Pride and Praxis

[Nephthys8079]

Cold.

That was the first thing I registered. Not the kind of cold you get from forgetting a jacket or leaving a window open overnight. This was the kind that bit into exposed skin like teeth, that turned breath into visible fog before it even left your mouth, that made your lungs ache with every inhale.

I opened my eyes.

White. Everything was white. Snow covered the ground in thick drifts, clung to the dark bark of trees that stretched up into a gray sky. More snow was falling, fat flakes that landed on my face and melted instantly from body heat I was rapidly losing.

I tried to sit up. My arms shook. Everything felt wrong. The weight distribution was off, my center of gravity shifted in a way that made my stomach lurch. I got halfway up before my elbow buckled and I collapsed back into the snow.

Panic spiked through my chest. I forced it down.

Think. Assess. Figure out what's happening.

I was lying in snow. Deep snow. At least six inches, maybe more. I was wearing clothes, thank god. Some kind of jacket, pants, boots. All of it felt too big, like I was swimming in fabric. My hands looked small when I held them up in front of my face. Too small. The fingers were thin, delicate. Not my hands.

I touched my face. Soft skin. No stubble. My hair was longer than it should be, falling past my shoulders when I turned my head. I grabbed a handful and pulled it in front of my eyes. Dark brown, almost black. Long.

My breathing picked up. The fog of my breath came faster.

No. Stop. Panic later. Survive first.

I tried sitting up again, slower this time. My body cooperated better when I didn't fight the different weight distribution. I got upright, sitting in the snow with my legs stretched out in front of me. My thighs looked wrong. My chest felt wrong. Everything about this body felt wrong in a way that was both familiar and completely alien.

I knew this feeling. I had spent years dealing with this feeling. But this was different. This was worse. Because last time I checked, I had been in my own body. The one I had been born with, yes, but the one I had spent sixteen years learning to navigate. The one I knew.

This was not that body.

I looked down at myself. The jacket was puffy, dark blue, clearly meant for cold weather. The pants were thick, some kind of cargo style with lots of pockets. The boots were sturdy, waterproof. All of it was practical gear for winter conditions. None of it fit right. Everything was slightly too large, like it had been bought with room to grow.

How old was this body? I held up my hands again, studying them. Small. Smooth. No calluses, no scars. Young. Maybe fourteen? Fifteen? Definitely younger than sixteen.

And definitely female.

I sat there in the snow, feeling the cold seep through my pants, and tried to process that. I had spent years wishing I had been born in a different body. I had spent countless nights lying awake, imagining what it would be like to wake up and have everything just be right. To not have to fight my own reflection every morning.

This was not what I had imagined.

Because this body was wrong in the opposite direction. This body was what I had been running from. This body was what I had been trying to escape.

I laughed. It came out bitter and sharp, and the sound of it startled me. My voice was higher. Lighter. Not the voice I had been working on for the past year, the one I had been training to sit lower in my throat. This was a girl's voice. Clear and bright and completely wrong.

Stop. Focus. You can have a breakdown about this later. Right now you need to figure out where you are and how to not die of hypothermia.

I looked around properly for the first time. Trees. Lots of trees. They were tall, some kind of conifer I didn't recognize. The bark was dark, almost black in places, and the branches were heavy with snow. The forest was dense, the trees packed close enough that I couldn't see very far in any direction. The ground was uneven, sloping upward to my left and downward to my right.

Mountains. I could see them in the distance through gaps in the trees. Huge, snow-covered peaks that stretched up into the clouds. They looked impossibly tall, the kind of mountains you saw in nature documentaries about the Himalayas or the Alps.

Where the hell was I?

I tried to remember what I had been doing before this. Before waking up in the snow. The memories were fuzzy, like trying to recall a dream. I had been at home. In my room. It had been late. I had been on my computer, scrolling through something. A forum? A website? I couldn't remember exactly.

And then... nothing. No transition. No sense of movement or time passing. Just home, and then here.

That wasn't normal. That wasn't how anything worked.

