wounds. Ash didn't so much as glance toward the market square. His jaw tightened, and he tugged his cap lower, shadowing his eyes.
"Not through there," he muttered, voice low, almost swallowed by the noise. "We'll keep to the edge."
Yellow nodded, her eyes flicking toward the bustle of Pewter before turning back to the quieter path. She adjusted her grip on the flute case, her bandaged fingers stiff but determined. The blanket slipped slightly from her shoulder, and she hitched it back up with a small, awkward motion. Together they skirted the city, boots crunching over dirt and loose stone.
The terrain shifted quickly—boulders scattered across the slopes, tree roots twisting through cracks, the air cooler and sharper the further they went. The smell of pine began to replace the city's dust, resin sharp in their noses, and the sound of hammers and wheels gave way to the rustle of leaves and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot. The rhythm of the city faded behind them, replaced by the slower, steadier pulse of the wild.
Ash's steps were measured, his shoulders set, though every so often his hand brushed against his ribs as if to steady them. He kept his breathing even, but Pikachu noticed the subtle hitch each time he shifted wrong. The little Pokémon's ears flicked, tail twitching in quiet worry. Ash ignored it, or pretended to, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.
Yellow walked a half‑step behind, her blanket trailing faintly in the dust. She looked smaller than usual, swallowed by the fabric, but her gaze was alert. Every so often, she glanced at Ash, her brow furrowing when she caught the stiffness in his movements. She didn't ask if he was alright—she knew he would brush it off—but her eyes lingered long enough to make her concern clear.
The Pokémon moved in a loose cluster around them. Doduo's talons clicked against the ground in a steady rhythm, one head craning forward eagerly while the other kept glancing back at Yellow as if to check she was still there. Butterfree's wings hummed softly overhead, scattering faint motes of light that drifted down like falling pollen. Pikachu shifted his weight on Ash's shoulder, ears swivelling at every sound. Eevee padded close to Yellow's side, brushing against her leg now and then, as though anchoring her to the present.
For a while, they walked in silence. It wasn't heavy, not the silence of things unsaid, but the kind that came from saving their strength. The only sounds were Doduo's talons clicking against the ground, the faint creak of Ash's ribs when he shifted the wrong way, and the occasional cry of a Pidgey overhead. The forest edge loomed closer with each step, its shadows stretching long across the path, and though neither of them spoke it aloud, both felt the shift—the sense of leaving one world behind and stepping toward another.
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The outskirts road wound along the city's edge, the noise of Pewter thinning behind them until it was little more than a dull murmur carried on the wind. The cobbled stones gave way to rougher ground, patches of grass pushing up between cracks, and the slope of the land began to dip toward the darker green line of trees in the distance. Doduo's talons clicked restlessly against the stones, the rhythm uneven as both heads bobbed in opposite directions, impatient for something more than walking. His feathers ruffled with each step, wings twitching as though he could barely contain the energy building in his chest.
Ash flipped the Pokédex open, its screen humming faintly in the quiet. The familiar voice was silent, waiting. He glanced at Yellow, who walked with her blanket still draped around her shoulders, flute case tucked close against her chest. "Since he's yours, it won't tell me anything until he shows us," Ash explained, his tone steady but carrying a faint edge of excitement. "So… let's just see what he does."
Doduo stamped, feathers bristling, both heads leaning forward as if he had been waiting for that exact permission. At Ash's nod, he lunged ahead in a crooked dash, wings flaring for balance. The burst was messy, more a frantic sprint than a strike, his legs tangling slightly as he overran the path. Still, the Pokédex chimed: Quick Attack.
Ash gave a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess that's what it is. But… I don't know what note should go with it. That's your part."
Yellow hesitated, the flute resting against her bandaged fingers. The silence stretched, filled only by the rustle of leaves in the breeze and Doduo's impatient stamping. Her lips pressed together, eyes flicking between Ash and the bird. Then, with a small breath, she lifted the instrument and tried a phrase—short, sharp, but wavering. The sound cracked slightly at the end, but Doduo tilted both heads, listening. Then, with a sudden burst, he darted forward again, still clumsy but closer to the rhythm she had offered.
Ash's eyes lit faintly. "See? He's listening."
They tried again. And again. The notes grew steadier, the bursts a little cleaner. Yellow's fingers trembled with the effort, but each time she blew, Doduo seemed to understand a little more. By the time they had walked another stretch of road, Doduo was beginning to respond to the staccato phrase with something that almost resembled control. His dashes were still crooked, but there was intent in them now, not just restless energy.
Later, Ash crouched by a boulder, wincing at the pull in his ribs. He pressed a hand briefly to his side, then gestured toward the stone. "Alright. Let's see another. Try hitting this."
