Chapter Text
"The desert doesn't care who you are, little thorn. It buries the weak, breaks the stubborn, and forgets the unlucky. So don't ask it for mercy. Grow stronger than the sands. Beat the odds. Live long enough that even this cruel world is forced to remember your name."
The wind erased footprints as quickly as they were made. Every step the child took vanished behind them, swallowed by shifting dunes before they had even taken another. It was as though the desert refused to acknowledge they had ever existed.
The sun never wavered. It hung over the Orre region like an unblinking eye, glaring down upon every traveler foolish enough to cross its sands. The heat rolled across the dunes in shimmering waves, bending the horizon until the world itself looked liquid.
The child walked anyway. They didn't know where they were going, only that staying still meant death. Their feet were blistered so badly they had stopped feeling pain hours ago. The skin had split open beneath their heels, leaving tiny spots of crimson in the sand before the wind eagerly swept them away. Their clothes, once bright enough that someone might have called them cheerful, had faded beneath dust and sunlight until they were little more than filthy rags hanging from an impossibly thin frame.
Every few steps, the child glanced over one shoulder.
Half expecting...
Half hoping...
Someone would be there.
Mother.
She wasn't. She never was.
---
There were memories. Not many, just enough to hurt.
Strong hands lifting them high into the air. Gentle laughter. A lullaby sung beneath a sky full of stars. The smell of warm bread. A kiss pressed against their forehead.
"Grow stronger than the sands."
Those had been the last words. The child repeated them every day. Sometimes because they believed them. Sometimes because they were terrified of forgetting her voice. Sometimes because if they stopped repeating those words...
They would have to admit she wasn't coming back.
---
The first day, they had cried until sleep claimed them. The second, they had screamed themselves hoarse. By the third...
Their tears had dried. The desert had stolen even those. Now it only took sweat. Blood. Strength.
Hope.
---
Their stomach cramped again. The child doubled over, clutching themselves. It wasn't the sharp pain of missing breakfast. It wasn't even the ache of skipping meals. It felt like something inside them was slowly twisting itself tighter and tighter.
Their body had begun feeding on itself.
Their arms looked smaller every morning. Their ribs pressed visibly against their skin. Even breathing felt exhausting. The child looked around desperately.
Nothing.
Only sand, stretching forever.
---
When they finally saw green on the horizon...
They almost ignored it. The desert lied. It had lied before. Water that disappeared upon reaching it. Trees that became dunes. Entire villages that dissolved into shimmering heat. Hope was simply another way the desert hurt people.
Still...
There was a smell. Wet earth. Plants.
Life.
The child stumbled toward it. Walking became running. Running became desperate stumbling. Then—
Water.
Real water.
The child didn't slow. They fell into the oasis with a splash, drinking before they'd even stopped falling. Cold water filled their mouth. Their throat burned as it was swallowed too quickly.
They coughed. Gasped. Drank again. They couldn't stop.
Hands scooped water over and over until their stomach sloshed painfully. Water dripped down their chin. Into their torn shirt. Back into the pond. They laughed. A tiny, broken sound.
For just one moment...
The world wasn't trying to kill them.
---
The oasis buzzed with life. Merchants bartered beneath colorful tents. Travelers rested beneath towering palms. Children splashed one another near the shoreline. Pokémon lounged beside their trainers, equally exhausted from crossing the desert.
The smell...
It was unbearable.
Fresh bread. Grilled vegetables. Cooked meat. Sweet berries. Every scent wrapped around the child's empty stomach until they thought they might collapse. Their mouth filled with saliva despite having nothing to eat.
Surely...
Surely someone would help.
---
They approached a woman arranging fruit. "...Please." She looked down. The child's voice barely carried. "I'm hungry." The woman hesitated. Her expression softened. For just a second...
Hope bloomed.
"I'm sorry." She looked away. "I don't have enough." She walked off.
Hope disappeared just as quickly.
---
Another traveler. Another plea. Another apology. Another refusal.
"I'm feeding my family."
"I worked hard for this."
"Move along."
"Ask someone else."
"I can't help everyone."
Each answer sounded reasonable. Each answer hurt anyway. No one was cruel. No one shouted. No one struck them.
People simply...
Kept walking.
The child discovered something far worse than hatred.
Indifference.
---
Hours passed. The child asked until their voice became nothing more than a whisper.
Eventually...
People stopped looking at them. They blended into the background. Just another starving orphan wandering Orre.
Someone else's problem.
---
A loud bark caught their attention. One of the children had finished eating. Without thinking, the child hurried over. The boy tossed the remaining crust of bread onto the ground. A Poochyena lunged immediately.
"No!"
The word escaped before they realized they'd spoken. The child dove. Their fingers closed around the crust at the exact same moment sharp teeth did.
Pain exploded across their hand. The Poochyena growled, tugging violently. The child refused to let go. Their stomach screamed louder than the bite.
"I need it..." They whispered. The Pokémon snarled. Its trainer looked over.
"Hey!"
But neither the child nor the Pokémon cared. The bread tore in half. The Poochyena stumbled backward with the larger piece. The child crashed into the dirt clutching the smaller. Hardly bigger than two fingers. The Pokémon swallowed its portion in one bite.
The child stared.
