From the moment Aiden stepped beyond the veil of Brambleshade's last tree, the world felt reborn. The air no longer choked with the wild musk of predators or the iron tang of dried blood. It smelled of flowers—wild thistle and mountain rose—and faint woodsmoke drifting from far-off chimneys. The path curved downward gently, and there, cradled in a shallow valley at the base of Mt. Thorne, lay Thistira.
It wasn't a city. It didn't pretend to be. It had no gates, no walls. Instead, wooden homes hugged the slopes and rolled across the land in soft, scattered clusters. The town stretched over twenty miles in diameter—not crowded, but generous. Between each home were garden plots, berry trees, and stretches of mossy land where Pokémon and people alike basked under the warm sun.
Aiden paused at the overlook.
Roofs of deep red clay shone beneath the sun. Smoke curled from circular vents, and in the center of town stood a tall windmill carved with local Pokémon motifs—Pidgey in flight, a family of Luxio, a Miltank calf suckling at its mother's flank. The air was quiet, save for the chirping of local Swablu overhead and the distant hammering of a smithy.
Thistira didn't have a PokéMart. It didn't need one. Instead, near the windmill, sat the TowSide Shop, a squat, sun-faded building with windchimes made of bottlecaps and old keys. Inside, a plump woman named Dory sold herbs, Pokéballs, salves, and spices all in the same breath. She gave Riolu a small, sun-dried meat strip for free and pressed a cold flask of berry cider into Aiden's hand before he even spoke.
Across the road stood the town's hospital. Not a Pokémon Center—not with the gleaming red roof and pristine machines that Aiden had known in bigger towns. This was a wooden longhouse, two stories tall, with slatted walls and wide open porches. A flowered arch framed the entry, and beside the main doors hung a sign:
"All Life Heals Here."
Inside, the scent of herbs clung to the walls. A Nurse with dark skin and gray eyes greeted him gently, guiding Sneasel to a treatment table beside an elderly man with a rattling cough. They treated humans and Pokémon alike. Roselia helped prepare poultices when she saw how they mixed them. Golbat, once so wild and twitchy, perched silently above the rafters.
Every person Aiden met that day smiled.
An old man directed him to a quiet place by the river for camping. A child offered him a carved wooden comb as a gift for his Roselia. The baker waved from across the square and tossed him a warm berry tart just because he looked hungry.
The food—gods, the food.
Crisp, pan-seared vegetables seasoned with wild herbs. Milk so fresh it was still warm. A stew thick with Slowpoke tail root and carrots that melted on his tongue. Even Ponyta whinnied in delight when given a charred berry roll.
Night fell slow in Thistira. The air cooled. Fireflies rose.
Aiden sat beneath a plum tree, team scattered around him—healing, sleeping, watching the stars. Sneasel dozed with its back to the bark. Roselia was composing a new scent, hands glowing faintly. Ponyta's fire danced low. Golbat hung upside-down from the branch above, and Riolu meditated in silence, breath in rhythm with the wind.
This town was still. It was kind.
He wondered what secrets it held.
The next day, those secrets began to reveal themselves.
He was sipping tea near the small town square when an elderly woman, hunched with age but eyes sharp as a Noctowl's, approached him. Her voice was gravelled, but sweet, like stone soaked in honey.
"You're not from here," she said, smiling. "But your Pokémon walk like they know peace. That's rare."
Aiden nodded. "We've had… hard weeks. This place is something else. Quiet. Too quiet. Why is there no wall? No guards? Wild Pokémon don't raid?"
The old woman laughed gently and sat beside him on the stone bench.
"Because we are blessed, child. Because this valley is protected—not by walls or swords—but by Celebi."
His eyes narrowed. "Celebi? The Time Guardian?"
"Aye," she whispered, placing a hand to her heart. "Long ago, before even my grandmother's days, Celebi came here. This valley was dying. The rivers choked with drought. Pokémon mad with hunger. But Celebi wept upon the roots of Mt. Thorne, and from that moment, everything changed."
Aiden listened, captivated.
"The soil grew rich again. Pokémon calmed. The berry trees bloomed. It became sacred—paradise carved by a god. And Celebi made it known to all wild hearts: this place is sanctuary. To bring harm here is to challenge the forest's own soul."
She leaned closer. "That's why we need no wall. That's why not even a wild Gyarados would dare cross the river's edge. We honor that pact with peace, with prayer."
He was silent for a time.
"Have you ever seen Celebi yourself?"
The old woman smiled wistfully. "Only in dreams. But my husband once saw a green light dancing through the orchard at dusk. We believe it was Celebi watching over our harvest."
"What if something broke the peace?" Aiden asked, quieter now. "What if someone dangerous came?"
She met his gaze. Her eyes were full of quiet conviction. "Then the Time Guardian would return. And time itself would bend to protect this land."
Later that day, Aiden wandered the town further, and indeed—he saw signs.
Shrines tucked into rock walls with tiny bells and leaves woven in circles. Children wearing green flower crowns. A stone obelisk etched with runes said to be in Celebi's language.
And in the stillest moment, near the riverbank beneath the willow trees, he thought—just for a second—that he saw it.
A shimmer of green light between the trunks.
Then it was gone.
That night, Aiden dreamt of a song made of wind and time. And somewhere, far off in the trees, something old and kind watched him sleep