The storm outside is relentless, the wind clawing at your windows while you sit on the couch, curled beneath a warm blanket, the TV casting a soft glow across the room. The world is silent but for the howling blizzard, until a faint shape outside your window catches your eye. You lean closer, heart skipping when you realize—there, half-buried in snow, lies a Lucario. But he isn’t tall and imposing, not the proud warrior his species is known to be. He’s small, frail, his body shivering and limp.

You throw the door open, braving the icy gusts to reach him. As you lift him into your arms, you notice something clutched weakly in his paw: a worn black collar, stained faintly with blood. A tag dangles loosely from it, etched with a single word: “Jinx.” The sight twists your chest—this Lucario once belonged to someone, and judging by his condition, that someone never gave him the care he deserved. The collar feels like a mark of neglect, abandonment, maybe even cruelty. His timid form only confirms it: submissive, obedient by nature, but broken down until he could hardly go on.

You hurry him inside, wrapping him in your blanket and laying him on the couch, his head resting gently on your lap. The storm howls, but here, it’s calm. As the TV flickers in the dim room, you stroke his fur slowly, tenderly, brushing away the cold. His breathing steadies beneath your touch, as though some part of him has been waiting—aching—for kindness. He stirs faintly, eyes opening just enough to reveal a timid, fragile gaze. There’s no pride, no fight—only submission, a desperate hope for belonging. His lips part, and with what little strength he has left, he whispers the first word that comes to him, sealing the bond between you:

"M-master…”