The moving truck jostled over an uneven patch of road, its old wheels humming with every bump and turn. The interior was dim, lit only by thin strips of light sneaking in from the back vents. Boxes were stacked like puzzle pieces around them, shifting slightly with each rumble. The air smelled faintly of dust, cloth, and sun-warmed plastic.
Wally sat cross-legged on a folded blanket between two crates labeled "KITCHEN" and "FRAGILE." Across from him, nestled on a makeshift pillow of sweaters, sat Ralts—silent as ever, but alert. Her pale blue hair shimmered in the half-light, her red horn twitching faintly with the vibrations of the road.
Wally held a small, round object in his hands: a Technical Machine—its casing a blend of dark graphite and gleaming crystal. The inner surface of the disc pulsed with a soft, amber glow.
Ralts tilted her head, her eyes fixed on the TM.
"You're curious, huh?" Wally said, glancing up with a small smile. He turned the disc over in his hands, watching how the light bent inside it. "It's called a Technical Machine. It teaches Pokémon moves instantly. This one's for Rock Smash—Uncle gave it to me before we left."
Ralts blinked, her gaze never wavering from the disc. She leaned forward slightly, her body tensing with intent.
Wally caught the motion and gave a light laugh. "You want to try it?"
The psychic-type nodded—or, at least, gave the smallest of gestures that suggested a yes. Her horn glowed faintly, as if echoing the desire that pulsed quietly within her: Wally could almost sense the unspoken wish to have more options, more power.
Wally's smile faded into something gentler. "I wish I could. But Rock Smash is a fighting-type move." He crouched down beside her, voice softening. "See, Rock Smash is a Fighting-type move, and while some Pokémon can learn moves outside their type, you're a female Ralts, so you won't be able to learn Fighting-type moves like Rock Smash."
He paused, glancing at her with understanding. "If you were male, you could eventually evolve into Gallade—a Fighting-Psychic Pokémon that specializes in moves like this. But since you're female, you'll evolve into Gardevoir instead, who's more about Psychic and Fairy moves. So Rock Smash won't really suit you."
Ralts didn't move, but something changed in her posture. The way her head lowered just a fraction. The way the horn dimmed to a dull, quiet red. Not pouting. Not angry. Just… silent.
"I know," Wally said softly, placing the TM back into its case. "It sucks. I get it. You want to grow faster."
He reached out, resting a hand on her head—her hair cool and silk-soft beneath his fingers.
"But you're going to evolve into a Gardevoir one day. That's a powerful psychic Pokémon. Beautiful, graceful—and strong in a different way." His voice lowered, filled with quiet promise. "We'll find moves that are better for you. Moves that fit who you are."
Ralts didn't respond right away. But her horn shimmered again—soft and calm this time, like a candle rekindled after wind. She leaned into his hand, just slightly.
The truck took another sharp turn. A box toppled behind them, spilling a few books onto the floor, but neither of them flinched.
Wally kept his hand resting on Ralts' head as the truck rumbled on. Through the vents, a sliver of green peeked through—the first signs of Verdanturf Town's hills rolling into view.
"New place," he whispered. "New start. We'll figure it out. You and me."
And Ralts, in her quiet way, simply stayed beside him.
...
The moving truck gave a final lurch before its engine sputtered to a stop.
Wally pushed the doors open, sunlight flooding into the darkened compartment like a wave of warmth. Verdanturf greeted them with a soft breeze that carried the scent of flowers and fresh grass, as if the entire town had just finished a long, slow exhale.
Ralts hopped down beside him, blinking up at the open sky.
Wally stepped out into the light. The breeze immediately touched his cheeks, cooler and gentler than the sticky air back in Petalburg. The hills rolled green and soft beyond the rooftops, and the wildflowers seemed to nod as he took his first breath of his new home.
A voice called out, bright and familiar. "Wally!"
He turned just in time to catch his mother in a wide-armed hug. She wrapped around him with surprising strength for someone so slight.
"You made it safely!" she said, her voice rich with relief. "Oh, sweetie, you must be tired. You look a little pale. Are you okay?"
"I… yeah," Wally said with a shy nod. "It's quiet here. The air's nice."
His mother stepped back to brush some hair out of his eyes. "Verdanturf's the best, you'll see. Much better than the Fortree house we have. You'll breathe easier here. Everyone's kind, and the pace is slower. It's a perfect place to rest."
Wally gave a small, grateful smile and turned his eyes to the house—modest, one story, its windows open to the sunlight. On the porch, his grandfather dozed in a rocking chair, hands folded over his stomach, mouth slightly ajar. The wind moved through the chimes above him, but he didn't stir.
"Grandpa hasn't moved since breakfast," his mom said with a light laugh. "I swear he's part of the furniture now."
Another voice chimed in from behind the door. "Is that Wally?"
A girl with pigtails and a dress decorated in pink bows skipped into view, her arms full of well-loved dolls. "Wally!" she squealed, bouncing toward him.
"Hey, Lily," Wally said, bending slightly as his little sister threw her arms around his waist. She caught sight of the pale shape hiding behind his leg.
"Ooooh, is that your Pokémon?" she asked, eyes going round. "What is it? Can I pet it?"
Before Wally could answer, Lily crouched and extended a small hand toward Ralts, who eyed her with unreadable calm.
Ralts tilted her head, horn flickering slightly. Then, without a sound, she stepped away and turned her back, slipping behind Wally's leg again.
Lily frowned. "Huh? She doesn't like me?"
Wally knelt beside her, giving her an apologetic look. "She's… just shy, that's all. It's not you."
Their mother stepped forward, watching the interaction with a mix of curiosity and warmth. "So that's Ralts?" she asked. "She's beautiful. Look at that glow—she's special, isn't she?"
