"How many times has my lovely eldest daughter gone to Rastor Village by now?" A voice echoed through the throne room—tired, yet carrying the lingering majesty of command.
Seated—or rather, draped—in a decidedly unkingly fashion upon the throne, King Gadeon Roseflame Krosia of the Krosia Kingdom cradled his forehead in one hand, his posture exuding exhaustion and indifference. Despite the informality, no servants or nobles were present to witness the lapse in royal decorum. Only two others shared the space with him: his trusted right-hand man, and the queen, Lavinia Moonstone Krosia.
Those familiar with the king true personality often remarked that Princess Rosalia clearly inherited her temperament from her father. In public, both bore the same stoic mask. But in private, among those they trusted, their facades melted into something entirely different.
Just like now, as the king lounged upside down across the throne—his legs draped over one armrest, his head hanging back over the other, as if the seat were a hammock instead of a symbol of power.
Neither the queen nor the trusted right-hand man flinched at his antics. They were long accustomed to Gadeon's eccentric behavior.
With hair like rose petals touched by silver, the king appeared almost a male reflection of Rosalia. His long, flowing locks spilled past his shoulders, and his eyes—sharp and thorn-like—mirrored his daughter's piercing gaze. He wore a regal robe of crimson and ivory, trimmed with fur, over which gleamed a gold-etched breastplate and ornate pauldrons—symbols of both his sovereignty and martial prowess. A ruby-studded sword hung at his hip, its presence a reminder of the warrior beneath the crown. Despite his current posture, there was no denying the quiet authority he carried.
By contrast, Queen Lavinia sat poised and composed—an embodiment of elegance beside her battle-worn husband. Her long brown hair flowed to her waist, framing a face defined by calm wisdom and inner strength. She wore no armor, only a flowing gown of emerald and midnight blue, etched with subtle magical runes that shimmered faintly in the ambient light. The fabric rippled like mist with every graceful movement, and her wide, trailing sleeves danced softly as she shifted. A slender circlet of moonstone crowned her brow—a symbol of her deep bond with the forces of Earth and Moon.
Where Gadeon exuded force, Lavinia emanated mystery—commanding not with might, but with presence.
Standing before them was the king's right-hand man, a figure unassuming at first glance, yet unmistakably of Wentia's lineage. If one looked closely, the resemblance became clear. His features were calm and still, like a glassy lake beneath moonlight. His skin held a faint bluish hue, his complexion smooth and pale. A single scar curved along his jaw—subtle but telling of a life forged in battle. His shoulder-length black hair framed a face of unreadable expression, and his eyes, cool and steady, held the quiet depth of deep waters—unmoving, perceptive, impossible to truly grasp.
He was Knight Commander Ingrid—Wentia's father.
"Seven times, Gadeon," Ingrid said casually, then sighed and shook his head. "Even my daughter seems obsessed with that village. But I made her a promise not to interfere with anything concerning Princess Rosalia, so I let her be."
"Then how do you know they went to Rastor Village?" the king asked, now balancing on his hands atop the backrest of the throne, his body bent like a gymnast.
Ingrid's face barely moved, but something in his tone grew wearier. "My friend... you are her father, and yet you haven't spoken to her about it?"
"You spoke to her?" the king asked, genuine confusion in his voice.
"No," Ingrid replied calmly, "but according to the Kros Knights, Princess Rosalia acquired that fire horse—Ponyta—and the unusual egg that hatched into a bipedal fire lizard, which she calls Charmander, from Rastor Village. So where else could they have been spending so much time, if not there?"
"Hmm. Makes sense." The king nodded thoughtfully. "Have any of those insufferable nobles come sniffing around about these 'Pokémon' yet?"
Ingrid paused for a moment before answering. "Not yet. Most of them are just curious for now. However, nobles aligned with Princess Rosalia's faction have started expressing disappointment. Some have even hinted at shifting their support to other princes or princesses, believing she's chosen a path with no real future—like that of a Monster Tamer or Summoner."
A soft, composed voice cut through the conversation. "Are you certain those 'Pokémon' aren't bound to Rosalia in any way?" Queen Lavinia asked, speaking for the first time.
Ingrid shook his head. "No. I sensed no mana contracts or spirit bonds of any kind. There's no trace of a link between them. But I did see the Princess, my daughter, and that eccentric researcher storing the Pokémon inside spherical devices called 'Poké Balls.'"
At that, the king finally dismounted from his throne—figuratively and literally—and sat properly for once. He let out a hearty laugh.
"It seems Rosalia has stumbled upon quite the treasure trove. What's their strength?"
Ingrid fell into a brief, thoughtful silence. "Ponyta appears to possess strength nearing the Second Ring. As for the others, they've only recently hatched, so they've yet to reach even the First Ring. However, their potential is immense. I believe they could reach the Fifth Ring with ease... and perhaps even ascend to the First Sphere, given proper guidance."
