Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon. It belongs to Nintendo and Game Freak.
Hi all,
Here's the first chapter of my new Pokemon story. It's not a gamer story, but it does have cultivation elements. Hope you enjoy.
Chapter 1
The acrid stench of decay and corrosion assaulted Ash's nostrils as he meticulously picked his way through the towering mountains of refuse. His keen eyes, sharpened by years of scavenging, darted from object to object, assessing each item's potential value
A half-eaten protein bar, miraculously unspoiled, found its way into his pocket, wrapped carefully in a scrap of relatively clean fabric. Every morsel counted in the unforgiving world of the Midden, where the next meal was never guaranteed.
As he dug deeper into the mound, his fingers brushed against a leather binding. Hope flared in his chest. Knowledge in the Midden was an expensive commodity. Even if he couldn't use it, he could sell it for a decent amount of pokedollars.
A sound froze him in his tracks. It was a noise that haunted his nightmares—a grating, metallic scrape that seemed to resonate through the very ground beneath his feet. The sound was accompanied by a tremor that sent smaller pieces of debris skittering down the refuse piles. Ash's breath caught in his throat as realisation dawned: Steelix.
With the fluid grace of one who had long since learned that hesitation meant death, Ash submerged himself into the mound of garbage. His heart pounded in his ears, its rhythm matching the ominous rumble drawing ever closer. He dug deeper, ignoring the jagged edges that cut into his skin and the unknown substances that squelched beneath him. Through a small gap in his makeshift refuge, Ash watched with wide eyes as the massive form of the Steelix came into view.
The Pokemon was a behemoth. Each segment was the size of a small vehicle, covered in scratches and dents that spoke of countless battles. Its head turned to scan its surroundings, and Ash held his breath as it fixed on him. Thankfully, it either didn't notice or care about his presence.
Ash recalled his last encounter with one of these titans—a memory etched in pain and terror. He had been younger then, more reckless, still believing in his invincibility.
The Steelix had attacked without warning, its roar causing him to freeze momentarily. He was able to move after overcoming his fear, but by then it was too late. The Steelix's tail had caught him, sending him flying into a pile of old furniture. He landed on an old, broken sofa, sparing him from further injury. Still, it had taken him weeks for his injuries to heal. He was certain that Steelix had gone easy on him because, in any other circumstance, he would have died.
Now, older and wiser, Ash remained perfectly still as the Steelix slithered past his hiding spot. Seconds stretched into minutes as the Pokemon's massive form blocked out what little light was left in the fading late afternoon.
Finally, mercifully, the Steelix moved on, its segmented body disappearing into the haze of toxic fumes that perpetually shrouded the Midden. The ground continued to tremble for several moments after it had passed from view. Ash waited several more minutes, his ears straining for any sign of the Pokemon's return before he dared to move.
As he extricated himself from the garbage pile, Ash let out a shaky breath. "Too bloody close," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
He noticed something clutched tightly in his left hand—the object he had been reaching for when the Steelix appeared.
The book's cover was worn and stained, and the once vibrant colours faded to muted hues. Flecks of an unidentifiable substance clung to its edges, but the title was still legible: "The Path of the Trainer: An Introduction to Cultivation."
Ash's heart skipped a beat. Cultivation—the mystical art that allowed humans to form a bond with Pokemon and get stronger together. It was a closely guarded secret, with most of the first-floor dwellers knowing little more than rumours and legends about the practice. And yet, here in his hands, was a book that promised to unveil those secrets.
Ash opened the book, his eyes devouring the words on the first page:
"To cultivate is to nurture the spark of energy within oneself, to fan it into a roaring flame that can reshape reality itself. This journey begins with the opening of one's mind palace—a sanctuary of the spirit where humans and Pokemon can truly become one."
