I flex my paws, claws quietly raking across the cold stone beneath me. I'm not used to this much talking, not in my den or anywhere near me. I never realized how quiet my days were until he arrived.

  Silence used to stretch long between sunrise and moonlight. My thoughts filled the gaps when they had to. The voices I understood were the wind, the snow, or the occasional creaking of the trees outside.

  And now, there's his.

  He mutters, sighs, narrates the way he wraps his leg, or comments on how bad something smells. I've learned that humans like to complain out loud quite a bit, or perhaps he's just an outlier.

  At first, I found it strange. Then, I found it annoying. Now I just find it… consistent.

  He talks about all kinds of things. Places I've never been. People I've never met, food I've never tasted. I don't understand all the words, but I understand enough.

  I didn't have a plan when I brought him here. It was more of a spur-of-the-moment. It was rash of me to bring him here even if he was injured. What if he was lying? What if he wasn't some outcast and was going to bring more humans here after he heals?

  I've never shared this place. Not with other Pokémon, and definitely not with a human. He mostly treats my den with respect. Careful not to overreach his bounds, which is more than I've come to expect from his kind.

  Still, it's strange having someone else here.

  I'm not used to seeing another shape in here. I'm not used to watching someone else sleep, breathe, or groan whenever they try to sit up straight. He curses under his breath when he moves wrong and whispers thanks into the air when I leave him food or more whiteroots. I don't expect the thanks. It's something else that's new, but it's not unpleasant.

  He's called me a "Pokémon." I'm not quite sure what that is, but apparently, that is what humans call the multitude of creatures that live here. Maybe grouping us all under one word is easier, though I don't think I have much in common with a Bergmite.

  This is the first time I've really conversed with a human. Not that it would be much of one in any other scenario.

  But he keeps speaking, even now, sitting stiffly by the fire with his injured leg stretched out and his coat pulled tight. His voice is quieter today. He hasn't tried walking again, and he winces when he shifts. I know he's in pain, but he still finds the strength to talk. About the cold. About the food. About how this land or his own.

  He's not looking at me when I move. He has a root in his hand, something I brought him earlier, and he's turning it over like a puzzle.

  His brows are drawn, lost in thought.

  Maybe I should meet him halfway when it comes to talking.

  I step closer.

  Close enough that he can't help but notice my presence.

  His head lifts, and his eyes meet mine.

  Golden to blue.

  I sit in front of him, straight-backed.

  He blinks. "You alright?" he asks, voice low.

  I lower my head, then lift it again. Slow.

  A nod.

  I've seen humans use the motion before in affirmation. I mimic it as best I can.

  His brows lift.

  "...Okay..."

  He sets the whiteroot down slowly.

  "Did you want to talk about something?."

  I tilt my head and pause. Then, nod again.

  He exhales, but it's not the kind that comes with amusement. It's full of disbelief.

  "I've been talking to you like a fool for like a week, and you—" He cuts himself off. Rubs his hands on his legs. "—Of course. Of course, don't mind me, just uh...Zorua away, I guess."

  He leans back against the cave wall, seeming to think about what to say next.

  "I never introduced myself, did I? I guess I should have done that before giving you a name, shouldn't I?"

  I blink, tilting my head to the other side.

  "My name is Isaac."

  I watch him. I repeat it in my head before committing it to memory. It sounds weird.

  He stares for a moment, then smiles just barely at the corners.

  "Not much of a conversation, but I'll take that as progress."

  He watches me like I've done something impossible.

  Maybe I have.

  I don't want to sit in silence anymore.

  An idea pops into my mind. He might not be able to understand me when I speak, but surely he can understand images.

  I focus.

  Not on words. Not on sounds.

  But on a shape.

  A shimmer rises around me, light bending in the air like heat off the stone.

  Illusions are part of me, it's like breathing or blinking. The first image I conjure takes form between us.

  A flickering figure in the firelight.

  It had a rough outline, broad shoulders, and a coat wrapped tight around him. The shape is not exact, but it is him. Or close enough. I'm not used to making illusions of humans.

  His eyes widen.

  "That's—" he starts, then cuts himself off.

  The illusion fades before he can finish.

  Another replaces it.

  A small figure now, low to the ground, ears sharp and pointed, red, wispy, and pale fur.

  Me.

  He knows it.

  His voice is soft. "You?"

  I let the image hold.

  I step closer to the illusion of him and gently lower my paw until it overlaps the image of me.

  The two forms sit side by side.

  Close. Not touching. Just near.

  Then I let it fade.

  He stares.

  Not frightened. Not confused.

  Just quiet.

  Then, slowly, he nods.

  His voice lowers. "Is this you wanting me to understand you?"

  I nod once.

  He leans forward a little, elbows on his knees.

  "That's incredible. I've never seen anything do that before," he murmurs. "Do you… think in images like that?"

  My mind flutters in amusement. Do you?