Then shoved theirs into their mouth so quickly they barely chewed. Dry. Hard. Gone. It hadn't even reached their stomach before the hunger returned.
The bite on their hand bled steadily. They licked the blood away. Not wanting to waste anything.
The trainer hurried over, kneeling beside the growling Poochyena instead. "Oh, poor thing..." He gently examined its mouth. The child remained sitting in the dirt.
No one asked if they were alright.
No one noticed the blood running down their fingers.
---
Another chance. Another scrap. Someone dropped half a berry. The child rushed toward it. So did a Sentret. The little Pokémon squeaked furiously. The child hesitated. Then reached anyway. The Sentret scratched across their wrist. Sharp little claws tore the skin.
The child flinched—
—but didn't stop.
Their fingers found the berry first. The Sentret leapt onto them. Claws. Tiny teeth. Frantic squeaks. The child curled around the berry protectively before finally managing to shove it into their mouth.
Sweet.
Gone.
One bite.
One swallow.
Nothing.
The hunger remained. The scratches stung. The child simply sat there. Breathing hard. The Sentret eventually wandered away, finding another discarded morsel.
Even the Pokémon had better luck finding food.
---
As the sun sank lower, the child became desperate. They searched beneath benches. Inside empty baskets. Near campfires after families left. Anything.
Anything at all.
An apple core with only one bite left. They ate around the bruises. A handful of burnt rice stuck to the bottom of a pot. They scraped it loose with bleeding fingers. Someone had thrown away dried meat too tough to chew. They gnawed on it until their gums bled.
None of it helped.
It wasn't enough.
Every tiny scrap only reminded their stomach what real food felt like before taking it away again. By evening, they felt worse than before they'd eaten. The hunger had awakened.
Now it screamed.
---
A laborer eventually noticed them. "If you're hungry," the man said, pointing toward stacked cargo, "work." The child's eyes lit up.
"I can."
They wanted to. More than anything. They approached the nearest crate. Wrapped both arms around it. Lifted. Nothing. They planted their feet. Pulled harder. Every muscle trembled.
The crate shifted perhaps an inch. Their vision blurred. Their knees buckled. The child collapsed beside it, breathing so hard it sounded painful. "I'm..." They tried standing again. Their legs refused. The laborer sighed.
"You've got heart." He crouched beside them. "But heart doesn't move cargo."
The child lowered their head. "I'm sorry."
The man looked genuinely regretful. "So am I." Then he walked away.
---
Darkness slowly settled over the oasis. Families gathered around fires. Laughter filled the evening air. Children argued over whose turn it was to stir soup. Someone played a harmonica. Pokémon curled beside sleeping bags. The child sat alone beneath a palm tree.
Watching.
Listening.
Trying not to smell the food. Their stomach cramped so violently they folded forward, their body shook. They couldn't remember the last time they'd eaten enough to feel full.
Could they?
Had they ever?
---
Movement caught their eye, a lone adventurer entering the oasis. Dusty boots. Sun-darkened cloak. A weathered satchel hanging over one shoulder.
The traveler knelt beside the water to wash away the day's sand. Setting the satchel beside them. Open. The child looked.
Inside...
Fresh bread. Thick slices of smoked meat. Bright Pecha and Oran Berries. Cheese wrapped carefully in cloth. Enough food to survive several days.
The child's breathing slowed. Their eyes never left the bag.
One loaf.
One loaf would last them two days. Maybe three if they were careful.
No.
Stealing was wrong. Mother taught them better.
Didn't she?
Someone else worked for that food. Someone else needed it. The child squeezed their eyes shut.
They could ask.
Yes. Just ask. Maybe this traveler was kinder than the others.
Maybe—
But another memory surfaced.
"I'm sorry."
"Find work."
"Move along."
"Not enough."
The words piled atop one another until they became impossible to separate. Their stomach growled loudly. Painfully loud. The traveler didn't hear. The child looked down at their own shaking hands.
The bite marks from the Poochyena. The scratches from the Sentret. The dried blood beneath their fingernails. Even fighting Pokémon for scraps hadn't been enough.
Tomorrow...
There might not be another oasis.
Tomorrow...
There might not be another chance.
Tomorrow…
Might not come at all.
Tears welled in their eyes for the first time in days. "I'm sorry..." The whisper fled them. "I don't... I don't want to..." The wind carried the confession away.
The traveler turned their back for only a heartbeat. The child moved. Not because they wanted to. Because their body had already decided.
Their trembling fingers slipped into the satchel. Closed around the warm loaf of bread.
For one impossible moment...
They froze.
Then they ran. Behind them came a shout. Ahead of them lay only darkness. Only sand. Only the endless desert.
The child clutched the stolen bread to their chest as tears streamed silently down their dust-covered face. Each step felt heavier than the last.
They had survived.
But somewhere between begging...
Fighting Pokémon for discarded scraps...
And stealing from a stranger...
The child realized something terrifying.
The desert hadn't simply been trying to kill them. It was slowly changing them. And deep beneath the guilt that threatened to consume them...
Another feeling had begun to take root. Not pride. Not relief.
Determination.
If the world would not spare a scrap for a starving child...
Then one day—
One day—
They would become strong enough that no one could ever force them to beg again.