Excitement surged through Ash, momentarily eclipsing the lingering fear from his close encounter with the Steelix. This book could be his ticket out of the Midden, a chance to finally bond with a Pokemon partner and challenge the first-floor Gym Leader. He could almost taste the clean air of the upper floors, and the variety of abundant food.
The book detailed meditation techniques, breathing exercises, and mental visualisations—all designed to help the reader tap into their inner energy and create a mind palace. Intricate diagrams depicted the flow of energy through the human body, while others showed the theoretical structure of a mind palace. It was complex stuff, filled with terms and concepts that made his head spin.
His brow furrowed as he read a particular entry. The text revealed an unsettling truth: the path of a cultivator was not open to all. Several factors determined one's potential, but chief among them was mere chance. Luck, it seemed, held more sway than dedication or desire. Considering his start in life, he didn't consider himself lucky.
He clenched his fists, unwilling to accept this fate. Becoming a cultivator wasn't just an aspiration—it was his only choice. The alternative was unthinkable.
Ash tucked the book securely into his tattered jacket. He would study it, away from the prying eyes of other scrappers who might try to steal such a valuable find.
As Ash resumed his scavenging, his movements were energised by a new sense of purpose. With this book in his possession, he had a real chance at ascending the Tower. He imagined himself standing before the first-floor Gym Leader, a Pokemon partner by his side, ready to prove his worth and take the first step towards a better life for himself and his mum.
"Watch out, Tower," Ash whispered to himself. "I'm coming for you."
In the aftermath of the catastrophe that nearly obliterated the Pokemon world, Arceus, the God Pokemon, took drastic measures to preserve what remained of life and civilisation. Using its immense power, Arceus gathered the fragments of the shattered world—landmasses, oceans, forests—and recombined them into a colossal tower.
This process was far from perfect. In its haste to save what it could, Arceus created a haphazard structure where different areas, towns, landmarks, and biomes were fused together on each floor. The result was a vertical world of startling diversity and stark contrasts, where a tropical jungle might exist alongside an arctic tundra, or ancient ruins could border a futuristic cityscape.
The Tower was the shape of an inverted pyramid, with each ascending floor larger than the one below it. This peculiar structure was not by design, but rather a consequence of the chaotic recombination process. The first floor was constructed from the most readily available fragments, resulting in the smallest land area and the scarcest resources.
Initially, the implications of this structure weren't apparent to the survivors. People were simply grateful to have been saved from total annihilation. However, as time passed and generations lived and died within the Tower, the harsh realities of this new world order became increasingly clear.
Ash and his mum, like countless others whose ancestors were consigned to the first floor, languished in a world of crushing disadvantage. Resources, already scarce, were fought over with savage desperation. The environment itself seemed to conspire against them, harsh and unforgiving.
Yet their plight was further compounded by the callous actions of those above. The denizens of higher floors had long ago decreed that the first floor served as the perfect location for their refuse. A vast, sprawling landfilling ground for the privileged's waste. This earned the first floor the derisive moniker: The Midden.
Amidst towering piles of discarded waste and treacherous scrap heaps, life on the first floor became an ever more perilous endeavour. Toxic runoff seeped into their meagre water supply, while unstable mountains of garbage threatened to collapse at any moment. The very air they breathed carried the acrid stench of decay and despair.
For Ash and the other floor residents, simply surviving was a daily battle against not only deprivation but also the literal and metaphorical weight of an entire society pressing down on them.
In contrast, the upper floors of the Tower offered progressively more space, resources, and opportunities. The highest floors were rumoured to be paradises of abundance, with vast landscapes and thriving ecosystems that harkened back to the world that was lost.
This disparity created a society stratified not just by wealth or ability but by literal elevation. The drive to ascend the Tower became the primary motivator for many, especially those born on the lower floors. The Tower's ascension system, established to maintain order and provide a means of advancement, became both a beacon of hope and a source of bitter frustration for those unable to progress.
