The most striking figure in the photo was undoubtedly Amaura, an extremely rare ancient Pokémon. Only a limited number have been revived from Fossils over the years, and even fewer now live in protected reserves. Estimates suggest there are probably fewer than a hundred across the world.
And yet, Luther's parents had one.
Then there was the Musharna floating quietly before her.
Oleander wasn't sure what had happened to the couple's Pokémon after their passing. Normally, when a Trainer passes away, their Pokémon are entrusted to their descendants or next of kin.
Given that Pokémon often outlive humans, it's not uncommon for them to serve multiple generations of the same family.
Yet Luther had clearly started with nothing. And Shiran, the one who raised him, never seemed to have passed down any of his parents' Pokémon.
That raised a more curious question: what happened to Wigglytuff, Mawile, and Amaura?
None of the post-incident reports mentioned them. Was it an oversight by the Officer who handled the estate? Or perhaps Luther's parents hadn't brought them along when they moved?
Oleander turned to the Musharna, who is floating before her.
She opened her Pokédex and reviewed the entry. 'Musharna, a Psychic-type, is known for drifting between dream and wakefulness. It feeds on dreams and can project memories in the form of dream mist.'
Most likely, when Luther's parents moved from Lumiose City, they didn't get the chance to return for her before the accident occurred.
As Musharna gently floated down from the second floor, Oleander had a sudden thought.
Did this little one not have any wariness toward strangers?
What if she had come with ill intent?
Musharna hovered a short distance away, her dreamy, confused eyes flicking back and forth between Oleander and the photo frame she held, emitting soft, uncertain sounds.
Oleander understood the question she was trying to ask.
"Can you show me what happened in this house?"
She didn't mention the fate of Musharna's Trainers. She wasn't sure how the Pokémon would react; too much, too soon, could shatter the fragile peace she was clinging to.
Musharna closed her eyes and slowly curled herself into a floating coil. Wisps of pink smoke began to rise from the oval marking on her forehead, curling and thickening into a shimmering veil of mist.
Oleander had read about this: Musharna could project dream memories through that smoke, memories consumed over time, or ones held close to the heart.
The visions began as a chaotic swirl.
She saw flashes, Luther's parents preparing to leave. They had told Musharna that if they settled comfortably in Sun Heart City, they'd come back for her. Until then, they entrusted her with the care of the house.
For Musharna, it had been a simple task.
In the rapid playback of memories, Oleander watched as Musharna floated through the house, cleaning methodically, dusting furniture, maintaining every room like it might be lived in again tomorrow.
To Musharna, they could return at any time. So she waited. She worked.
From time to time, when she awoke from her dreamlike state, she would perch at the window by the door and gaze out at the changing skyline, the buildings rising in the distance, the roads forming. Her sense of time was loose; every time she stirred, things outside had changed. But every time she returned to sleep, the dreams she could feed on grew more vivid.
Twenty years drifted by without her truly realizing it. The longing to go outside, once powerful, eventually faded into the background of her dreams.
The hole in the window had been her doing. One day, overcome by curiosity, she broke the glass to peer out. But regret quickly followed. She floated around in anxious circles like a child who had done something wrong, sweeping the shards outside in a guilty panic, trying to cover up her little rebellion.
But no one came.
As days turned to years, and the sun rose and set in an endless rhythm, Musharna slowly adjusted to the solitude. She trapped herself in dreams, emerging only to clean, her final tether to the world.
She truly believed that Luther's parents hadn't forgotten her, that they would come back, just as they'd promised.
By the time Oleander stepped into the house, Musharna had been living like this for twenty-two years. And in those dreams, tangled and melancholy, she wasn't rejoicing in the growth of her powers.
No, she was reliving her memories over and over, trying to hold onto the warmth of her time with the people she loved. Like a spirit that couldn't escape a maze.
Oleander sighed softly and reached out to stroke her.