I pushed myself to my feet. My legs shook, but they held. I was shorter than I should be. A lot shorter. I had been five-foot-eight. This body felt like it was maybe five-foot-three, five-foot-four at most. Everything was compressed, condensed. Smaller.

The cold was getting worse. I could feel it in my fingers, in my toes. The kind of cold that meant frostbite if I didn't do something about it soon. I needed shelter. I needed warmth. I needed to figure out what the hell was going on.

I started walking. Downhill seemed smarter than uphill. Less effort, and maybe there would be something at the bottom. A road. A building. People.

The snow was deep enough that every step was a struggle. My boots sank in past my ankles, and I had to lift my legs high to pull them free. It was exhausting. This body was weaker than mine had been. Less muscle, less endurance. Or maybe it was just younger, not fully developed yet.

I kept moving. The trees were thick enough that they blocked some of the falling snow, but not all of it. My hair was getting wet. My face was numb. I shoved my hands into the jacket pockets and found gloves. Thank god. I pulled them on without stopping, fumbling with fingers that were already stiff from cold.

The forest was quiet. Too quiet. No birds. No wind. Just the soft sound of snow falling and my own labored breathing. It felt wrong.

Forests were supposed to have ambient noise. Animals moving through underbrush. Branches creaking. Something.

This was silent.

I kept walking. The slope was getting steeper. I had to grab onto trees to keep from slipping. The bark was rough under my gloved hands, and I could feel the cold of it even through the fabric.

How long had I been walking? Ten minutes? Twenty? Time felt strange. Everything felt strange.

I stopped to catch my breath, leaning against a tree trunk. My legs were burning. My lungs hurt. This body was not in good shape. Or maybe I was just pushing it too hard too fast.

I looked back the way I had come. My footprints were already filling in with fresh snow. In another few minutes, they would be gone completely. No trail. No way to backtrack if I needed to.

That should have scared me more than it did. Maybe I was too cold to be properly scared. Maybe the panic was waiting until I was somewhere safe to really hit.

I kept moving.

The trees started to thin out. I could see more sky, more of those massive mountains. They were closer now. Close enough that I could make out details. Rocky outcroppings. Sheer cliff faces. Glaciers that gleamed white even under the overcast sky.

Where was I? What mountain range looked like this? I tried to think of geography. The Rockies? The Alps? The Andes? None of them felt right. Those mountains were too big. Too sharp. Too impossibly tall.

I stumbled over something hidden under the snow. A root, maybe. Or a rock. I caught myself on another tree, breathing hard. My vision was starting to blur at the edges. That was bad. That was a sign of hypothermia. I needed to find shelter. Soon.

The trees opened up ahead. I pushed through the last of them and stopped.

A clearing. Maybe fifty feet across. The snow was deeper here, undisturbed except for a few tracks that cut across from one side to the other. Animal tracks. Something with four legs and claws.

I stared at the tracks. They were big. Bigger than any dog I had ever seen. The claw marks were deep, gouged into the frozen ground beneath the snow.

What kind of animal made tracks like that?
I looked around the clearing. More trees on the other side. No buildings. No roads. No signs of civilization at all. Just snow and trees and those impossible mountains in the distance.

I was in the middle of nowhere. Completely alone. In a body that wasn't mine. With no idea how I had gotten here or how to get back.

The panic I had been holding back started to claw its way up my throat. I shoved it down again. Panic wouldn't help. Panic would get me killed.

Think. What do you know? What can you work with?

I was in a mountainous region. Heavy snow, coniferous forest. That meant northern hemisphere, probably. High altitude. The air felt thin, though that might have just been the cold making it hard to breathe.

I was dressed for the weather. That meant someone had put me here intentionally, or I had been here long enough to acquire appropriate clothing. Neither option made sense.

I was alone. No signs of other people. No trails, no roads, no power lines. Either I was very far from civilization, or civilization didn't exist here in the way I expected.

That thought made something click in my head. Something I had been avoiding looking at directly.

