A year passed quietly.

  The forest marked time in ways Rosaline had learned to notice. New leaves unfurled in spring. The air grew heavy and green in summer. Autumn painted the clearing in amber and rust, and winter softened everything beneath a hush of snow. Through it all, the mansion remained tucked away from prying eyes, half-swallowed by trees and goodwill.

  Trainers rarely ventured this deep into Eterna Forest. Those who did felt something, though most could not name it. A sense of being watched. A sense that this place was not meant for conquest.

  And so they turned back.

  Rosaline preferred it that way.

  She knelt in her garden, sleeves rolled to her elbows, soil dark beneath her fingernails. Rows of plants stretched before her, neat but not rigid. Berry bushes heavy with fruit lined the edge of the clearing. Vegetables thrived in carefully tended plots. Everything here grew with patience rather than force.

  Ralts sat beside her, legs tucked beneath its small body, watching intently as she loosened the earth around a cluster of green leaves. Its horns pulsed faintly, content and steady.

  “All right,” Rosaline murmured. “Just a little more water today.”

  She tipped the watering can slowly, careful not to drown the roots. The plant seemed to perk beneath her touch.

  Nearby, a Buneary hopped through the grass, ears flicking as it sniffed at a basket of freshly picked berries. It paused, looked up at Rosaline, then politely waited, paws clasped together.

  “You may,” Rosaline said with a smile.

  The Buneary chirped happily and accepted the offering, retreating to the shade with its prize.

  A Roselia stood a short distance away, petals gleaming in the sunlight. It had arrived months ago and never truly left, hovering protectively over the garden as if it recognized something familiar in the way Rosaline worked the soil. Its vines swayed gently as it inspected the plants, occasionally correcting a leaf here or a stem there with quiet expertise.

  And then there was Pikachu.

  It lounged near the porch steps, tail flicking lazily as it gnawed on a sliced apple. When Rosaline glanced its way, it lifted its head and gave a soft, pleased sound before returning to its snack.

  The garden had become a meeting place. Not loud, not crowded, but welcoming. Pokémon came and went as they pleased. Some stayed for a day. Some returned with the seasons. None were forced to remain.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Rosaline brushed dirt from her hands and reached into the pocket of her cardigan, fingers closing around a small cloth pouch.

  She smiled.

  Inside were seeds.

  They were unremarkable at a glance. Tomato seeds. Herb seeds. A few wildflower varieties she barely remembered tucking away. They had been in the pocket of her coat the day she arrived in this world, forgotten remnants of a past she had not realized she carried with her.

  Yet when she planted them, they grew.

  Not just survived. Thrived.

  The plants were different from Sinnoh’s native flora. Stronger in some ways. Gentler in others. The fruits carried familiar flavors that stirred memories of quiet kitchens and imagined freedom. Pokémon loved them. Wild ones lingered longer when the harvest was ready.

  Rosaline believed the seeds remembered her.

  Or perhaps she remembered them.

  She placed a handful of berries into a shallow wooden dish and set it down between Ralts and Roselia. Pikachu scampered over at once, ears perked.

  “Slowly,” she said lightly.

  Pikachu froze, then laughed and obeyed.

  Ralts leaned against her knee, its presence warm and familiar. Over the past year, it had grown taller, more confident. Still gentle, still reserved, but no longer trembling at every unfamiliar emotion. It sensed her moods before she did now, steadying her when old memories surfaced unexpectedly.

  “You know,” Rosaline said thoughtfully, watching the Pokémon eat, “we’ve done very well here.”

  Ralts hummed in agreement.

  The mansion behind her was no longer empty. Curtains hung in the windows now, light and airy. Wind chimes made of polished wood and smooth stones sang softly near the porch. Planter boxes overflowed with flowers, their colors chosen simply because they made her happy.

  Still, something tugged at her mind.

  She wanted to brighten things further. To make the space feel complete.

  Which meant she would need supplies she could not grow.

  She rose slowly, brushing off her skirt.

  “I think,” she said, mostly to herself, “it might be time to visit the city.”

  The Pokémon stilled.

  “Just for a short while,” Rosaline reassured them. “I will come back. I always do.”

  Eterna City lay not far from the forest’s edge, but it might as well have been another world. Stone paths. Shops. People. Trainers with Poké Balls clipped openly to their belts.

  Rosaline had avoided it deliberately.

  But she could not avoid it forever.

  She needed lanterns for the paths near the house. New tools. Fabric for curtains and cushions. And Poké Balls, empty ones, for those Pokémon who might someday wish to stay more formally.

  She looked down at Ralts.

  “Would you like to come with me?” she asked. “Or would you prefer to stay here, where it is quiet?”

  Ralts considered this, then reached out and gently took her hand.

  Together.

  Rosaline smiled, nerves fluttering faintly in her chest.

  “All right,” she said. “Together, then.”

  She gathered her basket, securing the remaining produce inside. The Buneary perked up at once, hopping closer. Roselia hovered nearer. Pikachu straightened, tail swishing.

  Rosaline laughed softly.

  “I promise I will bring back treats,” she said. “And perhaps something nice for the porch.”

  The forest seemed to listen.

  As she walked toward the path that would lead her out of Eterna Forest and into the city beyond, Rosaline felt the familiar quiet settle around her once more. Not fear. Not restraint.

  Resolve.

  She had lived a year unseen, growing life from soil and memory. Now, she would step briefly into the world, not to be judged or corrected, but to choose what she wished to bring back with her.

  The forest did not protest.

  It watched her go, patient and trusting.

  It knew she would return.