Lavender Town announces itself not with words, but with silence. A dense, reverent silence, like the whisper of someone unwilling to disturb the dead.
Located on the eastern slopes of the Kanto Rocky Mountains, the small village rises amid a valley shrouded in a perennial mist, a cold, violet haze that never completely dissipates, even at midday. The sun seems to avoid Lavender Town; when it does appear, it is pale, almost sickly, filtered by low-lying clouds as if the sky itself were in mourning.
The houses are simple and old, made of darkened wood and lilac slate roofs that drip with dew even on dry days.
No buildings are tall, as if people are afraid to build anything that surpasses the shadow of the Pokémon Tower, the city's most imposing structure and, in a way, its soul. The tower, made of gray stone covered in greenish moss, rises in the center of the town like a bony finger pointing to the sky. Its funeral bells toll at dusk, echoing throughout the valley in long, hollow notes.
The streets are uneven cobblestone, covered in lichen and moss in the less-trafficked areas. Every footstep seems to echo louder than it should, as if the city amplifies soft sounds and muffles every scream.
The gaslights, lined symmetrically, glow with a faint blue glow as dusk falls. There are no spotlights, no neon lights. Just the slow crackle of flames and the sound of the wind rustling among the ancient tombstones in the cemetery next to the Tower.
Lavender Town smells of wet earth and burning incense, dried herbs that residents place in front of their houses as offerings to the spirits of departed Pokémon. These aromas mingle with a faint metallic odor coming from inside the tower, perhaps from the bronze statues corroded by time, or perhaps from something less explicable.
Small prayer flags with kanji inscriptions are attached to the doors, fluttering gently. The superstition here isn't folklore: it's daily practice.
Few Pokémon roam freely on the streets. Those that do are silent and small, watchful-eyed Meowths, Gastlys that float near the towers, or the occasional heavy-eyed Cubone. Trainers rarely stay for long; those who do visit usually only come to pay their respects or bury companions.
Those who remain are eccentric, introverted, or deeply spiritual, channelers, monks, students of the paranormal.
Inside the Pokémon Tower, the air is different: denser, heavier, with an almost tangible energy that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Each floor is covered in ancient tatami mats and self-swaying paper lanterns. Tombstones are arranged in concentric circles, bearing offerings left by visitors: dead flowers, bells, portraits of deceased Pokémon, small toys. Murmurs fill the air, but it's impossible to identify their source. They seem to emerge from the walls.
At night, Lavender Town transforms. The veil between worlds seems to thin, and the mist takes on a faint lavender glow, as if the town were breathing. The winds sing like the voices of a distant choir.
Some claim to see figures walking the streets, ownerless shadows, translucent forms of ancient Pokémon and trainers who never truly departed. But no one comments. No one asks questions. In Lavender Town, respect is the only immutable rule.
Lavender isn't a city for the living, it's a city where the dead rest, and the living learn to listen. Those who pass through it never leave the same. There are too many memories in the air. There are too many ghosts in the eyes of those who remain.
The residents of Lavender Town are unique, adapted to the city's special reality. Among many, few didn't have profound stories behind them.
Tomoaki Watanabe is the owner of the local grocery store, a middle-aged man with thinning gray hair always covered by a worn cap. He wears a flour-stained apron and has calloused fingers from unloading boxes alone.
Despite his tired expression, he's kind to everyone and keeps sweets for the village children. His shop is small, with creaky wooden shelves, but it's the quiet heart of the town, where everyone meets at some point.
Sayaka Hoshino, 17, works as an assistant at Mr. Fuji's Volunteer Home. Tall, thin, and shy, she ties her dark brown hair in a side braid. She almost always wears the shelter's blue uniform. She lost her parents in an accident and was raised by Mr. Fuji. She has a calm and caring manner with orphaned Pokémon, especially Ghost-type ones. She writes constantly in a notebook that she never lets anyone read.
Riku Tanaka, the town's postman, is 26 years old and has a slender build. He wears the faded red uniform of the Kanto Postal Company and rides his bicycle constantly, even on days of thick fog. He has small, sleepy eyes and an air of someone who's seen more than he'd ever wanted. Rumor has it he once delivered a letter to someone who was dead. He only smiles when asked.
