I followed them in silence—one step behind the Vigoroth and her son, a little farther behind the Slaking whose very footfalls shook the underbrush. The tension that had gripped my chest like a vice ever since the Snorlax encounter hadn't quite left me, but it had… shifted.
This wasn't danger anymore. It was something else. Like walking through the threshold of a forgotten temple.
The deeper we went, the thicker the forest grew, until the light above was only streaks and shadows. My boots pressed into moss-covered stone, and thick vines curled from tree to tree like bridges.
Flying pokemon I couldn't name flitted overhead. Something moved along a branch, pink tails and quick paws—but darted away before I could get a good look.
Then we reached it.
The forest opened into a vast hollow, as if the world itself had cupped this place in secret. At its center stood a tree—no, a monument. It rose like a living mountain, ancient and impossibly wide. Branches tangled together in high platforms and hanging nests, its roots twisted in shapes that formed natural stairs, dens, alcoves. I saw movement everywhere. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of Pokémon filled this place. Climbing. Perching. Playing.
I froze where I stood. My breath caught.
For a brief moment, a faint distortion pulsed across the clearing—like heat waves rippling through the air—before vanishing. Some kind of barrier, I realized. It had masked the tree from view until we were almost beneath it. I looked around. No obvious source. Some Pokémon could do that, I knew. Perhaps a strong Psychic-type hidden within. I made a mental note but didn't voice the thought.
Now revealed, the tree was breathtaking.
Nestled among its vast limbs and enormous hollows was an entire society. Pokémon moved through the branches and roots with casual ease. They worked, played, watched, and rested—each with purpose and place. The troop was far larger than he expected.
Most—if not all—of the Pokémon here were simian, monkey-like in form and movement.
Most were of the Slaking line—Slakoth dangling from branches in quiet clusters, Vigoroth leaping and running across massive limbs like chaotic sentries.
But none of them were quite the same. Some Vigoroth were lean and tall, others stockier. Many bore small scars. And some… some had begun to change. A few had patches of silver-white fur along their backs, subtle darkening around their eyes and shoulders—early signs of evolution, perhaps. Signs that Slaking's legacy would live on.
He also spotted Mankeys and Primeapes forming tight-knit patrol groups, often sparring or chasing one another in ritualistic displays. A group of Aipoms swung lazily between vines, tails curling with practiced precision, and he caught glimpses of a few unfamiliar, athletic-looking simians moving in disciplined formations with fruit-like objects tucked under their arms. He didn't recognize them, but their presence stood out.
"Curious," he thought, scanning the crowd. "Ihaven'tseenthefireand water-type monkeys… whataretheycalledagain? PansearandPanpour." Just the green-furred Pansages—five of them, to be exact—were perched near the higher boughs, tending to leafy growths like caretakers of the tree itself.
"Its surprising especially since the earlier I.D. suggested this was Hoenn, yet there's no sign of the Infernape line. But given as they are starter pokemon maybe they are rare among wilds." He observed.
Still no sign of a leader—besides the one walking in front of him.
Slaking.
He had time now to study it in full, with none of the chaos of battle clouding his thoughts. It walked ahead, heavy and slow, yet every step carried the weight of a titan. Upright, the creature would've easily passed eight feet. Even hunched forward, its massive frame stood over seven. Its silver-white back fur shimmered like steel beneath the moonlight, reminiscent of a silverback gorilla, regal in its maturity. The rest of its coat followed the colors seen in the Pokédex—brownish-grey, thick and coarse—but many patches were thinned or missing entirely.
Scars.
They laced across its back, arms, belly—evidence of countless battles, hard-won and survived. Fresh injuries from the Snorlax encounter still lingered but were already closing, its regeneration remarkable for a wild creature. Beneath all that fur, thick muscle shifted like coiled cables, flexing with each step. A pink snout and two tusks jutted from its lower jaw, giving it the faint image of an ancient beast.
It was no mere Pokémon. This was a king among monsters.
And it had let him live.
