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After your world shatters, the forest is too quiet and the clearing is too empty. Just moments ago, your sibling was right next to you, whining about how it wasn’t fair that you always won your play-battles. Then they were gone as quickly as the click of a Poké Ball, or maybe faster. (What sort of human could teleport on their own, or hide well enough to mimic it?) It didn’t matter, though, in the end, because they were gone regardless.
Maybe this is all a dream, you tell yourself. Maybe you’re making things up. Twigs catch on the red and black tuft of hair that sits atop your head, and branches pull at your tail as you step out of the bush and let your illusion fade. Your claws dig into the ground, and your ears are pinned back. (There’s no threat. It’s gone.) Maybe your sibling had learned to make their body cast illusions like yours, and they were waiting to reveal that the whole scare was just that: an unnecessary scare. (They’re not, of course, but you’d like to believe.)
Reality crashes down on you like shards of glass when your father comes back. The Darmanitan’s large, red body sticks out in the mostly green, spring forest. His fire eyebrows burn more brightly as he looks around the clearing. “Where’s Natural?” he asks. It was probably supposed to sound calm, but he’s always had terrible control of his voice.
How can you tell him? What should you tell him? Hey Dad, this human came out of nowhere and kidnapped them while I hid. Sorry? Every word you can think of feels inadequate. You can’t believe what happened yourself.
“They’re gone,” you chirp. The sound is sharp.
“Gone?”
“They…they took them. A human. White hair and dark clothes. Teleported in and out.” Choppy sentences are all you can manage.
Darmanitan slams their fists into the ground. “This isn’t the time for pranks.”
“This isn’t a prank.” They’re gone.
Without your sibling, you feel cold. Even as you curl up next to your father and Woobat snuggles up next to you in the middle of summer, the empty place where they should be is numb like frostbite. You have no one to play-fight with anymore since Woobat doesn’t like to fight. Other Pokémon had wandered by, but none of them stayed.
(Before Natural came along, you didn’t have a nickname. Zorua was enough to prevent confusion since you were the only one within a day’s run. For a while, after Darmanitan decided to raise them, it was still all you needed.
One day he’d called, “Zorua!” and Natural had perked up, too. They already had a nickname, since they hated being called human, and it was confusing anyway when you’d previously only cried human as a warning.
After a while of back and forth that basically amounted to your father saying I only meant your brother and Natural saying I’m a Zorua too, Darmanitan sighed and said that you needed a nickname.
“Clever,” Natural suggested. “‘Cause you’re smart.”
You’d appreciated the compliment, and it stuck. No one really called you Zorua anymore, until they were gone.
Ages later, one of the wandering Pokémon had called “Hey, Zorua?”
“You have to call me Clever,” you started. Then it hit you like the Liepard had slapped you with her tail. The explanation you’d become so used to giving no longer worked.)
“I need to find them,” you finally tell your father after ages of the thought nipping at your heels. “I need my little sibling back.” For any wandering Pokémon, you must have made quite the sight: a tiny Zorua digging in his claws and lashing his tail in front of a Darmanitan five times his size.
“You can’t,” he says. “It’s not safe. You’re still just a kit.”
“I need to.”
He huffs. “You know it doesn’t work like that.”
“I can do it!” you cry with more confidence than you feel. Your paws itch to run, and your snout itches to search for Natural’s scent. It feels like there’s a thread pulling your mind toward someplace you can’t see, and starving Joltik on your back. If you run fast enough, you might be able to generate enough static to feed them. “Let me try!”
“No.”
“I’ll go anyways.” You dart toward the nearest human city, tail held high.
Thump. He slams his fists into the ground in front of you, and you jump back. “Then you’ll have to fight me.”
Something nips at your hindpaws again. “Fine,” you growl. Everything in your head is a rush as you jump to leave the first mark. You’ll show him!
It doesn’t work. Your claws barely reach through his fur. He slams his body into yours, and the wind is knocked out of you.
“Yield,” he grunts as you scramble out from under him. You scratch at his face breathlessly.
“No.”
He dodges. You slam into a tree as he hits you back. Where is he? Your vision is blurring. A red blob pins you down.
“Yield, or get up and stay up.”
The world tilts as you stagger to your feet. Your legs are as solid as Solosis’s jelly. Come on. You can do it. One step forward.
Your left hindleg buckles, and you fall. Though you don’t officially declare his win, you both know he’s won when you stay on the ground instead of fighting to your feet. It wasn’t like you really stood a chance, anyways. If anyone should be running after Natural it should be him—he is much stronger than you.