  I let the silence sit a while longer.

  He doesn't say anything for a while.

  I don't mind.

  Silence is familiar, and for once, it doesn't feel empty.

  I stand again, easing away from the fire's edge, and close my eyes. The cold brushes through my fur. My breath is steady. I let my illusions come slowly, shaped not by instinct or defense but by intention.

  The first is simple.

  A tree.

  Tall, narrow, with spindly bare branches reaching upward. Its shape flickers at the edges, the way all my illusions do, like the wind is trying to carry them away. No need to expend more energy than I need to, after all.

  Isaac watches. "That's one of the trees outside?"

  I nod once.

  The illusion shimmers and fades.

  A new image takes its place.

  A single flame. Tiny, flickering, cradled in empty space.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  He breathes out, slow. "The fire."

  I let that one stay for a moment, then scatter it.

  Then comes the harder one.

  I pull from memory.

  There are two figures, one large, looming, covered in pincers and purple plating. The other was much smaller and covered in pale fur.

  Isaac's face tenses.

  "That's… the Drapion and you," he says quietly. His voice loses its calm.

  Drapion? Is that what that creature is called?

  The image flickers.

  I force it still.

  The larger figure lunges.

  The smaller darts forward.

  Claws. Light. Stars.

  I look at him.

  He doesn't speak.

  I let the image vanish.

  He sits back, eyes never leaving mine.

  "I know I said it before, but you saved me."

  I pause for a minute before vocalizing a response, "You're welcome." Even if he doesn't understand me like I wish he did, I think he understands that, at least, I hope.

  He rubs his hands slowly. "I really wish you tried communicating like this sooner."

  I lower my head slightly. Not an apology. Just acknowledgement.

  A new shape begins to form between us.

  A cave.

  The one we're in.

  Inside it, two shapes. Pale flickers. One curled near the wall. One stretched by the fire. Still.

  He watches.

  Then he leans forward, hands loose in his lap, and speaks gently. "This is your home?"

  Again, I nod. The illusion fades.

  Isaac leans back a little, shifting with a hiss through his teeth as he adjusts his leg. He wraps his coat tighter around himself, shoulders hunched against the evening chill creeping in through the mouth of the cave.

  His gaze lingers on the place where the illusion shimmered seconds ago.

  Then he looks at me.

  "Why did you bring me here?" he asks.

  I don't answer.

  I don't know if I can.

  So I look away.

  He doesn't push.

  After a while, he says, "You don't have to tell me. I was just wondering."

  I rise quietly and cross to the small stash I keep near the far wall, behind a jut of rock, where the cave keeps things cold. I nose through the stash and pull out a few berries, mostly bitter green ones with skins like wax and a few frost-pink ones that smell sweet. I don't need to eat that often due to my nature, but that doesn't mean I don't get hungry.

  I bring them to him without ceremony, setting them down on the stone between us.

  He raises a brow, clearly surprised.

  "These are for me?"

  I nudge the cluster gently forward with my paw.

  He picks one up, hesitates, then pops it into his mouth. Chews carefully.

  He chews quietly for a few moments more, then says, "I have so many questions."

  I lift one of my forelegs up and motion it up and down. Telling him to continue.

  "Where do you come from?" he begins. "Like, before here."

  I blink.

  A hard question. Too broad. I let it pass.

  "Do you… have a family?" he tries instead, softer this time.

  I hesitate.

  Then, I shake my head slowly.

  His face shifts. "I'm sorry. That was too much."

  I don't confirm or deny it.

  He doesn't linger on the subject.

  "What do you call your kind? Are there more like you?"

  I pause. I consider conjuring an image of another Zorua, but the memory feels… unsteady.

  Instead, I answer the way I can.

  I form an illusion—small, ghostly white like me, but not me. Its fur is shorter, and its ears are rounder. A memory flicker, not an exact replica.

  He watches, intrigued. "Another one of you?"

  The illusion stays only a moment, then fades.

  "You had a sibling?" he guesses.

  "Are they…?"

  He doesn't finish.

  I cancel the illusion. That's enough of that.

  "Sorry," he murmurs again.

  He wraps his arms around his knees, gazing into the fire.

  After a moment, he tries another path.

  "What's with the illusions?"

  I perk up slightly. That one's easier.

  I rise slowly and step into the open space beside the fire.

  A shimmer rises around me again—this time not an image, but a shifting of light. I build the shape of a floating orb, like a flame without heat, and then split it into three copies. They circle each other, hover, then scatter.

  Isaac follows the movement with awe in his eyes.

  "I've never seen a Pokémon do anything like that. Not like this."

  I nod once.

  "Is it… instinct? Or are you choosing?"

  I form a simple shape, a paw print, that pulses once, then splits into two.

  One fades. The other glows.

  He watches. "So… both?"

  I nod again.

  Then, I shift the image. I try something new.

