The sky stretched overhead, blue and cloudless. On the gentle hill behind Oakhaven village, massive wind turbines turned slowly, steady as the breath of time itself. Golden sunlight carpeted the green meadow, glinting off the ancient stone fence where children still played each afternoon.

  Theo sat with his back against an old oak, gazing upward. He was fourteen—quiet, different. In his mind lived fragments of alien memory: another life, where he'd been a thirty-five-year-old man living free and comfortable, burdened by nothing but himself. Those images were both faded and persistent, as if struggling to resurface.

  How could anyone live so carefree?

  The question haunted him, while reality mocked: eldest son of a large family in a small village, soon to face the world alone.

  "Hey, Theo! Over here!"

  Liam's voice—his closest friend, red-haired with sun-darkened skin, ordinary as any farm child—rang out with excitement. He ran up, breathless, eyes bright.

  "You hear? A trade caravan just arrived at the market, traveling with actual mercenaries! Real mercenaries!"

  Theo remained silent. Liam dropped to his knees beside him, words tumbling out:

  "We can't stay here forever. I want to go, fight, see the world! They're at Oakhaven market right now. Coming?"

  Theo looked at his friend, gaze distant. He didn't need many words. Just one escaped, quiet but firm:

  "Yes."

  Liam's brilliant smile marked a beginning—the first turning point of their lives.

  The two crossed fields of golden barley. Liam, quick as wind, ran ahead; Theo walked steadily behind, eyes quietly scanning every copse, every gust of wind.

  "What are you thinking about now, Theo?" Liam glanced back.

  Theo just shook his head slightly.

  Liam laughed:

  "Old Hunter trained us both the same, but you... you're different. You shoot like a true Aethelgard archer. Not just patient—accurate to the point of weird."

  Theo clenched his hand lightly. He couldn't explain that the skill came not from lessons, but from strange memories—calculations of wind, force, breathing rhythm—appearing naturally whenever he drew his bow. He'd been a hunter in some other world, applying physical training with modern scientific and mathematical precision he himself didn't consciously understand, yet performed as naturally as if he'd done it hundreds, thousands of times.

  "Long experience helps," Theo said briefly. "Wastes less energy."

  "And me," Liam grinned, swinging a branch like a spear, "I prefer strength!"

  He spun, executing a counterattack so fast it startled—decisive, precise, pure instinct.

  Theo watched his friend, smiling rarely:

  "You'll be Oakhaven's best spearman."

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  "No," Liam replied, eyes blazing. "I want to be the world's best."

  Oakhaven market emerged before them—noisy, fragrant, crowded. Wood smoke mixed with exotic spices, leather, and the sour tang of barley beer.

  Makeshift stalls of canvas displayed everything from patched armor and rough wool to obsidian supposedly warding off evil. Villagers jostled with several Dwarves testing metal, while well-dressed Aquitaineian merchants hawked their wares loudly.

  At the market's edge, the mercenary company stood apart—large, weathered warriors with cold eyes. A tall, gaunt Half-Elf leaned against a wagon, observing the crowd with indifference.

  But Theo's attention was drawn to a corner where a cheap goods peddler concealed something in a rusted iron cage. He approached, and when the canvas lifted, Theo held his breath.

  Inside was a strange creature—something about its style felt different from this world. About 0.4 meters tall, judging by how the merchant hefted it for display, roughly 1.5-2 kilograms. Brown fur mixed with cream, eyes sharp red but exhausted. One wing injured, body trembling, yet it held its head high with pride, a special presence emanating from that small form. Very special.

  "Beast from the deep forest," the peddler murmured to a customer, "dangerous, contains storm magic. Only nobility or hardened mercenaries dare touch it."

  Theo stared at it, and different memories suddenly flooded back—images of familiar creatures, companions fighting alongside humans. A feeling of knowing without understanding why seized his mind.

  Liam nudged his arm gently:

  "It's... really special. Nothing like the beasts we've hunted."

  Theo didn't respond. Inside him, something was both awakening and unsettled.

  Liam didn't expect an answer from his friend. He was eager to inquire about the mercenary company. Not noticing Theo's daze, he ran straight toward someone who looked like the group's leader.

  After a while, Liam returned, face frustrated:

  "He said we're too green, not ready! But I'll prove him wrong!"

  Theo heard nothing. The image of the caged Beast haunted him—a creature shackled, fading. Something whispered that it mattered more than any mercenary company in the world.

  A surge of memory sparked like reflex. A word escaped Theo's lips, unthinking:

  "Pokémon..."

  Liam blinked: "What did you just say? Doesn't sound like Aethelgard."

  Theo startled. He didn't know why he'd spoken that word.

  "I... don't know either," he deflected. "What did he tell you?"

  Liam quickly got pulled into recounting, venting about the rejection. But Theo had changed. When hearing about "sniping" and "scouting," he knew—that was his path.

  "I have a way to help you prove yourself," Theo said.

  Liam raised an eyebrow: "How?"

  "Not by fighting," Theo answered, eyes turning toward the old cage. "By something more important."

  The peddler scowled seeing two children approach his stall, still annoyed at failing to make a sale.

  "Get lost! This isn't a place for brats!"

  Theo stepped forward.

  "Sell me that Beast."

  The man laughed mockingly. "You know what it's worth? Enough to feed your whole family for half a year!"

  "It's dying," Theo replied coldly. "Wounded, starving, and won't submit to anyone. By tomorrow evening it'll be dead, and you'll have nothing."

  The peddler hesitated. Theo's eyes—calm, determined—made him wary. After calculating, he sneered: "You got money?"

  Liam opened his leather pouch, taking out all the copper he'd saved for years.

  "Three hundred Sun-Copper," Theo said evenly. "Take it now, or lose everything."

  After haggling, the peddler reluctantly accepted, surrendering the birdcage.

  Theo carried the old cage from the noisy market, crossing fields toward the oak forest where their secret base stood—where both still practiced regularly.

  By evening, they arrived.

  Theo set the cage down, ordering: "Liam, get seeds and fruit."

  Liam grumbled about the wasted money but complied. Meanwhile, Theo knelt, hand lightly touching the rusted latch.

  "Do you understand me?" he whispered. "You're... a Pokémon, aren't you?"

  The Beast didn't react. Its eyes only stared, guarded and exhausted.

  Theo pushed the bowl of water and food closer. "Drink. I won't harm you."

  Nothing. It only looked, then turned away.

  Disappointment spread through Theo. Was I wrong?

  Then a sound rang out—not from outside, but inside his head.

  The voice resonated, like metal bells mixed with a child's faint laughter:

  "You're not wrong, boy. That creature is indeed a Pokémon—but it doesn't understand what you're saying."

  Theo jerked upright.

  "Who's there?"

  "Don't search. I'm not outside you. I am Genoarchive—a Psychic/Steel-type Pokémon. I was created to preserve and restore Pokémon civilization."