The Road, the Sea, and Something Waiting

[Nephthys8079]

Morning clung to the city like fog.

Elias stood by the open window, elbows resting on the warped wooden frame, letting the ocean air soak into his lungs. Shalour always smelled faintly of brine and wet metal — salt from the sea, iron from the old handrails along the harbor. Even this early, you could hear the water moving against the cliffs below, a steady push and retreat that never quite went silent.

He took a slow breath and rubbed at the back of his neck. His hair still held the shape of the pillow. He hadn't meant to be awake yet — he'd gone to bed late, tossing half the night — but once the Wingull started crying, that was it.

There was something about the hour before sunrise that made it easier to think, or maybe harder to hide from your thoughts.

He moved away from the window and pulled on his jacket. The fabric was rough, the kind of local make you could buy from any open-air market along the coast — practical, with sea-stained zippers and a smell that never quite left. He slipped his Poké Ball case into his belt pouch — a habit, even though it only held one capsule. The single red-and-white sphere felt heavier than it had any right to.

When he stepped outside, the city was still asleep. The cobbles glistened under the weak lamplight, and mist drifted low over the streets like spilled milk. A few lights were beginning to flicker awake in the harbor district, probably fishermen getting ready for the morning haul. He could hear the faint clatter of something metallic — nets or cages — carried from far away.

Elias started walking.

His boots made soft, dull sounds against the stones, the rhythm keeping time with his breathing. The air was cool enough that it brushed cold fingers along the inside of his collar. He passed a row of shuttered shopfronts, a bakery he recognized from yesterday already smelling faintly of yeast.

The city ended sooner than he expected — Shalour wasn't large, just layered. Beyond the last row of houses, the road shifted to packed dirt. The fog grew thicker, color bleeding from the world until only the muted shapes of cliffside grass and wildflowers remained.

It was the kind of path you didn't take unless you meant to be alone.

He followed it anyway, one hand in his pocket, the other brushing against the satchel slung at his side. Inside were the same essentials as always — a water flask, a few potions, a half-used medkit, and a compact camera he hadn't taken out in weeks. It clicked faintly with each step, the sound rhythmic and small.

The climb wasn't steep, just uneven. The farther he went, the more the air changed. The smell of salt grew sharper; the ground began to soften under his soles. Grass gave way to coarse sand and scattered shale, the kind that crunched dry underfoot even in fog. He could hear the sea properly now — that deep, ceaseless sound that seemed to live inside the bones of the coast.

He stopped when the trail curved toward the edge.

The cliffs here weren't the high, postcard kind — just ragged shelves of stone layered over centuries, streaked dark with lichen and moisture. Below, waves collided with muted force, hissing as they broke against the rock. The tide wasn't fully in yet. You could smell it coming.

Elias exhaled through his nose, watching the mist unravel into the breeze. He hadn't really planned a destination this morning — walking was just easier than thinking too hard. He tilted his head slightly, catching the distant caw of a Wingull and the more guttural bark of something deeper down near the surf — maybe a Corphish or Binacle fighting over territory.

For a while, that was enough. The sound of the world working the way it always did.

Then, somewhere off to his right, something broke the rhythm.

A sound that didn't belong.

Not sharp — wet. A rough exhale, caught halfway between a growl and a wheeze.

He turned. The fog shifted, and he saw movement — something pale, low to the ground, just beyond a thicket of damp grass.

Elias froze, instincts quiet but alert. The air smelled faintly wrong now — the usual salt scent warped by something metallic underneath. He took one step forward, boots sliding slightly on the slope, and the shape clarified in the light.

A Pokémon.

White fur slicked against the earth, dark patches of mud and something darker soaking into it. A long, curved horn jutted out from its head, catching what little light the morning gave.

Absol.

He recognized it instantly, though only from League catalogues and half-remembered documentaries. Seeing one up close was… different. Its body was still, but the subtle tremor of its flank betrayed life. Poison, maybe — or injury. Hard to tell in the fog.

He crouched without thinking, muscles tightening with the shift of balance, one hand already on the clasp of his satchel.

"Hey," he said softly, voice swallowed by the wind. "Hey, it's alright. I'm not gonna hurt you."

No movement. Just that faint, irregular rise and fall of breath.

He edged closer.

The Absol's breathing hitched — shallow, uneven, like its lungs were working around something that shouldn't be there. Elias could see the faint tremor in its side even from where he crouched, a stuttering motion beneath the sleek line of its ribs. Up close, the smell of iron in the air was sharper. Not fresh blood — older. Dried, metallic, faintly sweet.

He took another slow step forward, careful with his weight on the damp slope. The grass bowed under his boot, the sound small but somehow loud in the quiet. The Absol didn't move, but its eye — red, glossy, and bright even in the fog — tracked him weakly.

