Soft waves lapped gently against smooth sandy shores as a warm breeze whistled softly, brushing smooth caresses over the calm waters. Warm, golden sunlight cast an ethereal glow across the sand from the cloudless sky. Magikarp, their brilliant red scales reflecting the sunlight 8were visible bobbing through the clear ocean water. Such serenity was only interrupted by the occasional squawk of indignation as Wingull crashed, humiliated in its pursuit of the red-scaled Magikarp peeking from beneath the waterbed, never brave enough to breach the surface.
There were also times when the Wingull's sharp beaks managed to grapple a magikarp, and fly triumphantly in the skies, cawing its victory. Such an event was rare, however, and he would know- this was his home after all.
Pallet Town. Well, technically a ways south of the town- but such a distinction was unnecessary for most. In the northern reaches of Kanto, anything south of Viridian was simply labeled as Pallet Town. Or if not that, then it was called the frontier.
The beach was warm, relaxing, and above all welcoming. Yet, it was lonely. Not one person graced the shores of the beach. Anywhere else in Kanto and such a place would be flooded with tourists and vacationers. He preferred the beach's isolation, such a place wouldn't feel right, crowded and noisy.
Walking alongside the water wasn't quite a daily ritual, but something he partook in whenever the opportunity presented itself. It served to clear his mind. The salty scent carried alongside the breeze, the way his bare feet were enveloped into the warm sand with each step, even the rare luxurious dip into the warm waters. Nothing prepared himself for the day ahead quite the same.
Yet, for all the qualities the beach possessed a piece of him always longed for something… Something more? No, that wasn't the best way to phrase it. He longed for something else.
Pallet had not always been his home. In fact, there had been a time when he called a place that was the very antithesis of where he now stood his home. When Pallet was welcoming and warm, Blackthorn had been inhospitable and cold, oh so cold, especially so to outsiders. Where Pallet allowed him to stroll down the southerly path to the ocean, Blackthorn had awarded any deviance from the closely patrolled pathways with death, or worse.
Words and images, unbidden, echoed painfully within his head. And for a tiny, infesteminal moment in time, the warm sand beneath his feet was instead an unyielding cobble. The warm waves running around his toes were red. The salty breeze was instead the smell of burnt flesh. The caws of Wingull were replaced with the cries of dying men.
Yet, he welcomed them.
"Ash!" a slightly breathless voice called out, "I should've known after checking the orphanage and not finding you oversleeping that you'd be here."
The images, confronted by the voice vanished as if being beaten back by some otherworldly force. Ash smiled to himself, if anyone was an otherworldly entity it was most definitely Leaf.
One thing Pallet had which Blackthorn couldn't hope to compare to was her.
"Neither reckless nor timid," Ash murmured to himself, taking one last look towards the horizon.
Yet, hours later within Oak's Orphanage, as he lay peacefully in slumber- the images and words returned.
And this time there was no voice to drive them away.
"Is this some cruel joke, Delia?" a sharp, ragged voice echoed through ancient cobblestone pathways.
"Lance, please, just listen to me! I know I'm asking for a lot, and I don't have anything to offer in exchange. I'm just asking you to look at everything we've been through, and to consider it. Please." a desperate voice pleaded.
"As a child, I would stare up at these peaks, these awe-inspiring, snow capped peaks. I marveled that they seemed closer to the stars than they did to myself. Now, look at the statues of my forefathers, the Drakes of Blackthorn. Also as a child, I would stare up at these towering, stone edifices and marvel at their achievements which were painstakingly chiseled into the very walls of Blackthorn."
"Now?" the man's calm voice cracked, anger and fervor leaking in, "They are all mine, and if you were to ascend one of these mountains, and look down upon the hundreds, no thousands, of miles surrounding us everything your gaze touches would be mine."
Unforgiving winds tore down the smoothly sculpted walls of the mountains, raging against the imposing figure the Drake of Blackthorn cut against the sparse torchlight which illuminated the town, red spiky hair and resplendent in a garish cape which waved wildly alongside the wind. The torches burnt with an odd white flame which, while flickering, would not be extinguished by the raging torrents of wind. Yet the flames were nothing in comparison to the ferocity which his eyes glimmered with unadulterated emotion.
Across from him stood a slight figure which sagged in relief each time the winds relented. But, they never relented for long, and it took fierce willpower to stand against the might of them. Her eyes were glassy, desperately staring into his, holding back a torrent of tears that were on the verge of escaping brilliant blue eyes.
The woman let out a sob, finally losing her fight, tears dripping down her face. The man's harsh expression wavered for but a moment, before it returned with unwavering ferocity.
"I have worked for my entire life to escape from the decrepit shadow of the Wataru, and claim what is now rightfully mine. Yet, you have the nerve to approach me with the one thing that is not mine, the one thing which I have been denied?" His voice was steely cold.
"Please, Lance, my life is not one for him," she choked, drawing in a shaky breath. "He is not responsible for my mistakes. If not for me, do it for him. The child is innocent, look!"
The slender woman held her arms out, a small bundle cradled within towards the man. Almost unwillingly Lance's head moved, jerkingly down towards the bundle. A soft gurgle emanated from it, and for a moment the man's expression grew soft, and his rigid posture slouched slightly. A gloved hand came forward, adjusting the covering of blankets around the bundle revealing a head almost filled with messy, black hair.
"He has your hair, Delia," Lance spoke, the previous emotion almost completely absent.
"The color, maybe." Delia sniffled but a soft smile came over her face.
Lance smiled, but it was mirthless, devoid of emotion, "And, its unruliness, where does the boy acquire that?"
Delia sniffled her soft smile vanishing, but remained stonily silent, just staring towards the caped man, her eyes pleading.
The boy let out another gurgle, his eyes opening ever so slightly, staring directly into Lance's intense gaze. The baby reached out a small arm towards him, but Lance stiffened, his hand froze over the child's body, before moving with reckless abandon, pulling the child's eyelids open forcefully. The child started to cry, but the man ignored its pitiful wails, instead staring with dread into the babe's brilliantly green eyes.
Lance, his tight posture back in full force nearly snarled, looking towards the woman, "His eyes, Delia, his eyes."
"I know." Delia sniffled, "I wouldn't have come to you unless it was necessary. He needs your protection, his father has not been… receptive towards him."
Viridescent green eyes bore through the night towards Lance, and despite himself, the Champion of all Kanto and Johto felt himself grow uneasy. They sparkled and glimmered, almost shone in a way eyes simply shouldn't. The gift as it was coined many years ago manifested itself in many subtle ways, and this was one- hardly noticeable, but to one who knew what to look for… he shivered.
"Why would he not accept one of his own kin, who possesses his own curse?"
