Training in the hidden valley became routine for Alex.
Days blurred together beneath the towering trees and the shadow of the nameless mountain. The air here felt different, older, heavier, as if the land itself remembered things the rest of Sinnoh had forgotten. Alex trained with all of his Pokémon in turns: Riolu refining his Aura control, Charcadet hardening his flames into sharper, more disciplined strikes, Grovyle pushing his speed and precision until his muscles trembled, and Larvesta learning to move without exhausting itself too quickly.
Yet something kept gnawing at Alex's mind.
It started when he noticed the Pokémon watching them.
Not in fear. Not with hostility. But with a strange, distant familiarity.
During one training session, a Growlithe emerged from the underbrush, except it wasn't like any Growlithe Alex had seen before. Its fur was longer, rougher, its eyes sharper. A Hisuian Growlithe. Then there were others, a heavy, moss-covered Voltorb that barely moved unless provoked, a Qwilfish whose spikes looked more like ancient weapons than natural defenses, even a Zorua-shaped shadow that vanished the moment Alex focused on it.
Hisui.
The realization hit him slowly, then all at once.
This place hadn't changed.
While the rest of Sinnoh evolved, cities growing, routes forming, trainers shaping ecosystems this land had remained untouched. Isolated. Sheltered. Pokémon here never needed to adapt to modern Sinnoh because they already had everything. food, territory, refuge. Time had simply… passed around them.
Alex sat by the fire that night, Larvesta curled against his side, staring into the flames.
"If this place kept Hisuian forms alive…" he murmured, "then maybe…"
His thoughts drifted to a Pokémon he had always admired. Not for its power alone, but for its story.
Hisuian Zoroark.
A Ghost and Normal type born from rejection and rage. A Pokémon that survived betrayal, loss, and isolation, and turned it into strength.
Alex clenched his fist.
"I won't force it," he said quietly to his team. "But if one's here… I want to find it."
The next few days were brutal.
Alex didn't just wander, he hunted.
Not to kill, but to provoke. To draw out anything hiding deeper in the forest. He and his Pokémon attacked wild Pokémon deliberately, forcing them to flee, scream, or call for help. It was risky, exhausting, and dangerous, but Alex knew one thing, Zorua were clever. They watched. They waited.
Every snapped branch made him tense.
Every distant cry made him turn.
But nothing appeared.
Days passed.
His supplies thinned. His body ached. Grovyle bore fresh cuts. Riolu's Aura flickered with fatigue. Even Charcadet's flames burned lower than usual.
Doubt crept in.
"Maybe I was wrong," Alex muttered one night, staring at the dark canopy above. "Maybe there isn't one here."
He stood the next morning ready to give up.
That was when he heard it.
A howl.
Not loud. Not aggressive.
Lonely.
Alex froze.
The sound echoed through the forest like a wound ripping open. It wasn't the cry of a predator—it was grief. Pain sharpened into sound.
His heart started pounding.
"Hisuian Zorua…" he whispered.
"Riolu, Charcadet, Grovyle, move."
They ran.
Branches tore at Alex's arms as he sprinted through the forest, lungs burning. The howls came again, closer now, layered with desperation. Larvesta clung to his shoulder, chirping softly.
They burst into a small clearing.
And there it was.
A Hisuian Zorua.
But not just any.
Its fur was pale silver instead of white, streaked with faint icy blue. Its crimson markings glowed unnaturally against the dim light. Its eyes sharp, haunted locked onto Alex instantly.
A shiny.
The Zorua stood alone.
No pack. No protection.
Its body was tense, defensive, but Alex could see the truth immediately. Old scars. Malnourishment. Fear buried beneath anger.
"They abandoned you…" Alex whispered.
Alex would remember that in his past life there was a theory that Pokemon shiny we're rare because they were left behind by their pack because of their different color just like in real life
Zorua snarled, illusions flickering wildly around it—shadows twisting into monstrous shapes—but they were unstable. Cracked.
Riolu stepped forward instinctively, Aura flaring—but Alex raised his hand.
"No."
He approached slowly.
"I know what it's like," Alex said, voice low and steady. "To be alone. To be unwanted."
The Zorua hesitated.
That was enough.
Alex threw the Poké Ball—not with force, but precision.
The battle barely lasted seconds.
The Zorua resisted. Fought. Screamed.
Then the ball stilled.
Click.
Alex stood there, chest heaving, staring at the Poké Ball in the dirt.
He felt no triumph.
Only sorrow.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "But you won't be alone anymore."
The forest was silent.
Somewhere deep within the trees, something watched.
And the ancient land of Hisui whispered its approval.