"Yeah… you see me," he murmured. His voice stayed low, almost an afterthought. "Good."

He unlatched the side of his satchel. The metal click of the clasp made the Absol's tail twitch once — barely — before settling again. The movement made him wince. Fear responses meant awareness. Awareness meant pain.

Elias reached inside and pulled out a folded towel, a small spray bottle, and one of the two Antidotes he still had from his last supply run. He wasn't sure if it was poison — the pale violet discoloration around the Pokémon's shoulder looked like it — but Absol weren't common here. No chance to play it safe.

The ground was cold against his knees when he lowered himself fully. He stayed a few feet away and let the wind carry his scent closer first, letting the Pokémon decide. A few long seconds passed before the Absol's gaze wavered — its eyelid drooping, breath rasping faintly.

"Okay," he whispered, inching forward.

When his hand touched the towel to its fur, the texture surprised him. Coarser than it looked — each strand of white hair damp and tangled with salt. Beneath, the skin was hot. Fever-hot. The sort of heat you could feel radiating even through the cloth.

He worked slowly, wiping away the dirt that had clumped along its side. The fog clung to everything, turning the air thick and still. Somewhere above, a Wingull cried again — high, distant, and thin — and the Absol's ear flicked in half-recognition.

Elias glanced over the wound once it was clean enough to see. The shoulder looked like a clean puncture — two small, circular marks where the fur had been torn back, ringed in bruising that spread unevenly down the leg. Bite, probably. Seviper, maybe. That would explain the way the discoloration spread in faint veins beneath the skin.

He uncapped the Antidote and steadied his breathing. "Alright. This might sting."

The spray hissed softly as it hit the wound. The Absol flinched — a sudden, full-body tremor that stopped as quickly as it began. Its claws scraped the dirt weakly. Elias held still until the shaking passed, then pressed the towel lightly to blot the excess.

He didn't speak again for a while. Just watched the creature's chest move, each breath fractionally steadier than the last. When he finally exhaled, it was with that quiet relief that didn't show on his face.

He shifted to sit back on his heels. The fog had begun to thin slightly; sunlight teased the edges of the horizon in pale, amber lines. The first gulls had already taken to the air, circling the shallows below.

The Absol blinked once. Slow. Dazed. Its head tilted slightly toward him, horn gleaming dull under the weak light. It wasn't trust — not yet — but something closer to recognition.

Elias rubbed his palm against his thigh to chase away the damp. "You're a long way from the mountains," he murmured, half to himself. "What the hell happened to you?"

The wind didn't answer. It never did. Just the faint whisper of the sea scraping against the stone below.

He knew he couldn't leave it here.

Elias stayed there for a while, crouched beside the Absol as the fog slowly pulled back toward the sea. The sun hadn't fully cleared the horizon yet, but the light was warming — that dull orange-gray of early morning that made wet stone glint like glass. He shifted his weight to one knee, gloved fingers brushing damp grass. The soil underneath was soft but cold, the kind that stayed wet long after the rain.

He glanced back toward the city. The trail curved upward behind him, disappearing into mist a few meters ahead. Shalour would be waking properly soon — boats heading out, markets opening. If he moved now, he could make it back before the heat picked up and before the Absol's fever spiked.

He looked down again. The Pokémon's breathing had steadied a little, but its flank still rose unevenly. The puncture wasn't bleeding much anymore, but the veins around it still looked wrong — faint purple threads running beneath pale fur.

"Alright," he muttered quietly, mostly to himself. "Let's get you off the dirt."

He set his satchel aside and pulled free the folded emergency blanket he kept at the bottom — thin, reflective, one of those things you never thought you'd actually use. It caught the light dully as he shook it open, edges fluttering with the wind. The Absol's ear flicked again at the noise, but it didn't pull away when Elias slid the material carefully under its side.

The weight surprised him. Absol weren't small — lean muscle under that sleek frame, heavier than they looked. He got an arm under its chest, supporting the injured shoulder as best he could, and eased it up onto the blanket. Its head lolled briefly against his arm, horn cold against his sleeve.

"Sorry," he said, voice low. "Almost done."

The fabric crinkled softly as he folded it up, making a rough sling. He gripped the corners and lifted. His shoulders burned immediately, the strain traveling down to his elbows. The Absol's body shifted once — a quiet grunt escaping its throat — but it didn't fight him. Maybe it didn't have the strength to.

Elias adjusted his grip and started walking.

The climb back up the slope felt longer than it had on the way down. Each step made the damp soil slide a little under his boots. He leaned forward to counterbalance, breath steady, keeping the Absol close to his chest. Its fur was warm — too warm — and he could feel faint tremors beneath it now and then, like muscle twitches that never resolved into motion.