(Later, while stars speckle the sky, he tells you, “Sorry for being so rough. I couldn’t bear the thought of you running off and getting captured, but I should have been more gentle about it.”
You huff and don’t respond.)
Over the seasons, you get into the habit of picking fights. Wandering Woobat come up to you, and you pin them under your claws. Flocks of Pidove try to eat from your bushes, and you tell them you’ll let them have as many berries as they want if they beat you in a fight. Your mouth becomes accustomed to the metallic taste of blood, and it’s almost aimless. (You’re aimless.) There’s nothing you’re fighting for, other than the vague idea of getting stronger and the love of battle.
“Zorua,” Darmanitan says.
“Clever, ” you hiss, digging your claws into the ground.
“Clever, there’s more than enough food for everyone. Stop hoarding.”
You’re not hoarding. This isn’t about food. Shouldn’t he know that? Your sibling is gone. If he intends to make you fight him for the chance to look, then you’ll need to win. Winning takes more strength than you have now.
Maybe he knows that or maybe he’s just tired, because he sighs and says, “If you want to fight that badly, please just find someone that’s willing to battle to begin with.”
Your battle partner ends up being a Pidove. They are small and flighty, and when they challenge you they dodge more often than they attack.
“I want my wings to get stronger,” they say when you ask them why they fight. “I don’t want to hold back any flock I join.”
One day, in the middle of a fight, you catch their tail under your claws. Their feathers feel charged, and the fur on your legs stands on end. When they pull themself away, leaving several tail feathers still pinned to the ground, their body glows.
“Finally,” they chirp, before they fly into the air. For a moment, their body seems to burn from the inside. Bright light envelops them and obscures their form. When they emerge they are bigger, with longer limbs and a sharper beak. The Tranquill flaps their new wings, and they shoot up.
“Gosh, this is gonna take some getting used to,” they chirp as they land. It’s more clumsy than usual, and they nearly land on top of you. The wind ruffles your hair.
“Congrats,” you tell them. (That’s what Darmanitan said when Woobat evolved into Swoobat, so you figure that’s polite.) “Now you can put up more of a fight!”
They coo. “I didn’t need to evolve to do that.”
“I won most of the time before!” you protest, though you look down at the ground. There’s an itch at the edge of your brain, and it feels like dry mud does on your pelt.
“Say, aren’t you probably close to evolving?”
“No,” you snap. The itch gets louder, and your tail tingles like it’s going to vanish at any second. You try to bite the sensation on the shoulder and pin it under your claws, but it won’t yield. If anything it fights back harder, until the fact that yes, you’re close to evolving is all you can think about. “I’m nowhere near that.”
“Geez, it was just a question.” Tranquill hops back in exaggerated defensiveness, and their tail bangs into a bush. “I didn’t mean to start that kind of fight.”
“Sorry.” (You’ve been saying that a lot.) “Want to finish our fight?”
From preening their new, shinier feathers, they look up. “Nah. I want to test this out first.”
“What’s wrong?” Darmanitan asks one day.
You look up from the pile of moss you were arranging to glare at him. “I don’t know,” you snap. The incessant hum inside your head makes it clear that’s a lie. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“You’re ready to evolve,” he states. “Does that have anything to do with it?”
(Far too long ago, your sibling had been staring down at their forepaws. Most of the time, when they were upset, they’d play with the cube on a string they’d had as long as you’d known them. Their hands would fly over it, solving some puzzle you’d never understood. When they were down and didn’t do that, it was always for the same reason.
When you noticed the problem, your father was already there. He always seemed hesitant when this happened—like he didn’t know how to respond. The first few times he hadn’t said anything. After a boring parent talk with a nearby Unfezant who was raising Pokémon of a different species, what had become routine was this: Natural let out whatever was bothering them, and your father said something far more reassuring than you could ever come up with.
“Zoroark walk on two legs,” Darmanitan told Natural as you ran over. “You’ve got a head start, that’s all.”
“Yeah!” you said as you slipped into place beside him. For a moment, you tried to balance on your hindpaws. It ended with you falling over. “You’ll be better than me.”
Your father laughed. “You can help Clever when he gets there.”
“Guess that’s good,” Natural said. They still didn’t look happy, but it was better than before. A hint of a smile tugged at their lips. “I could teach him something.”
“Promise to teach me?”