Doduo lunged, both beaks snapping. The strike glanced off awkwardly, leaving faint scratches in the stone. The Pokédex chimed: Peck.
Ash looked at Yellow, his expression encouraging. "Same deal. I can't tell you what it should sound like. Just… make it yours."
Yellow lowered her gaze, thinking. Her lips pressed thin, then she raised the flute again. This time she played a sharper, downward beat, the sound cutting through the morning air like a falling blade. Doduo responded, stabbing forward again. One head struck true, the other pecked air, but the sound of beak on stone rang clear.
Ash's grin widened. "That's it. He's starting to get it."
They repeated the exercise until Yellow's fingers trembled from the effort, the flute slipping slightly in her grip. The rhythm was still rough, but Doduo was beginning to connect the downward phrase with the motion of his beaks. Each strike left a faint mark on the stone, proof of progress.
It was near midday when Doduo, restless and panting, suddenly let out a low, rumbling cry. Both heads dipped, feathers bristling, the sound carrying across the slope like a challenge.
The Pokédex chimed: Growl.
Ash blinked, then glanced at Yellow. "That one's yours to catch."
Yellow frowned, flute poised. She tried a low, droning note, but it wavered too much, breaking halfway. Doduo only tilted his heads, confused, feathers settling. She tried again, this time holding the sound steady, letting it hum in her chest before she blew. The note came out low and even, not perfect, but enough to make Doduo's feathers rise as if he recognised himself in it.
Ash nodded, his voice softer. "Yeah. That's close. Keep it steady, and he'll get it."
They worked at it until the sound of Yellow's low note and Doduo's rumbling cry began to overlap, imperfect but linked. The hours slipped by almost unnoticed—the sun climbing higher, shadows shortening, sweat dampening the bandages beneath their clothes. Ash leaned against a tree when his ribs ached too much, calling Doduo back when he overran the path. Yellow's lips grew raw from the flute, her fingers trembling with fatigue, but she pressed on, each note carving itself a little deeper into Doduo's memory.
When her tune cracked, Doduo squawked in confusion, feathers flaring. Pikachu leapt down from Ash's shoulder, ears flat, as if to scold the bird for not understanding. Butterfree drifted lower, wings brushing Yellow's shoulder in a silent reassurance, the faint hum of its wings steadying her. The moment steadied her, too, and the next note came clearer, stronger.
By the time the road narrowed into the shadow of the trees, Doduo's flanks were heaving, feathers damp with sweat. His breath came in short bursts, both heads drooping slightly, but his eyes were bright with the thrill of learning. Yellow lowered the flute, exhausted but steady, her chest rising and falling with the effort. Ash finally let himself exhale, tugging his cap lower to hide the small smile tugging at his mouth.
"They're not perfect," he admitted, voice quiet but warm, "but they don't have to be. You've got something he can follow. That's enough for now."
Doduo stamped once, both heads bobbing in agreement, before folding his legs beneath him in a rare moment of stillness. Pikachu scrambled down from Ash's shoulder to curl against Yellow's side, pressing close with a soft squeak, and Butterfree settled lightly on her blanket, wings folding like shutters.
Ahead, Viridian Forest waited—cool, green, and full of challenges. But for now, on the outskirts, they had already begun.
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The edge of the Viridian Forest was a line drawn between two worlds. Behind them, the open, sunlit path from Pewter City felt distant, its memory already fading into the haze of morning. Ahead, the trees rose like ancient sentinels, their trunks thick with moss, their canopy a woven ceiling of green that swallowed the light and hushed the air. The forest's breath seemed to drift outward in cool drafts, carrying the scent of pine, damp earth, and something older still.
They sat on a fallen log, letting the quiet settle around them. The bark was damp beneath their palms, cool with the morning's dew, and the wood creaked faintly under their weight. Yellow leaned against Ash's shoulder, her breathing slow and even, her blanket slipping slightly but still wrapped around her like armour. Doduo pecked gently at a loose patch of moss nearby, his movements unhurried, both heads dipping and rising in a rhythm that spoke of recovery rather than restlessness. Pikachu and Eevee kept a silent, watchful perimeter, their ears twitching at every distant rustle, their bodies taut with instinctive vigilance. Butterfree drifted lazily above them, wings scattering faint motes of dust that caught the light like drifting embers, each shimmer a reminder that even in stillness, life moved.