The trail narrowed near the bend. He slowed, careful not to jostle it, the mist thinning enough to show the faint outline of the city's watchtower ahead. The gulls had gone quieter. Only the wind and the scrape of his soles filled the space between sounds.

By the time he reached the packed-dirt road again, his arms ached deep and dull. He adjusted his hold and looked down — the Absol's eyes were closed now, chest still moving but shallow again. Its tail had gone slack.

"Stay with me," he muttered. "Almost there."

The city's edge came into view through the morning haze — the first rows of homes, shutters half-open now, faint sounds of pots and pans echoing down alleys. No one was out this far yet, not at the northern path, and that was fine. Fewer questions.

He crossed the last stretch at a measured pace, careful not to draw attention. The rented house wasn't much — single room, sea-facing, old — but it was clean, and more importantly, it was his. He shifted the Absol's weight to one arm, fumbled for the key, and shouldered the door open.

The air inside was cooler. Dry wood, faint trace of old salt. He set the Absol down gently on the narrow couch against the wall. The blanket made a rough barrier between its body and the fabric. It let out a faint, rasping breath but didn't stir.

Elias crouched beside it again, checking the wound. The edges didn't look worse — maybe even a little less swollen, if the Antidote had started to work. He brushed damp fur from its face, feeling the heat under his palm.

"Yeah," he whispered. "You're gonna need time."

He reached for his satchel again, pulling out what little he had — a half-empty potion bottle, gauze, and a small vial of water. He'd have to restock later. For now, he could clean it up, keep it hydrated, and pray the fever broke.

Outside, the city was finally awake. Voices carried faintly through the window, mixed with the sound of waves.

Elias exhaled, slow. The tension in his shoulders didn't leave, but it softened.

He hadn't planned to take anything home this morning. Yet here it was — breathing, fragile, and somehow already depending on him.

The house creaked in the wind. Old timber, old nails — every gust made it sigh a little, like the place was breathing alongside him.

Elias sat cross-legged on the floor beside the couch, back against the wall, elbows resting loosely on his knees. He'd cleaned what he could — disinfected the puncture, rewrapped it with gauze, sprayed another light coat of potion until the skin stopped looking raw. The Antidote had done its job, mostly. The fever hadn't vanished, but it no longer radiated like a furnace. He'd taken to cooling the Absol's head with a damp cloth, swapping it out every so often when the warmth seeped through.

Now, the room smelled faintly of salt, medicine, and fabric that had dried too many times near the sea.

The Pokémon's breathing had settled into something closer to rhythm. Not quite healthy, but no longer frantic. Every so often, its claws flexed against the blanket — small, unconscious twitches. Elias watched the motion without speaking, listening instead to the hum of distant life outside: voices calling, a cart rolling over cobblestones, the brief ring of a bicycle bell. All faint, filtered through the wooden walls.

He glanced toward the window. The fog had burned off completely. Shalour's rooftops caught the late morning light, sun spilling down in uneven patches where clouds broke apart. He could see the faint shimmer of the ocean between them — blue-white and restless, the same as always.

His stomach gave a quiet, traitorous sound. He hadn't eaten since yesterday evening. For a second, he considered leaving to grab something from the bakery near the harbor — but one look at the Absol settled that thought. Its breathing, though steady, still looked fragile. The kind of fragile that could turn again without warning.

He pushed himself up, joints complaining softly, and crossed the room to the small kitchenette. The floorboards whispered under his steps. He filled a cup halfway from the tap, then hesitated, grabbed a shallow bowl instead. He crouched beside the couch again and set the bowl within easy reach.

"Water," he said quietly, though he doubted the Pokémon was awake enough to hear. "In case you wake up before I notice."

He sat back, running a hand through his hair. Damp still clung to the cuffs of his jacket, and his fingers smelled faintly of antiseptic and seaweed. When he exhaled, it came out as a sigh he hadn't meant to release.

"You really know how to complicate a morning, huh?"

The Absol stirred.

Not much — just a twitch of its ear, a faint shift of its paw. Its eye cracked open, crimson under the half-light. For a second, it looked unfocused — seeing but not understanding. Then the slit pupil tightened, finding him.

Elias stilled. He didn't move closer, didn't speak. Just let the quiet settle between them again, the air heavy with that strange tension that existed between species — half curiosity, half caution.

The Absol's gaze lingered. It didn't growl, didn't bare its teeth. Its breathing stayed even, though the lines of its body were taut beneath the fur. Its tail flicked once, then fell still again.

"Hey," he said finally, tone low, steady. "You're safe here."

The Pokémon blinked. Its head shifted slightly toward the sound of his voice. The motion looked sluggish, unsteady — like the effort cost more than it should.

Elias reached slowly for the bowl, dragging it a little closer. The water inside rippled faintly. "If you can, drink. It'll help."