Wally nodded, brushing his hand along Ralts's head gently. The Pokémon leaned ever so slightly into the touch.
"You two already seem so close," his mom said, her voice softening. "She'll be good for you. And you'll be good for her."
Wally's eyes drifted down to Ralts. Her horn shimmered faintly, a quiet pulse of light. There was something… different about her. Not just her coloring—rare as it was—but the way she held herself. Observing more than reacting. Distant, but not cold. She reminded him of someone watching the world from behind glass.
"Do you want to give her a nickname?" his mom asked, smiling. "It's the first step to becoming a true Trainer."
Wally opened his mouth, then paused. His hand lingered in Ralts's hair.
He glanced down. "Do you want a name?" he asked quietly.
Ralts turned to look at him, meeting his eyes. For a moment, something passed between them—quick and clear. She shook her head once, gently.
Wally gave a soft chuckle and nodded. "No nickname, then. She likes just being Ralts, no more, no less."
His mom seemed slightly surprised, but then she nodded. "That's fine. Every Pokémon's different. I suppose she already knows who she is."
"Yeah," Wally said under his breath, looking down at her. "She really does."
...
The late morning sun hung soft and golden over Verdanturf's flowered hills.
Wally stood in a quiet clearing just beyond the garden path behind their new home. The breeze carried the light perfume of blooming petal grass, and the only sounds were the distant hum of Beautifly wings and the occasional rustle of a Skitty moving through the underbrush.
Ralts stood across from him, her tiny body still, posture poised and alert.
"Okay," Wally said, brushing green strands of hair from his forehead. "Let's start with what you've got."
He pulled a notebook from his bag, pages already filled with diagrams, scribbles, and stats. He flipped to the most recent entry and read aloud.
"Your current move set: Growl, Double Team, and Confusion. The last one's our key offensive move—for now."
Ralts tilted her head, her horn gleaming faintly in the sunlight. Her gaze fixed on Wally's hands as he held the notebook close to his chest.
"I've been thinking," he continued. "Psychic energy's tricky. It's not like punching or kicking. It's like... thought becoming force. You have to focus everything—emotion, direction, clarity. You don't just launch power. You aim with your mind."
"Let's start with Confusion. Aim for that tree stump over there."
She nodded and stepped forward, lifting her arms slightly. Her horn began to glow faintly—pale blue light gathering at its tip. Then, with a soft flicker, the energy darted forward in a thin beam and struck the stump. A few leaves fluttered loose, but the stump didn't budge.
Wally rubbed his chin. "That was good form, but I think you're holding back. Let's focus on precision. Not just firing the energy, but visualizing the target."
He walked to the stump and placed a small, flat rock on top.
"Try again. This time, not just the stump—the rock."
Ralts nodded again. Her horn lit up, slightly brighter this time. The air shimmered faintly around her, and the psychic pulse flew faster, cleaner. It struck the rock dead center, sending it tumbling to the ground with a satisfying thud.
Wally grinned. "Much better!"
They repeated the exercise several times—Wally adjusting her position, giving quick feedback, and Ralts responding with quiet intensity. Each attempt grew more focused. Not always stronger, but sharper. More efficient.
"You know," Wally said as they paused to catch their breath, "Uncle said training's not about brute force. He said it's like learning to breathe underwater—slow, steady, controlled. You don't panic. You just trust."
Ralts tilted her head again.
"We're gonna get there. One move at a time."
He glanced down into his bag, rummaging for a moment before pulling out a small, shimmering object nestled in a velvet pouch.
He closed the notebook gently and placed it down on the grass.
From his pocket, he pulled out a small, glimmering object—a Rare Candy, nestled in a tiny velvet pouch.
Ralts stared at the candy, then at Wally, her crimson eyes blinking slowly.
He extended it toward her. "You've earned it. It's supposed to help a Pokémon grow stronger instantly. Level them up. But it's more than that—it's like... a marker. A milestone. For when you've really earned it."
He looked at her. "And I think today's that day. Our first training."
Ralts looked up at him, her horn tilting ever so slightly forward. Wally offered the Rare Candy in his palm.
"Go on."
She took it silently and bit into it with a curious, careful motion. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the air changed. A faint shimmer danced around her form—like ripples in still water—and her eyes flared with sudden clarity.
Wally blinked. "Wait… that was it? You leveled up?"
And then, suddenly, Ralts vanished.
The empty space where she stood shimmered—and then, a breath later, she reappeared behind Wally, the light flickering briefly around her horn.
"…Teleport," he whispered, awe blooming in his voice. "You just learned Teleport!"
Ralts tilted her head, as if testing the air, and then nodded once.
Wally laughed. "You did it!"
He dropped back into the grass, beaming at the sky.
"That's our first real step. The first of many."
Ralts sat beside him once more, silent as always—but a little closer this time.
...
Vedanturf Town, Hoenn Region.
Ralts.
From Ralts' view, the world was jagged.
It didn't remember a nest, or parents, or even the first time it saw the sky. It remembered cold and noise. It remembered other Ralts looking away when its horn glowed too brightly, when its body shimmered the wrong color.
Shiny. That was what the humans called it. Rare. Special. Different.
In the wild, being different meant being alone. Different meant danger. Only with strength can one be safe. Not different, not special.
But Wally had called it something else: beautiful.
He didn't ask Ralts to be like others. He let it sit in silence. He spoke like a person trying not to spook a bird. Gentle. Careful.
In him, Ralts saw weakness. And then strength. The kind of strength that grew in shadow and never asked to be noticed. The kind that looked it in the eye without flinching.
So it followed.
It trained.
...
Thanks for reading~