Ash's gaze lifted to the shadowed entrance, and his mind drifted back. The forest had always felt alive to him — not just with Pokémon, but with something older, heavier, as though the trees themselves remembered every step taken beneath them. It was here, years ago, that he had first stepped into its labyrinth and felt himself remade. He remembered the chilling sense of being watched, the oppressive quiet that pressed on his chest until it was suddenly shattered by the desperate struggle to save a life he hadn't even known existed yet.
His eyes dropped to Yellow, at the quiet trust in the way she rested against him, and the memory of finding her unconscious and alone came rushing back — impossibly distant, yet sharp as a fresh wound. He could still recall the weight of her small frame in his arms, the panic that had clawed at him, the vow he hadn't spoken aloud but had carried ever since.
That first journey through the forest had been a trial by fire. He recalled the simple, surprising joy of catching Caterpie, a Pokémon who had been rejected by so many others but had found a home with them, eventually sacrificing himself against the Beedrill swarm to emerge as the powerful and resolute Butterfree. He thought of Pidgeotto and Spearow, two aggressive birds captured in the heat of battle, their ferocity a mirror of the forest's own wild heart. Each capture had been less about victory and more about survival, about proving to himself that he could stand in a place that demanded everything.
And then the stranger memories — the strange, honour-bound duel with the Ronin, a warrior lost in his own time, his blade flashing in the filtered light, his eyes filled with a code Ash had barely understood but instinctively respected. The absurd yet dangerous encounters with Team Rocket, who had seemed like a nuisance at first, their antics laughable, until the laughter had curdled into something darker. They had left scars deeper than he'd ever admit, reminders that even clowns could draw blood.
His chest tightened at the heavier memories. The grim discovery of Yellow's uncle, Wilton, and the sombre weight of burying a man he'd never met, made a silent promise to protect the niece left behind. He remembered the silence of that grave, the way the forest had seemed to bow its branches in mourning, the way the air had felt too heavy to breathe. That silence had never quite left him.
Yellow stirred beside him, pulling him from his reverie. She shifted slightly, her blanket rustling, and looked up at him, her eyes questioning. Then she gestured toward Doduo, who was now stamping his feet impatiently, feathers ruffling as if to remind them that waiting had its limits. Her bandaged fingers trembled slightly as she signed, ready.
Ash blinked, then nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. The past was behind them, but it had shaped them. It had carved them into something stronger, something bound together. It had made them a team.
"You're right," he said softly, his voice firm with a renewed sense of purpose. "We're not just here to rest. We're here for you." He stood, wincing faintly at the pull in his ribs, and offered a hand to help her up.
She took it, her grip steady despite the stiffness of her bandages. For a moment, her eyes lingered on his — not just trust, but determination, a quiet fire that hadn't been there before. It was fragile, but it was real, and it steadied him more than he expected.
Together, with their Pokémon falling into step around them, they turned and walked into the cool, green shadows of the forest once more. The air shifted as they crossed the threshold, cooler and damp, carrying the scent of pine and earth. The canopy closed overhead, dimming the light, and the forest seemed to close behind them like a gate. The silence that followed was not the silence of peace, but of expectation — as though the trees themselves were watching, waiting to see what they would become this time.
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They moved deeper into the forest, the path narrowing until it was little more than a game trail winding between ancient, moss‑covered trunks. The canopy thickened overhead, weaving the light into fractured beams that painted the ground in shifting patterns. The air grew cooler here, heavy with the damp, earthy smell of decay and new growth. Every breath carried the taste of moss and soil, as though the forest itself pressed close around them. A cathedral‑like silence hung in the air, vast and expectant, broken only by the soft crunch of their boots on the loam and the distant, unseen calls of Bug‑type Pokémon echoing like faint hymns.
Ash kept his senses sharp, his gaze sweeping the undergrowth, shoulders tense beneath his jacket. Each rustle of leaves made his ribs ache with the instinctive tightening of his body. Yellow walked beside him with her new flute held loosely in one hand, ready but not raised, her bandaged fingers pale against the polished wood. Doduo's talons clicked against roots and stones, his feathers still ruffled from earlier training, both heads swivelling in restless vigilance. Pikachu and Eevee padded close, their ears twitching at every rustle, their bodies taut with alertness. Butterfree drifted above, wings whispering through the air, scattering faint motes of dust that glimmered briefly before vanishing into shadow.
The sudden crackle of ferns to their left made them all freeze. Pikachu's ears shot up, his body stiffening like a drawn bowstring. Doduo's heads snapped toward the sound, feathers bristling, talons scraping the dirt as he shifted his weight. Yellow's breath caught in her throat; she lifted the flute halfway, her fingers trembling against the bandages, the mouthpiece hovering just shy of her lips.
A frantic blur of purple fur burst from the thicket, darting across their path in a streak of motion.