At the heart of the Tower's ascension system lay a deceptively simple challenge: defeat a Gym Leader to earn passage to the next floor. However, the difficulty of each Gym battle was not a fixed point but rather a dynamic threshold that could shift dramatically based on several factors.
First and foremost was the floor number itself. As one climbed higher, the challenges grew exponentially more demanding, reflecting the increasing quality of life and resources available on each subsequent level. A victory on the first floor was a far cry from triumphing on the tenth or twentieth.
A trainer's cultivation level played a factor as well. Because they fought alongside their Pokemon, they had the potential to influence the outcome. The only aspect of a trainer's strength that was overlooked was the strength of their techniques. It can often mean the difference between victory and defeat.
The composition of a challenger's Pokemon team was equally vital. Not just the number of Pokemon, but their individual levels. Ash, while not privy to the details, understood that there must be a sophisticated algorithm at work behind the scenes.
Yet, perhaps the most defining—and often cruel—factor was the number of individuals a challenger sought to bring with them to the next floor. This aspect of the Tower's system was a harsh reminder of the world's unforgiving nature. For a lone cultivator, the challenge remained consistent. But for those with families, loved ones, or dependents, the difficulty scaled dramatically with each additional person.
This requirement added a layer of emotional weight to every challenge. Cultivators weren't just fighting for their own advancement, but for the futures of those they cared about. It forced heart-wrenching decisions: leave loved ones behind to advance alone, or face increasingly impossible odds to keep a family together?
For Ash, with the goal of ascending with his mum, this meant the road ahead would be arduous. He couldn't simply train himself to the bare minimum required for the first floor's Gym Leader. He needed to push far beyond that to reach a level of strength that could overcome the added difficulty of bringing another person along.
Ash lived in Oldale Town, which was a few kilometres east of a massive southern landfill. Whatever it had once been, it was now barely recognisable as a town, a sprawling shantytown of improvised shelters and makeshift structures.
A crumbling Pokemon Centre, its iconic red roof long since faded to a dull rust colour, served as a grim reminder of a time when Pokemon and humans lived in harmony. The once-bustling town square was now a marketplace of desperation, where residents traded whatever meagre possessions they could spare for the bare necessities of survival.
Ash's neighbours were cut from the same cloth as him—survivors, scrappers, and dreamers, all doing whatever they could to eke out an existence in this unforgiving environment. Adults moved with the wary efficiency of those accustomed to constant struggle, always on the lookout for the next opportunity or threat.
Yet, amidst this sea of hardship, there were islands of relative comfort. A handful of residents lived in dwellings that seemed almost luxurious by comparison—structures with intact roofs, walls free from patches, and even the occasional glimpse of technology that functioned. These were the lucky few with connections to the higher floors, individuals who had managed to establish trading relationships with those above.
It was through these second-floor connections that Ash earned the bulk of his income. His skill at salvaging and repairing discarded items from the upper floors hadn't gone unnoticed. Broken gadgets and outdated technology passed through his hands, each meticulously restored before being resold to the traders who came down from the upper floors.
However, the severe disadvantages of the first floor in terms of trading power meant that even Ash's considerable skills couldn't earn him more than a modest income. The pokedollars he managed to scrape together were enough to keep him and his mum fed and sheltered, but dreams of true comfort or luxury remained frustratingly out of reach.
Still, as Ash approached his home—a patchwork shelter of corrugated metal, salvaged wood, and reinforced plastic sheeting—he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride. Their lives were far from easy, but they were better off than most in town. The small electric generator humming outside was a testament to Ash's resourcefulness. He had found and repaired the generator, which provided them with a luxury few on the first floor enjoyed: a few hours of electricity each day. He paid the trader to recharge it with their electric-type Pokemon, but it was prohibitively expensive.
Inside, Ash's mum, Delia, was cooking dinner on their small stove. As he entered, Delia looked up, her tired face brightening at the sight of her son.
"Welcome home, Ash," she said. "Any luck today?"