"I do not know, Lance, I wish I did. I have tried everything to contact him, but he vanished, days after his birth." Delia caressed the babe within her arms softly, "I've decided to go after him, the damage he could wreak… I don't know what his mindset is like, I have to."
"And so, you planned to ask me, the soon to be Champion, a man who possesses untold responsibility to raise your child as you abandon it to chase a shadow of a man across the fucking world-"
"Lance, I-" Delia attempted to interject.
"You do not have any grounds upon which to speak. You left me, Delia, you vanished without a word. Months later you reappeared with him, and now," Lance's voice that cut through the night so effortlessly broke dismally, "Now, you ask me to raise his child?"
Delia snapped, "If you would have only let me explain years ago, this would never have happened-"
"Oh, is that so Delia, or should I say Yellow? That is what you were called, amongst his little group, is it not?"
Delia, a retort on the tip of her tongue, sagged, drawing in a deep breath, "I'm not here to bring up old wounds. We have been over this countless times, and it's clear we'll never see eye to eye. I came here to ask you, not to take care of my son, but to take him as your own. You are the only one left who can protect him, please."
Lance chuckled mirthlessly, "Your mere presence opens old wounds, Delia. Regardless, I will entertain your request, if only for the baby's sake"
He paced back and forth, his steps ringing out across the cobblestone, "Do you truly believe placing him with me is the best decision? Being under my protection is a risk, he will be a target, perhaps a larger one than if his gift was discovered. There are doubtlessly better options, perhaps Samuel Oak?"
"Oak views the child's father as his own failure, I doubt he wants anything to do with his child. Not to mention, I have already asked too much of him."
Lance scoffed, "If you want me to take your request seriously, stop lying to me. Samuel would not hold a father's actions against a child- you know this well. The reason you're here is that you believe me better equipped to protect your child, should his gift be discovered."
His words were uttered with mockery, so much so, the woman across from him sobbed again.
She looked up, determination shining through teary eyes, "You can act the tough guy all you'd like, but somewhere deep within you're still the boy with dreams of justice and fairness that I fell in love with. And my boy being judged for something out of his control is not fair. It's not his fault he possesses the gift."
Lance's eyes bore into hers, before staring at the baby. "Do not lecture me on who I've become when you are one of the reasons I've become this way. I will allow the baby to be raised amongst the Wataru as any other child. He will be treated fairly and I will ensure the elders are aware of his… condition."
Delia's expression brightened, her mouth opening ever so slightly, but Lance cut her off with a hand motion.
"And Delia, you were wrong that there was nothing of value you could offer. This will be the last time I set eyes on you, you are a constant reminder of things better left forgotten. Find him, and do not set foot in Kanto again."
"I understand. Thank you, Lance, I will not forget this." Delia nodded, tears running freely down her face. She pressed a soft kiss against the child's forehead, brushed the messy, dark curls out of his face. And with a last, teary smile she handed the boy over to Lance's arms.
Lance nodded stiffly at her, and without another word, simply a gaze conveying words the Drake of Blackthorn was too prideful to say aloud, he turned away, cape billowing behind, his long strides carrying him away into the depths of the town.
The soft sound of a quill against parchment echoed across a room lit only by the torches on the walls, and a large, burning fireplace. A wrinkled hand folded the scroll upon which he was writing closed and stood. Limping ever so slightly, he turned towards a massive, wooden shelf behind his desk. Wood crossed diagonally forming small alcoves between the intersections. Almost all of these openings were filled with a scroll.
With a sigh, the man bent at the waist, stooping down to place the scroll into an empty alcove, before straightening slowly, one hand rubbing his lower back. A weathered, wrinkled face, lines from both stress and laughter crossing against each other accompanied by a long white beard stretching down to his waist.
He glanced towards the fireplace, and a soft smile grew at the sight of a massive blue serpent curled in front of the fire, almost impossibly close to the flames. A soft whistle awoke the creature who stretched slowly, almost identical to how the elderly man had moments before.
"Off we go, my dear."
The blue serpent, with a sapphire gem beneath her mouth that refracted the burning flames reflecting lights across the tapestry covered walls. The pokemon had two feathery ears, and beautiful scales that interlocked over each other, and a tail with several darker blue bulbs. She hissed softly back at her owner and moved to follow him towards the stairs up towards the second level.
Suddenly, loud knocking rang throughout the house. The serpent unleashed a displeased hiss, clearly not appreciating the jarring noise.
"If this is Uhtred bearing news of more problems with the young Dratini, you'll be needing to teach those youngsters a lesson, hm?"
The Dragonair seemed to take a perverse pleasure in the idea, smirking evilly, as her owner opened the door. A man, with a cape billowing behind him, did not wait for pleasantries, brushing past the elderly man, and began pacing throughout the foyer, a bundle nestled between his arms.
The old man glanced bemusedly towards the bundle, "A child, Lance? I'd never thought I would live to see the day."
"It's not mine, Yarl, and you won't live to see the day, you old bat." Lance snapped.
The man merely laughed, "Why, why, I was certain I had taught you better respect for your elders than that, Lance. Now, what has happened to have you in such a state- while holding a baby, no less?"
"This baby is born from one who holds the gift." Lance ground out.
At his words, the man stiffened. "Well, you never were one to mince words. I see. Has the child inherited the gift?"
"Look for yourself," Lance gestured towards the child's eyes.
The old man inched closer to the child, lifting glasses up to his ailing eyes, and peered down towards the child. "It appears as if he likely does possess the gift. Now then, my next question, why is the baby still breathing?"
"It is the offspring of… a friend."
Yarl's eyes flashed, but he didn't press the issue.
"I assume you don't wish for the baby to be put out of its misery, then." The man removed his glasses and slid them back into a robe pocket. "I would advise you against this course of action, but it has been far too long since you've heeded my advice, so I suppose I shan't waste my time." He rubbed a wrinkled hand against his forehead in consternation, "Why have you brought it to Blackthorn?"
"I need you to take care of it, raise it like any other child of the Wataru. There is nowhere else he will be safer than here."
"I have lived a great many years, Lance, and I assure you protecting ones with the gift, no matter the intentions, never has a positive result. I am sure you know the gift is more of a curse than anything else. It is a taint upon the mind- he will turn into a beast."
At Lance's stalwart stare, the Elder sighed,
"Nonetheless, I assume you have already decided…" he trailed off, waiting for confirmation.
Lance ran a hand through spiky hair, before nodding jerkily, "That is not always the case, there are instances where those afflicted by the gift are unaffected… Regardless, my decision is final."
It was clear that Yarl wished to refute the Champion harshly, but instead, he drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly, "Simply not going on a murderous rampage does not mean that they are unaffected, Lance. In any case, the Wataru, as is our duty, will do as you ask, and care for it like any other child."
"What is his name?"