The Absol didn't move at first. Its eye flicked to the bowl, then back to him. For a few breaths, nothing. Then, with a faint grunt, it pushed a paw forward — claws scraping the blanket — and lowered its head. Its horn brushed the rim before it found the surface. The first lap of its tongue was shaky, hesitant, but it drank.

Elias let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

He stayed still until it finished, pulling back to rest its muzzle against the blanket again. Its eyelid drooped, half-closed but not entirely. He could see the faint reflection of light in that crimson iris, watching him.

"Good," he said softly. "That's good."

The Pokémon's breathing evened again, slow and measured. It didn't seem afraid now — just tired, the kind of tired that lived deep in the bones.

Elias leaned back against the wall once more, eyes half on the ceiling. The sun had climbed higher; the room was bright enough now that dust floated visibly in the air, catching on slow currents of light.

He rubbed at his face, voice barely above a whisper. "Guess you're staying awhile."

Outside, a Wingull called — long and distant — and the Absol's ear twitched toward it.

Neither of them moved for a long time after that.

By afternoon, the light had changed.
It came in softer now, angled through the salt-glazed windowpanes in narrow strips that warmed the floorboards. Dust moved lazily in the air — slow spirals and drifting threads, carried by a house that never quite stood still.

Elias sat by the table, a chipped enamel plate beside him and the faint smell of reheated stew lingering from the pot on the stove. It wasn't much — a mix of root vegetables, some dried herbs, and a bit of leftover seafish he'd bought two days ago. Enough to settle the hunger that had been gnawing at him since morning.

He ate in silence, head half-turned toward the couch.

The Absol hadn't moved far. It lay in the same loose curl, fur brushed unevenly from the earlier cleaning. Its breathing still carried that faint hitch every few cycles, like the ribs caught before remembering how to expand. But it was breathing — calm, measured. More alive than it had been when he'd found it.

Every so often, an ear twitched toward the sound of his spoon scraping the bowl. Once, when he shifted his chair, the Pokémon's eye cracked open again, catching a sliver of light. The crimson color looked deeper now, less clouded.

"You're awake again," Elias murmured, setting the spoon down.

The Absol didn't move, but its gaze followed the sound.

He stood, slow enough not to creak the floor too loudly, and crossed the room to where it lay. The bowl of water was half-empty — not spilled, just used. That small evidence of will made something loosen in his chest. He knelt to check the bandages.

The wound had held clean. The potion had sealed the worst of the tearing, and only a faint dampness clung where the fur met the cloth. He worked carefully, unwrapping a small section, inspecting the skin beneath. Pale, puckered, still angry-looking, but not festering.

"That's better," he said quietly. "You'll scar, but you'll walk."

A soft rumble rose from the Absol's throat — not a growl exactly, more like the sound of breath pushed through exhaustion. Its tail shifted against the blanket.

"Yeah," Elias said. "Didn't think you'd like me fussing."

He reached for the damp cloth that had cooled beside the window, wrung it once between his hands, and pressed it gently to the Absol's forehead. The Pokémon flinched — a small, sharp motion — then relaxed by degrees.

"There," he said. "Easy."

Outside, gulls wheeled somewhere above the cliffs, their cries distant but distinct. Through the open window came the muted wash of surf against rock, the rhythm constant, unhurried. The sounds fit together — gulls, sea, the faint wind through the harbor streets — and for the first time that day, the room felt less like a place suspended out of time.

Elias sat back on his heels, studying the creature in front of him. He'd seen plenty of Pokémon, trained beside a few, but never one like this. Absols were said to appear before disasters — that was the story, anyway. Omens wrapped in fur and horn. He looked at the line of its breathing and thought it seemed too small, too mortal for superstition.

"I don't buy the omen thing," he said softly, not sure if he was speaking to it or to himself. "But you've definitely had a run of bad luck."

The Absol's ear twitched at his voice again. Slowly, its head lifted, the movement sluggish but deliberate. Its gaze found him, sharp even through weariness.

Elias didn't move away. He met its eyes and held the space between them steady. The air seemed to thicken, quiet pressing around the two of them like a held breath. Then the Absol exhaled — a long, slow sound — and lowered its head back down, the tension leaking from its body.

Trust, or something near it.

Elias stayed there a while longer, hand resting loosely on his knee, watching the even rise and fall of its chest. The light had begun to slide toward evening — gold fading to the color of seawater, the first hints of chill creeping through the cracks. He'd need to light the lamp soon.

He reached over and adjusted the blanket once more, tucking it around the Absol's flank where it had slipped loose. Its fur brushed his knuckles — coarse, cool, alive.

"You'll be alright," he murmured. "Just rest."

The Absol didn't respond, but its breathing deepened. Its body went still in the way living things do when they've finally stopped bracing for pain.