"Whoa!" Ash stumbled back, instinctively pulling Yellow with him, his arm tightening around her shoulder. Doduo hopped awkwardly aside, talons scraping stone, narrowly avoiding trampling the small creature as it skittered past.
The Rattata skidded to a halt a few feet ahead, its mad dash interrupted. It crouched at the base of another bush, sides heaving with quick, shallow breaths. Its bright black eyes fixed on them, wide and unblinking, whiskers twitching nervously. Its long tail lashed against a fallen leaf, the sound sharp in the hush.
Yellow steadied herself, forcing her breath to slow. She raised the flute, lips parting, ready to play the sharp, clear note for Doduo's Peck. Dody lowered both heads, muscles tensing, claws digging into the earth as he waited for her signal.
But before she could breathe, a hand pressed gently but firmly to her shoulder. She froze, confused, and turned.
Ash wasn't looking at her. His eyes were locked on the Rattata — but not with a trainer's calculation. His gaze was hollow, distant, as if the small purple shape had pulled him somewhere else entirely. Pikachu mirrored him, body rigid, ears flattened, eyes wide and unblinking, his tail stiff as iron.
Ash's grip on her shoulder tightened unconsciously, his knuckles pale. His ribs ached with the sudden tension, but he didn't notice. The memory rose unbidden, brutal in its clarity: the stench of blood and rot in the cavern, the line‑scarred purple hide, the gnawing sound of teeth on flesh. His stomach lurched, bile burning his throat, and for a heartbeat, the forest around him seemed to dissolve into that nightmare.
The Rattata twitched its whiskers again, unease prickling through its fur. It had expected a shout, a rock, a predator's chase. Instead, it found itself pinned by a silence it didn't understand — a boy and his Pokémon staring through it as though it were already dead. The weight of that gaze pressed on it until its body quivered.
With a final, nervous squeak, it bolted. The undergrowth swallowed it whole, leaves shivering once and then falling still, as if the forest itself had closed the door behind it.
The silence that followed was heavier than before, thick and suffocating, as if the trees themselves had been holding their breath and now refused to exhale.
Ash blinked, the trance breaking. His hand slipped from Yellow's shoulder, fingers loosening as though he'd only just realised he was holding her. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been keeping locked in his chest. His mouth curved into a smile, but it was thin, unconvincing, his eyes still shadowed by something unspoken. Pikachu's ears remained low, his tail twitching uneasily, the fur along his spine refusing to settle.
Yellow lowered the flute inch by inch, her hands trembling faintly. Her gaze flicked between them, sharp and questioning. She tilted her head, one eyebrow raised, the silent question clear in her eyes: What was that?
Ash and Pikachu exchanged a quick, haunted glance before both shook their heads, as if to scatter the memory like dust shaken from a rug.
"It's nothing," Ash said, his voice too quiet, too careful, the words brittle in the air. "Just… wasn't the right one."
Yellow studied him for a long moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. She didn't believe him — the lie was written in the tension of his shoulders, in the way his jaw clenched, in the way Pikachu still wouldn't relax. But she could see it wasn't a secret he was ready to share. So, she gave a single, slow nod, accepting his silence for now, though her eyes lingered on him with quiet resolve.
Together, they moved on, the forest closing around them once more. The shadows deepened, the air grew cooler, and the silence pressed closer, as if the trees themselves had witnessed the moment and chosen to keep it themselves.
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The forest grew quieter as they moved, the path narrowing until it was little more than a game trail winding between ancient, moss‑covered trunks. The canopy above knitted tighter, filtering the sunlight into fractured beams that painted the ground in shifting patterns. The air grew cooler here, thick with the damp, earthy smell of decay and new growth. Every step sank slightly into the loam, soft and springy, as if the forest floor itself was breathing beneath them. A cathedral‑like silence pressed in on them, vast and expectant, broken only by the soft crunch of their boots and the distant, unseen calls of Bug‑type Pokémon echoing like faint hymns.
Ash raised a hand, halting the group. Pikachu froze mid‑step, ears twitching sharply. Doduo's heads tilted in unison, feathers bristling, talons scraping against a root. Yellow blinked at him, confused, until she followed his gaze.
There, perched on a broad leaf, a Weedle chewed steadily, its tiny mandibles working through the greenery with patient rhythm. The small horn on its head glinted faintly in the dappled light, catching a shard of sun that slipped through the canopy. Its segmented body flexed and curled with each bite, oblivious to the eyes now fixed on it.
Ash crouched, his voice low, almost reverent. "There. That one's small enough. Bug and Poison type. Do you remember what I told you about matchups?"
