Takeshi sat on the cold stone steps behind the morgue, the chill biting through the thin cotton of his pants. The sun had dipped below the roofs of Konoha an hour ago, but he hadn't moved. He sat with his arms draped over his knees, his chin resting on them, eyes blank. The wooden sign above the doorway behind him still read *Yamada & Sons Mortuary*, but the "sons" part hadn't been true for a while. Just him and his mother now.
He didn't cry anymore when he thought about his father. The tears had dried up in the days following the funeral, replaced by something heavier. Something quiet and still and cold—like the bodies he helped prepare for burial.
Inside, the lanterns were still burning. His mother was probably rinsing the instruments. She didn't complain when he stayed out late. Not since the funeral.
A shuffle of sandals on gravel drew his attention. A pair of ninja passed on the street, laughing and jostling each other, one of them talking animatedly about a mission gone wrong and a boar the size of a house. Takeshi didn't listen. He'd already stopped dreaming of missions, of becoming a ninja. He couldn't mold chakra. Not badly. Not weakly. Not at all.
The Academy instructors had told him as much after the third failed test. His physical energy—the yang half—was perfectly fine. Strong, even. But the spiritual side? It refused to bind.
He knew why, even if no one else could see it.
This soul—*his* soul—wasn't from this world.
It had taken him years to admit it, even in private. The memories weren't always clear. More like shapes in fog. But they didn't belong here. And maybe that was the reason. The reason his yin and yang would never blend. Like a foreign puzzle piece that almost—but not quite—fit the shape.
So his path ended there. No chakra. No jutsu. No future as a ninja.
"We're sorry," Iruka had said gently, hands folded in front of him. "It's not something training can fix."
So that was it. His dream ended before it started. But he still showed up every day to help his mother wash bodies, clean wounds, sew flesh. Death was a part of his life now.
That night, Takeshi dreamed.
---
The forest stretched endlessly in every direction. Towering trees rose like black columns into a moonless sky, their roots forming gnarled arches and spirals across the forest floor. A silver mist blanketed everything, curling around his ankles and coiling like breath. It was silent. Not dead silent, but… reverent. Holy, almost. The kind of silence that made you whisper without knowing why.
Takeshi looked down. He was barefoot. The soil beneath his feet was soft, thick with moss and loam, and the smell of damp leaves filled the air. This wasn't a dream. Or if it was, it wasn't his.
Shapes moved between the trees. Not many—just glimpses. Faint glows behind bark. Glints of watching eyes.
And he felt them. *Really* felt them.
Not with sight. Not with hearing.
With his chest.
A pressure he'd never known before—not danger exactly, but weight. Something ancient and close and *wronged*.
He had no sensory abilities, no chakra tricks to heighten awareness. But still, he knew: these things could kill. Whatever had happened to them, they hadn't been set free. They had lingered.
A flicker of movement to his right made him freeze.
It was small. Brown. Bipedal.
With a skull on its head like a helmet.
Cubone.
The Pokémon watched him from behind a fern, body shimmering faintly as though its edges were smoke. Its eyes were large and filled with grief.
Takeshi turned slowly, raising his hands in a soft, open gesture. "I know you."
Cubone didn't speak. Its head tilted slightly.
Takeshi crouched. "I don't know why I'm here. I think... someone brought me."
The mist shifted.
A light pulsed in the distance, soft and golden. Takeshi turned toward it. A figure stood within, tall and shimmering, with a wheel of golden light behind its head and eyes like endless dawn.
Arceus.
The forest changed.
The shadows bent. The stillness deepened. A pressure, invisible but heavy, settled over everything.
And then the voice came—not aloud, but directly in his thoughts.
"You're not from here."
Takeshi turned slowly. Light gathered in the clearing, building itself into the form of a creature unlike anything he'd seen—hooved, ringed, radiant. Its body looked like it had been carved out of purity and steel. Its eyes held no emotion, only weight.
"My name is Arceus. I made them."
He looked around at the spirits—at the silent Cubone watching from the edge of the clearing.
"They're stuck. Not by choice. Not by anything they did. Just... forgotten. Their lives ended wrong, and now they can't move forward."
Takeshi swallowed. "Why me?"
"Because you can see them. You can hear them. And you won't ignore them."
Arceus took a step forward. It didn't shake the ground. It silenced it.
"Talk to them. Learn who they were. If they trust you, they might follow you out of here. And if they do, they get a second chance. So do you."
Takeshi blinked. "And what do I get out of this?"
"When you need it—really need it—I'll give you something back. A way to help both of you survive in your world. That's all I can offer."
The light around Arceus started to fade.
"You don't have to save all of them. You can't save all of them. But even one would matter."
Then he was gone.
And Takeshi stood in the stillness again—surrounded by eyes watching him from the dark.
He turned back to Cubone. "You're not supposed to be here forever."
Cubone's grip on its bone club tightened.
"I can take you somewhere else. Somewhere better."
The Pokémon didn't move.
Takeshi took a breath. "I know what it's like. To be left behind. To want to fight, but not have the strength. I want to help you. I want to help all of you. But I can't do that without you."
Takeshi crouched down, his voice steady but low.
"I won't lie to you. Where I'm from… it's not like the place you come from. There's no tall grass or open meadows. No trainers tossing berries. It's a shinobi village. People fight to survive. Every day."
Cubone didn't move, didn't blink.
"You'd be leaving one kind of death for another. But in my world, you wouldn't be forgotten. Not again. If you come with me… I'll make sure you're remembered. I'll fight for you, with you—not as a master, but as someone who understands what it means to lose everything."
He placed a hand to his chest.
"I'm not strong yet. I can't even mold chakra. But I will be. With your help, I can carve out a place where Pokémon aren't weapons or tools—they're partners."
Takeshi met Cubone's eyes.
"You don't have to decide now. But if you're willing to risk it… I'll risk everything for you in return."
Cubone looked at him for a long time. Then, slowly, it stepped forward—and touched his hand with its small paw.
Its touch was soft. Solid. Real.
And Takeshi, for the first time in weeks, didn't feel alone.