Outside, the wind shifted, bringing with it the smell of tide and faint rain. Inside, the house breathed with them both — timber sighing, glass humming in the frames, and somewhere near the hearth, two creatures letting the quiet hold them until the day thinned into dusk.

 

[Nephthys8079]

The sound of rain woke him.

Not heavy — just the kind that fell in soft, deliberate threads, tapping faintly against the roof. The air smelled sharper, cleaner, like the sea had pushed its breath straight through the open window.

Elias blinked the sleep from his eyes, half expecting to see the same fog clinging outside. Instead, the world looked rinsed. The horizon beyond Shalour's rooftops had turned a soft grey-blue, the ocean below it restless but shining where the first light hit the waves.

He sat up slowly, muscles stiff from the floorboards. His blanket had slipped down sometime during the night, pooled around his ankles. For a second, he just sat there, rubbing warmth back into his arms, the quiet wrapping around him in layers — rain, sea, wood settling.

Then a sound broke the rhythm.

A soft scrape. Cloth shifting. A breath that didn't belong to him.

Elias turned his head toward the couch.

The Absol was awake. Not just the flicker of an eyelid, but properly awake — its body shifting, muscles testing the weight of themselves again. Its tail gave a faint, uncertain flick, brushing against the blanket. The horn caught a shard of morning light as its head lifted.

"Hey," Elias said softly, voice still rough with sleep.

The Pokémon froze mid-motion, one paw halfway to the floor. Its red eyes locked on him, wide and focused now. There was no confusion this time — just wary alertness.

"It's okay," he said, keeping his tone level, calm. "You're alright."

He didn't move closer. Just stayed where he was, letting the Absol study him.

For a long moment, neither of them did anything. The house hummed faintly with the sound of rain. Then, slowly, the Absol shifted again — paw touching the floor this time, claws clicking lightly against the wood. Its legs trembled under its own weight, but it managed to stand.

The first few breaths it took sounded rough, but not pained. The bandaged flank twitched once, testing balance. Elias exhaled quietly, relief and worry tangled in the same breath.

"Careful," he murmured. "Don't push it yet."

The Absol's head turned slightly, horn sweeping the air between them. Its gaze lingered on him — questioning, maybe — before it lowered its nose toward the bowl he'd left out the night before. The water was stale, a thin film on the surface, but it drank anyway.

That simple act felt larger than it should have.

When it finished, the Absol straightened again, tail shifting as if to test its balance. Its fur was still uneven, patchy where the wound had been cleaned, but under the morning light it caught faint silver tones.

Elias stood carefully, stepping around the couch toward the kitchenette. "If you're standing, you're hungry," he said. "That's how it usually goes."

He reached for the bag of feed he kept for visiting Pokémon — simple mix, mostly grain and dried kelp, used for wild coastal types. It wasn't perfect, but it would do until he found something more suitable. He poured a small handful into a shallow dish and set it on the floor near the couch.

The Absol's gaze followed the motion, nostrils flaring.

"It's not much," Elias said. "But it's food."

For a moment, the creature didn't move. Then, with one slow step, it closed the distance — each motion deliberate, measured. It lowered its head, sniffed, then began to eat. Not fast, not desperate. Just steady.

Elias leaned against the counter, arms folded loosely. The sound of rain softened further, fading to mist. He watched the Absol eat, each careful bite erasing a bit of the unease that had lingered between them since yesterday.

When it finally looked up, the faintest trace of calm had returned to its eyes.

Elias smiled — small, tired, genuine. "Guess we're making progress."

The Absol blinked once, then sat back on its haunches, the tip of its tail brushing the floor. The room fell quiet again except for the sea and the steady patter of rain.

Outside, the day began to brighten — slow, reluctant, but sure.

Inside, two creatures who'd found each other by accident shared the silence like it was something earned.

The room settled into a slow noon.

Light moved across the floor in the same patient stripe it always did, crawling from window to table, warming the scuffed wood where Elias had set his notebook. Outside, the sea kept time, a distant wash under the low hum of daytime life in Shalour. Inside, everything felt slightly softened — as if the house itself were exhaling after holding its breath.

Elias cleaned his bowl at the sink and let the water run for a long second before turning it off. He dried his hands on a towel, then folded it and left it on the counter where it could air. The small domestic motions helped. They always did — suturing attention to small tasks kept worry from growing legs.

He kept glancing at the couch. The Absol lay in the same curled position as before, muzzle tucked, one horn catching the light in a dull sheen. It wasn't asleep exactly; its eyes opened and closed in long blinks, and its breathing had a steadier rhythm than yesterday. The bandage around the shoulder was clean for now, edges tucked neatly where he'd wrapped them. It had the look of something given time to mend.

He moved slowly between chores, laying out a spare blanket, checking the water bowl, rifling through his pack for extra gauze. Each small action made a new impression: the stitch of his jacket against the counter, the soft scrape of the chair as he pushed it back, the scent of seaweed mingled with the faintly sweet breath of convalescence that came off the animal.