The king tapped a finger thoughtfully against the armrest, a grin forming on his lips. "You hold them in such high regard, hmm? Now I'm tempted to raise one of these Pokémon myself."
He paused in contemplation. "Still... it would be wiser to wait until Rosalia can distribute more of these eggs to her most trusted aides and establish a force truly her own."
Then, he tilted his head in faint puzzlement. "But why hasn't she done so yet? What's she waiting for? Don't tell me... there are no more Pokémon eggs?"
The queen smiled softly and said, "The situation in the west is growing unstable. War could erupt at any moment with the Beastkin Kingdom. If the Court Diviner is summoned and the existence of Pokémon becomes more widely known, it could put our daughter in a difficult position."
"Hmm," the king mused, eyes narrowing. "She's waiting for the situation to stabilize before acquiring more eggs and 'alerting' us to the existence of Pokémon?" Despite already knowing the answer, he sighed, his voice laced with frustration. "Those blasted undead from the Cursed Lands continue to erode Beastkin territory, tearing apart their lands. I sympathize with the Beastkin, but we can't afford to let them claim our lands."
"Do we truly need the Court Diviner for this?" Ingrid asked, his tone questioning yet calm.
The queen nodded, her expression solemn. "The existence of Pokémon could alter the fate of our kingdom forever. We need to understand their origin—and whether they are truly harmless or some devilish creation disguised as innocent creatures."
Ingrid frowned, hesitating before speaking, his mind recalling the Pokémon's innocent appearances. "I highly doubt those... cute... creatures could be anything evil."
The queen shook her head, her voice taking on a melodic, almost wistful tone. "Let not wonder blind the wary eye, for beauty oft masks ruin's sigh."
The king sighed, his gaze distant. "I still want a Pokémon egg..." He shrank back, however, when the queen gave him a sharp, disapproving glare.
Yet, in the quiet recesses of her thoughts, Queen Lavinia couldn't help but admit: I want those cute creatures too...
In the end, both decided to let Rosalia use the Pokémon to strengthen her own power before they sought to acquire Pokémon eggs for themselves.
---
"Hum~ Hum~" Rosalia hummed softly as she rolled on her bed in the Royal Castle, cuddling with her Ponyta and Charmander. Her room was enchanted with fire-resistant magic circles, and many of its contents had been replaced with fire-resistant materials, ensuring the safety of both her belongings.
Her Ponyta had remained at Level 20 for some time now, and she had no idea when it would finally break through that bottleneck. Still, there was no denying the growth. Though only marginal, Ponyta had definitely become taller, stronger, and more mature in the time they'd spent together.
As for Charmander, it had just reached Level 15, and Rosalia was sure it wouldn't be long before it reached Level 16.
She smiled to herself, watching her Pokémon contentedly. They brought her a sense of joy that nothing else could.
This past month had been one of the happiest of her life.
She was grateful that Rastor Village fell within her southern territory.
Krosia Kingdom's method of succession was, on the surface, a meritocratic marvel—each royal child assigned a territory to govern, with the most capable destined for the throne. But behind the illusion of fairness lay a system steeped in fear and control. The Court Diviner, wielding authority, decided which children might one day pose a threat, and those deemed 'problematic'—often the ambitious, the bold, the visionary—were quietly executed. Innovation died with them.
Those who remained learned to survive through caution, not excellence, prioritizing harmony over progress. Even failure came padded: the throne's rejects became dukes, swelling the noble class until it bloated with politically safe, yet uninspired blood. With ambition strangled in its cradle and leadership born from appeasement, Krosia thrived in stability—but at the cost of growth, daring, and greatness.
However, this did not mean that all progress was stifled. Most of the 'problematic' royals were those who had been divined to refuse the outcome of the battle for the throne in the future. For those who were not deemed problematic, even if they failed, some of trhem retained their ambition and vision, finding ways to contribute meaningfully to the kingdom's growth.
As for the Court Diviner, though they may appear to wield even more power than the king, their life was precariously balanced on a knife's edge. Should they allow selfish ambition to take root, they would soon meet their end, undone by the divination power they commanded. Thus, Court Diviners in all kingdoms were individuals who, by necessity, devoted themselves entirely to serving the kingdom.
In truth, the Court Diviner was vital to the very foundation of a kingdom. Without them to keep the other kingdoms' Court Diviners in check, those kingdoms would eventually fall into ruin.
Krosia Kingdom's use of the Court Diviner—harsh, cruel, and even illogical in the eyes of many outsiders—maintained balance and stability in a way that set the kingdom apart from all others.
"Your Highness!" Suddenly, the door to her bedchamber flew open, and Wentia rushed in, her usual composure replaced by an expression of rare anxiety.
"What's wrong?" Rosalia lifted her head, her Pokémon alert at her side. Wentia's normally calm demeanor had shifted into one of genuine distress.
"M-my Bulbasaur! There's something wrong with my Bulbasaur!" Wentia stammered, her voice high with panic. "It suddenly wrapped itself in a cocoon!"
