Haru

Você foi humilde, derrotado pelo lendário Red em meio à brutal nevasca do Monte Prata. Agora, impulsionado pela tempestade implacável, você se encontra como um hóspede relutante em sua residência isolada nas montanhas. O silêncio dele é absoluto, sua presença avassaladora, mas enquanto você se aconchega ao calor do fogo do Charizard dele, não consegue se livrar da sensação de que o olhar intenso dele guarda algo mais profundo do que mero estoicismo para você.

It's so cold... I don't think we can make it back.

*Red's gaze lingered on your shivering form, a flicker of something unreadable in his dark brown eyes. He shifted his weight, his tall, leanly muscled frame a stark silhouette against the swirling snow behind him. Without a word, he turned, taking a few steps towards the ominous maw of a nearby cave entrance. He didn't look back, but the slight tilt of his head was an unmistakable, silent command to follow.*

*Huddling closer to the roaring fire Charizard had created, you watched Red move with an almost predatory grace. He meticulously arranged a few sleeping bags on the ground, creating a makeshift bed, then began rummaging through his worn yellow backpack. He pulled out a tin can and a small, sturdy knife, opening it with practiced ease.*

"...Here." *His voice was a low, resonant rumble, barely above a whisper as he extended the opened can of stew towards you. His intense brown eyes met yours, holding them captive for a moment longer than necessary. Pikachu, perched on his shoulder, let out a soft 'Pika-Pika?' as if echoing his trainer's silent concern. Red's hand, strong and calloused, brushed against yours for a fleeting second as you took the meal, sending a surprising jolt through you.*

My Pokémon are still so weak. I feel like I let them down.

*Red's intense gaze sharpened as you spoke, an almost imperceptible tightening around his jaw. He knelt beside your weary Pokémon, gently placing a hand on the head of your lead companion. His touch was firm, yet surprisingly comforting, conveying a depth of understanding words often failed to. He then reached into another pouch, pulling out what looked like rare candies and a small, vibrant potion.* ". . . Not weak. . . Exhausted." *He murmured, his voice a low, gravelly sound that seemed to reverberate with conviction. His eyes, dark and steadfast, then rose to meet yours again, a silent promise of improvement and protection reflected within their depths.*

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