  A figure in a cloak, holding a strange rectangle, its face stern. Another figure nearby, smaller, hunched.

  The scene turns. The tall figure walks away. The small one doesn't follow.

  Isaac tilts his head. "That's… someone leaving?"

  I freeze.

  He frowns. "You?"

  I cancel the illusion quickly. That wasn't what I meant.

  His brows draw in. "I'm sorry. I misunderstood."

  I shake my head. No apology is needed.

  I try again.

  This time, two figures. One is lying down, wounded. The other brings something—berries. Roots. Leaves. Over and over.

  The image repeats, slow and steady.

  He watches. "That's what you've been doing."

  I let the image rest, then dissolve.

  I look at him, ears tilted forward.

  His eyes soften. "You were trying to say you've been helping. Not just once, but… all along."

  I blink. Yes.

  He rubs the back of his neck. "I need to get better at this."

  You are, I think.

  Then, I show one more illusion, simple, almost childlike.

  A cave. A fire. Two shapes. Not identical. Not touching. Just sharing the space.

  He watches for a long time.

  Then says, quietly, "I'm glad you stayed."

  I let the image go.

  And for a little while, we just sit.

  Side by side. Silent.

  The fire has burned low, but it still flickers enough to cast soft shadows along the cave walls. The embers pulse, their light shifting with the quiet rhythm of our breaths.

  Isaac doesn't speak for a long time after the last illusion fades. I don't prompt him. I've said what I meant to say in the only way I can. The rest is his to carry.

  Eventually, he leans forward again, elbows on his knees, his hands threaded together.

  "I don't know how long I'm supposed to stay here," he murmurs, more to himself than to me. "Or what happens when I can walk again? If I make it out of here, even."

  He glances over. "I mean, you're clearly not keeping me here forever. I know that. I'm just… not sure what I'm supposed to do."

  He hesitates, then adds, "I think part of me was hoping you'd give me the answer."

  Why would I?

  I rise and step forward, fur brushing against the cold stone. He watches me quietly.

  Another illusion begins to take shape between us. This one takes longer.

  More deliberate.

  A small, winding path curves through a forest. Trees stretch tall and crooked around it. At the end of the path, the forest breaks, and the image fades into snow and sky.

  Isaac squints, then exhales. "A trail."

  I shift the illusion again. At the start of the trail is a small figure. Me. Then, a second figure appears. Him. He walks slowly, pauses, then begins to follow.

  Then, both shapes fade.

  He rubs the side of his neck, brow furrowed. "Is that what you want? For me to follow you?"

  I cancel the illusion gently, then shake my head.

  He blinks, surprised. "No?"

  I summon a new image of the same forest path, but this time, only one figure walking forward. The other remains in the cave.

  Still. Waiting.

  Watching.

  Then that fades, too.

  I look at him.

  He stares back, eyes narrowed in thought. "So… you're going somewhere.

  But you're not asking me to follow."

  I nod once.

  "You're leaving?"

  I turn and step to the mouth of the cave. Snow drifts outside, delicate and silent. I raise my head, scenting the air.

  The illusion that forms next is simple.

  A pawprint in the snow.

  Then another. Then, a shape nearby, a pile of berries. Another root.

  Then, the pawprints return. A loop. Out. Back again.

  Isaac's mouth opens slightly. "You're going to find food."

  I let the image settle, then nod.

  He laughs once, breath fogging in front of his face. "You've been doing that this whole time, haven't you?"

  I glance back at him.

  He shakes his head, smiling faintly. "I didn't think where the food kept coming from. I just… thought maybe you had a stash or something."

  Not enough for both of us.

  Another illusion flickers briefly—me alone, outside, wind curling through the trees.

  Then it fades, replaced by the den. The fire. Isaac is sitting safely inside.

  His face shifts. "I imagine there's not a lot of food out there, is there?"

  I don't answer.

  I step back to the fire and sit again.

  He watches me in silence.

  "I'll be alright. At least for a little while," he says at last.

  I tilt my head.

  He lifts the cloth-wrapped root in his lap. "I've got enough for a few hours. Maybe more."

  I glance once at the small pile of kindling we have left. It won't last a night. But maybe it'll carry through until I return.

  He follows my gaze. "You'll come back, though, right?"

  I blink and sigh.

  Maybe he is getting too comfortable around here. But I nod.

  He leans back, the motion slow and deliberate. Pain flickers across his face, but he doesn't complain this time.

  "Alright, stay safe, please. You're my only lifeline out here," he says quietly.

  The fire crackles softly between us. He settles beside it, arms wrapped around his knees. I rise once more and step toward the cave mouth. The wind bites against my fur. It smells of ice and bark and distant life.

  I pause on the threshold.

  Behind me, I hear Isaac shift.

  "…Be careful."

  The words are so quiet they almost vanish into the cold.

  I don't answer.

  I step into the snow.