When he sat at the table, he opened his notebook but didn't write more than a line or two — reminders, small and practical. "Buy more potion. Ask Harbor for bandages. Look into a vet at Lumiose if needed." He underlined the last one twice, the pencil scoring the paper in a small, jagged mark.

The Absol shifted then, a slow uncoiling. It moved with the carefulness of someone relearning their limbs; each step measured. It padded off the couch and came to rest on the floor near the hearth, head low but ears pricked. For a few moments it simply watched him: nostrils flaring faintly, breath sounding rhythmic and sure.

Elias watched back. He felt oddly incompetent and enormously protective at the same time — these two feelings tangled, neither one winning. He rose and poured another bowl of the feed he'd bought; the creature's ears flicked at the sound. When he set the dish down, the Absol sniffed it, hesitated, then ate. Not ravenous; deliberate. The small, steady bites told him more than any frantic hunger might have.

The house remained quiet except for ordinary life: the distant creak of a cart, a neighbor's low voice drifting past the street, the ever-present song of the tide. The cadence of those sounds softened the room's edges and made the simple act of sharing a space feel like a covenant.

He moved to clear the table, but paused when the Absol lifted its head and fixed him with that red, slow-attentive stare. It wasn't asking for anything. It seemed merely to be noting him, cataloguing his presence the way a wary animal might log weather patterns.

"You okay?" he asked, partly to fill the quiet and partly because the small ceremonials of speech felt right even if nothing needed answering.

A soft exhale. The Absol shifted, rolled once onto its side, exposing its bandaged flank for a moment before settling again. It nudged its nose against the blanket's edge as if adjusting something only it could sense.

Elias smiled without meaning to. He could feel the day loosening its tightness. The clear, nervous edge he'd carried since the cliffs was duller now — not gone, but thinner. The animal's presence had a grounding quality he hadn't been expecting. It made him notice the small things: the dust motes floating in the light, the way the kettle whistled faintly from the stove as the water boiled down, the way his own breath steadied to match the room's rhythm.

He rinsed the dish and set it on the drying rack, then went to the window and pushed the sash up a few centimeters. Fresh, salt-smelling air came in; the sun warmed his wrists. Below, someone was hauling a net toward the harbor, boots thudding on the dock. The ordinary motion of the town was a small reassurance: the world kept moving even as he learned how to hold a life in his hands.

When he turned back, the Absol's eyes were half-closed, not asleep but restful in a way he hadn't seen when he first found it. He felt something taut inside his chest ease — a little promise, not assured but given.

He sat back down and finally wrote one more line in his notebook, neat and deliberate: Check vet hours. Watch for fever tonight. Don't let it wander the cliffs again.

The pen paused. He looked up, catching the creature's eye, and for a second they simply acknowledged each other in the small, slow language they had begun to build — measured glances, shared breaths, the quiet economy of two lives learning to fit together for a while.

By early afternoon, the light had turned clean and sharp — the kind of brightness that left no corners for shadows to hide. Elias stood by the door, coat halfway on, glancing back over his shoulder for the fifth time.

The Absol hadn't moved much since eating. It lay sprawled near the low hearth now, one paw stretched slightly forward, chest rising and falling in an even rhythm. Its horn caught the windowlight like a blade of glass. Every so often, the creature's tail flicked against the floor, a faint thock of fur brushing wood. Awake, but only barely.

He lingered there longer than he should've. The air smelled faintly of salt and drying herbs — his own small attempt at keeping the room from stinking of medicine and damp cloth. He'd opened the window earlier, and the incoming wind tugged lightly at the curtains. Beyond it, the faintest sound of gulls drifted through, mingled with the scrape of ropes against masts down by the docks.

He adjusted the strap of his bag and exhaled. "Back soon," he said quietly.

The Absol's ear twitched, a flicker of acknowledgment. No other movement.

That was answer enough.

He pulled the door closed behind him, and the world changed — the hush of the house replaced instantly by the hum of the street. The warmth of the interior gave way to the briny chill that came rolling in off the bay. The shift in texture was so complete it made him pause for a breath, as though recalibrating. Then he started walking.

Shalour's midday pace had settled into its rhythm: carts rattling over cobblestone, voices calling from the open fish stalls, the faint metallic clang from the lighthouse's maintenance crew. The salt air mixed with the clean scent of freshly baked bread, and beneath it all, the faint tang of oil from the old harbor machinery.

Elias adjusted his bag again, the strap digging into his shoulder. The market was a ten-minute walk from his house if he didn't dawdle — fifteen if he stopped to look at the tide. He knew he'd take the long route. His steps slowed automatically as he reached the cliff road that curved past the western overlook, where the wind came strong and clean.