Lance reddened ever so slightly, his mouth opening and closing several times, "Erm, I don't know, I never asked."
The Dragonair chittered amusedly. Yarl laughed. It was rare to see the Drake at such a loss.
Hours later, after the headache that was Lance had departed, Yarl sat, a cane by his side, and a glass in his hand, a strongly smelling liquid within. Flames from the large fireplace crackled softly, the warmth soothing the stiffness that seemed to extend further throughout his body with each passing year. Old age, an adversary none could outlast forever. Soon enough, it would be a challenge to make the trek up the stairs to the Wataru Castle.
The bundle, a baby, sat carefully nestled amongst Dragonair's coils, which wrapped around themselves several times, curled into a ball on the lush carpet floor.
Lance, who had grown into such a fearsome warrior, and at times seemed intelligent beyond his years was still frightfully young- and it manifested itself in subtle, odd ways. Such as deciding to foster one possessing the gift. And not even inquiring to the child's name, no less.
Yarl smiled despite the situation.
"You know, I'm half a mind to kill the child here and now. Damn the Drake, nothing good will come of this." Yarl spoke to his companion.
The brilliant, sapphire scaled Dragonair crooned sadly, nustling the child closer amongst her coils, as if to shield the babe. Yarl's smile grew at the sight.
"I am growing soft in my age, am I not? Well then, if you are so fond of the child, you can be responsible for naming it."
The Dragonair shook, hissing pleasurably- delighted by the responsibility. It's blue, measured eyes examined the room slowly, before a bulbed tail snaked out from the coiled serpent, and pointed towards the flame in front of Yarl, reaching extremely close to the fire.
"Fire?" he questioned.
Dragonair hissed her displeasure, moving the tail further downwards towards the bottom of the fireplace.
"Blaze? Wood?... Fireplace?" Yarl recited name after ridiculous name, only to be met with resolute negative answers from his pokemon.
Ultimately, after several more incorrect answers, Dragonair's tale snaked into the flames- which was likely only slightly uncomfortable for the scaled pokemon and dug the bulbed tip into the bottom of the fireplace. It came out black, covered with ash and soot.
"Ash?" Yarl asked, pleased with his understanding for a moment.
Shortly after the words left his mouth, a shiver traveled down his spine, his hair stood on end and a palpable unease settled in his stomach.
Dragonair nodded, cuddling the boy tighter.
Ash.
The valley of the Blackthorn was a beautiful sight in the Spring morning. Dew covered grass, only a shade greener than lifeless grey reflected the few sparse rays of sun managing to pierce the clouds congregated over the mountains. Massive torrents of water poured over waterfalls amongst the mountains, slowly working their way down pathways that had been carved into the mountainside itself by dragons centuries ago.
Blackthorn, impenetrable as it was, would not be able to resist the torrent of melting ice and snow from the mountain peaks.
There was also an odd sort of beauty present within the quiet of the valley. Sparse as the landscape was, surely there would be some kind of wild Pokemon around. Yet, there was nothing. Not a chirp, growl, anything. Turns out wild pokemon didn't enjoy being near the biggest collection of dragons on the continent.
The only sound that interrupted the unnatural silence permeating the valley were the soft thuds of dozens of feet accompanied by labored breathing as they ran across the dew-covered grass. They did not sprint, but ran at a measured pace, clearly having traversed some distance.
There were no more than two dozen children, each of whom was on the verge of teenhood, but not quite there. They were all of roughly similar build, tall and lanky, topped by a mop of red hair. For some the hair was spiky, others, curly, and some thin. But all, aside from one, had the signature red mane.
Indeed, the only child who stuck out like a sore thumb was distinctly average. He was of slight build, thick, messy black hair which still bore the marks of a haphazard combing down, clearly to no avail. He trailed slightly behind the rest of the group, but for each stride the red hair boys took, it seemed the shorter boy had to take two.
Around each child's neck was wrapped a small blue Pokemon, resembling a small snake. Yet, to any pokemon trainer, experienced or otherwise, the small white orb in between two large, glimmering eyes instead marked them as a dratini. With the proper training, each of those tiny creatures would be a towering Dragonite. Of course, it was far more likely only a small portion would reach the notoriously difficult pedestal of a Dragonite.
As the children crested a hill, their destination came into sight. Massive stone gates rose into the air. They were weathered and worn down from their centuries of existence. Yet, the walls still bore the claw marks of the dragons who had shaped them- if the vast histories of the Wataru were to be believed from the very mountains themselves.
Before long, the children reached the gate, stooping over with their hands resting on their knees. The children strolled through the town, their breathing slowly evening out, and the sweat drying from beneath their clothes in the cool mountain air. Even though it was Spring, the temperature within Blackthorn was rarely warm.
Unlike virtually everywhere else in Kanto, Blackthorn was dominated by wooden buildings, with thick oak beams that had stood for centuries supporting the houses and buildings. Many houses were topped by some type of modern-esque wooden or clay shingle, but several were still roofed by thatch.
While the mountain peaks above the town were massive, the valley of Blackthorn was significantly smaller. There were no more than a hundred buildings, and the buildings were rarely larger than two stories. Indeed, nothing about the town seemed special, other than it being stuck perpetually in the past.
To truly understand what was special about Blackthorn, and the Wataru Clan who populated the town, one had to walk amongst them. There was an air of importance, of legacy to the town which weighed upon the town as much as the dry mountain air did. Each Wataru who passed each other in the streets regardless of class or station amongst the city would nod amiably, grinning broadly to each other.
There was a purpose amongst the Wataru, a united purpose forged by the centuries and hundreds of generations before them. They were not a common town, or a normal collection of people. Each of them were descended from titans who had shaped the region around their whims.
Whether it was the torched forests of middle Kanto, the veritable mountain of bodies which occupied Lavender Tower, or even the very mountains which the dragons and the Wataru had bent to their will, forcing the most indomitable features of nature to their whim.
Blackthorn was not normal, despite its appearance.
Amongst those walking through the city, nearly all possessed bright, fire-red hair that shone in the midday sun. Such hair was a staple of the Wataru, as was the Dratini and occasional Dragonair which accompanied many of the people strolling through the town. The group of children were met with a noticeable enthusiasm amongst the townspeople, large grins, friendly swats against the back, or a friendly nustle to the hair.
The town was brewing with the air of expectancy. Something was going to happen soon.
The group of children, their breathing now completely normal, their posture no longer slouching as it had been as they entered the city, approached the end of the road which ran through the center of the town, and seemed to lead directly into a rock face. But, instead, there was a set of steep stone stairs, carved directly into the face of the mountain. The stairs led far above into the misty foggy sky. At the entrance to the stairway was a simple wooden archway, with a plaque at the top which was decorated with faded, nearly indistinguishable characters. Despite this, everyone in Blackthorn knew what those ancient characters meant.