Ash's hand instinctively went to the pocket where he'd hidden the cultivation book. For a moment, he considered sharing his incredible find with his mum. But caution won out. He would keep the book's existence a secret until he could study it and ensure its safety.
"Just the usual, Mum," he replied, forcing a casual tone. "I found a few things that might fetch a decent price."
Delia nodded, a knowing look in her eyes. She had an uncanny ability to sense when Ash was holding something back, but she never pushed. It was one of the many things Ash loved about her—her ability to offer support without prying.
"Well, then," she said, turning back to the stove, "you're just in time. Dinner's almost ready. Why don't you wash up and tell me about your day?"
As Ash moved to the small basin they used for washing, he watched his mum out of the corner of his eye. Delia hummed softly as she worked, an old tune that Ash vaguely remembered from his childhood. It was a habit of hers, one that brought a sense of normalcy to their often chaotic lives.
Delia's role in their survival was just as crucial as Ash's, though often less visible. While Ash scavenged for tradeable goods, Delia carved out her niche in the harsh economy of the first floor. She was an expert in urban agriculture, coaxing life from the most unlikely places. The mushrooms sizzling in the pan were her cultivation, grown in a carefully maintained environment in what used to be a storage closet.
But Delia's true talent lay in her ability to create networks. She knew everyone in their section of the first floor, and most people knew her. She had built a web of allies by carefully cultivating relationships—a kind word here, a small favour there—which often meant she knew about opportunities before others.
As they sat down to eat, Delia regaled Ash with the day's news and gossip. Her keen ear and sharp mind missed nothing, and Ash had learnt long ago that his mum's seemingly innocuous chatter often contained vital information.
"Mrs. Abernathy down the street is looking for someone to repair her water filtration system," Delia mentioned casually, spooning out the stew. "I told her you might be able to help."
Ash nodded, making a mental note. Mrs. Abernathy was old and didn't have much, but she was well-connected to some of the traders who dealt with the second floor. A favour for her could open up valuable opportunities.
"Oh, and I heard a rumour today," Delia continued, her voice dropping slightly. "There's been some unusual activity around the ruins, but people are too scared to investigate."
Ash's ears perked up at this. The ruins were on the outskirts of town and had some unusual etchings on the walls on the inside, but they had been explored thoroughly and nothing else had been found. Was someone exploring them again or was there something else going on? He would check it out if he managed to become a cultivator.
As they ate and talked, Ash was struck once again by his mum's resilience. Despite everything they'd been through, despite the daily struggle for survival, Delia had never lost her compassion or hope for a better future. She could find joy in the smallest things.
It was for her, more than anything, that Ash was determined to master cultivation and ascend the Tower. He wanted to give her the life she deserved, where she didn't have to scrape and struggle for every small comfort.
As the meal wound down, Delia reached across the table and squeezed Ash's hand. "I'm proud of you, you know," she said softly. "Every day, you go out there and you fight to make our lives better. Your father would be proud too."
Ash felt a lump form in his throat. They rarely spoke of his father, who had disappeared on a scavenging run when Ash was just a toddler.
"Thanks, Mum," he managed, squeezing her hand back. "I couldn't do any of it without you."
As they cleared the table together, Ash felt the weight of the cultivation book in his pocket more keenly than ever. He was keeping a secret from his mum for the first time in his life, and it didn't sit well with him. But as he watched Delia move about their small home, humming her tune and planning for tomorrow, he renewed his silent vow.
He would become a cultivator. He would ascend the Tower. And he would give his mum the life she deserved, no matter what it took.
Ash made his way over to his workshop. The 'garage', as he optimistically called it, was little more than a cobbled-together lean-to attached to their house. Still, it was his space, a sanctuary where he could tinker and dream of a life beyond the oppressive confines of the first floor.