Musharna stirred beneath her fingers, gently nudging Oleander's palm with her long snout. Her wide, dream-filled eyes shimmered with silent pleading.
Oleander, who rarely trusted people, still found her heart open when it came to Pokémon.
She couldn't say the words.
It felt cruel, too final.
For Musharna, twenty-two years of waiting had become something hollow. The death of Luther's parents had turned her into a forgotten soul trapped inside a silent home.
It reminded Oleander of her own past.
Gastly and Ninetales looked solemn too. They had seen the dream, felt the weight of loneliness Musharna carried. And they knew, she had waited all this time, not out of obligation, but out of love.
Oleander clenched her jaw.
"I'm sorry... your Trainer passed away twenty years ago."
The words were hard to say, but she had to give this little one some form of closure. At the very least, Musharna deserved to know that Luther's parents hadn't abandoned her, they simply never had the chance to return.
Oleander kept her gaze low, unable to meet Musharna's eyes. In that moment, she felt utterly powerless.
Cyrus had once claimed that hatred was the strongest force in the world. Even if Oleander questioned everything else he'd said, that idea had always stuck with her.
But now... she couldn't deny that love, and loyalty, were just as powerful. Maybe even more so. Looking at Musharna, who had waited faithfully for two decades, Oleander could only bow her head, silently bracing herself against the weight of grief that rolled off the Pokémon in waves.
She watched droplets of water fall to the floor, soft, slow impacts breaking apart as they landed.
It wasn't clear how long the quiet weeping lasted, but eventually, the stillness began to settle. Oleander lifted her eyes. Musharna was curled up tightly on the couch, unmoving. Something in Oleander cracked.
"They had a child," She said softly. "A son. He's in the Sinnoh region right now. He's…"
Her throat tightened. The next words didn't come easily.
"He's a remarkable Pokémon Trainer."
The word genius had surfaced in her mind, but she pushed it aside. It didn't feel right to use that label now.
Musharna's dim eyes flickered, a faint spark returning to them, as if something inside her had come back to life. She turned to Oleander, slowly, searchingly.
It was a look filled with hope. Desperate hope. Like someone lost at sea spotting a light on the horizon.
Oleander had heard professors say that the love of a parent doesn't fade; it carries on, passing into the next generation in countless quiet ways.
She wouldn't know. Oleander had grown up under the care of the orphanage Dean, never knowing the touch of her parents' love.
Even her birthday was uncertain. The Dean had let her choose her own.
She'd picked February 21, because she knew there'd be a cake that day. And having a real birthday cake, one just for her, had been more important than the date itself.
As a child, she'd often dreamed that someone would come for her. That someday, someone would knock on the door and say her parents hadn't really abandoned her, that there'd been a reason, that they'd still loved her all along.
TV shows like to tell stories like that. Of messengers arriving with news of a lost family member, changing a lonely child's life forever. Oleander had clung to those fantasies.
She hadn't realized back then that those messengers were executors, people who arrived when someone had died. In her innocence, she'd seen them not as bearers of loss, but as bringers of hope.
Many of them were Pokémon Breeders, tasked with caring for the Pokémon of Trainers who had passed unexpectedly, until their rightful heirs could be found.
Now, Oleander found herself in their shoes.
She had inherited something from Luther's parents, however indirectly. And that made her responsible. She would be the one to bridge the gap between past and present. She would bring Musharna back to Luther.
"Where's your Poké Ball?" She asked gently.
Ninetales padded over, holding a Poké Ball delicately in its mouth. Musharna's face lit up with a look of quiet joy as Oleander reached out and took it. She slipped it carefully into her pocket.
"Can you show me where your Trainer kept her books and documents?"
Yes, she was technically trespassing. But helping Luther's Musharna reunite with him felt like more than enough to earn a peek at a few papers. She wasn't stealing, she was restoring something lost.
In her mind, at least, it was a fair exchange.
(End of Chapter)
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