"Neither reckless nor timid." a weathered voice spoke, from the base of the stairs. "Your elders, myself included, have done their best to instill not the words, but the meaning behind them within each of you."
The group of children bowed deferentially towards the Elder, as he approached them.
"However, we do understand it is a lesson best taught through experience and not merely through scrolls and history." the man, a massive Dragonair behind him coughed raggedly into a wrinkled hand, before clearing his throat, "Thus, as you approach your selection trials, I urge each of you to keep this humble motto within your mind as you journey throughout the region and beyond. The world outside of Blackthorn is one very different than ours, and it can be easy to grow disenchanted with the life you've lived here, but eventually, you will see the knowledge in our simplicity of the life we live. Or, you will fail to see such knowledge, and you will fall into obscurity as did many before you."
The man smiled at the youth arrayed before him, despite the bluntness of his words. Their body language practically bellowing their restlessness out for the elder to hear, far more than their seemingly attentive expressions did. They had learned deception well.
"I will not keep you any longer, off you go."
Hours later, the same group of youth was arrayed throughout a massive feasting hall. Arched wooden supports held up a massive vaulted ceiling, on which were murals of dozens of dragons, and the people riding them. Some murals were faded, and others were frighteningly recent. They were Drakes. The strongest of the Wataru, and a war leader for the clan. The Wataru were a people who valued and followed the history of their clan, for better or for worse. The Drakes were celebrated, whether they had been a tyrant, a liberator, or anything in between.
The feasting hall did not only hold the youthful, there were men and women of all ages. They clamored joyfully, massive, red-haired men breaking out into spars filled with laughter, to the dismay of those around them who were simply trying to eat. This dismay led to more and more people entering the brawls until entire sections of the massive tables were engaged in them. Ale was passed around, almost regardless of the person's age, and seemed to be spilled across the stone floorway just as often.
At the head table, perched on a rather garish chair that resembled more a throne than a seat, sat a woman who surveyed the hall with a hawk eye. She could not be called beautiful, but there was something almost alluring about the fierceness of her narrow face. She stood, slamming her cup against the table, glaring out towards the hall, who as a whole seemed to quail beneath her gaze. The fights stopped almost instantly, as did the rowdy conversation.
On either side of her were several elderly men, one of whom was slumped back into his chair, drool slowly working its way down his chin. They were the Elders of Wataru, who were responsible for instructing the young and upkeeping the painstakingly detailed history of the Wataru.
"The time of selection is once again upon us," she stated simply. At her words, the Wataru throughout the hall began slamming their cups against their tables but quickly quieted as she opened her mouth to speak again, "The world around us continues to change. They grow weaker, and more reliant on their technology." She almost spat the word, "The allure of their lifestyle continues to rob more of our youngest and brightest members. It seems even some of our older members are not resistant to its draw…"
She trailed off, looking downwards at the very seat she was sitting in, the seat meant for the Drake of Blackthorn. Several of the elders, those who were awake anyway, around her bristled. Disguised as it was, such a statement was meant to demean the current Drake. She smirked, "Thus, it goes without saying that I expect those chosen from amongst us to be above such menial attractions, and to stay true to the Wataru, to Blackthorn, and our history."
The woman paused for a moment, relishing in their undivided attention, "Understood?"
Almost as one, the Wataru slammed their fists against the wooden tables in front of them and started singling out the younger children who were to take part in the selection ceremony. Those who had been walking through the city earlier were subject to incessant joking, laughing, and teasing.
The woman sat down, rolling her shoulders, throwing her hair behind her head, and smiled down at the hall, affection glimmering within her irises.
"Do you truly think it wise to openly insult your brother, sitting in his rightful chair, no less, Clair?" an elderly man spoke softly from next to the Gym leader.
"Elder Yarl, if my brother were here, he could defend his own honor and claim his own seat, instead of resorting to old men to do it for him." Clair snarled, food still in her mouth.
Yarl merely nodded stiffly in response. Most people learned rather quickly it was not in one's interest to provoke Clair's anger regularly. Of course, Yarl had always been considered somewhat hard-headed.
"That reminds me, Yarl, how goes my brother's runt?" her voice was the epitome of innocent curiosity, "I hear he fails to keep up with the others of his age group."
"I assume you're referring to Ash. He does, admittedly, struggle with the physical aspects of our training, but he is intelligent, and has a way amongst the young Dratini."
Clair scoffed, "You can't possibly believe he has a chance of passing the selection process. He is not a Wataru by birth. Our blood does not run through his veins. It is no fault of his own, rather Lance's foolishness for placing a child in a place where he has no hope at succeeding amongst our bloodline."
Yarl hummed, noncommittal, "I would not discount him so easily."
There are few smells as recognizable as burning flesh. It is something that permeates the very air around you, and it possesses a heaviness to it that normal air does not. Once such a vile stench is inhaled, its imprint never leaves your head. It could be years later, yet the smell's memory would remain as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.
Elder Yarl had lived a long life and was no stranger to such horrors. He had hoped to avoid ever having to experience such a smell again, yet it seemed such a wish was not to be.
As he stood atop the ancient Wataru fortress, he had a sneaking suspicion today would be the last time he inhaled such a smell. The stone fortress, carved right into the side of a mountain stood much higher amongst the peaks than Blackthorn's valley did. Hundreds, if not thousands of steps into the sky. Scaling the steps was one of the many daily challenges which fostered the strength Wataru were reviled for.
Since the Wataru had taken Blackthorn, the castle which had been painstakingly carved into the mountainside by the Wataru had never been breached, much less taken. He grimaced at the thought that it had been finally taken under his watch. The oak buildings beneath burned with an unholy blue flame, and the clamor of battle was notably absent. The Wataru, perhaps believing in the famed invincibility of their castle had grown complacent.
But, to be fair, for a single man to assault Blackthorn would have been considered an impossibility mere hours ago, yet it had happened. No proper defense was mounted, for even the monstrous Pokemon the man had wielded would have been helpless in front of dozens of Dragonite, but the attack was swift, ruthless, and successful.
Now, the city was silent.
Perhaps that was the most disheartening aspect of the city, it was not the smoke, nor the blackened flesh, not even the gruesome smell of charred flesh wafting upwards through the mountains. No, it was the quiet. The fires beneath crackled, but there were no shouts, no clamor- there was nothing. The purpose which had imbued the very atmosphere of Blackthorn, the united purpose of centuries upon centuries of inhabitants was absent. Extinguished.
"I will ask you once more, Elder Yarl, where is the child?" the man's face was shrouded, but bright blue eyes glimmered through the shadows.
