Chapter 1 — Rebirth
Arin became aware of the world in pieces rather than all at once.
Light came first, pale and steady, filtering through a tall window and spreading across the room in wide, unmoving bands. It did not hurt his eyes, nor did it overwhelm him; it simply existed, warm and constant, as though it had been there long before he noticed it. The room itself was unfamiliar yet calm, filled with the quiet hum of machines and the muted rustle of fabric and movement.
He realized, slowly, that he was being held.
The arms around him were careful but firm, the sort of hold that spoke of exhaustion mixed with determination. A woman's face hovered above him, framed by dark hair that had escaped whatever attempt had been made to keep it neat. Her eyes were red, not from illness, but from long hours without sleep, and when she noticed his gaze focusing on her, her expression shifted instantly into something softer, brighter.
"He's awake," she said, her voice unsteady with relief. "Look he's really awake."
Another figure moved into view, taller and broader, his presence filling the space beside her without effort. He rested one hand lightly against the edge of the bed, leaning in just enough to study Arin with quiet attention. His face was calmer, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed how closely he had been holding himself together.
"That's good," the man replied. "He's alert. Quicker than they expected."
"And his name?" the doctor asked, glancing down at the chart in his hands.
"Arin," his father said without hesitation.
"Arin," his mother repeated softly, as if there had never been another option.
Arin did not understand the words, but he understood the meaning behind them. Concern. Relief. A cautious hope.
He tried to move, and his fingers responded clumsily, curling and uncurling with a delay that felt strange rather than frightening. His body was small far smaller than it should have been and every breath came shallow and quick, driven by instincts that were not yet his own. It should have unsettled him.
Instead, a quiet certainty settled in his mind.
He was alive.
Not in the way one wakes from sleep, nor in the way one survives an accident. This was something deeper, more absolute. Existence itself felt newly assigned, as though he had stepped across a boundary that could not be crossed again.
Memory followed soon after.
Not in fragments or flashes, but whole and intact. Another life. Another world. Screens glowing late into the night, hands wrapped around a controller, stories read and reread until the words blurred together. Pokémon battles watched from a distance, regions explored only through imagination, and a familiar thought that had always lingered beneath it all: What would it be like to be there?
The answer surrounded him.
A sharp, chirping sound cut through the low conversation in the room, drawing his attention immediately. It came from nearby, light and curious rather than distressed, followed by a flutter of movement along the windowsill.
A Starly hopped there, tilting its head as it watched the room with bright, alert eyes.
Arin's breath caught.
Not because of fear, and not because of surprise alone, but because of the weight of reality settling fully into place. This was not an image on a screen or a passing detail in a story. The Starly was real, its feathers ruffling as it shifted its stance, its gaze sharp and intelligent in a way no animation had ever truly captured.
The woman holding him noticed the change at once. "Easy," she murmured softly, adjusting her grip. "It's alright. You're safe."
"He noticed the Starly," the man said quietly, following Arin's line of sight. "That's interesting."
"It's been hanging around all morning," she replied. "Wouldn't leave the window."
The Starly chirped again, wings flicking as if in response, and Arin felt something warm settle in his chest. This world did not separate humans and Pokémon into distant roles. They shared space. They shared moments. They existed together without question.
And now, so did he.
The man exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing at last. "He seems calm," he said. "That's a good sign."
Arin could not speak. He could not smile properly, nor reach out toward the bird that had captured his attention so completely. But inside, something eased, something that had never truly been tense to begin with.
There was no fear here. No doubt. No sense of loss.
Only certainty.
This world was not unfamiliar. It was simply closer than it had ever been before.
As his parents' voices continued around him and the Starly eventually took flight from the windowsill, Arin allowed the last trace of disbelief to fade. There was nothing left to question, nothing left to confirm.
He was here.
Born into the Pokémon world, not as a visitor, but as part of it.
And for the first time since opening his eyes, he felt it completely quietly and undeniably.
He had never been happier.