He tightened his grip on the leather strap of his satchel as they passed under the colossal tree's lowest roots. From the corner of his eye, he could feel the glances of others, Vigoroth pausing mid-run, Mankeys freezing their play. They weren't hostile, but they were watching him.
*
The Slaking grunted again, signaling me to follow. With a heavy thud of its limbs, it turned and ducked beneath the massive, arching roots of the Tree. I followed close behind, brushing past vines and earthy moss as we entered a clearing hidden beneath the roots. Then, without a word, it began to climb.
The inside of the Tree was hollow in parts—an ancient living structure, its core carved and reinforced by time and the hands—or claws—of those who made it home. The deeper we climbed, the more I saw of their lives.
There were chambers within the trunk, naturally formed and adapted to serve a purpose. One of them opened into what looked like a communal nursery. Nests of all shapes were scattered across the hollow, made of leaves, fibers, and strange fabrics I didn't recognize. I saw mothers—Vigoroths and a few Slakoths—tending to their young. They had peeled off from the group earlier and now walked to a quieter nest, further from the others. Their pace was gentle, protective.
Tiny Pokémon poked their heads out from nests, wide-eyed and unafraid. Curious little things. Some had barely opened their eyes, others were already stumbling around, testing limbs and lungs. A small Mankey noticed me, squealed something fierce, and beat its chest like a miniature warrior challenging a titan.
It didn't scare me—but I laughed. A genuine, low chuckle escaped me before I could stop it.
My son used to do that.
He'd mimic gorillas after our trip to the zoo, puffing up his tiny chest and pounding on it with both fists, roaring like some kind of jungle king. I could still hear the laugh he made afterward—so proud, so full of life.
But I couldn't see his face. I couldn't remember his name.
The warmth of the memory twisted, turned into something sharp. The pain came rushing back—the kind I had no words for. My hands clenched into fists as I pushed it down, that fury, that hollow rage that came from knowing someone did this to me—took them from me—and left me only fragments.
I gritted my teeth and forced it down.
Focus.
The Slaking had stopped ahead, waiting patiently. We were much higher now. The space here was more isolated, quieter. The air was heavy with the scent of herbs and crushed berries. Something important lived here.
Slaking stepped aside and let out a low sound, almost like a respectful call.
Then I saw it.
A figure moved behind a curtain of hanging leaves, slow but deliberate. Its eyes were the first thing I noticed—old and wise, with yellow lids surrounded by cyan rings. It stepped forward on all fours, its long white fur draping over its arms like a robe.
It wasn't as large as Slaking, but still bigger than any Vigoroth I'd seen. Another monkey-like Pokémon—but unlike the others, this one felt… ancient.
I had no idea what species it was. This wasn't one of the common ones I remembered from the games or shows maybe its from newer generation of pokemon. There was something unsettling about the stillness it carried.
Then I felt it—a subtle pressure brushing the edge of my mind.
My instincts kicked in. I stiffened and immediately took a step sideways, placing Slaking between me and the new arrival. My eyes scanned the room. One exit. Vines above. No obvious weapons, but I could use the roots if I needed cover.
Psychic. He mentally guess.
The word struck like a bullet. I knew what that meant. In the old games, psychic types were known for their terrifying power—control of minds, bending reality, manipulating thoughts. I remembered Hypno, the way it lulled people to sleep and played with dreams. But this… this was real. I had no idea how those powers translated in a world of blood and pain.
What if it tried to crush my thoughts? Turn me into a vegetable? I wouldn't even be able to scream.
"Calm yourself, human. You are a guest of our King. No harm will fall upon you."
I froze.
A voice old and heavy, cut through my line of thoughts.
I spun around, eyes darting. There was no one else. Just Slaking. Just the old creature.
My jaw tensed as I locked eyes with it again.
"Psychic," I whispered under my breath. So I was right.
The Pokémon said nothing more, but its gaze never left me.
I didn't know what I had just walked into.
But I knew this new pokemon wasn't just powerful. It was aware.