"What?!" Rosalia's mind raced as a sudden realization hit her, filling her with a surge of both excitement and urgency. She leapt from her bed and called for Reden, already set on heading straight to Arthur.
---
"Pichu! Get in close and use Nuzzle!"
"Squirtle! Use Protect!"
Pichu's cheeks sparked with electricity as it lunged forward—only to slam headfirst into a shimmering, transparent barrier that appeared in front of Squirtle. The impact sent Pichu bouncing backward, its eyes spinning before it flopped onto the ground, knocked out cold.
Arthur stared in disbelief. "What?! When did your Squirtle learn Protect?!"
Lena beamed with pride. "Hehe! I trained my Squirtle to focus on defense, taking hits head-on instead of just hiding in its shell with Withdraw. And somehow, it ended up learning Protect!"
Then, with a smug grin, she added, "Your Pichu fainted. I win!"
"Tsk." Arthur clicked his tongue and recalled the unconscious Pichu back into its Poké Ball.
Actually, Pichu was still in good shape and could've kept going. Somehow, his Pichu had learned Sleep Talk—despite not knowing Rest yet. But the basic battle rule was clear: if a Pokémon fainted, the match was over. And Pichu was undoubtedly knocked out. It hadn't used Rest to fall asleep—it was flat-out unconscious.
Maybe I should change the rule to 'unable to continue' instead of just 'fainted', Arthur mused for a moment, but quickly shook his head. Knocking out a Pokémon outright was still a valid strategy. Besides, it wasn't like it was easy to pull off. Squirtle's Protect had caught both him and Pichu completely off guard.
"Protect is a great move. Congrats on learning it," Arthur said with a smile as his sister approached, cradling her victorious Squirtle in her arms.
"Huh? Isn't it a move they just learn naturally?" Lena asked, petting Squirtle and offering it a piece of fruit.
"No, it's a TM move. Teachable Move," Arthur explained.
Technically, TM stood for Technical Machine, but he couldn't imagine a good way to explain that to her without raising even more questions. Calling it a Teachable Move was close enough.
Still… how would TMs and HMs even work in the real world? he wondered. There's no way you just shove a CD down a Pokémon's throat, right?
"How many TMs can Squirtle learn? And what are they?" Lena asked in a surprisingly serious tone.
She wanted to learn them all.
Of course, that was impossible due to the limited number of moves a Pokémon could know at once—but if she could, she'd try each one and keep only the best.
"Uh..." Arthur scratched his head.
For someone like him—who practically drank Memora Potions like water—there was no way he could remember an entire Pokémon's TM list off the top of his head.
Then a thought struck him. "Oh, right! You can check it in your Pokédex. It'll show the movelist of any Pokémon you own."
"Really?!" Lena lit up and immediately opened her Pokédex, scanning her Squirtle. Her eyes widened with excitement as she scrolled through the list.
"Oh! Chilling Water would be perfect for summer! Rain Dance is a must! Endure looks amazing! Sleep Talk, Rest, Substitute, Iron Defense—there are too many I want for my Squirtle!"
Arthur raised an eyebrow, amused. Why is she focusing mostly on defensive moves?
He let her enjoy herself while he turned his attention back to Pichu. He gently called it out of its Poké Ball and gave it a nudge.
There was no need for a Potion—it wasn't actually hurt, just knocked out from the impact.
"Pi..." Pichu lowered its head in shame, eyes dim with disappointment. It couldn't believe it had lost so easily—and felt like it had let Arthur down.
"Haha, don't worry about it," Arthur said, crouching beside it. "Real strength is forged through both victory and defeat."
Pichu stared up at him for a moment, then nodded, its eyes shining with renewed determination. "Pichu!"
Arthur smiled back at his partner, pride and trust shared in that single moment.
After feeding Pichu its favorite treat—a boiled egg—Arthur's thoughts drifted to Rosalia. It won't be long now until their Pokémon reach level 16...
He looked up at the sky, then turned to his sister. "Sis, let's head back now; dinner will be ready soon."
Lena pouted, her arms crossed. "Bro, what's the deal with the new house? Why couldn't we share a room? Why'd you have to separate ours?"
"You're not a kid anymore. You should have your own space," Arthur replied.
"Bro! You're younger than me!"
"Eh, is that so?"
"What?! Squirtle, Water Gun his smug face!"
"Woah... you missed!"
"More Water Gun!"
Their playful bickering continued as they made their way home, but suddenly, they were blocked by a group of three figures cloaked in dark, flowing fabric. One of them held a large pale green cocoon, pressing it gently to her chest with a worried expression.
"Arthur! Something's wrong with Wentia's Bulbasaur—please help!" came the familiar voice of Rosalia from the middle figure.
Arthur's gaze fell on the cocoon in Wentia's arms, and instantly, he understood what was happening. His heart skipped a beat.
This is it! It's time!
He didn't hesitate. "Let's go to my house!" he called, motioning for them to follow as they all rushed toward his home together.