This didn't feel like Earth.

The mountains were wrong. The silence was wrong. The way the snow fell felt wrong, too perfect, too clean. And those tracks. Those massive tracks that no animal I knew of could have made.

I stood in the middle of the clearing and let myself consider the impossible.

What if I wasn't on Earth anymore?

The thought should have been ridiculous. It should have been the kind of thing I dismissed immediately. But standing there in the snow, in a body that wasn't mine, in a place that didn't match anywhere I knew, it didn't feel ridiculous. It felt like the only explanation that fit.

I had read enough isekai stories to know the tropes. Person from modern world gets transported to another world. Usually there was a truck involved. Or a summoning ritual. Or just falling asleep and waking up somewhere else.

I had fallen asleep. Or I had been on my computer and then I was here. No transition. No warning.

If this was another world, that explained the body. Reincarnation. Or transmigration. Or whatever term applied when you woke up in someone else's body in another world.

It didn't explain why. Or how. Or what I was supposed to do about it.

I started walking again. Across the clearing, toward the trees on the other side. I needed to keep moving. Needed to find shelter. I could have an existential crisis about being in another world once I wasn't in danger of freezing to death.

The tracks crossed my path. I stopped to look at them more closely. Four toes. Claws. The stride was long, whatever made them had been moving fast. Running, maybe. Or hunting.

I looked around the clearing again. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.

I kept walking.

The trees on the far side of the clearing were denser than the ones I had come through.

Older, maybe. The trunks were thicker, the branches heavier. The snow wasn't as deep here, blocked by the canopy above.

I could hear something. Faint. Distant. Water, maybe? Running water?

I changed direction, heading toward the sound. Running water meant I was going downhill. It meant there might be a stream or a river. It meant there might be a way to orient myself, to figure out where I was.

The sound got louder as I walked. Definitely water. I could hear it rushing, moving fast. A stream, then. Maybe fed by snowmelt from higher up the mountain.

I pushed through a thick stand of trees and found it. A stream, maybe ten feet wide, cutting through the forest. The water was clear, moving fast enough that it hadn't frozen despite the cold. Steam rose from the surface in thin wisps.

I knelt at the edge and cupped my hands, scooping up water. It was cold but not freezing. I drank. My throat was raw from breathing cold air, and the water helped. I drank more, then splashed some on my face.

The shock of it cleared my head a little. I sat back on my heels and looked at the stream. It was flowing downhill, away from the mountains. If I followed it, it would eventually lead somewhere. Streams led to rivers. Rivers led to settlements. Basic geography.

I stood up and started following the stream. The ground was easier here, less snow, more exposed rock and frozen earth. I could move faster.

The stream curved through the forest, winding between trees and over rocks. I followed it for what felt like an hour. Maybe longer. Time was hard to judge. The sky was still gray, still overcast. The snow was still falling.

My legs were getting tired. This body wasn't used to this kind of exertion. I needed to rest. But I also needed to keep moving. Stopping meant freezing.

The stream widened. The banks got steeper. I had to climb down a small slope to stay next to the water. The rocks were slippery, covered in ice. I went slowly, testing each step.

I heard something.

Not the water. Something else. A sound that didn't belong.

I froze, listening.

There. Again. A scraping sound. Like something digging. Or scratching at frozen ground.

I looked around. The sound was coming from ahead, somewhere past the next bend in the stream. I moved forward carefully, staying low, using the trees for cover.

The stream curved sharply to the left. I crept up to the bend and peered around a thick tree trunk.

There was something in the water.

I stared at it, my brain refusing to process what I was seeing.

It was small. Maybe two feet tall. Blue. Bright, vivid blue, the color of a clear summer sky. It had a round body, stubby arms and legs, and a large head with a fin on top. It was standing in the shallow part of the stream, digging at something under the water with its small clawed hands.

I knew what it was.

I knew exactly what it was.

Because I had seen it a thousand times before. In games. In shows. In cards and plushies and fanart.

That was a Piplup.

That was a Pokemon.

