The first light of dawn spilled like liquid gold across the glade.
Nina was already up—boots scuffed, hair in a hurried braid, eyes bright with anticipation.
Shinx paced excitedly beside her, its tail crackling with tiny bolts that lit up the ground beneath their feet.
The Watcher stood across the clearing, arms folded. Silent. As always.
But today, he was not alone.
"Training isn't play," he said, voice low and even.
"I know," Nina answered, gripping her wristband, already syncing her pulse with the energy within it.
"Then you'll understand this: potential means nothing without control."
He lifted a hand and beckoned.
From the brush emerged a Luxray—its black mane rippling, eyes glowing faintly yellow with the weight of experience.
Nina's jaw dropped. Shinx froze in place, tail twitching once.
"This is Tharion," the Watcher said. "He's one of the Garden's elders. He'll oversee Shinx's growth… and test yours."
Luxray stepped forward with quiet pride, bowing its head toward Nina before locking eyes with the small Shinx.
Shinx, to its credit, didn't back down.
It sparked brighter.
Bristled taller.
It growled.
The Watcher allowed the moment to settle.
"Begin."
Luxray didn't attack.
Instead, it ran.
A flash of lightning.
Shinx hesitated, then chased.
The clearing turned to a blur—Nina watching as her new partner struggled to catch up, throwing stray bolts that fizzled midair or scorched the grass.
"Why's he running?" she asked.
"To teach frustration," the Watcher replied. "To teach patience."
Shinx stumbled, then stood again, tail now pulsing with a steadier glow.
Nina stepped forward.
"You can do it!" she shouted. "Focus—aim where he'll be, not where he is!"
The next bolt hit just ahead of Luxray's paw. It paused.
Turned.
And smiled.
Shinx beamed.
As the training continued, the Watcher turned his eyes to the larger Garden beyond the glade.
The wild serenity he'd once maintained was beginning to shift—becoming something more structured.
Something alive with purpose.
Too many young Pokémon had begun to gather in this space.
Too many now looked to him.
And so, he began to assign them.
One by one.
He gathered the strongest of each typing—the ones who had stood through storm and flame—and named them Leads.
Tharion, the Luxray – Lead of the Electric type.
Hearthmaw, a grizzled Arcanine – Lead of the Fire.
Auralis, the calm Gardevoir – Lead of the Psychic.
Torrenthide, a Swampert with scars older than memory – Lead of the Water.
Brambleshard, the silent Chesnaught – Lead of the Grass.
Silentsky, a graceful Noivern – Lead of the Flying.
Drakthorne, a sleeping but dangerous Hydreigon – Lead of the Dragon.
Each Lead would train, discipline, and nurture their type's young—building the Garden not as a sanctuary alone, but as a foundation for something greater.
The Pokémon respected it.
They moved like streams flowing into new rivers—each path clearer now than before.
The Garden was no longer just a place of rest.
It was becoming a fortress.
A school.
A kingdom in waiting.
By noon, Shinx collapsed into Nina's arms—sweaty, purring, sparks now buzzing in deliberate rhythm rather than flares of wildness.
Luxray sat nearby, nodding slowly.
"You did good," Nina whispered to Shinx, brushing fur from its eyes.
"Not enough," the Watcher murmured. "But it's a beginning."
He watched Nina rub her sore arms, help Shinx drink from a crystal-clear stream, and lie down in the grass as clouds passed overhead.
Her smile was tired.
But real.
In the high branches of a far tree, Mew hovered again.
Unseen.
Unfelt.
But the Watcher knew.
He didn't look up.
Didn't acknowledge it.
But deep inside, something stirred.
That familiar pressure.
Something was watching them all.