“Promise,” they said. “Or you can have my berries for the week.”
Darmanitan started to explain to Natural that they still needed to eat, and you wagged your tail.)
“I’m not ready to evolve.” Despite what the magic trying to drag you around says, you won’t be ready. “Not until Natural’s here to see it.”
“Clever,” he says, gently, like anything harsher would knock you off your feet, “you can’t hold onto that forever.”
It’s not going to be forever. “I’m going to get them back.” You can find them, you know it. (Your claws are digging into the moss like they’re trying to take root.)
Daramanitan moves as if to retort, then stops. “I…” he trails off.
“What?” Your teeth are bared. “What were you going to say?”
“You won’t want to hear it.”
“Tell me,” you bark.
“So,” he stalls, “it’s been a long time since we’ve seen Natural. I don’t think we should plan on getting them back.”
You want to slash at him. “So what? You think we should just give up and roll over? Let them win?”
“I never said that.”
“That’s what you meant.”
“Think about it for a moment,” he pleads. “We don’t know where to look, or how to get them back without being captured ourselves. Unless we were able to do it without a trace, the humans could just take them again. I’d love to get them back as much as you would, but we have to be realistic. Is it really worth risking your safety for such a slim chance?”
Yes, you think. Anything would be worth it. Anything for your sibling back. He should feel the same.
“Coward,” you hiss. “Fight me.”
(Like always, the battle is over before it begins.)
“Clever, you need to hear this.” Tranquill swoops into the clearing. When they land they bounce from foot to foot. “I think it’s about your sibling.”
Your ears perk up, and your heart beats faster. “Where? Who?”
“This flock of Pidove I was talking to.” (They’d been looking for a flock to join, now that they felt fast and steady enough.) “This way.”
Tranquill weaves around trees at a breakneck pace, and brush beats at you as you try to keep up. You don’t want to get your hopes up for nothing, but… you trust their judgment.
When you find the flock of Pidove, most of them are hopping around a clearing. One of them has a bag of salty human food and appears to be fighting another Pidove over the last piece.
“Guys, meet Clever,” Tranquill says.
With the exception of the fighting pair, the startled-looking flock of Pidove hops back at the sight of a Zorua. Perhaps they’ve never seen one before, or perhaps they think you’re dangerous. You wag your tail to show that you’re friendly, and they relax a little.
“Tell him what you told me.”
The nearest Pidove calls to the fighting ones. “Mud-Feathers, Puffball, come over here! It’s your story.”
The brownish one, presumably nicknamed Mud-Feathers, hops over first. Puffball steals the last fry before flying behind him.
“So there's this human, right?” Mud-Feathers says. “Near a city, as humans tend to be. Nothing too unusual. They don’t have any Poké Balls on them, which is kinda odd since they look to be full-grown, or at least almost there, and they’re not in the city. And then they stroll over towards Puffball, and he sticks around ‘cause he has no sense of danger. The weird part comes when—”
“Get this!” Puffball interrupts as he puffs up his chest like the story’s so absurd it’s a matter of pride. “They asked me to fight for them. Just walked up to me like ‘Hey, you, random Pidove I just met? Would you like to help me with my grand dreams?’ like it was nothing. Not in human-speak, either. Our words. So I’m sitting there like ‘What in the world just happened’ and ‘Am I hearing things’ because what in the world, why is this human talking like a Pokémon and they’re still talking. Finally, it catches up to me, and I tell them that they’re really interesting and maybe if I didn’t have a flock to return to I’d help, but I do have a flock to return to, and they just say ‘I understand’ and leave just like that.”
“I wouldn’t believe it,” the Pidove who called them over chirps while she picks at a feather.
“What did they look like?” you ask. It seems unlikely that there’d be someone else human looking who can talk with Pokémon, but you need to know just in case.
“I remember they had green hair,” Mud-Feathers says. “I thought it’d make good nest material.”
“Tall,” Puffball offers. “Grayish eyes.”
That…that’s not much, but it sounds right. (Were they tall for a human their age? It’s been so long, and they must have grown since then.) Something burns, warm and bright, in your chest. Maybe you have a shot. (You have a shot at finding them.)
“Thank you!” you chirp, and your tail wags for real. “Thanks a lot.”
“Welcome,” Puffball chirps.
“He’s really fond of his own voice,” Mud-Feathers quips. “He should be thanking you for letting him chatter.”
By the time you return to your part of the forest, you have more energy than you’d ever need.
