The trailhead behind the academy was tucked between two slopes, marked only by a weathered wooden post leaning slightly to the right as if bowed with age. Moss crawled along its base like living paint, and the dirt was still dark from the morning fog. A few dried pine needles clung to the post's side, stubborn remnants from a storm days ago. Overhead, the sun had burned off enough haze to let light pool in flickering shapes between the trees, gold shifting over green like breath over glass.
Ash adjusted the straps of his vest and stepped onto the trail first, Yellow at his side. Her sketchbook was already in hand, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the cover, eyes flitting from the trunks to the underbrush with quiet, measured intent. Kris followed without a word, her tablet clutched loosely in one hand, stylus tucked behind her ear. Ethan brought up the rear, whistling softly, hands buried in his pockets, the hum of a tune blending with the wind in a rhythm that somehow didn't disturb the silence, but nestled into it.
There was no assigned guide—at least not one they could see. A faculty member had nodded to them at the trail's edge and gestured wordlessly, murmuring something vague about "autonomous navigation" and a "trust-based observation protocol."
In other words: this was the real test.
For the first ten minutes, no one spoke. The forest did instead.
Leaves rustled above them in a lazy breeze. A Hoothoot called from deeper in the canopy, despite the hour. The underbrush crackled now and then as small Pokémon darted out of sight—bells of Skiploom bobbing gently, an Oddish poking out from beneath a fern, blinking in the light before vanishing. A flock of Ledyba clung to a high branch, shifting as the group passed beneath, wings flicking nervously.
Ash let his senses open to it. Not just sight and sound, but the feeling of the forest. Every step deeper into Johto felt like peeling back a curtain on something old. Not just wild—ancient. Alive in a way that demanded respect.
He remembered these trees—not as specific paths, but as presence. Spirit. There had been journeys here, once. Battles and bonds and memories that did not belong to this moment, but lived beneath it like roots. The stories he'd once lived echoed faintly in their trunks.
Yellow stopped briefly to crouch near a cluster of mushrooms nestled beside a fallen log. "Paras spores," she murmured, brushing a finger through the air just above them. "Not active, but recent."
Kris crouched beside her, scanning the area with a practiced glance. "It likely means there's a colony nearby—probably just east of the loop bend." She tapped something onto her tablet, marking the coordinates.
Ethan leaned on a tree and smirked. "Or maybe you just stepped into their turf."
Kris didn't react, already sketching a dotted line on her map overlay.
Ash chuckled. "Careful, Ethan. She's got that look like she'll triangulate your exact position by footstep data."
"She already recalculated our pace based on the terrain slope," Ethan said, stretching. "I'm just waiting for her to run a weather simulation on us."
Kris stood, adjusting her glasses with a faint scoff. "It's efficient. If you prefer wandering until sundown, be my guest."
Yellow giggled softly, and for a second, the forest felt lighter. The path ahead opened gently, the morning sun lancing through the canopy like gold-tinted arrows.
They kept moving.
Around the next bend, the trees thickened, and patches of sun dappled the path like scattered coins. A Sentret skittered along a branch overhead, eyes wide before it dove out of sight. Somewhere off-trail, a distant splash echoed—maybe a creek. Maybe something else.
Ash paused at a break in the foliage. A tree stump sat like a natural marker beside the path. On it—claw marks.
Fresh.
He knelt, fingers grazing the grooves. "No moss in the cuts," he murmured. "Whatever made these came through this morning."
Kris stepped beside him, crouching to inspect. "Any guesses?"
"Three claws. Clean arc. My bet's on a Scyther or a Weavile."
"Weavile aren't native this far south," Kris said, but not dismissively. "Scyther's more likely."
He rose slowly, brushing bark dust from his fingers. "Then we should keep moving."
Ethan gave him a curious look—not questioning. Just watching.
They reached the creek loop within the hour. It was a narrow channel of water that cut through the base of a hill, flanked on either side by moss-covered stones. The water was fast but shallow, sparkling where the light touched it. A bridge of natural roots arched across the narrowest point—twisted and slick, but strong.
Yellow stepped onto it without hesitation, crouching halfway to peer down. "Lotad," she said softly. "And—oh. There. Surskit."
Ash peered over her shoulder. The tiny bug-type skated across the surface like it danced on silk, its movement tracing spirals in the reflection of clouds.