I was in the Pokemon world.

The realization hit me like a physical blow. I actually staggered, catching myself against the tree. My breathing picked up. My vision tunneled.

Pokemon. This was the Pokemon world. That was why the mountains looked wrong. That was why the forest was so quiet. That was why everything felt off.

Because this wasn't Earth. This was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere that shouldn't exist. Somewhere that was supposed to be fictional.

I watched the Piplup dig in the stream. It pulled something out of the water. A rock, maybe. Or a shell. It examined it, made a small chirping sound, then tossed it aside and went back to digging.

It was real. It was right there. A living, breathing Pokemon.

My mind raced. If this was the Pokemon world, then everything I knew about it applied. The games. The show. The lore. All of it was real. Or some version of it was real.

Which meant I had meta-knowledge. I knew things about this world that people who lived here wouldn't know. I knew about Pokemon types and evolution and moves. I knew about gyms and leagues and legendary Pokemon.
I knew how this world worked.

That was valuable. That was incredibly valuable. If I could leverage that knowledge, if I could use what I knew, I might be able to survive here. More than survive. I might be able to thrive.

But first I needed to not freeze to death.

The Piplup was still digging. It hadn't noticed me. I was downwind, and I had been quiet. I could probably sneak past it without being seen.

Or I could try to catch it.

The thought came unbidden. If this was the Pokemon world, then Pokemon were how you survived. They were tools. Weapons. Partners.

You needed Pokemon to travel safely. You needed Pokemon to protect yourself from wild Pokemon.

And I was alone in the wilderness with no supplies and no shelter and night was probably coming soon.

I needed help. And that Piplup was right there.
But I didn't have a Pokeball. I didn't have anything. Just the clothes on my back and whatever was in my pockets.

I checked my pockets. The jacket had several. Inside pocket, two outside pockets, one on each arm. The pants had cargo pockets on the thighs and regular pockets on the hips.

Inside jacket pocket: nothing. Outside pockets: nothing. Arm pockets: nothing. Cargo pockets: left side had a small folded knife. Right side had a lighter and a small package of tissues. Hip pockets: some kind of card in the left one, nothing in the right.

I pulled out the card. It was plastic, about the size of a credit card. There was a photo on it. A girl's face. Young, maybe fifteen. Dark hair, gray eyes. Pretty, in a soft kind of way.

It took me a second to realize I was looking at myself. Or at the body I was in. This was an ID card.

I squinted at the text. Some of it was in characters I didn't recognize. But some of it was in English. Or something close to English.

Name: Luca Ikaruga
Age: 15
Region: Sinnoh
Trainer ID: [926157291]

Trainer ID.

This body was a Pokemon trainer. Or was supposed to be. Or had the credentials to be.
Which meant somewhere, maybe, I had Pokeballs. Or access to Pokeballs. Or at least the legal right to catch Pokemon.

I looked back at the Piplup. It was still digging, completely oblivious to my presence.

I didn't have Pokeballs on me. But if I could get to a town, to a Pokemon Center, I could probably get supplies. I could register as a trainer. I could start building a team.

But that required getting to a town. Which required surviving long enough to find one.
The Piplup pulled something else out of the water. This time it looked excited. It held up whatever it had found and made a happy chirping sound.

I watched it. It was small. Young, probably. Starter Pokemon were usually given out at low levels. If this was a wild Piplup, it was probably not very strong.

But it was a Water-type. And I was in a snowy mountain region. Water-types were weak to Ice-types. If something attacked us, that Piplup would be at a disadvantage.

Unless it knew Water-type moves. Water beat Ice in terms of offensive coverage. Scald or Surf would handle most Ice-types fine.

I was thinking about this like a game. Type matchups and move coverage and strategy. But this wasn't a game. This was real. That Piplup was a living creature. And I was a person who had no idea how to actually train Pokemon.

The Piplup finished examining its find and tucked it into... somewhere. I couldn't see where. Maybe Pokemon had some kind of hammerspace inventory. That would be consistent with game logic.