“Darmanitan!” you shout. “We need to talk.”
The time it takes you to locate each other feels like an eternity. Your tail is moving faster than a Klink rotates, and your mind faster still. “Natural,” you pant. “I know where to look. They’re not a lost cause.”
After it clicks, your father shakes his head. “You’re not going after them.”
“You said if—”
“You’ve lost every time.”
You might be faster than him now. You think you could run, and you’re sneaky, too. Maybe you could sneak around him, if running doesn’t work. Still—something urges you to stay. Maybe it’s the familiar pull towards battle rampaging inside your body and baring your teeth. You have to prove him wrong.
Damp moss gives under your claws as you adjust your stance. “You’re on. Fight me.”
You give him a moment to nod. Then you charge toward him. At the last second, you swerve to the left. Air ruffles your mane as his attack misses you.
From behind, you scratch at his pelt. A metallic scent fills the air—you’ve drawn blood. Darmanitan’s fist clips your head as he spins around. You smell smoke.
While you leap to the right, flames singe your tail. (He was holding back. Perhaps he didn’t trust the rain to prevent a real fire.) His fist connects properly this time. It doesn’t do as much as it had last time, but it still makes you short of breath. You hop back.
You could dodge his attacks for a while. Maybe you could wear him out? His pelt is stained a darker red, but he isn’t worn yet. Time for magic, perhaps. You gather as much energy as you can. Just a little more and you cou—he slams into you, and you reflexively claw back. The pressure lightens, and you slip out.
There’s moss in your brain, and you can’t quite think. Something tingly and warm tugs at your consciousness. He’s squinting. Blood drips into Darmanitan’s eyes.
“Yield?” he asks.
You shake your head. The air to speak won’t come. You draw in a shaky breath to clear your mind and reach for energy from the forest. If only you had the focus to put together an illusion. You summon a flicker at the edge of his vision.
He turns, and you fire a complete blast of energy. It crackles, dark like the night sky and a hole in the universe, before slamming into Darmanitan as he charges at you. The shock slows him, and you dodge as he hits a tree.
He fights recklessly. You can take advantage of that. He runs and you try to dodge—you fail. The fur on your back is damp as he holds you down, and your tail tingles.
“Yield,” he says. It isn’t a question this time.
You’re not going to. Static tugs at your consciousness; you instinctively tug back as you reach for something to make you stronger. Your mind fades into a need to win, and your body fades too. When you come back your claws are sharper.
He’s off-guard, and that’s all it takes for you now. You kick up and he is off, practically flying away. Drawing in energy is easier now, and you fire a blast in half the time it took you before. This time it is Darmanitan who staggers back to his feet. With your bigger body, you slam him back down. The motion makes you dizzy. He doesn’t get up.
“Yield,” you growl. When did your voice get so deep?
“I give,” he says. “You’ve proven yourself.”
As the adrenaline from your fight fades, you try to settle down. Your body is shaped differently now, and it doesn’t work the way it normally does. Your forepaws are shaped more like Darmanitan’s, your limbs are longer and proportioned differently, and when you try to balance yourself with your tail you realize you don’t have one. Somewhere, you register that you’ve evolved. Somewhere far away, you register that your body is now shaped to walk on two legs instead of four.
(You guess you’ll have to eat Natural’s berries.)
“I’m going,” you tell Darmanitan. “To look for Natural.” It’s only been a night since you got a clue to their location, and you’re itching to leave as quickly as possible so you don’t lose it.
“Be careful.” He shakes his head. “Don’t be reckless.”
You finally say, “I’ll try.” It’s a bit stiff. If you hadn’t been fighting him, you wouldn’t have evolved without your sibling. If he’d just let you go, you could have already found them. The frustration pulls at your mane, and you try to push it away. This isn’t the time.
“I’ll find them, and bring them back,” you promise.
Swoobat nuzzles your mane as Tranquill takes flight. You take one more look at the forest you grew up in and hope it won’t be the last.
“Bye,” you tell your father. “I love you.”
His fire eyebrows are brighter than you’ve seen them in a long, long time. (That normally happens when he’s mad, or worried.) “I love you too,” he sighs.
You try to give a reassuring tail wag, only to remember that you don’t have one. You create a small illusion to sway your mane instead.
Then you clumsily run behind Tranquill, towards the best lead you’ve got. Eventually, soft grass gives way to hard concrete, and Tranquill lands in front of you as you change your appearance to match a Lilipup.