Yellow sketched quickly, her pencil moving with practiced ease. Kris pulled out her tablet and logged the species with a quiet hum of recognition. Ethan just sat on the edge of the root bridge, dipping his hand into the water, watching the ripples.
"First Surskit I've seen outside Hoenn," he mused aloud.
"They migrate sometimes," Kris said. "When rainfall patterns change. Or when food sources shift."
"Mm." Ethan tilted his head toward the canopy, brows narrowing slightly. "Rain's coming."
Ash blinked. "You sure?"
"Wind's shifting. Feel it?"
Ash closed his eyes. And—yes. Barely. A breeze with more bite. A softness to the light that wasn't cloud cover yet, but promised it. Even the smell of the earth had changed—warmer. Expectant.
"I'd give us an hour," Ethan added, now rummaging in his bag. He pulled out a hooded windbreaker and tied it around his waist.
Kris frowned at her tablet. "Forecast said clear till evening."
"Forecast wasn't raised under Johto trees," Ethan replied with a lopsided smile.
Ash nodded once. "Let's pick up the pace."
They followed the loop southward, the trail narrowing. Occasionally, one of them would pause to document a species or point out a track—long, clawed indentations; crushed leaves in odd shapes; even a broken branch where something had passed overhead. But the mood shifted as the sun began to fade behind thickening clouds. Not dark—just muted. Like the forest had drawn in a breath and was waiting.
The trees leaned closer, or seemed to. Shadows lengthened.
The forest here was older. The trunks wider. The undergrowth more tangled. Strange moss hung like lace from high branches, and the silence between sounds stretched longer.
Ash felt it press at his thoughts—not menacing, but dense. Thick with memory. His skin tingled. He slowed slightly, letting his gaze roam.
"Something's watching us," Yellow murmured.
Kris looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know. I just… feel it." She clutched her sketchbook tighter, as if it might anchor her.
Ash did too. A low, prickling awareness. He glanced at the underbrush. Nothing obvious. But he knew better than to doubt that instinct. Yellow wasn't prone to drama or guessing.
"Could be forest Pokémon. Lots of eyes out here."
Ethan straightened, voice quieter. "Yeah, but some eyes are heavier than others."
Kris frowned, glancing at her scanner again. "If this is a joke—"
"It's not," Ash said, gently.
They paused.
From the woods came a flutter. A rustle. Then silence.
A shape burst from the brush.
Ash moved without thinking, stepping forward just in time to intercept—!
—but it wasn't a threat.
A small Noctowl, barely larger than a Hoothoot, flared its wings and landed shakily on a low branch. Its eyes were wide, but not with fear. Confusion. Disorientation.
Yellow gasped. "It's hurt."
Ash saw it too—a gash along one wing, dried blood matting some feathers.
The forest held its breath.
Then Ethan stepped forward, gently lowering his bag. "Let me."
Kris hesitated, then nodded, stepping back to give space. Yellow crouched close, whispering soft encouragements. Kris scanned the Noctowl—it had a microchip. Part of a research group. Tagged but not tamed.
Ethan worked quickly. From his pack he pulled a vial of potion, gauze, and a small collapsible splint. He moved gently, not grabbing, only touching when the Noctowl relaxed. He dabbed around the wound, sprayed the healing mist, and wrapped the injury with precise, practiced movements.
The bird blinked once, then twice, before hopping slightly on the branch, wings twitching. It launched into the air, wobbling but airborne. The trees shifted as it disappeared into the canopy.
After the Noctowl flew off, the forest seemed to release a breath. The hush lifted.
They walked more slowly now, the canopy darkening with cloud-thick sky. Even Kris seemed subdued.
"You've done that before," Ash said quietly to Ethan.
Ethan shrugged. "My sister volunteers with ranger stations. I helped out when I could."
Ash didn't press, but filed it away.
They stopped near a fallen log as the first patter of rain began. Ethan strung a quick tarp between two trees, while Kris marked their progress on the digital map. Yellow sketched the moss growth on a nearby stump, but her gaze kept drifting to the shadows.
Ash sat, back to a tree, letting the scent of rain settle into his senses. The damp brought out a different scent in the bark and leaves—older, muskier. The kind of smell that didn't belong to any one season, but to time itself.
"Do you feel it again?" Yellow asked quietly beside him.
Ash nodded. "Yeah. Not watching. Just… old."