He'd walked this road hundreds of times, but it always reminded him of the difference between what the sea took and what it returned. The cliffs stretched wide, their edges frayed and pale. Below, the surf crashed against the rocks in deep, rhythmic pulses that you could feel in your ribs if you stood still long enough.

He watched the white foam slide back into blue water and felt, briefly, the tug of the morning again — that first sight of the Absol collapsed in the grass, half-dead, breath rattling. He'd been lucky to find it in time. She'd been lucky, too, though he hadn't quite settled into thinking of the Pokémon as "she" yet. There was still that quiet, deliberate uncertainty between them — a waiting space neither had crossed.

He tore his eyes from the water and moved on.

The market sat at the town's midline, pressed between old stone buildings that caught and held the afternoon heat. He passed a trio of children playing near the fountain — their laughter breaking against the drone of the vendors. A Wingull swooped low, hoping for scraps, and was chased off by a shopkeeper with a rag.

He stopped at the first stall, the familiar one run by a man named Leonce who sold dried herbs and poultices. "You look tired, lad," Leonce said, eyes flicking up from his scales. "Not sleeping again?"

Elias gave a short, wry smile. "Something like that. Need more gauze, potion spray if you've got it. And… something mild for fever. For a Pokémon."

Leonce's brows rose a fraction but he didn't pry. He turned, rummaged through his crates, and came back with a neatly packed satchel. "She yours?"

"Not exactly." Elias counted out the bills, thumb brushing the worn edges. "Found her hurt near the cliffs."

The older man grunted softly. "You always did attract strays. Careful with an Absol, though — unlucky signs, those."

Elias nodded, but didn't reply. The superstition wasn't new; it was baked into the bones of the coast. He'd heard it a hundred times from sailors who refused to cast off if they saw one perched on the bluffs. Still, the idea of leaving her there to die hadn't sat right. Luck or not, something in those eyes had looked too aware.

He thanked Leonce, tucked the supplies into his bag, and moved on. The rest of the errands blurred — bakery, apothecary, a stop for clean towels. He moved through it all with an odd tension coiled behind his ribs, every sound in the street competing with the thought of the quiet room he'd left behind.

By the time he reached the hill that led back to his house, the wind had changed. Clouds drifted inland, softening the light, and the smell of the tide thickened with oncoming weather. He picked up his pace. It wasn't raining yet, but it would soon.

The door stuck a little when he opened it — the wood swelling with damp. Inside, the air was still warm from the morning sun. His first glance went to the couch, then to the hearth. Empty.

For half a heartbeat, panic spiked sharp behind his ribs — that reflexive, gut-deep flash of gone.

Then he saw her. The Absol lay not far from the window now, half-hidden under the table's shadow, head lifted slightly toward the sound of the door. She blinked once, slow and deliberate, like someone waking from a light sleep.

Elias let the breath leave him. "You moved," he murmured, voice softer than he meant it to be.

Her tail brushed the floor once, a faint sound like reassurance.

He set the bag down and crouched near her, scanning the bandage, the way her chest rose and fell. No fresh bleeding. No fever flush under the fur. Just quiet observation, the two of them locked in that familiar, cautious stillness again.

"Didn't miss me too much, huh?"

No reply, of course — but her gaze didn't break from his. And in that silence, Elias found something that felt dangerously close to trust beginning to root itself. Not all the way, not yet, but enough to stay.

By the time the clouds broke open, the light had gone thin and metallic. The rain came in slow at first — a faint percussion on the glass, like fingertips testing for weak spots — then thickened until the whole house seemed to hum with it. Wind pressed against the walls, finding the small cracks that made the wood sigh.

Elias sat by the hearth again, the same spot he'd occupied that morning. A shallow fire burned low, more embers than flame. The warmth barely reached his knees, but it was enough to keep the room from sinking into the damp chill the sea air carried.

The Absol lay curled on the rug now, closer than before. Her body rose and fell with a steady rhythm, the tip of her tail flicking every few minutes — like she was half-awake, listening even in rest. The light from the coals painted her fur in dull reds and soft shadows, catching on the curve of her horn.

He had a book open beside him but hadn't turned a page in nearly half an hour. His mind kept drifting back to the same point: how fragile she'd looked when he found her, and how alive she looked now. It didn't make sense that he should care this much — she wasn't his, not in the way trainers talked about their Pokémon — but something about her presence filled the house differently. Like it had a pulse now, faint but steady.

The wind howled through the eaves. The ocean's rhythm was distant but constant beneath it, a deep undertone you felt rather than heard. Rainwater traced thin veins down the windowpanes, catching the flicker of the firelight.

Elias leaned back, eyes unfocused, half-listening to the sounds around him. He could almost feel the weight of the storm through the boards — that living, breathing thing pressing in on the coast.