“This is it,” they chirp as they bounce from foot to foot. “Good luck finding them.”
“Thanks. You too. Have fun with your new flock.”
For a moment, you both just stand there, neither wanting to make the first move. Then they say, “I’m leaving.”
You mutter another goodbye as they fly off, and then it’s just you. A Zorua Zoroark, alone on the edge of a city, on a quest to find his sibling so he won’t be.
It takes you far longer than you would have liked to catch up with Natural. You were always just a few steps behind, just a little off, and it made you want to bite something each time a Pokémon said “Yeah, they just went to the next town.” Still. Still, you catch up, eventually.
When you find them, it’s in a city full of bright lights and loud people. Though it’s not the largest or most populated city you’ve visited, it’s certainly one of the most overwhelming. On one paw, that’s good—if you mess up your illusion, it’s likely most humans will be too distracted to notice. On the other, it distracts you, too. It’s hard to find anyone in the crowd, and the noise grates on your ears.
A Pidove from a flock you’d never encountered before told you, “Some human asked my friend to travel with them for a bit. I’m guessing that’s who you’re looking for? They’ll be in the city,” so you knew that you were on the right track.
After you finally track them down, you almost don’t believe your eyes. It’s them. Natural. Same pale-green hair, and they still have that puzzle cube they loved on them, just attached to their waist instead. It seems like they’re in the middle of something. Two humans in uniform run away, and they say something to the person in front of them that sounds like a challenge.
When you finally get the chance to talk to them alone, you slip on the image of one of the humans that had run off. Carefully, you weave your way through the crowd. They catch sight of you and stiffen.
“I told you to run,” Natural says in human words. “That means go.”
“Not who you’re thinking of.”
Their eyes widen. “Zorua or Zoroark?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s talk somewhere more private.”
They lead you to a corner of the city, tucked away behind a tent. It’s still not exactly private, but it’s out of the way enough that you worry less about your illusion’s accuracy.
“You’re out of sight,” they say. “I’ll warn you if anyone comes along.”
You nod your illusion’s head, but only drop it for a moment. Some irrational part of you hopes they’ll recognize your form, even after evolution and all these years. They squint at you. It doesn’t happen.
“Why did you seek me out?” your sibling asks as you restore your illusion. Their hands play with the cube. It was an upset habit of theirs, mostly, but it eases your nerves a little. Some things never change.
“Remember the Pokémon you were raised with?”
They tilt their head, thinking. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked. What if they forgot you? What if it’s been too long and they were too young? What if it’s too late? You should have—
“Yes, I remember.”
It’s okay. “And one of them was a Zorua nicknamed Clever. And Zorua evolve into Zoroark.”
It only takes a moment for them to put it together. “Clever?” they ask. You think you’re going to explode into a million bits of pure relief.
“That’s me.”
Suddenly they’re talking fast, in a rush of emotions and words that you can’t quite process because the whole thing happened just as quickly and after ages, you’re finally back together. “I thought I’d never see you again,” you barely catch. They’re shaking their hands in lieu of a tail, the way they used to when they were really excited. You’re going to need something like that, too, because your body is suddenly bursting with emotion you have no space for.
You did it. You found your sibling, and you’re together, and maybe not everything’s alright but it’s better.
(Later, you settle down beside them and lean against a tree. They tell you about everything that happened while you were apart, or at least as much as they have the patience to. The words fly out of their mouth, nearly perfect, like they’d been preparing what to tell you for years.
The human who kidnapped him served a man named Ghetsis. Natural says that they were trying to help, really, it’s just that their organization, Team Plasma, was looking for someone who could awaken Reshiram to save Pokémon from abuse at the hands of humans, and Natural was uniquely suited for that role. There’s a lot more, too—names and places you need to see for yourself to remember, and details that fly over your head as they talk up a whirlwind, but that’s the important part. Once they’re almost done talking, Natural sighs and shakes their head.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t go back home right now,” they say. “At least not for long. So many Pokémon and humans are counting on me.
“I understand if you would rather return without me.”
The thought of being separated from them, even by choice, feels like cold claws wrapping around your chest. “Home is where you are,” you tell them. “I’m not leaving your side.” Being next to them soothes an ache you almost forgot you had.
Natural must feel similarly, because they curl up a little closer and say, “I’m glad.” In return, you move a little, and silently vow that you will do everything in your power to stay with your sibling. You’ve already lost them once. It can’t happen again.)