Santalune Forest towered above Rhea like a green cathedral—massive trees locked together with high canopies, sunlight bleeding through in fractured gold. The air was damp but clean, filled with the scent of moss, leaves, and the faint spice of distant Pokémon trails.

  She adjusted the strap on her backpack and gnced at Froakie, who hopped silently at her side, eyes sharp, scanning the underbrush.

  “Keep an ear out,” she said. “The Bug-types in here aren’t dangerous, but they’re persistent. And if we get swarmed, we bail. I’m not ready for attrition battles.”

  Froakie croaked in agreement.

  Her map showed that the forest path eventually opened near the foothills of Route 3, but it was easy to get turned around in the thicket if she wasn’t careful. Luckily, her internal GPS—sharpened from too many years of memorizing Pokémon region maps—kept her grounded.

  Still, it was slower going than she liked.

  Low branches snagged at her coat. Roots hid in the path. Pokémon calls echoed from every direction.

  And then she heard it—buzzing.

  A loud, vibrating hum that made the hairs on her arms stand up.

  “Scatterbug?” she whispered.

  Froakie crouched low.

  They edged closer to a small clearing—just enough to see a trio of Spewpa bouncing between low bushes, their tiny fuzzy bodies shedding erratic clouds of white powder as they went.

  Rhea frowned.

  She hadn’t pnned on catching any Bug-types this early. Not her style. Not her strategy. Most early Bugs had a shelf life—strong in the start, but not viable past a few Gyms unless they evolved into something useful. Vivillon was decent… but she had other pns.

  “Let’s pass wide,” she whispered. “No need to aggro.”

  Froakie nodded, and they ducked around the clearing, moving slow and quiet. They made it five meters before something dropped from the trees and smacked right into her shoulder.

  She stumbled back, instinctively throwing an arm up.

  “String Shot?!”

  Sticky web clung to her jacket, and a high-pitched skreee! came from above as a Caterpie peeked down from a tree branch.

  Froakie flung a Bubble up, smacking the Caterpie off its perch. It hit the ground, stunned but unharmed, and scrambled into the underbrush.

  “Well,” Rhea muttered, brushing strands of web off her arm, “so much for stealth.”

  And then came the shouting.

  “HELP! HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE—AAARGH I’M STUCK!”

  Rhea froze. She knew that voice.

  Sure enough, crashing through the bushes in full panic mode came Benoit—backpack sideways, one shoe missing, filing as String Shot pulled at both arms like some budget horror movie.

  Froakie immediately went on alert, throwing himself in front of Rhea.

  “BEN?” Rhea shouted. “What the hell are you—"

  “IT'S IN MY HAIR!” Benoit screeched, tripping over a branch and nding face-first on the moss. “OH MY GOD IT’S TOUCHING ME.”

  Rhea sighed and ran over.

  “Hold still,” she said, kneeling beside him.

  “I CAN’T IT’S EVERYWHERE—”

  “I said still!” she snapped.

  Froakie sliced through the webbing with a precise Pound, cutting the worst of it away. Rhea unhooked her field scissors from her belt and snipped the rest, working fast and methodically.

  Benoit groaned, blinking up at her as she freed his arms.

  “You’re… an angel,” he mumbled.

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “I wanted to surprise you!”

  “By getting dragged into a tree by a Caterpie?”

  He shrugged weakly. “Could’ve been a shiny…”

  Rhea rolled her eyes and stood. “You registered for the League, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you followed me into a forest alone without a pn?”

  He sat up, brushing dirt off his jacket. “I… yeah. I thought we could travel together.”

  Rhea paused.

  “I mean, not because I’m helpless or anything,” he added quickly. “But you clearly know what you’re doing. And I clearly don’t. So maybe I could, like… learn from you? In a non-embarrassing way?”

  Froakie gave him a long, skeptical look.

  Rhea sighed, rubbing her temples.

  “You’re seriously doing the League challenge?”

  “Dead serious,” Benoit said, hand to chest.

  “…Fine. But if you fall into another spiderweb trap, I’m leaving you there.”

  Benoit grinned. “Deal!”

  They made camp near a shallow creek ter that afternoon. Benoit was surprisingly handy with a firestarter, and Rhea managed to purify enough water for both of them and their Pokémon. Froakie stretched out by the water’s edge, occasionally flicking droplets at passing leaves.

  “You don’t think I’m dragging you down, right?” Benoit asked as he handed her a snack bar.

  “I think you’re raw,” she said honestly. “You’ve got heart, but your battle instincts need serious work.”

  “I knew it,” he muttered.

  “But,” she added, “that can be trained. What you’ve got that most don’t is that you actually want to learn. That matters.”

  He looked up. “Really?”

  She nodded. “Just don’t scream like a dying Numel next time you see a Caterpie.”

  “No promises.”

  Later, while Benoit napped under a tree and the fire crackled quietly, Rhea wandered upstream with Froakie.

  They moved quietly, scanning the air.

  She hadn’t pnned on a second catch yet—not until after the first Gym. But as they turned a bend, a fsh of red darted through the canopy.

  Rhea froze.

  “Fletchling,” she whispered.

  It nded on a low branch, peering down at the water, chest puffed with pride.

  Rhea crouched slowly.

  “Alright,” she said softly, “same species, different bird. Let’s see if this one wants to join.”

  Froakie crept forward.

  Rhea gently unhooked a Poké Ball and kept it ready.

  “Bubble—low angle, don’t hit it. Startle it into flying, then intercept.”

  Froakie unched the move—just right. The bubbles exploded below the branch. Fletchling squawked and took off—but instead of fleeing, it dove toward Froakie in a challenge.

  “Let’s go,” Rhea whispered, grinning. “Pound, now!”

  Froakie rolled left, came up with a spinning strike, and just clipped Fletchling’s wing.

  The bird fred wide, fpping hard, but it faltered mid-air.

  Perfect.

  Rhea tossed the Poké Ball.

  It struck.

  Fsh of red light.

  Wobble.

  One…

  Two…

  Click.

  Silence.

  She stared at the ball where it y in the grass.

  Then exhaled. “Gotcha.”

  Froakie grinned.

  She picked up the Poké Ball and stared at it for a moment—at this little red-and-white capsule holding a new teammate. A Flying-type with range and speed. Not part of the pn. Not on her initial capture list.

  But it fit.

  And more importantly—it felt right.

  When she returned to camp, Benoit blinked awake.

  “Did you catch something?”

  Rhea held up the Poké Ball. “Second teammate.”

  “Another Fletchling?”

  “Different one. Different vibe.”

  “Name?”

  She thought about it for a second.

  “Skye.”

  Benoit nodded approvingly. “Cool. Like the air.”

  Rhea clipped Skye’s Poké Ball to her belt and sat down by the fire, watching Froakie settle in next to her.

  Three days ago, she had one pn.

  One starter.

  One vision.

  Now, she had a team.

  A companion.

  And a journey that was already shifting faster than she could have predicted.

  But that was the beauty of it.

  The world didn’t need to match her notes.

  It just needed to be real.