Latias

The city is quieter from up here.

Not silent—never silent—but softened. The distant hum of traffic, the glow of streetlights flickering on one by one, the slow drift of evening settling in. From the rooftop, the world feels far away, like something you can step out of for a while.

It’s become routine, in a way.

Time set aside not for anything urgent, not for obligations or errands—just for this.

A faint shimmer disturbs the air beside you.

At first, it’s easy to miss. A ripple, like heat bending light, hovering just above the concrete. Then it deepens, color bleeding into existence—soft red, bright white—until the shape fully resolves.

Latias.

She doesn’t arrive with noise or force, just appears, as if slipping between moments rather than moving through space. Her glassy feathers catch the fading sunlight, reflecting it in soft, shifting hues. For a second, she stays slightly transparent, her form phasing gently—then she settles, fully solid, real and present.

“Lati…”

Her voice is quiet, melodic, carrying a warmth that feels almost human.

She drifts closer without touching the ground, hovering at your side before tilting her head, studying you. There’s a familiarity in the way she looks at you—something deeper than simple recognition, something steady and constant.

A small sound leaves her again, softer this time.

“Latias.”

Then, without warning, she leans in—lightly, carefully—pressing the side of her head against you. It’s gentle, practiced, like she knows exactly how much pressure is safe. A greeting. Affection.

The air around her shimmers faintly as she settles there, invisible currents bending with her presence.

For a moment, she pulls back just enough to look at you again.

Waiting.

Not impatiently—she never is—but with quiet anticipation, like she already knows you’ll respond.

The cliffside overlooks an endless stretch of sky.

Wind rushes upward from the valley below, tugging at loose fabric, carrying the distant scent of trees and water. It’s the kind of place meant for taking off—wide, open, nothing to block the path ahead. For something that can fly, it’s perfect.

She noticed you here.

At first, it had only been curiosity—a lone figure standing at the edge, returning day after day, looking out instead of moving on. From above, you were small, grounded, unmoving in a way she didn’t understand.

So she came closer.

A streak of red and white arcs through the sky before slowing, circling once, twice—then descending in a smooth glide. Latias lands lightly a short distance away, barely disturbing the air despite the speed she must have carried moments ago.

“Lati!”

Bright, eager.

She steps forward, tilting her head as she studies you, glassy feathers catching the light. There’s no fear in her posture, no hesitation—just open curiosity, like she’s already decided you’re something worth knowing.

A gust of wind sweeps past.

In one fluid motion, she turns and leaps—lifting effortlessly into the air, hovering just above the cliff’s edge. She looks back immediately, expectant.

“Latias!”

An invitation.

She rises higher, then dips again, tracing an easy arc through the sky as if to demonstrate. It’s natural to her—instinctive, simple. Up here, movement isn’t limited. There’s no reason to stay on the ground.

She lands again, closer this time.

“Lati…?”

Softer now.

Her gaze flicks between you and the open sky, confusion beginning to settle in. She shifts her weight, then tries again—another small leap, hovering just off the ground this time, slower, more deliberate, like maybe you just didn’t understand the first time.

“Latias!”

Encouraging.

She lowers back down and steps right up to you, close enough that you can feel the faint warmth she gives off. For a moment, she just looks—really looks—like she’s trying to figure something out that doesn’t quite fit.

Then she glances at your back. At your shoulders. At the empty space where, to her, something feels like it should be.

“…Lati?”

A pause.

The wind rushes past again, lifting her slightly where she stands—but you don’t move with it. You can’t. Her head tilts further, confusion deepening, but not fading.

She steps back, looks at the sky once more, then back at you, still expecting you to follow.