As Ash pushed open the door, its rusted hinges screeched, and the familiar scent of metal and oil enveloped him. His eyes, accustomed to the dim light, darted around the cluttered room, taking in the organised chaos of his workshop. Shelves lined the walls, bowing slightly under the weight of an eclectic assortment of salvaged parts and half-finished projects. Coils of wire hung like metallic vines, while stacks of circuit boards created miniature cityscapes in the corners.
A workbench dominated the centre of the space, its scratched and burnt surface a testament to countless hours of meticulous repair work. Tools of various sizes and origins were scattered across it, some recognisable, others modified beyond recognition to suit Ash's specific needs.
With practised efficiency, Ash began to sort through the day's haul. A cracked data pad here, its screen a spider web of fissures but its memory banks potentially intact. There was a bundle of frayed optical cables there, their ends corroded but the core still salvageable. Each piece was carefully examined, its potential assessed, and then stored for future use or trade.
But even as his hands worked, Ash's mind wasn't on the task at hand. Instead, it kept drifting to the weight of the book hidden beneath his jacket.
As soon as the final piece of salvage was put away, Ash retreated to the far corner of the workshop. Here, tucked away behind a towering pile of discarded machine casings, was a small cot. The thin mattress was lumpy and the frame creaked ominously, but it offered a modicum of privacy.
Ash withdrew the cultivation manual from its hiding place. He settled onto the cot, wincing as a loose spring poked his back, and began to read.
The first few pages were filled with flowery prose about the nature of energy. Ash skimmed these impatiently, his eyes hungrily searching for something more concrete. Finally, he found what he was looking for: a series of exercises designed to help beginners sense and manipulate the energy around them.
"The first step in cultivation," the book read, "is to become aware of the energy that surrounds us at all times. Close your eyes and focus on your breathing. Imagine each breath drawing in not just air but the very essence of the world around you."
Ash followed its instructions. He closed his eyes and took deep, even breaths.
At first, nothing happened. Ash sat there, feeling increasingly foolish as the minutes ticked by. He found himself thinking about the stack of repairs waiting for him, each one representing precious pokedollars. The background noise of the Midden filtered through the thin walls—distant shouts, the clanging of metal, the occasional roar of a wild Pokemon.
"Focus, you numpty," he muttered to himself, gritting his teeth in frustration. He forced his attention back to his breathing, trying to imagine each inhalation drawing in more than just the stale, polluted air of the first floor. In, out. In, out. The rhythm became a mantra, drowning out the distractions of the outside world.
As the hours crept by, Ash began to notice... something. It was faint at first, barely perceptible. A tingling sensation that seemed to dance just at the edge of his awareness, like static electricity prickling along his skin. He focused on it, straining to grasp this elusive feeling, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Suddenly, it was as if a veil had been lifted from his senses. The energy was there, all around him. It was faint, like the last echoes of a dying song, but unmistakably present. Ash gasped, his eyes flying open in shock, his heart pounding as if he'd run a marathon.
Elated, Ash turned back to the book, eager to learn more. His eyes devoured the pages, drinking in the knowledge hidden from him his entire life. However, his excitement quickly turned to confusion, then dismay, as he read the next passage:
"The density of energy in one's environment plays a crucial role in cultivation. Areas rich in natural or spiritual energy will greatly accelerate a cultivator's progress, while areas with sparse energy will hinder growth. One must be mindful of this, lest they strive fruitlessly against the very nature of their surroundings."
Ash frowned, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He reached out with his newly awakened senses, trying to gauge the energy around him. It was there, but it was thin, barely a trickle compared to what was described in the book.
"Bloody hell," Ash muttered bitterly, his shoulders sagging. "The first floor strikes again."
As he delved deeper into the tome, each word seemed to etch a leaden weight upon his heart. The pages hinted at techniques of staggering power, promising abilities beyond mortal ken—yet these grand visions held little allure for him. This book, after all, offered only the most rudimentary of cultivation methods. It would grant him entry into the world of cultivators but bestow no extraordinary advantages.
