The faint hum of machines filled the incubation room, blending with the soft warmth of its temperature-controlled air. Rows of gently glowing incubators lined the walls, each containing eggs of different colors, shapes, and markings — every one of them carrying the promise of life.
Leyn stepped quietly inside, the faint click of the door catching the attention of the people within. His mother, Rhea, stood near one of the central incubators surrounded by a few aides, checking readouts on a screen that showed the egg's vital data. When she noticed Leyn and Leaf enter, her face softened with a smile.
"Ah, you're here just in time," Rhea said warmly, beckoning them closer. "Come over here, both of you."
Leaf and Leyn hurried forward, Pikachu following close behind but stopping by the door, curious. They came to stand beside Rhea, who was positioned in front of a glass panel that revealed an egg nestled in a cushioned holder, glowing faintly with a soft blue hue.
Small cracks had begun to form along its surface, each one pulsing with light like gentle snowflakes flickering to life.
"This one's about to hatch," Rhea explained, her voice lowering to a calm, almost reverent tone. "We've been monitoring its energy patterns for the last few hours."
As she spoke, the other aides continued working around them — adjusting controls, recording data, and preparing small towels and warming pads nearby. It was a delicate balance between science and care, between numbers and nurturing.
Leaf leaned forward, eyes sparkling in fascination. "So that's what hatching looks like? It's so… glowy!"
Rhea chuckled softly, pleased by her excitement. "Yes, it's a sign the Pokémon inside is almost ready to come out. You see, each egg has its own thermal rhythm. We make sure it stays within safe limits. When that rhythm stabilizes and cracks begin to appear, it means the Pokémon is strong enough to hatch on its own."
She gestured to the screens on the side. "First, we check temperature stability — that's the most important. Then we watch for any irregular vibrations, which could mean the Pokémon is struggling. If that happens, we carefully assist by thinning the shell slightly, but we never break it open ourselves. It has to do the final push."
Leaf gasped softly, hanging onto every word. "So it's like… helping, but not too much."
Rhea smiled, nodding. "Exactly. Just enough to make sure it's safe."
While Leaf continued to ask question after question — about shell texture, energy readings, and even the tools used — Leyn stood silently beside her, his gaze fixed entirely on the egg.
The cracks were spreading now, each tiny sound of click and snap making his heart beat faster. He barely blinked, not wanting to miss the moment.
And then, with one last tremble, the egg glowed brighter — a final pulse — before the shell broke apart with a soft crack!
From within, a small, snow-white creature slowly lifted its head. Wisps of mist curled from its fur, and its crystal-blue eyes blinked open for the first time.
Leaf gasped, covering her mouth. "It's so cute…"
"It's beautiful," Leyn murmured, barely above a whisper.
The aides around them moved smoothly, checking readings and preparing soft cloths, but they didn't interrupt the gentle stillness that followed. The newborn Pokémon gave a tiny sneeze, releasing a puff of cold mist that fogged the glass.
At that moment, the door opened behind them with a soft hiss.
"Ah, I see I didn't miss it," said a familiar, cheerful voice.
Professor Oak stepped in, his lab coat slightly wrinkled from work, eyes gleaming with warmth as he approached. "Well now, what a fine sight."
He came to stand beside Rhea, his expression softening when he saw the newborn Pokémon curled up in its nest of broken shell and frost. "A healthy hatch indeed. Excellent work, Rhea."
"Thank you, Professor," she said modestly. "We were lucky this one went smoothly."
Oak gave a satisfied nod, then turned his attention to the children. "Now, you two — would you like to know what you're looking at?"
Leaf nodded eagerly. "Yes, please!"
"This little one," Oak said, gesturing toward the small Pokémon inside, "is an Alolan Vulpix. A regional variant of the Kantonian Vulpix you might've seen in books — except instead of fire, this one carries the chill of snow and ice."
Leaf blinked, her eyes sparkling again. "So… it's like the same Pokémon, but different?"
"Precisely," Oak replied, delighted by her curiosity. "They share a common ancestry but evolved differently to survive in unique climates. The Kantonian Vulpix adapted to warmer regions and gained fiery attributes, while those that lived in colder, snow-covered areas like Alola adapted to ice."
Leyn tilted his head slightly, curiosity lighting his gaze. "So… which one came first, Professor? Why is this one called a variant, and the Kantonian one the original?"
At that, Oak let out a hearty laugh — warm and amused. "A very good question, my boy! One that many researchers asked for years. The simplest answer is that the first recorded discovery was of the Kantonian Vulpix. So, by historical record, that became the 'original.' But—"
He held up a finger, smiling knowingly. "Genetic research actually shows that the Alolan line shares ancestral traces with the Kantonian one. It's likely that, long ago, a population of Vulpix migrated to colder lands and changed over many generations."
Leaf's eyes widened. "So it's not weaker or stronger — it's just different?"
"Exactly," Oak said, his tone turning proud. "Adaptation isn't about strength alone — it's about survival and harmony. This little one didn't need fire to thrive. It learned to wield the cold instead."
The newly hatched Alolan Vulpix gave a soft yawn, curling its tiny tail as faint frost shimmered across the nest. Both children leaned closer, their eyes reflecting the soft blue glow.
"It's so… calm," Leaf whispered.
Rhea smiled. "It's still getting used to the world. Right now, all it feels is warmth and safety."
Oak gave a small approving hum. "Good signs. No visible defects or breathing issues, and frost release is consistent. I'd say this one is perfectly healthy."
As he jotted down notes on his clipboard, he added with a grin, "Of course, we'll monitor its post-hatching phase carefully — make sure its temperature regulation is stable and it responds well to stimuli. That's what we call post-hatching health care. We check for physical anomalies, observe its feeding response, and make sure it bonds properly with caretakers."
Leaf turned to Rhea eagerly. "Can we come visit it again?"
Rhea chuckled, glancing at Oak. "That depends on the Professor."
Oak looked amused by the hopeful expression on both their faces. "Hmm… I don't see why not. After all, curiosity is the beginning of understanding."
Leaf and Leyn brightened instantly, sharing a look of excitement. The Alolan Vulpix gave another small sneeze, scattering a misty puff across the glass — making both of them giggle.
Oak chuckled quietly to himself as he watched them. *Ah, to see the world that way again… with that kind of wonder.*
He turned slightly toward Rhea, lowering his voice with a smile. "You know, I think that boy of yours is going to grow up to be quite the researcher someday."
Rhea smiled knowingly, watching her son as he continued to stare in awe at the newborn Pokémon. "I think so too."