Yellow's brow furrowed. She glanced from the Weedle to Doduo, her lips pressing together. For a moment, she hesitated, her bandaged fingers tightening on the flute case. Then she nodded — Flying was strong against Bug.
Ash gave her a small, encouraging smile, the kind that softened the tension in his jaw. "Good. You've got this. Just like we practised. Nice and easy."
Her fingers trembled as she lifted the flute, the wood cool against her skin. She drew in a breath, shaky and shallow, and blew. The note came out uneven, wavering — more plea than command.
Doduo might not have understood the signal on its own, but Ash's earlier guidance bridged the gap. With a sharp squawk, he lunged forward in a messy burst of speed. The Weedle startled, lifting its head just in time to be knocked from its perch.
It hit the dirt with a soft thud, writhing to right itself. Doduo loomed over it, feathers puffed, both heads lowering, waiting for the next signal.
Yellow froze. Her mind scrambled — what was the note for Peck? The downward beat? Or was that Growl? Her fingers fumbled clumsily, her chest tightening as panic crept in.
The Weedle seized the hesitation. With a sharp hiss, it fired a volley of purple needles. They struck Doduo's leg, making him squawk and stumble back, feathers scattering.
The sight of the needles — the hiss, the glint of poison — slammed into Yellow like ice water. The forest blurred. She was back in another place, another time: her uncle's shout, the flash of a serpent‑like body, the same attack striking him down. Her breath hitched, shallow and ragged. Panic clawed at her throat, her vision tunnelling.
"Yellow!" Ash's voice cut through, but faintly, as if from far away. The Weedle turned, sensing weakness, and fired another Poison Sting — this time at her.
"Pikachu!"
A silver flash — Pikachu's Iron Tail cleaved the needles aside, scattering them harmlessly into the dirt. In the same instant, Ash's arm hooked around Yellow's waist, pulling her behind him with protective force. Butterfree descended from above, eyes glowing with psychic light, wings beating a steady, protective rhythm.
Doduo, enraged, charged forward on his own, feathers bristling, both heads snapping.
"Dody, wait!" Ash barked, his voice sharp with authority. One arm held Yellow close, steadying her trembling frame. "Side‑step! Growl!"
Doduo skidded, talons tearing the loam, dodging the next volley. He let out a low, intimidating cry, both heads rumbling in unison. The Weedle flinched, curling defensively, its mandibles clicking in alarm.
"Finish it with Peck!"
Doduo lunged, both beaks striking with a decisive thud. The Weedle gave a final cry before collapsing, unconscious, its small body twitching once before going still.
Ash turned to Yellow, his voice softening, his grip loosening as he steadied her. "Hey. It's okay. You're safe." Pikachu and Butterfree pressed close, their presence a warm shield. Yellow's breathing slowed, though tears streaked her cheeks, her body shaking with small, silent sobs.
Ash hesitated, then asked gently, "The Poison Sting… did it remind you of that attack?"
She flinched, burying her face in his jacket, her shoulders trembling. The answer was clear. He said nothing more, just held her, letting her anchor herself in the present, his hand rubbing slow circles against her back.
When her trembling eased, he spoke again, quiet but firm. "You should catch it."
Her head snapped up, eyes wide with fear. She shook it violently, lips parting in a silent refusal.
"Yes, you should," he said, but his tone was gentle, steady. "Not to forget. You should never forget. But if you do this, you won't freeze the next time. You'll take the power back." He met her eyes, unwavering. "I'll be right here. We'll do it together."
She hesitated, gaze flicking between his face and the Weedle's limp form. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. Finally, with a shuddering exhale, she nodded.
She walked forward, steps unsteady, the flute still clutched in one hand. The Weedle stirred faintly, mandibles twitching weakly. Her hand went to her pouch — then froze. Panic flickered across her face. She had no Poké Balls.
Ash clicked his tongue, half‑exasperated, half‑fond. "Right. Knew we forgot something." He pulled a spare from his belt and pressed it into her hand.
She took it, her grip trembling, the smooth surface cold against her palm. Enlarging the ball with a faint click, she tossed it weakly. It struck the Weedle, pulling it inside in a flash of red light. The ball rocked once, twice, three times… then clicked shut.
The sound echoed in the hush of the forest, louder than it had any right to be.
"You did it," Ash said, pride breaking through in his smile. He clapped her gently on the shoulder, careful of her bandages. "Your first Pokémon."
Yellow stared at the ball in her hands, her tears still drying. For the first time since the panic, her lips curved into the smallest, fragile smile. It trembled, but it held.
Ash's own smile softened, though a practical thought tugged at him. Great. Now we definitely have to go back to the market to get our supplies.