The book went into great detail about the Nascent Realm but provided no information about the subsequent realms. This initial realm was akin to laying the cornerstone of a great edifice—a critical process that would shape all future growth. Once ascended to higher levels, there would be no retracing of steps, no undoing of choices made.
Yet within this realm lay a peculiar flexibility, a playground for experimentation. The Nascent Realm allowed cultivators to test the waters, try out different cultivation techniques, and even discard them for others. Its primary purpose was twofold: to expand one's reservoir of energy and to unlock the most basic abilities of a trainer.
Ash turned the page and continued reading.
"A cultivator must be keenly aware of their limitations," the text cautioned, its words seeming to burn themselves into Ash's mind. "Attempting to progress too quickly in an area with insufficient energy can lead to severe physical and spiritual damage. Many an ambitious soul has been lost to the folly of overreaching."
The scarcity of energy on the first floor explained so much—why so few people here ever managed to bond with Pokemon, why the Gym challenge seemed like an insurmountable obstacle. It was like trying to grow a forest in a desert, with only droplets of water to sustain it.
Ash refused to let this deter him. If anything, it only strengthened his resolve. He would find a way to overcome this obstacle, just as he had overcome every other challenge the Midden had thrown at him. If he had to wring every last drop of energy from this barren environment, so be it.
With renewed determination, Ash dove back into the exercises. He focused on drawing in what little energy was available, visualising it as tendrils of light that he pulled into himself with each breath. Following the book's instructions, he attempted to refine this energy within his body to purify and strengthen it. It was slow, painstaking work, like trying to fill an ocean with a teaspoon. Each small success was hard-won, leaving him drained and gasping.
As the hours wore on, Ash began to feel the strain of his efforts. His head pounded as if a Machamp were using it for punching practice. A bone-deep weariness settled over him, making even the simple act of turning a page feel like lifting a boulder. The book had warned of this too—the physical toll of cultivation, especially in the early stages. But knowing about it didn't make the experience any less gruelling.
Finally, as the last light of day faded from the grimy windows of his workshop, Ash was forced to admit defeat—for now. He could barely keep his eyes open. His entire body felt like it was made of lead, heavy, and unresponsive.
With great effort, Ash tucked the cultivation manual back into its hiding place, his movements clumsy with exhaustion. He stumbled over to his cot, barely managing to kick off his shoes before collapsing onto the thin mattress. The springs creaked in protest, but Ash was beyond caring. He was asleep a moment later.
The wan light of dawn had barely begun to filter through the grimy plastic sheets that served as windows when Ash awoke. His body ached from yesterday's efforts, but a fire burned in his chest, driving him to continue.
Once again, Ash settled onto his rickety cot, the cultivation manual open before him. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing as he had the day before. This time, the energy came more easily.
Hours slipped by, marked only by the grumbling of Ash's neglected stomach. He pushed through the discomfort, driven by an instinct that told him he was on the cusp of something monumental.
As the afternoon wore on, Ash felt a shift. The trickle of energy he'd been coaxing into himself suddenly surged, as if a dam had broken. His eyes flew open, his gasp of shock turning into a yelp of pain as a searing sensation bloomed on his forehead.
For a terrifying moment, Ash thought he'd made a catastrophic mistake. Then, as quickly as it had come, the pain vanished. In its wake, Ash found himself in a vast space. He floated in a void that somehow felt both infinite and intimate.
"I've done it," Ash whispered, his voice echoing strangely in this mental realm. "This must be my mind palace."
As if in response to his realisation, the void began to take shape. Steel girders materialised, forming the skeleton of a structure that resembled the Tower itself. Platforms of various sizes hung suspended in the space, ready to house... something. At the heart of this mental construct, a pulsating orb of energy coalesced, shimmering with silvery light. This was Ash's energy core, the wellspring of his cultivation power.
Beside the core, floating gently, a small seed-like structure appeared. About the size of a marble, its pearlescent surface gleamed with a soft, silvery glow. This seed, he instinctively knew, was the key to forming his first Pokemon bond.
