The Garden never slept—not truly.
It hummed with a rhythm older than memory, pulsing with breathless peace. But tonight, that rhythm faltered.
And the Watcher felt it.
He stood on the cliff again.
Same place as before.
But the distant light that had first shimmered beyond the mountains was no longer still.
It danced now.
Flickering in and out of the mist like a heartbeat—too regular, too sentient.
It watched him.
Not with malice.
Not even curiosity.
But with awareness. As if something ancient and gentle had taken notice… and was waiting for him to acknowledge it.
The sigils beneath his feet pulsed once—bright, then dim.
Something had changed.
Back in the glade, the morning dew was warming under sunlight when Nina awoke, surrounded again by her now-familiar companions.
This time, a Happiny curled into her arms. A Riolu sat near her feet, pretending to be uninterested yet not daring to move far.
She giggled sleepily as a young Shinx nuzzled her fingers.
And watching from a nearby branch, a calm, lavender-eyed Ralts hovered in that dreamlike stillness only its kind knew—its gaze locked entirely on her.
The Watcher observed from afar again, arms crossed.
Her trauma was healing.
But what made him pause wasn't just her laugh.
It was the subtle shimmer that now traced her fingertips.
She was beginning to respond to the Garden's energy.
To its blessing.
Nina was adapting.
And the Garden was adapting to her.
That afternoon, when Nina napped under the flowering Leppa trees, the Watcher walked toward the Garden's outer edge, near the place where reality thinned—where multiple worlds' mana bled together.
The cliff. The pulsing light. It called to him.
He passed the old carved stones of blessing, walked through the gentle song of wind-chimes spun by Bug-types, and stepped out onto the ledge.
There, the light waited.
A single mote of shimmer hovered midair—pink, soft, pulsing like a living thought.
He didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
Then it moved.
A blur of pink, faster than anything natural.
Then still again, ten feet away.
Then another pulse of that impossible presence.
And suddenly—it was right before him.
Mew
Floating. Gentle. Smiling.
The mythical Pokémon regarded him with tilted head and wide, ancient eyes. No voice. No attack. Just… stillness.
He felt a tremor echo through his very soul.
And in that moment, memory returned—
The war.The rubble.The child's hand he couldn't pull free.The silence.
His knees almost buckled.
But Mew drifted forward.
Touched his chest lightly with its paw.
And everything stopped.
Time. Pain. The Garden's wind.
Even the ache that had become a part of his bones since that day.
And he saw—briefly—
Nina, older. Stronger. Laughing beside a family of Pokémon.A Riolu evolved.A Gardevoir at her side.And her holding another girl's hand.
A future not yet written.
A life saved.
Mew blinked once, and in that single flick of its tail, the visions vanished.
But it had given him something.
Hope.
Then Mew vanished into a swirl of pink light—gone like a whisper.
The ledge felt cold without its warmth.
That night, the Watcher sat beside Nina under a tree, a blanket of stars above them.
She clutched her little Happiny and rested her head against his side.
"Are you sad again?" she asked.
He didn't answer for a moment.
Then said, "Less than before."
She looked up at him. "Good. Because the Pokémon told me something today."
"Oh?"
She nodded seriously. "They said you carry too many hurts. But you're a good one. Even if your eyes forget to smile."
He blinked.
Then looked away, the corner of his lips tilting ever so slightly.
"Maybe… you're right."
High above, where stars began to blur into soft clouds of dream-mana, the Garden shimmered gently.
The pulse had returned to normal.
But within the soil, beneath the bark of the trees, and in the breath of the sleeping Pokémon—
Mew's presence remained.
Watching. Guiding.
Waiting for the next spark to ignite.
And the Watcher, for the first time in a long time, closed his eyes… and let the dream come.