Yarl's response was bitter, "And I, as I have told you before, will not tell you where the one you seek, nor any of the remaining children are. I have no fear of death, nor torture. I am much too old for such trivialities. Perhaps if you had abstained from butchering nearly the entire city, you could have convinced someone else to tell you. Alas."
The man across from Yarl was tall, and that was about all that could be said. His face was shrouded in some inexplicable type of shadow, his clothes were dark and featureless. The behemoths of Pokemon he had wielded were relinquished to Pokeballs around his belt, of which there were many. At least ten. The man paced back and forth, his hands held behind his back for several minutes. The only noise interrupting the crackling of the flames was the steady footsteps.
Yarl grimaced as the blood from a cut above his eyebrow slithered downwards into his mouth. The blood he tasted was not only his own. His poor Dragonair, she had never stood a chance, old as she was.
"The Wataru and their propensity for an honorable, pointless death…" the man muttered, "I will give you one last chance to tell me where the child is, and I promise I will not harm the other children. If you do not tell me where they are it will be merely a hindrance. I will find them eventually and ensure their deaths are slow and painful."
Yarl took in a deep breath, coughing as soot and smoke were inhaled. Unbidden at the mention of children, Yarl's mind flashed back to years ago, to when Lance had deposited Ash within Blackthorn. His poor Dragonair had chosen a fitting name, he thought grimly, as the fire consumed the city below, and soot was raised into the sky by the mountain wind.
And to think this all could have been avoided. This was the cost of harboring one with the gift.
Yarl smiled sadly, being reminded of the need to answer the man in front of him, the blood and soot rendering his wrinkled face nearly unrecognizable, "I will never tell you a thing."
"Does he possess the gift?" the man questioned again.
Instead of turning towards the man who was certain to kill him, Yarl instead cast his gaze over the valley of Blackthorn. The smoke had nearly obscured the entire city, and Yarl's eyesight was famously horrible. Yet through some providence, his desperately squinting and watering eyes managed to find what he was seeking.
The man, angry at not receiving an answer, snarled, viciously backhanding the old man. Yarl fell to his knees, suppressing a cry. His knees digging painfully into the stone beneath.
Tears were forming in his eyes, but his eyes returned resolutely to what he so desperately sought; the archway in front of the stairs, and the fading characters inscribed upon them. As long as their way of life was preserved, so too would the Wataru be preserved. Lance, as foolish as he was, or one of the children would restore the Wataru, of that he was now certain.
Neither reckless nor timid
As the man continued pacing, speaking words that the old man couldn't understand, his ears ringing from the blow, Yarl took a deep breath before slowly exhaling. With the swiftness of movement akin to one dozens years younger, the elder stood, and with three large strides he reached the crudely carved ramparts, covered with black soot.
Then, Elder Yarl leaped.
A sound, a mix between a splat and a crack echoed throughout the valley moments later.
Ash's breath was ragged, but he felt alive as he never had before. His body thrummed as his legs pumped constantly, moving him forwards, ever forwards. A stitch was steadily growing throughout his side, and his legs seemed to morph further into dead weight with each passing step, but the more his desperation, his need to succeed grew so too did the pain fade away.
He refused to stop. While he had never been bullied in Blackthorn, he had never been welcome amongst the others his age. He was different from them, he lacked the height, strength, and perhaps above all else, the signature crimson hair that marked one as a member of the Wataru.
Being chosen to journey the continent would prove them wrong.
The first phase of the coming of the age tests had commenced a week ago, each child had been deposited throughout the Ice Tunnel, the only entrance into the valley of Blackthorn.
Their task was simple, return to Blackthorn. There were no other rules, although sabotage of others was looked down upon.
The tunnel was one reason why Blackthorn had not been attacked in centuries. While it was the Spring, and the Wataru took some steps to ensure their progeny would not be butchered by wild Pokemon, the task was still one which could result in death.
Ash had long ago left the Ice Tunnel behind him, which was the difficult part. Now, he simply had to reach Blackthorn. The teen crested a hill, a group of red hair boys came into view. Somewhere far away, he felt his mind telling him the hill was a familiar landmark. He was close to Blackthorn.
He trailed only slightly behind the red-haired boys in front of him. They were almost all a head taller than himself, and their long effortless strides carried them across the dew-covered grass with a grace that Ash's own smaller, desperate strides lacked.
As he continued to pump his legs, Ash's eyes singularly focused on the red, shining locks of the boy in front of him, desperate not to be left behind, the city of Blackthorn came into focus. Nestled between massive mountains, which stretched endlessly into the sky. It was the Silver Range.
The Silver Range, named after the most popular peak, Mt. Silver, stretched for miles and had served as a border between Kanto and Johto for centuries. Until, as the Elder's history told them, a Drake had navigated the mountains on the back of his Dragonite, and ventured into Kanto. A long history filled with battles, skirmishes, occasional conquests, and the League ultimately came to control both regions.
He looked up, long, curly locks obscuring his vision for a moment before he wiped a hand across them. The rest of the boys were nearing the gates of the town. Ash, for once, was not too far behind the rest of the group.
He smiled, his green eyes seeming to sparkle, even in the midday light.
With each step, the red hair, reflecting the sun's rays grew closer, and Ash felt the discomforts, the burning legs, the cramp in his side, the laboring and burning of his lungs all gradually fade away.
Then, the figure in front of him stopped. Ash looked up, his focus broken, and his body's ailments all crashing down upon him at once. The teen stooped over, his breath becoming labored, and he wondered why the boys in front of him stopped.
Then, Ash saw the smoke.
The constant, neverending buzz of the Northern Palletian Forest, or what remained of it anyway, was something Oak would not mourn. Of that, the Professor was certain. The pathway North to Viridian City, a requirement for Pallet Town to ever grow beyond a small frontier settlement, had taken months longer than the Professor had expected.
Dozens of Machop and even a few Machoke relentlessly broke through branches and trunks with their bare hands, grunting in sadistic pleasure. Oak had personally authored their section in the Pokedex, and these fighting types enjoyed pain, work, and challenge.
Such a personality was one reason why fighting type masters such as Bruno rarely stayed in one place. Fighting types constantly sought further and more difficult challenges to pit themselves against. It was also why, after Oak had left the battling life behind him, he had released his own Machamp into the wild where he could seek challenges that Oak could no longer provide.
Thankfully, Machoke and Machop's definition of a challenge was nowhere near the lofty heights of their final evolution. Trees and forests sufficed.
Oak presently sat in a small folding chair, a desk with several papers from colleagues in front of him that he had promised to peer review. Research stopped for nothing, not even the largest undertaking of its kind, well since the pathway had been carved through the Viridian Forest decades earlier, anyway.
But, they had League approval to use fire types. Charizard would doubtlessly make quick work of this task. Yet, Oak, no matter how many favors and relationships he leveraged with old colleagues within the league, could not receive the same approval. Which meant it was that blasted Lance Wataru holding the process up, likely for no other reason than to make it clear that he was the champion, and Oak a mere researcher.