Then, a sound from the floor broke the rhythm.

Soft. Low. A sound halfway between a sigh and a quiet hum — not pain, but acknowledgment.

His gaze dropped. The Absol had shifted. Her head rested on her front paws now, crimson eyes half-lidded but fixed on him. The noise had come from her throat — a faint, almost questioning tone that seemed to vibrate in the air for a heartbeat before fading.

Elias set the book aside. "Hey," he said quietly, as if raising his voice might shatter the moment.

Her ear turned toward him. The second sound came more clearly this time — low, resonant, and distinctly feminine in timbre.

Something about it made his chest tighten.

"You're talking now?" he said, a small half-smile tugging at his mouth. "Guess that's a good sign."

The Absol blinked slowly, eyes flicking to the fire, then back to him. Her tail brushed against the rug again. He could almost imagine what that tone meant — not speech, but comprehension. The way wild Pokémon sometimes spoke without words, by intent alone.

He reached toward the fire with the iron poker, nudging a coal back into place. Sparks flared briefly, catching the outline of his face and hers in red-orange light. The air smelled of burning cedar and rain-soaked wood.

"Storm'll pass by morning," he said, mostly to fill the silence. "You'll see the sun again soon enough."

The Absol made that low sound once more, a short, questioning rumble that died in her throat. Not distress — closer to interest, maybe even faint approval.

He smiled a little at that. "Right. You probably don't care about the weather."

A pause. Then — a quiet huff. Air through her nose, soft and deliberate. If it had been a person, he might've called it a laugh.

Elias couldn't help the faint chuckle that escaped him. "Okay, okay. Point taken."

The moment stretched out again — not empty, but easy. He watched the way the firelight moved over her fur, catching motes of dust in the air. The rhythm of the rain softened, losing its harsh edge as the storm began to ebb.

It occurred to him then, as he sat in that half-light with her, how much of the day had disappeared in small tasks and smaller silences. He hadn't spoken to anyone else since the market. The world beyond this house felt distant, like a half-remembered story.

But here — the breathing, the sound of claws shifting faintly against the rug, the flicker of her eyes following his every motion — this felt more real than most things he'd known lately.

He leaned back against the wall, letting his head rest there, eyelids drooping. "Get some rest," he murmured. "We both could use it."

The Absol exhaled, low and steady, then settled her chin back onto her paws. Her eyes slipped closed, lashes soft against the pale fur. The rise and fall of her breathing matched the rhythm of the waves below, a quiet sync between creature and coast.

Outside, the storm moved on. The house, for the first time in days, felt at peace.
The storm had left the world rinsed and new.
When Elias woke, light was already spilling thin and white through the warped panes — ocean-bright, carrying that damp salt scent that only came after rain. For a long moment he didn't move, only listened. The drip from the eaves. The distant call of Wingull. Somewhere beyond the window, someone hammering planks back into place. Shalour breathing again.

He sat up slowly, muscles stiff, the blanket half-slid from his shoulder. The couch opposite him was still occupied. The Absol hadn't moved much — curled tight, head pillowed against its own forelegs. The wound looked clean. The fever had faded to something almost human in its steadiness.

He rose, bare feet finding the cool boards. Every sound felt loud in the stillness. Kettle clink. Cup on counter. The faint scratch of the match as he lit the burner. He didn't glance over until the first faint whistle broke the quiet.

The Absol's ear twitched.
Elias turned. Their eyes met again — red, clear, alert in a way that hadn't been there last night.

"Morning," he said quietly.

It didn't respond, but neither did it flinch. The fur along its neck lifted once in a shiver, then settled.

He poured the hot water, left the cup to steam on the table, and crossed the few steps between them. Close now, he could see the way its chest rose and fell — steady. A faint tremor still clung to the movement, like a heartbeat remembering how to trust its own rhythm.

He crouched.
The Absol's horn angled slightly, a warning half-formed, but it didn't pull away.

Elias extended his hand, slow enough that the motion could be read and refused. The scent of potion still lingered on his skin — sharp, medicinal. The space between them hung weightless.

"Hey," he murmured, voice almost lost to the sea wind pressing at the shutters. "It's alright."

The Absol's nose shifted, barely, testing the air.
Then — a pause, and the faintest lean forward. Fur brushed his fingers, coarse at first touch, then soft beneath. Warm. Real.

Elias exhaled, a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding since the night before. He let his hand rest there, not stroking yet, just existing in the fragile permission.

The Absol's eyes closed halfway. A sound left it — not quite a sigh, not a growl either. Something between.

"Yeah," he whispered. "You're safe."

Outside, the light deepened — gold now, climbing higher, catching the salt on the windows in glittering veins. Inside, the house smelled of damp wood and new day.

For the first time since he'd carried her through the rain, the silence didn't feel like distance.