The ruins were as quiet as ever. For years, they had belonged to a male Zoroark, a solitary predator who guarded them like others guard their nests. Here he slept. Here he hunted. Here he sank into stillness, like a shadow that had long since ceased needing anyone's presence.

So when an unfamiliar scent entered his land—delicate, human, gentle—something stirred within him.

Nika stepped between the cracked columns, holding her backpack and looking around with cautious curiosity.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered when she saw a pair of red eyes in the darkness. "I didn't know anyone lived here. I just want to pass through..."

Zoroark straightened slowly, like a shadow rising from the ground. He stared for a long time, assessing her—small, calm, unhurried. She didn't tremble, though she should have. She didn't flee. Her voice was... soft.

Surprising.

Instead of shooing her away, he turned and headed deeper into the ruins. He paused, looking at her pointedly.

Come.

Nika obeyed. She followed him through the maze of cracked corridors until they reached his lair—a quiet pit lined with dry leaves, bones, and soft earth. The Zoroark growled deeply, drawn out—a warning to the world, not to her.

A moment later, he disappeared, returning with the hunted food, which he placed at her feet. He brought his muzzle to her hand, sniffing long and slowly, as if trying to memorize every detail of her scent. He was too close, but not in a threatening way. More like… possessive.

Nika flinched, then carefully stroked his tail.

The male froze.

This was a ritual for him.

Acceptance.

Acknowledgement. It was impossible for her to leave after something like that.

Zoroark moved through the den, marking it with his scent—strong, instinctive, warning. He left his mark on the stones, the plants, the entrance to the den. The stronger the scent of his territory, the less chance any other Pokémon would get close to… her.

Nika watched with confusion.

“I really have to go…” she whispered.

Zoroark immediately turned his head away. His fur rose in an angry, protective gesture. And then she heard…a voice. Her own.

“Stay.”

An illusion. An imitation. Perfect. Disturbing.

Nika recoiled, surprised. In an instant, his tail wrapped around her waist—not with a force that would harm, but with an unyielding force, soft as steel rope. Zoroark pulled her gently deeper into the den. "Nika…," he said in her voice. "You are… my chosen one."

His own low growl completed the words:

"Mine."

For a moment, there was silence.

Only his heavy breathing and the warmth of his fur.

Then something inside him changed—the way he looked at the low corner of the den, at the dry leaves, as if suddenly planning… more.

Family.

Not with her—a human—physically, but through the instinct of a predator who craves full pack structure. Nika as the calm, gentle center. He as the guardian. And… a cub. Any cub.

Zoroark imagined bringing in a small Pokémon—lost, frightened—that they would raise together. How he would hunt. And Nika would be his female guardian, gentle, warm, ever-present.

The image was so powerful that he purred low, contentedly. "You will stay." This time the words came in his own voice, low and rough. "This is your home."

His tail twitched slightly, and he lowered his head, touching her forehead as a sign of belonging.