That was the problem with people such as Lance, they could not comprehend the lack of a desire to be at the top, to be champion. It was completely antithetical to their nature. Oak knew all too well, he had been all too similar to the current champion many years ago.
A small noise continued to knock at the very edges of Oak's awareness, until it was loud enough and bothersome enough, that Oak finally paid attention to it, looking up from the papers in front of him.
A few moments later, Oak shot to his feet, his hand reaching to his Pokeballs, searching for Dragonair or Charizard. Only to realize that he had left both Pokemon and their Pokeballs back at his research facility in Pallett.
The life of a researcher had led to placidity.
The faint, bothersome sound had belonged to fliers, a large number of them traveling swiftly. Oak knew such a noise all too well. So, it was either a foreign invading force's expeditionary force, unlikely as that was. Or, it was the League deciding to pay him a visit.
Truly, he wasn't sure which was worse.
As the contingent of fliers began landing a distance away, Oak's eyes locked on to a far too familiar sight. The glimmering, overlocking orange scales of a towering Dragonite that could only belong to one person.
Lance.
"Fuck."
Ash's body shook with anticipation. His future could very well be decided in the next few minutes.
It had only been a week since his tired legs had carried him over the hills, satisfaction pooling deep within- gleeful to prove those who had viewed him as an outsider wrong. Yet, instead, he had been greeted by smoke and the scene was crawling with league personnel- and even the Champion himself. His memory of the destroyed town was fuzzy, just the barest outlines of burning buildings, ash, and soot.
The people on the television, as he had been told the screen was called, spoke with calm, monotone voices about the horrible tragedy which had occurred in Blackthorn. They speculated about how it had come about- and then one day it was simply gone. No information, no justice, and his town was just forgotten. Futile anger burned deep within Ash, anger that he could never prove the Wataru who had looked down upon him wrong, and an even larger section of him that seethed at whoever had dared to rob him of his home.
Out of place as he may have been in Blackthorn, amongst tall red-headed physical specimens, the city had been his home. Elder Yarl and the rest of the instructors had never treated him differently than others, and many a night had been spent by a fireside as the elder Wataru recited stories of old Drakes, their achievements, and in some cases, the teller's escapades.
The days that followed the tragedy were spent confined in a room of the Pokecenter by himself. There had been men, ACE trainers as they introduced themselves, constantly standing outside his door. They checked in on him every few hours, but wouldn't answer his questions.
Their conversations were just murmurs through the solid door, but eventually, Ash had discovered they were in Mahogany town. Then, in the middle of the night several days later, he was awoken by a severe-looking man and led down to the lobby of the Pokecenter.
He hardly had time to gaze in wonder at the bearded face of a golden Alakazam, before he was teleported with a crack to Viridian City.
Now, he was in Pallet- instructed to travel up a dirt path which led to Professor Oak's laboratory.
Wiping such thoughts from his mind, the boy knocked upon the metal door leading to the metal laboratory. The seeming casualness with which metal was used here shocked Ash. The metal was flawless, shiny, without the marks of forging. Metal in Blackthorn, while not being rare, was a time consuming and difficult process to forge into anything useful. Here, it was everywhere.
Ash glanced about the massive room he had just entered. While the outside had been rather bland, the inside was scattered with strange machines and technology he had never lain eyes on within Blackthorn. White tiles, which at one point had been stainless, were covered with small imperfections, and no small amount of scattered, disregarded paper which could not fit into the overflowing rubbish bin.
Desks were spread throughout the main area in front of a whiteboard which was filled to the brim with chicken scratch, numbers, and symbols which made Ash's head spin. The machines emitted all kinds of sounds and were covered in buttons, switches, and screens. Next to him was a light switch. His hand itched to reach out and flip the switch back and forth, just to marvel at the simplicity with which light was created. He had done as much in the quiet of his room in the Pokecenter.
The matron, Nurse Joy, had frowned at his actions, so Ash resisted the temptation. He instead turned his gaze towards the center of the room, where a massive, mahogany desk was swamped with stacks of paper, folders, and devices. An old man with white, spiky hair and a pair of reading glasses typed rapidly into a keyboard, glancing at a paper next to him.
As the silence grew awkward, Ash opened his mouth to speak, thinking he hadn't noticed his entry. Then, the man spoke.
"Hello there, Ash. It is nice to meet you. I, as you likely gathered, am Professor Oak." The Professor stood, his back cracking.
Sharp blue eyes which sparkled with a dangerous, uncanny intelligence bore into green, viridescent. Ash inclined his body at the waist, bowing in deference to the elderly man just as the Professor reached his hand out for the teen to shake.
Oak chuckled, the sound warm and natural, hand still held out in front. The sound reminded Ash of Elder Yarl.
"No need for that now, my boy. I imagine it'll be a bit of culture shock coming here from Blackthorn."
"What do you mean?" Ash asked, staring confusedly at the proffered hand.
Oak withdrew his hand, wiping it against his lab coat somewhat awkwardly. It wasn't every day someone widely known as he was had their greeting rebuked by a child, intentional or otherwise. "Well, to be frank, bowing as a greeting went out of style a century ago. Not to mention the amenities here, as I've heard, are much more modern than those in Blackthorn."
Ash nodded, blinking upwards towards the pale, white light which emanated from the ceiling bathing the office in an iridescent glow. As he looked back down towards the professor, the light still swam over his vision. Strange.
"You mean electricity and toilets?"
Oak's face scrunched up oddly at the scene, coughing into a fist. "Yes, among other things. For example, something I've personally been working on scans Pokemon and provides all known info on their typing, weaknesses, and behavior. Televisions broadcast news, battles, and more across the region, and there are, I imagine, a sizable number of social differences as well. I'm rather astounded that the Wataru managed to stay so isolated from the outside world for so long…"
He trailed off, noticing the teen's glazed expression. "Well, enough of that, it must have been a long couple weeks for you. I was sorry to hear about what happened to the Wataru, and Blackthorn as a whole."
Ash's face hardened and he felt his throat constrict. Even if he wanted to speak, he doubted words would escape.
Oak, seeming to notice this, continued, "I'm not sure how much they told you about your situation, but knowing the league I'm going to assume it was nothing useful."
Ash felt a small glimmer of a smile spread across his face, and Oak grinned, "I had assumed as much. Well, to put things succinctly, you will be living in Pallet for the foreseeable future. At least until you are of age."
"What about my selection trails, and my journey? I was set to begin my journey this year… I'll do whatever it takes, I swear." Ash vowed, his expression conveying the depths of his dismay. The mere thought of being confined to a town for another three or four years was disheartening, to say the least.
