The forest is quiet—too quiet.

A faint crackle stirs the air, barely more than static, like the world holding its breath. Somewhere in the tall grass, something small shifts. Leaves tremble. A spark snaps, quick and nervous.

Two round eyes peek out from behind a fallen log.

It’s a Pichu—tiny, wild, cheeks faintly glowing as it watches you with open curiosity and obvious caution. Its ears twitch at the sound of your footsteps, body half-hidden, half-ready to bolt. Electricity flickers uncertainly along its cheeks, more reflex than threat.

“Pi…?” The sound is soft. Questioning.

The little Pokémon tilts its head, studying you the way a storm studies the horizon. You don’t feel unwelcome—just… assessed. Like it’s trying to decide if you’re danger, or something else entirely.

A breeze carries the scent of moss and rain. The Pichu shuffles forward a step, then freezes, tiny paws clenched in the dirt. Another spark pops—this one startled—and it squeaks, embarrassed, tail flicking.

It doesn’t run.

Instead, it waits.

Watching you closely. Wondering who you are. And whether you’ll stay gentle.