Haruka Ishii is a teacher at Lavender Elementary School, a woman in her 40s with her hair tied in a messy bun and glasses that slide down her nose. Her voice is firm but affectionate. She teaches a few children in a simple classroom with walls covered in children's drawings and Pokémon clippings. She is considered one of the town's few optimistic figures, though she always has a distant look, as if she lives with longing.
Daisuke Morimoto, a mechanic and electrician, is 52 years old, unshaven, and has large, always greasy hands. He works in a small workshop behind his house, where he repairs radios, flashlights, and even Pokédexes of ancient travelers. He always wears gray overalls and heavy boots. He speaks little but listens well. He says that broken devices "retain echoes" and sometimes, when he turns them on, he hears voices that shouldn't be there.
Emiko Arai, 68, is the town florist. She tends a small garden next to the Pokémon Tower, where she grows purple, white, and blue flowers, all chosen for their "spiritual significance." She has gray hair tied back in a floral scarf and hands as delicate as antique paper. Emiko talks to her plants as if they were childhood friends. She often prepares arrangements for funerals, but also delivers bouquets "to soothe the hearts of the living."
Reina Kobayashi, 31, owns a small, recently opened coffee shop near Lavender Square. She has short, straight, black hair, always tied back with a simple clip. She wears a beige apron and understated clothing. Her cafe is cozy and quiet, with low lighting, a few tables, and the constant scent of ginger tea with honey. Reina came from Celadon to escape a difficult past and found the peace she sought in Lavender.
Kenta Oshiro, 12, is a local boy, curious and bored by the tranquility of the town. He wears a blue cap and lives with a backpack full of rocks, stickers, and an empty Poké Ball he found near the cemetery. He's seen running through the streets or trying to hear voices in the Tower with an old tape recorder. He dreams of becoming a trainer, but his parents are afraid to let him go.
Masaru Endo, 59, is a fisherman at Misty Lake, a small natural reservoir south of the city. Quiet, he wears a straw hat, old fishing clothes, and smokes a pipe that smells of anise. He lives alone in a wooden hut. He says he once saw a spirit floating on the water on a moonless night. When asked if it was a Pokémon, he just shrugs and says, "Some things don't have names."
Tetsuo Nakamura, 23, is a police officer and the sole officer in charge of the Lavender police station. Tall, thin, and with a serious face, he wears his uniform even on weekends and patrols at set times, even when there's nothing to watch. He was transferred from Saffron and, ever since, has harbored a slight distrust of the city. He's afraid of ghosts, but won't admit it.
Mr. Fuji, whose real name is Hajime Fujiwara, is around 70 years old, though the weight on his shoulders makes it seem like he's lived twice as long. He's a small man, bent over by time and memories.
He always dresses simply: a gray sweater, cotton pants, and a scarf even on the warmest days. He is bald and have small eyes, often half-closed, as if he's peering through the world.
He lives and works at the Lavender Town Volunteer Home, where he takes in abandoned, injured, or orphaned Pokémon. He's loved by everyone, but rarely talks about himself. He avoids compliments, answers questions politely, but deflects any curiosity about his past. Some children say he talks to himself at night, others have seen him crying in front of an old photo.
Mr. Fuji is the most respected figure in the city, not for his authority, but for his kindness. He's the kind of person who prepares tea for a visitor before they even ask, and who places fresh flowers on the Tower's forgotten graves without telling anyone. His silence hides more than words could ever convey, and many say he carries ghosts that aren't in the Tower.
But one truly special tale from the residents of Lavender Town… was that of the Tamashii family. That one… was one to remember.
Matsuda Tamashii wasn't born in Lavender. However, his heart already held the town's melancholy before he even got to know it.
He grew up among the green fields of Pallet Town, where the wind carried the laughter of children and the tinkling of bells at the gate of the old Daycare Center owned by his grandfather, Haka Tamashii, a soft-spoken man with eyes that lit up every time he saw an Eevee take its first steps out of its burrow. The little Eevee's Nurture Nook wasn't a lucrative business; it was a refuge. Each Eevee was a family member, raised with love and hope.