It started waddling along the stream, heading in the same direction I had been going.
Downstream. Toward wherever the water led.

I followed it. Quietly. Keeping my distance. If it was going somewhere, maybe that somewhere was safe. Maybe it had a nest. Or a burrow. Or maybe it was heading toward other Pokemon.
Or maybe it was just wandering and I was wasting time following it.

But I didn't have a better plan. And at least following the Piplup gave me a goal.

Something to focus on besides the cold and the fear and the wrongness of this body.

We walked for maybe twenty minutes. The Piplup waddled along the edge of the stream, occasionally stopping to dig at something or examine a rock. I stayed back, using trees for cover, trying not to make noise.

The stream started to widen. The banks got lower. The water slowed down, spreading out into a broader, shallower flow.

And then I saw them.

More Pokemon.

There were three of them. Two more Piplup and something else. Something brown and furry with a flat tail. A Bidoof.

They were gathered at the edge of the water, doing... something. The Bidoof was gnawing on a piece of wood. The two Piplup were splashing in the shallow water, playing or fighting or something in between.

The Piplup I had been following chirped loudly and waddled over to join them. The other two Piplup chirped back. They seemed happy to see each other.

I watched from behind a tree. A group of Pokemon. Wild Pokemon. Just living their lives.

It was surreal. I had seen this in games and shows a thousand times. Wild Pokemon in their natural habitat. But seeing it in person, in real life, was different. They moved in ways that felt organic, natural. They had weight and presence. They were real.

The Bidoof finished gnawing its wood and waddled into the water. It started building something. Stacking rocks and sticks. Making a dam.

Of course. Bidoof made dams. That was their thing.

I watched them work. The Piplup were helping, sort of. Mostly they were just playing in the water and occasionally moving a rock when the Bidoof chirped at them.

This was their home. This stream, this part of the forest. They lived here.

And I was intruding.

I started to back away. Slowly. Carefully. I didn't want to disturb them. Didn't want to provoke a fight.

My foot came down on a branch hidden under the snow.

It cracked. Loud. Sharp.

All four Pokemon froze. Then they turned to look at me.

I froze too. My heart hammered in my chest.
The Bidoof made a low growling sound. The three Piplup moved closer together, their postures defensive.

I raised my hands slowly. Universal gesture for "I'm not a threat." Hopefully it worked on Pokemon.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said. My voice came out higher than I expected. Wrong. But steady. "I'm just passing through."

The Bidoof growled again. It took a step toward me. The Piplup followed.

This was bad. Four on one. I didn't have Pokemon. I didn't have weapons. I had a small folding knife that would do exactly nothing against creatures that could shoot water at high pressure or gnaw through trees.

I took a step back. Then another. Slow. Non-threatening.

The Bidoof kept advancing. The Piplup spread out, flanking me.

They were coordinating. Working together. That was smart. That was dangerous.

I took another step back. My heel hit something. A root. I stumbled, caught myself.

The Bidoof charged.

It was fast. Faster than something that round and stubby should be. It covered the distance between us in seconds, its teeth bared.

I threw myself to the side. The Bidoof missed me by inches. I hit the ground hard, snow and frozen earth knocking the wind out of me.

One of the Piplup shot water at me. A thin stream, pressurized. It hit my shoulder and hurt. Actually hurt. Like being hit with a firehose.

I scrambled to my feet and ran.

Behind me, I heard them giving chase. The Bidoof was growling. The Piplup were chirping. Angry sounds. Territorial sounds.

I ran through the trees, branches whipping at my face. My lungs burned. My legs screamed. This body wasn't built for running. Wasn't built for this.

I could hear them behind me. Close. Too close.
I needed to lose them. Needed to find somewhere to hide.

There. A fallen tree. Huge, ancient. The trunk was hollow, rotted out from the inside. Big enough to crawl into.

I dove for it. Squeezed through the opening. The space inside was tight, cramped. I pulled my legs in and pressed myself against the back of the hollow.

