I was one and a half years old now—though honestly, age didn't feel like much of a marker when your brain was years ahead of your body. Everything still looked a little too tall and moved a little too fast, but I'd gotten used to the slow waddle of my legs and the way my voice still came out too small to say everything I wanted.
My first birthday had come and gone not too long ago. It wasn't a big party—just Mom, Dad, Lala, and Albus. There was cake, a little hat that kept slipping over my eyes, and soft music playing in the background. I don't remember most of it clearly, but I remember feeling warm. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be—even if I still had no idea where that was.
But today was different.
Today was just me and Dad.
He had taken me out to the backyard while Mom worked on some manuscript editing inside—marking up pages with her red pen and muttering about inconsistent character development. It was a little cloudy, the kind of sky that looked like it was thinking about raining but hadn't decided yet. The grass was a little too tall, and the air smelled like pine and old wood from the fence that separated our yard from the neighbor's.
Dad was lying back on the patchy old lawn chair, legs crossed, sipping lemonade from a glass that sweated in the summer air. I sat beside him on a big blanket with a few picture books I barely looked at. My eyes kept drifting up to the sky.
There was a sound—fwump fwump fwump—like soft thunder above us.
"Right on time," Dad said with a knowing smile.
And then Noctowl—or Hooter, as Dad sometimes called her—landed on the fencepost like a whisper made manifest.
Large, majestic, and completely silent. Her feathers were a soft blend of brown and cream, with darker markings that seemed to shift in the changing light. Her red eyes glowed faintly in the shadow of the clouds, ancient and intelligent. She blinked slowly, looking down at us with that curious, knowing stare she always had. She didn't move unless she needed to—watchful, thoughtful, eternally still.
"Hey, big girl," Dad said, lifting his glass in a lazy salute. "Ash was waiting for you."I wasn't, technically. But now that she was here… maybe I had been.
'Noctowl… not just any bird. She was in the anime. Ash's shiny Noctowl. Quiet, clever. Always watching, always thinking three steps ahead.'
I scooted forward on the blanket a little, legs dragging beneath me. Hooter's head turned slowly, tracking my every move with precision that felt almost supernatural. She gave a low, melodic hoot—not the harsh screech I'd expected, but something softer, more conversational.
"She doesn't really like being petted," Dad said, watching our interaction carefully. "But she'll sit close if she likes you. And she's... particular about who she trusts."
I paused, just a few feet from the fence. Then I sat down cross-legged and looked up at her, trying to project calm the way I'd seen trainers do in the shows.
Noctowl didn't fly away.
Instead, she tilted her head—first one way, then the other—like she was studying me from different angles. Her red eyes seemed to bore right through me, and for a moment, I wondered if she could somehow sense that I wasn't quite what I appeared to be.
She gave another soft hoot, and this time it sounded almost... approving?
We sat like that for a while—me staring, her watching, Dad sipping his lemonade like this was the most natural thing in the world. The silence wasn't uncomfortable; it was the kind of quiet that felt full of understanding.
Then I noticed something fascinating. Hooter's eyes weren't just tracking my movements—they were following patterns in the air I couldn't see. Every few seconds, she'd focus on a spot near the garden, or tilt her head toward the woods beyond our yard, like she was monitoring something invisible to human senses
.
'She's not just sitting there,' I realized. 'She's on patrol. Watching for threats, or maybe just... cataloging everything around us.'
And then there was a soft nudge behind me.
I turned and nearly toppled backward as Albus ambled over, all heavy paws and warm breath. He gave a low, rumbling woof and flopped down beside me with a soft thud, pressing his furry side against mine like a living wall of comfort.
I leaned into him, burying my fingers in his thick, wiry coat. It was coarser than a regular dog's fur, but warm and reassuring. He smelled like sunshine and something faintly wild—not unpleasant, just... untamed.
He let out a content huff, eyes half-closing, one massive paw twitching in the grass like he might fall asleep right there. But I noticed his ears were still perked, still listening, still alert despite his relaxed posture.
'Albus always knows where I am,' I thought, scratching behind one of his ears. 'And somehow, he always shows up exactly when I need him. Like he can sense my emotions.'
As if responding to that thought, Albus shifted slightly, positioning himself so his body formed a windbreak between me and the cooling air. His tail thumped once against the ground—a gentle, reassuring rhythm.
Above us, Noctowl shifted on the fence, spreading one wing ever so slightly to block the soft drizzle that had begun to fall. She didn't move otherwise, just stood there like a quiet guardian in the rain, her feathers barely ruffling in the breeze.
It was then that I noticed something else—the three of them, Dad's Pokémon, they worked together without any commands or signals. Hooter provided surveillance from above, Albus offered protection and comfort on the ground, and somewhere inside, Lala was probably keeping Mom company while she worked.
They weren't just pets. They were a team. A family unit.
Dad looked over at our little gathering and grinned. "Told you they liked you."
And I grinned back, feeling something warm settle in my chest.
Even if the world didn't make sense yet... Even if something still felt off about the lack of wild Pokémon... For now, I had a wise old owl, a fluffy watchdog the size of a small horse, a pink puffball with attitude, and two parents who loved me deeply.
But still...
The question that had been building for weeks finally bubbled up.
I turned to Dad, my voice still high and light but deliberate. "Daddy... where'd you get them? Albus, Hooter... Lala?"
His smile didn't falter, but something behind his eyes changed. Just a flicker. Like a candle guttering in the wind, or a door closing softly in the distance.
He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, looking out at the fence where Noctowl still perched like a feathered sentinel. The silence stretched for a moment, filled only by the gentle patter of rain on leaves.
"You'll find out," he said finally, tone gentle but firm, like he was tucking the truth away under a warm blanket for safekeeping. "When it's time."
And then he reached over and tousled my hair, his touch affectionate but somehow distant.
"Some answers take a little growing into, Ash. Some truths... well, they're bigger than words can hold right now."
I blinked up at him, quiet, processing the weight in his voice.
'Growing into...? What kind of truth needs me to grow into it?'
The rain kept falling, light and soft, and Noctowl didn't move from her post. Neither did Albus, who seemed content to serve as my personal fortress against the world.
But something about Dad's words—and the careful way he'd chosen them—stayed with me as the rain began to fall harder.
"Come on, you two," Dad said, scooping me up from the blanket. "Let's get inside before we get soaked."
Albus stretched lazily and padded after us, while Noctowl gave one last surveying look around the yard before spreading her wings and disappearing into the grey sky with barely a whisper.
Inside, Mom looked up from her manuscript pages scattered across the kitchen table, red pen still in hand. When she saw us shake the rain from our hair, her face lit up with that warm smile that always made everything feel right.
"Perfect timing," she said, capping her pen and gathering the papers into a neat stack. "I'll get started on lunch."
The house filled with the comfortable sounds of Mom moving around the kitchen—the soft clink of dishes, the gentle hum of her voice as she worked, the occasional purr from Lala who had materialized to supervise the meal preparation.
After lunch, when my eyelids grew heavy and Mom tucked me in for my afternoon nap, that's when Dad's words came back to me. I lay in my crib staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the feeling that there were layers to this world I hadn't even begun to understand. The Pokémon weren't just companions—they were something more. Something important.
And Dad... Dad knew exactly what that something was.
'When it's time,' I repeated in my mind, watching shadows dance across the ceiling. 'But when will that be? And what happens when I'm finally old enough for the truth?'
Outside my window, I could hear the soft rush of wings as Hooter took her nightly patrol, and the gentle snoring of Albus from his spot by the front door.
Whatever secrets this family held, I was part of them now.
And somehow, that was both comforting and terrifying at the same time.