"No, no, none of that, Ash. I have always had a preference for Pokemon, and in this pursuit, it seems I have neglected to understand the customs and ways of life throughout the Continent. Things here are done differently than they were in Blackthorn. All children, who pass a rather rudimentary exam, are allowed the opportunity to either purchase or receive a starter pokemon and begin their journey throughout the region."
Ash sagged in relief, "What does the test consist of?"
"Well, it varies, but typically type advantages, training technique, league regulations, and even the beginning of move formation… Regardless, it won't matter for some time yet, you aren't of age for another few years or so, right?" He peered down at a paper on his desk, "Ah, yes, you're eleven. Four years until you're eligible to begin your journey."
Ash was frozen in place, his jaw locked painfully, "Four years? Is there no other way? I was supposed to begin my journey this year."
Oak's brow furrowed at the information, "Is that so? Well, as far as I know, there are no exceptions to be made. Blackthorn likely operates-" he coughed, "operated, in a grey area given its historical status and its connections to Lanc- the Champion. Now, that you are in Pallet Town you are beholden to the same rules as everyone else. Trainer licenses are not to be awarded until a child reaches their fifteenth birthday at the earliest."
Ash's fists clenched, his fingernails digging painfully into his palms. He took a deep breath before releasing it. Four years was not so long.
The ancient motto that Elder Yarl had recited before and after each lesson rang through Ash's head.
Neither reckless nor timid.
"I understand. And when can I receive a companion?"
Oak's face was blank for a few moments, before it dawned on him, "You must be referring to a starter pokemon. I regret to be the bearer of bad news, once again, but not until you are qualified for a trainer's license."
Seeing the boy's reaction, Oak tried to brighten his spirits, "Don't fear, there are other ways to interact with pokemon and prepare for the exam. There are several training programs hosted throughout the region which seek to prepare the trainer for life on the road."
"How do I join?"
Oak grinned, such directness was refreshing after having dealt with the League and the Champion over the past few days. Even if it was from a child, "Well, most require payment. However, I usually take in children in Pallet Town free of charge. You'd be welcome to join, of course. Beware, however, I do expect your best."
The jovial tone in Oak's voice grew cold for a moment, and his eyes gazed through Ash as if seeing a ghost. Ash simply nodded, not sure what was behind the abrupt change. Oak shook his head briefly, the sparkle in his eyes returning. He set his glasses down on the desk in front of him, his hand shaking ever so slightly.
He smiled wanly, "Moving on then, now we will discuss housing. I know you've been staying at the Pokecenter in Viridian City. In a few short days, you'll be relocated to one of the rooms at our orphanage."
Ash grimaced slightly at the term. He had known, even if never really thought about it, that he had been an orphan his entire life. Yet, in Blackthorn he lived amongst the clan, ate amongst the clan. And, although he was never truly accepted by some, it was a family.
But, he knew the man was doing him a favor. Ash had nothing to offer, yet the man was giving him a place to stay, food to eat, and a pathway to beginning his journey.
"Thank you, I understand. What about the rest of my kin?"
Oak's eyes shifted, "The remaining Wataru children will be relocated throughout the region. None of the others will be in Pallet. Most would consider Pallet the backwater of Kanto, but I think you'll find that it has its own beauty."
Ash's visage brightened with the first spark of emotion which finally emerged from the stressed, worried, and traumatized kid he'd been moments before, "I'd much rather be here than in some big city. I hear they have buildings as tall as mountains."
Oak smiled at the sight, "A mountain may be an exaggeration, at least compared to the ones you grew up around. But, they are very large. More people can live in one of those buildings than the entirety of Pallet."
The professor chuckled at the boy's reaction, rearranging several papers on his desk into haphazard stacks, "Come, I'll show you around the town and introduce you to the caretaker, Lucretia. Stay on her good side, and you'll become close in no time, I imagine."
With the vitality of someone whose hair was not a deep shade of grey, Oak's long swift strides forced Ash to maintain an odd mix of jogging and walking to keep up. As he led the teen throughout the town, showing him the different stores, introducing him to the many people who called out towards the Professor in greeting, Ash marveled at the differences between Blackthorn and Pallet Town.
Blackthorn had its beauty to it, rough and unforgiving, but Pallet was lush, warm, and welcoming. Soft orange rays filtered through the surrounding forest and grass fields, casting a seemingly eternally orange hue across the town. It was not quiet, but the sounds were different from the constant whistling of the mountain winds throughout the valley. Pokemon chirped, growled, and all combinations of sounds around the town. The town itself was rarely loud, however, only a small number of people strolling through the mid-afternoon heat, and never with the clamor and exclamations that seemed to follow the Wataru.
As the Professor led Ash towards their final destination, the orphanage, they were interrupted by a chittering that was startlingly close. Oak's eyes sharpened at the sound,
"Ah, I believe we've caught it! Come, quickly, Ash."
Oak strode swiftly down a side street and into a fenced-off area with several metal boxes of which Ash had no idea their purpose. What caught his attention, however, was the yellow Pokemon in front of them, biting into a wire of some kind, with electricity cackling throughout the short, yellow fur.
"What is that Pokemon?" Ash questioned.
"It is a Pikachu, they instinctively feed on electricity… in the wild, they are said to try and absorb lightning strikes."
His eyes widened in awe, all he had seen before now were dragon types, almost all of whom were the Dratini line. The pure variety of Pokemon was something he had always envisioned, yet never before seen.
Oak's sharp eyes glimmered with something beyond casual curiosity, "Why don't you try and get it to stop feeding on the electricity? Consider it your first lesson in how to interact with wild pokemon."
"Well, uh, if you're certain Professor," Ash responded, approaching the electric type with no small amount of trepidation. He had never interacted with any Pokemon on a personal level aside from several Dratini. He hardly even knew what electricity was.
"Hey there, bud."
The words felt awkward from his mouth. It was hard to explain, they just didn't feel right. Besides, the Professor expected him to be able to stop the electric type, and as the man had said, he expected the best from Ash. He couldn't let the man down, especially in his first test.
The Pikachu glanced up, looking at Ash curiously for a moment, before biting back down on the wire resuming the crackling of electricity. The teen felt his stomach clench at the dismissal, and his desperation grew.
His next words came with a silvery tone his previous words had lacked, "The Professor and I would really like it if you could stop messing with this, erm, electricity stuff. Could you help us out?"
The Pikachu once again looked up, and this time walked towards the teen slowly, electricity still sparkling amongst its fur. Ash reached a hand out, ignoring the miniature lightning bolts which raged across the pokemon's fur. It felt natural.
Oak's eyes widened, reaching a hand out towards the teen, "Wai-"
The Pikachu leaned into the hand, purring softly, as the electricity crackled around the teen's hand, but not affecting him.