Outside, I heard the Pokemon slow down. Heard them sniffing around. The Bidoof growled, right outside the opening.

I held my breath.

Silence.

Then the sound of them moving away. Slowly. Cautiously.

I waited. Counted to a hundred. Then two hundred.

Nothing.

I let out a shaky breath. My whole body was trembling. From cold. From adrenaline. From fear.

That had been close. Too close.

I stayed in the hollow tree for a long time. Until my breathing steadied. Until the shaking stopped. Until I was sure the Pokemon were gone.

When I finally crawled out, the light had changed. The sky was darker. Evening was coming.

I needed shelter. Real shelter. And I needed it soon.

I looked around. The forest looked the same in every direction. Trees and snow and more trees.

I picked a direction at random and started walking.

The temperature was dropping. I could feel it. The cold was getting worse. My fingers were numb even inside the gloves. My face felt like ice.

I kept walking. One foot in front of the other. Don't stop. Don't think about how tired you are. Don't think about how lost you are. Just walk.
The trees started to thin out again. I could see more sky. More of those impossible mountains.

And then I saw something else.

Smoke.

Thin. Gray. Rising from somewhere ahead.
Smoke meant fire. Fire meant people.
I changed direction, heading toward it. My pace picked up. Hope gave me energy I didn't know I had left.

The smoke got thicker. I could smell it now. Wood smoke. Clean. Fresh.

I pushed through the last of the trees and stopped.

There was a cabin. Small. Rustic. Made of dark wood with a stone chimney. Smoke was rising from the chimney. Light glowed in the windows.

Someone was home.

I stood at the edge of the trees, staring at the cabin. This was it. This was civilization. This was safety.

Or it was a trap. Or it was dangerous. Or it was a hundred other things that could go wrong.
But I was out of options. Night was coming. The temperature was dropping. If I didn't find shelter soon, I would die.

I walked toward the cabin. My legs felt like lead. Every step was an effort.

I reached the door. Raised my hand to knock.
And heard something behind me.

That scraping sound again. Digging. Scratching.

I turned around.

There was something in the snow. Twenty feet away. Digging. Throwing up clouds of powder as it burrowed.

I couldn't see what it was. Just movement. Just the snow flying.

And then it stopped.

The snow settled.

And something poked its head up.

Blue. Darker than the Piplup. With a huge mouth and a fin on top of its head.

A Gible.

It stared at me. I stared at it.

And then it grinned.

That grin was all teeth. Rows of them. Sharp and white and designed for tearing.

My brain kicked into overdrive.

Gible. Dragon and Ground type. Pre-evolution of Gabite, which evolved into Garchomp. Pseudo-legendary line. One of the most powerful non-legendary Pokemon species in existence.

Cynthia's ace. Champion-tier potential.
Also a predator. Also dangerous. Also capable of biting through bone.

The Gible tilted its head, studying me. Its eyes were large and round, almost cute if you ignored the mouth. It was small. Maybe two feet tall, probably less. The fin on its head was still developing, not as pronounced as it would be when it evolved.

It looked thin. Not emaciated, but lean in a way that suggested it wasn't eating as much as it should. The blue scales along its body were dull in places, and there was a scrape along one side that looked recent.

Young. Alone. Possibly abandoned or separated from its family group.

Gible lived in caves. Hot caves, usually near volcanic areas or deep underground where the temperature stayed warm. They lived in family groups, with older Gabite and Garchomp protecting the young until they were strong enough to hunt on their own.

This one was alone. In the snow. Far from any volcanic activity I could see.

That was wrong. That was very wrong.
The Gible took a step forward. Its movements were awkward, like it wasn't used to walking on snow. Its claws dug into the powder for traction.

I didn't move. My body was screaming at me to run, but I forced myself to stay still. Running would trigger a chase response. Gible were predators. They hunted.

And I was prey-sized.

The Gible sniffed the air. Its nostrils flared. It was smelling me. Trying to figure out what I was.

I could see its ribs. Not severely, but enough to notice. It was hungry.

