Prologue: New World
The wind was brisk that morning, carrying the faint metallic scent of rain that hadn't yet arrived. Elros Hale adjusted the strap of his medical kit over his shoulder, his breath visible in the early light. The streets of Toronto were awake but quiet, save for the occasional rumble of delivery trucks and the muffled conversations of bundled-up pedestrians.
The sidewalks glistened from the remnants of an overnight drizzle, and Elros couldn't help but glance at his reflection in the damp pavement. His dark brown hair, perpetually messy despite his best efforts, poked out from under his worn baseball cap. The hazel in his eyes seemed dulled by the pale overcast skies, but then again, he often felt that way on these early mornings.
Another day, another house, he thought, gripping his kit tighter as he turned onto the cracked walkway of Mrs. Laverne's house.
Mrs. Laverne greeted him with the warm smile of someone who had long made peace with life's hardships. She was frail but sharp, her silver hair tied back neatly, her cane resting against the arm of her recliner.
"Morning, Elros," she said, her voice like parchment—thin and crinkled but full of substance. "Come to poke me with needles again?"
Elros chuckled, setting his kit down on the coffee table. "It's a wonder you still put up with me."
"It's not the poking that bothers me," Mrs. Laverne replied, holding out her arm with practiced ease. "It's the waiting for results. I've had enough waiting in this life."
The words carried weight, but Elros didn't press her on it. He worked in silence, the cool alcohol swab and steady prick of the needle routine to them both. The clock on her mantle ticked softly, each second blending into the quiet rhythm of his work.
"You know, Elros," she said after a moment, her eyes fixed on the window where a bird perched on a sagging telephone wire. "The hardest part isn't being sick—it's all the things you didn't do when you had the chance."
Elros paused, the vial of blood half-filled in his hand. "Yeah?"
Mrs. Laverne nodded, her gaze distant. "People think regrets are about what they've done. But it's not. It's the trips you didn't take. The dreams you shelved for later. Later sneaks up on you, boy. Faster than you think."
The words stuck to him like glue as he packed up his kit and bid her farewell. Walking back down the same glistening sidewalk, he couldn't shake the thought. He'd always dismissed his own restlessness as a passing phase, a product of monotony. But now it felt like something heavier—something he couldn't ignore.
As the rain finally began to fall, soft patters against his jacket, Elros let out a long breath. Somewhere deep inside, a voice whispered to him, faint but insistent: What are you waiting for?
Elros' apartment was a tiny box of a place—functional, practical, and painfully uninspired. The kind of space that whispered, you're not staying here long, are you? But Elros had stayed. And stayed.
He dropped his kit on the table by the door, the weight of the day lingering in his shoulders. Outside, the rain had finally arrived, tapping against the windows in a rhythmic, almost hypnotic pattern.
The countdown timer on his laptop screen glowed like a beacon in the dim room: Pokémon: New World—00:11:45 until launch.
Elros leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, as the timer ticked down. He hadn't told anyone he'd spent most of his savings on the Virtual Dive System. Part of him was afraid they'd judge him for it—label him irresponsible, running away from real-life problems.
But wasn't that exactly what he needed?
His gaze drifted to the sleek helmet on his desk, its polished surface catching the faint glow of the countdown. The advertisements had promised everything: a fully immersive world, real-time experiences, and a chance to live the life he'd always dreamed of as a kid. A life he'd given up long ago in the name of practicality.
It's just a game, he told himself for the hundredth time. An expensive, glorified game.
And yet, Mrs. Laverne's words wouldn't leave him alone. They echoed in his mind, intertwining with memories of late nights spent on Pokémon Emerald, his younger self battling for badges and championships on a tiny screen. Back then, the pixelated world had felt limitless—a sanctuary where adventure was only a button press away.
Elros pushed off the counter, pacing the small room. "You're being ridiculous," he muttered. "Spending a fortune on VR gear to play pretend? Great life choices, Elros. Truly inspired."
The timer hit five minutes.
His heart thudded in his chest. Outside, the rain grew heavier, a low rumble of thunder vibrating the windowpane. Elros turned to the helmet again, staring at it as if it held all the answers to his restless questions.
"What if I never find later?" he murmured, his voice barely audible over the rain.
In the silence that followed, something shifted. A flicker of defiance ignited within him—not just against his doubts but against the years of playing it safe, of settling for less than he wanted.
He grabbed the helmet, the polished surface cool against his fingertips. "Alright, Elros. Time to put your money where your dreams are. If this flops, at least you'll have one spectacular story about dropping 10 grand and going virtual."
Sliding the helmet on, he braced himself as the device hummed to life. The room around him faded, colors bleeding into a sea of light, brighter and brighter until everything went white.
Welcome, Trainer, a calm, melodic voice echoed in his mind.
Elros blinked, his breath catching as the whiteness dissolved into color—brilliant, golden sunlight spilling through trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground. A gentle breeze brushed against his skin, carrying the sweet scent of wildflowers mingled with the earthy aroma of grass.
The sounds came next: the distant gurgle of a stream, the rustle of leaves, and the melodic calls of unseen Pokémon.
Elros looked down at his hands—solid, real, and uncalloused by years of routine work. The dirt beneath his boots felt firm, textured, and astonishingly real. He wasn't in his apartment anymore.
"This… this is insane," he whispered, turning in place.
Rolling hills stretched before him, dotted with wild Pokémon darting in and out of the tall grass. A Butterfree fluttered lazily overhead, its wings iridescent in the sunlight. Farther off, he could see the faint outline of a village nestled at the foot of a hill, smoke curling from chimneys in thin, lazy wisps.
He began walking, the dirt crunching softly beneath his boots. The path led him through the forest, where wild Pokémon darted between the trees—Pidgey, Zigzagoon, even a Shroomish nestled beneath the shade of a bush. Elros slowed as he passed it, careful not to disturb the little creature.
The forest opened up into rolling fields, and in the distance, he saw the outline of a small village, its rooftops peeking over the hills. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and a windmill turned steadily in the breeze.
The voice returned, soft and serene. Please proceed to Lumina Village to begin your journey.
Elros barely heard it, too entranced by the vivid, living world around him. He crouched down, running his fingers through the grass, marveling at its texture. "This… can't be just a game," he murmured.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, drinking it all in. The world felt alive, alive in a way his own hadn't in years.
A soft chime snapped him out of his reverie. The glowing arrow appeared, pointing toward the distant village.
"Lumina Village," Elros repeated, tasting the words like something out of a childhood dream.
The path before him stretched like an invitation, winding through the grass toward the horizon. As his boots crunched against the dirt, a smile crept across his face. For the first time in years, Elros felt the stirrings of something he'd nearly forgotten.
Hope.