Ash's feet touched down on solid ground, sending a ripple of surprise through his consciousness. He hadn't expected such tangibility in what he'd assumed would be a purely mental construct. Tentatively, he took a step forward, then another, marvelling at the sensation of movement within this inner realm.
Ash lifted his hands, turning them over in wonderment. Here, in this internal landscape, he possessed a physical form—or at least, a vivid simulacrum of one. It was his body, yet not quite; more an idealised version, unburdened by the limitations of flesh and bone.
Driven by curiosity, Ash approached one of the nearest structures. He reached out, half-expecting his hand to pass through it. Instead, his fingertips met resistance.
"Wicked."
The mind palace hadn't finished organising it's internal structure. The platforms around the core and seed began to arrange themselves in a circular pattern, creating a series of concentric rings. Each platform appeared ready to host future Pokemon.
With excitement bubbling in his chest, Ash opened his eyes, returning to the physical world. He fumbled for the cultivation manual, eager to confirm his achievement and understand its implications.
"The Nascent Realm is the first step on the path of cultivation," Ash read aloud. "At this level, the cultivator establishes their mind palace and gains their first seed to form a bond with low-level Pokemon. Every three stages, the cultivator births another seed."
The path to building a formidable team was not as straightforward as he had initially assumed. Instead of immediately amassing a full roster of Pokemon, he would need to pace himself, his team growing in tandem with his own cultivation progress. The seeds for new bonds would materialise at key junctures: at the first, fourth, and seventh stages of the Nascent Realm and then again upon reaching each new cultivation realm.
Moreover, the Nascent Realm wasn't just about forming bonds; it was about laying the groundwork for his journey as a trainer. At the first stage, Ash gained the ability to store his Pokemon within his mind palace, a feat that went beyond mere convenience. This connection allowed for a deeper, more intuitive bond between trainer and Pokemon, fostering growth for both parties. Furthermore, his physical abilities had improved slightly—his stamina increased, his senses sharpened, and his reflexes quickened, all of which were critical advantages in the heat of battle.
The Nascent Realm, true to its name, was setting the stage for everything that was to come.
Ash's eyes widened as he came across an entry about mind palaces. The information revealed that his mental construct was far from ordinary—it was a rare indicator of an innate affinity for a specific Pokemon type. This discovery sent a thrill through him; such affinities were uncommon amongst cultivators, marking him as someone with unique potential.
The text detailed the myriad advantages an affinity bestowed. It would allow him to form deeper connections with Pokemon of his affiliated type, making captures smoother and more likely to succeed. Learning techniques from these Pokemon would come to him more naturally. Perhaps most intriguingly, his affinity would grant him and his Pokemon the ability to amplify the power of techniques matching his type.
However, a note of caution tempered Ash's excitement. To fully unlock these advantages, he would need a cultivation technique that resonated with his affinity. The prospect of acquiring such a specialised method seemed daunting, if not impossible. given his current circumstances.
He didn't need to revisit his mind palace to identify his affinity; the irony was too perfect to ignore. In this world of scrap and salvage, where he'd spent his life piecing together an existence from discarded metal, of course he'd have an affinity for Steel types. It was as if the Tower itself had a sense of humour, aligning his innate talents with the very essence of his daily struggle.
As the reality of his achievement sank in, a new determination filled Ash. He had taken the first step, but it was just the beginning. Now, he needed to find a Pokemon to bond with.
The Midden were home to several Steel-type Pokemon, so he wouldn't have to travel far to get one. He already had a Pokemon in mind. He would need to be careful and strategic. Capturing a Pokemon in the Midden was no easy feat, especially without any Pokemon to protect him. But Ash had spent his life overcoming impossible odds. This would be no different.
So, what do you think? In the next chapter, Ash captures his first Pokemon.
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Thanks for reading.