But times changed. Difficulties arose. Grandfather's old age. The unstable economy. And finally, the inevitable decision to donate the last Eevees to Professor Oak.
Furthermore, selling Eevee's Nurture Nook was inevitable, regardless of feelings or pain, the family's survival was more important.
Haka died not long after, they say it was the weight of goodbye, not age, that closed his eyes.
Matsuda was 16 when he carried his grandfather's coffin. He carried only two things with him: the old diary of Haka and the conviction that one day he would reopen the Daycare, wherever he was.
Years passed. Matsuda wandered through different cities until he settled in Viridian, where he met Yuna, a sweet and determined young woman who worked in a modest library.
The love between them grew naturally, like a sprout sprouting from among the rocks. They married and later moved to Lavender Town, where Matsuda took a simple job at a Pokémon League shipping warehouse. It was hard work, but honest.
Despite his silent daily life, Matsuda never abandoned his dream. He wrote regularly in his Grandpa diary, now interspersed with his own words, notes, and sketches.
He spent years researching how to open a private daycare center, legalized by the League's standards. The process was bureaucratic: management certificates, ethical breeding licenses, Pokémon public health contracts, and forms on habitat, nutrition, and safety. Many gave up. But Matsuda persisted.
He looked through his grandfather's old documents, the original license for Eevee's Nurture Nook, letters exchanged with breeders, and even found an old friend from Pallet, who was now the manager of a Daycare in Johto.
With his help, he ordered a batch of offspring, not Eevees, but a carefully selected selection of sociable, easy-to-raise Pokémon. For Matsuda, this was a fresh start, not a copy of the past.
Yuna was thrilled with the project. She helped renovate the property they purchased in eastern Lavender, a modest home with open space surrounded by mature trees. Behind it, they built an Ecopark: simple trails, a safe lawn, and a small fountain, all to provide the cubs with a place of companionship and freedom.
Three Wigglytuffs trained by Matsuda would serve as the nursery's "aunts" trained to calm, protect, and guide new residents. The local community celebrated the initiative with warmth and hope.
But the dream, like so many in Lavender, did not last.
On the day the Pokémon arrived, Matsuda and Yuna personally went to the edge of Route 12, where their friendly Daycare truck would make the delivery. It was early. The fog still hung low. They waited, talked to the driver, and signed the paperwork.
And then, something unexpected happened. No one knows for sure. The driver's radio stopped responding. The GPS was disconnected. When the police arrived, summoned by traveling trainers who had seen the scene, they found only the bodies of Matsuda and Yuna lying next to the abandoned vehicle.
The truck, the baby Pokémon, the Wigglytuffs, all gone, as if they'd never been there at all.
No witnesses. No signs of a struggle. No solid leads. The League opened an investigation, but the case quickly went cold. There had been no reports of Pokémon theft on that route for years. And no one had ever seen that truck again.
Lavender Town came to a standstill on the day of the funeral. Residents left flowers at the gate of the new, still unfinished Daycare Center. Children cried as they saw the trail leading to the Ecopark, where Matsuda had promised to teach them about types and care. All was silent.
Only Shiro Tamashii remained, the couple's only son, who had just turned 18.
Shiro was an introspective, gentle boy, with Yuna's eyes and Matsuda's observant demeanor. At the funeral, he stood motionless, holding the only Pokémon he had left: a small Shinx, purchased months earlier by Matsuda to brighten the house and bring energy to the new phase.
The little one has now become his only family. His grandfather's diary, now written by three generations, was given to him by Sayaka, Mr. Fuji's shelter assistant.
Shiro didn't talk much. He just read. He observed. And he walked through the ruins of the Ecopark that never opened. The residents of Lavender took turns offering small gestures: leaving meals ready, helping with bills, offering company. But no one could fill the void Shiro carried.
What remained of Matsuda Tamashii wasn't just pain, it was a dream interrupted. A notebook full of ideas. A wooden house smelling of soap and moss. And a son, now an orphan, with a Shinx in his arms and a question that echoed through the empty hallways of the daycare:
"What if I continue?"