My mind raced through options.
Option one: knock on the cabin door. Hope whoever was inside would help. Risk the Gible attacking while I waited for someone to answer.

Option two: try to scare it off. Make myself look bigger, make noise, hope it decided I wasn't worth the effort. Low probability of success. Gible were aggressive by nature, and this one looked desperate.

Option three: try to interact with it. Offer food if I had any, which I didn't. Try to communicate somehow. Extremely risky. I had no idea how to handle a wild Dragon-type, especially one that was hungry and alone.

Option four: run. Back into the forest, hope I was faster, hope it didn't follow. Almost certainly a bad idea. I was exhausted, cold, and this body wasn't built for running. The Gible would catch me.

The Gible took another step. Closer now. Maybe fifteen feet away.

I could see the details of its face. The way its eyes tracked my movements. The slight twitch of its fin. The tension in its legs, like it was ready to pounce.

This was a starter-tier Pokemon. If I could bond with it, if I could earn its trust, I would have a partner that could eventually become one of the strongest Pokemon in the world. Garchomp were fast, powerful, versatile. They could learn a massive movepool. They could dominate battles.

But that was long-term thinking. Right now, I was staring at a hungry predator that could kill me.

The cold was getting worse. My fingers were numb. My legs were shaking, and not just from fear. Hypothermia was setting in. I could feel it. The sluggish thoughts, the way my body felt heavy and slow.

I needed to make a decision. Fast.
The Gible opened its mouth. Not a threat display. Just... open. Like it was tasting the air. Its tongue flicked out, and I saw more teeth. So many teeth.

It made a sound. Low and rumbling. Not quite a growl. More like a purr, but deeper. Curious.
It wasn't attacking. It was investigating.

That was good. That was something I could work with.

I slowly lowered myself into a crouch. Not sitting, not kneeling, just lowering my center of gravity. Making myself less threatening. Smaller.

The Gible's eyes tracked the movement. Its head tilted the other way.

I kept my hands visible. Palms open. No sudden movements.

"Hey," I said. My voice was quiet. Hoarse from the cold and the screaming earlier. "Hey, it's okay."

The Gible blinked. Its fin twitched.

I had no idea if it understood language.

Pokemon in the games could understand human speech to some degree, but this wasn't a game. This was real. This was a wild animal with the intelligence of... what? A dog? A dolphin? Something in between?
The Gible took another step. Twelve feet now. Close enough that I could see the texture of its scales. The way they overlapped. The small scars along its body.

It had been in fights. Multiple fights. Some of those scars looked old.

This Gible had been surviving on its own for a while.

I stayed still. Kept my breathing steady. Tried to project calm even though my heart was hammering in my chest.

The Gible sniffed again. Louder this time. It was definitely smelling me. Trying to figure out if I was food.

I wasn't food. I needed to not be food.

"I don't have anything," I said. Still quiet. Still calm. "No food. Nothing."

The Gible's eyes narrowed. It made that rumbling sound again. Louder.

It was getting frustrated. Or impatient. Or both.
I glanced at the cabin door behind me. Still closed. No sign that anyone inside had heard anything. The windows glowed with warm light, but I couldn't see movement.

If I knocked, would they answer? Would they help? Or would they see a strange kid with a wild Gible and decide it wasn't their problem?
The Gible moved again. Faster this time. It closed the distance to ten feet in two quick steps.

My body tensed. Every instinct screamed at me to move, to run, to do something.
I stayed still.

The Gible stopped. Stared at me. Its mouth was still open. I could see its breath in the cold air. Little puffs of steam.

It was cold. The Gible was cold too. That was why it looked so sluggish. Dragon-types needed heat. Ground-types could handle temperature variations better than most, but Gible specifically were adapted for hot environments.

This one was suffering. Just like me.
An idea formed. Stupid. Risky. Possibly suicidal.

But I was out of better options.

I slowly reached for the zipper of my jacket. The Gible's eyes tracked the movement. Its body tensed.