Oak's eyes widened again, for a different reason altogether this time.
The stars above glowed brilliantly in the frontier sky of Pallett. Absent the pollution and glaring lights of larger cities, it truly was a spectacular sight.
Professor Oak, however, spared the stars above no attention, his white lab coat trailing behind him, as he strode swiftly through the dirt paths of Pallett. Although late, a few residents of the town still called out to the Professor, but he paid them no attention either.
His mouth moved, but no sound escaped, and his fingers tapped restlessly against his thighs. Something was bothering the old man.
He reached a fenced area that he had frequented only hours prior. Now, however, he was alone. The man glanced around, ensuring that he was alone before he entered the area filled with electrical equipment.
Truthfully, the area had been staged. Pallet's electricity grid was rudimentary, and subject to blackouts, even without allowing a Pikachu free reign on it. Several metal boxes, filled with electrical equipment were present. So was a yellow Pokemon that seemed to glow in the night.
Oak frowned, "I do recall telling you not to drain excess electricity. Nor to come into direct contact with the boy."
The Pikachu, curled into a ball, seemed to yawn, chittering unconcernedly.
"You could have seriously injured him." he withdrew a Pokeball from his lab coat, and at the sight of the ball, the Pokemon growled angrily, sparks traveling throughout its fur coat. In a flash of red, it was gone.
With a last glance around the area, Oak departed.
Ash snarled, bending over. Despite him no longer being in Blackthorn, he had continued the training which had been drilled into his head. His hand dug into his side in a futile attempt to relieve the growing cramp. It was an all too familiar situation in an all too unfamiliar place. Yet no matter how hard he gripped his side, the cramp refused to abide.
Futility was an emotion Ash despised, yet he experienced it all too often. From a young age, he had been desperately trying to catch up to the other Wataru children, to fit in. Yet, no matter how he tried, they grew faster, stronger, and were loved by Blackthorn in a way Ash just couldn't hope to match.
He then watched futilely as the plumes of smoke ascended into the air above Blackthorn, not able to do anything to find who had attacked the town, and struck with the certainty that even if he had been within the town, the outcome would have been unerringly the same.
All around the stooped teen stood towering trees that teemed with wild Pokemon. Pidgey and Spearow chirped, flying through the sky, occasionally sparring angrily. Bug types moved throughout the forest silently, unseen cloaked in the dark trying to avoid the keen gazes of the flying types. Deep within the further reaches of the forest, Ash heard guttural noises that set him on edge.
The Professor, who seemed to be the elder of this town, had told Ash that the wild Pokemon around Pallet were relatively tame. Perhaps Professor Oak had a different definition to tame than he did. That growling within the forest was most certainly not tame.
Overall, it was a new experience for the boy as he had never before experienced finding a large number of Pokemon in the wild. On top of that, the sheer amount of technology that was irrevocably entrenched within every facet of life, even in a "frontier town", as Professor Oak had phrased it was astonishing. Ash shivered as he thought of journeying to one of the massive cities which had buildings that rose into the sky, like mountains.
It had been several days since he had been moved into the orphanage. The caretaker, Lucretia, had been kind but in a no-nonsense type of way. Ash hoped he would avoid her bad side.
Today was the first day of instruction with Professor Oak and as Ash strode, slowly, the cramp fading, towards the metal laboratory atop the hill in the middle of Pallet Town, nerves roiled within his stomach.
"Neither reckless nor timid," he muttered to himself.
"Who are you talking to?" a curious voice asked.
Ash glanced up quickly, his face growing slightly red, "Erm, I was just talking to myself."
The girl, with long brown hair and deep green eyes, quirked an eyebrow, "Okay, then… who are you by the way? Are you new?"
"Yeah. I've only been here a few days." Ash responded, his previous embarrassment subsiding.
"I knew it. I'd have noticed someone else with green eyes. I'm Leaf, by the way."
"I'm Ash. Nice to meet you."
"Likewise," the teen girl drawled pompously, before grinning "Truthfully, I think we'll be splendid friends. Everyone around here has brown eyes other than Gary, and he's a bit of a prat, so it'll be nice to have you around."
He was only mid-way through comprehending all the possible reasons for discriminating people based on their eye color when she spoke again, "Anyways, where are you headed at this time in the morning?"
"I'm headed to Professor Oak's training session. What about you?"
"I'm headed to the same place! Are you a new student?" Her question was almost giddy.
"Yeah, I just recently was enrolled."
Leaf grinned, "I knew there was something about you! This will be so wonderful, finally some variety in eye color. So, what training program were you a part of before this? Pewter, maybe? Nah, that program is too low level for Oak to accept transfers from. I doubt anyone would transfer from Saffron, Sabrina is a master, and-"
"I wasn't part of one…" Ash butted in as the girl, who had been walking beside him stopped, crossing her arms over her chest, her brow furrowing.
"You're telling me Oak just let you into the sixth year of our program, and you have no prior education? I knew he had to go senile at some point, but this seems a tad extreme, don't worry we'll get you caught up-"
"Hiya there, Greenie." a smooth voice cut in through her speech.
"Gary, I told you to stop calling me that." Leaf grumbled, her seemingly perpetually good mood interrupted.
The brown, spiky-haired, and blue-eyed boy grinned, shrugging unapologetically, before turning towards Ash, "And who is this?"
"I'm Ash. Nice to meet you." he reached his hand out, as Oak had shown him.
"Wait!" Gary grinned, not acknowledging the proffered hand, "You're the kid from Blackthorn right, one of the Wataru?"
Leaf's jaw almost dropped, as she turned towards Ash, "Why didn't you tell me that!"
Before he could answer, Gary continued, "I'm Gary Oak! My Gramps told me that one of the surviving Wataru was being placed in Pallet Town. I thought all Wataru had red hair... No matter, I guess we'll see if the legends of you guys are true or not!"
Gary took off towards the laboratory, a new pep in his step, before he turned back towards the two, backpedaling, "Considering the recent news about Blackthorn, though… Seems like you all might be a tad overrated!
Leaf gasped, and Ash clenched his fists angrily, before releasing a deep breath. It wouldn't do to antagonize the kin of Professor Oak. He remembered Claire's ire after he had inadvertently injured her nephew in Blackthorn.
"I'm sorry about him, like I said he's a jerk."
"It's not your fault."
A short while later, Ash, a soft smile on his face and Leaf unleashing a bout of laughter, strolled up the hill the laboratory was located on. The sun rose through the large trees in the distance, orange rays bathing the town in warm light- the teen allowed a small smile to grace his face.
Perhaps things wouldn't be so bad, after all.
One thing, first two chapters deal with the gift a bit much, just to introduce some major things. It will certainly not make Ash OP harem god kill arceus catch mew.