I unzipped the jacket halfway. Pulled it open slightly. Showed the inside.

"Warm," I said. "It's warm."

The Gible stared. Its fin twitched again.

I had no idea if this would work. No idea if the Gible would understand. But it was cold, and I was offering warmth, and maybe that would be enough.

The Gible took a step. Then another. Cautious now. Wary.

Eight feet. Seven. Six.

Close enough that I could see the individual scales on its snout. Close enough that if it lunged, I wouldn't be able to react in time.
The Gible stopped. Sniffed. Its eyes moved from my face to the open jacket and back.
I didn't move. Barely breathed.

The Gible made a decision.

It walked forward. Slow. Deliberate. Its claws crunched in the snow.

Five feet. Four. Three.

It stopped right in front of me. Close enough to touch. Close enough to bite.

I could smell it. Earth and stone and something sharp, like ozone. Dragon-type energy, maybe. Or just the smell of a wild Pokemon.

The Gible looked up at me. Its eyes were huge this close. Dark blue, almost black in the fading light.

It made a sound. Softer this time. Almost questioning.

I slowly moved my hand. Held it out. Palm up. Non-threatening.

The Gible sniffed my hand. Its breath was warm against my frozen fingers. It felt like fire.
And then it stepped closer. Pressed its body against my legs. Seeking warmth.

I almost laughed. Almost cried. The relief was overwhelming.

Slowly, carefully, I wrapped my jacket around the Gible. It was too small to fit inside properly, but I could cover most of its body. Shield it from the wind.

The Gible made that rumbling sound again. Softer. Content.

It was warm. Warmer than I expected. Dragon-types ran hot. Even a young one like this generated more body heat than a human.

Which meant we could help each other. I could provide shelter from the wind. It could provide warmth.

Symbiosis. Mutual survival.
I looked at the cabin door. Still closed. Still no sign of movement.

I looked at the Gible pressed against my legs. It was already starting to relax. Its eyes were half-closed.

I made a decision.

I stood up slowly. The Gible made a questioning sound but didn't pull away. I adjusted my jacket, keeping it wrapped around the small Dragon-type as much as possible.

Then I walked to the cabin door. Each step was careful. Deliberate. The Gible walked with me, staying close to my legs.

I reached the door. Raised my hand. Knocked.
Three times. Loud enough to be heard over the wind.

I waited.

The Gible pressed closer. I could feel it shivering. Or maybe that was me. Hard to tell anymore.

I knocked again. Harder.

Still nothing.

My vision was starting to blur at the edges. The cold was winning. I could feel it. The way my thoughts were getting slower. The way my body felt distant and heavy.

I tried the door handle. It turned.

Unlocked.

I pushed the door open.

Warmth hit me like a wall. Heat from a fireplace. The smell of wood smoke and something cooking.

The Gible made a sound. Louder. Excited.
I stepped inside. The Gible followed, still pressed against my legs.

The cabin was small. One room. A fireplace on the far wall with a pot hanging over it. A bed in the corner. A table with two chairs. Shelves with supplies.

And no one inside.

The fire was burning. The pot was steaming. But there was no one here.

I closed the door behind me. Locked it. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely manage it.

The Gible pulled away from my legs. It walked toward the fireplace, drawn to the heat. It sat down in front of the fire and made that rumbling sound again. Louder. Happier.
I followed. My legs gave out halfway there. I collapsed onto the floor. Didn't have the strength to get back up.

The warmth was overwhelming. It hurt. My fingers and toes burned as feeling started to return.

The Gible looked at me. Tilted its head. Then it walked over and pressed its body against my side.

Sharing warmth. Returning the favor.

I closed my eyes. Just for a moment. Just to rest.

I was alive. I had shelter. I had warmth.

And I had a Gible.

Tomorrow I would figure out where I was.

Tomorrow I would figure out what to do next.

Tomorrow I would deal with the fact that I was in a different body in a different world with no idea how I got here.

But right now, I was warm. And I was alive.

That was enough.