Last of the Wataru

by Jocelyjpr

Orphaned and uprooted, Ash Wataru carries the weight of a fallen clan. Driven by a thirst for vengeance and a desperate need to prove worthy of the Wataru name, he steps into a Kanto far more dangerous than he imagines.

Ash savored the caress of warm, powdery sand between his toes, his mind adrift the crashing waves. Golden rays danced upon the undulating surface, the rhythmic swell and surge an endless symphony. Raucous cries of gliding Wingull pierced the salt-tinged air.

The birds plunged into the crystalline depths, emerging with thrashing Magikarp clenched in their hooked beaks - or surfacing in a burst of empty-beaked squawks and ruffled pride. Ash's lips quirked at the sight.

With an absent kick, Ash sent a spray of froth flying from the retreating tongue of a wave. As always, his mind began to drift to memories of an earlier life cradled by unyielding stone. Blackthorn City, with its twisting alleys and towering tiers hewn into the precipitous mountains that cleaved Kanto from Johto. The mere thought sent a chill through him.

Unforgiving. That's what Blackthorn had been. Stern gazes, biting winds, the weight of clan tradition an invisible chain. Laughter had echoed off the cobblestones, but raven-haired Ash, surrounded by the flame-haired Wataru, found little warmth in it.

Pallet was an escape. The easy camaraderie and sun-soaked streets thawed the ice that had settled in his bones. Yet beneath the smiles, an ache persisted - a yearning for more, for-

"Ash Wataru, caught in the act!"

The voice jolted him from his musings. He spun to see Leaf bounding across the sand, hair blazing like captured fire in the morning light. Skidding to a stop, she flashed him a knowing grin.

"Let me guess," she teased. "Talking to the Magikarp instead of studying for class like us simpletons?"

Ash snorted, her presence like a balm. "Guilty as charged." Falling into step beside her, he added, "Needed to clear the cobwebs."

Leaf bumped his shoulder playfully. "Ah yes, the famous broody beach walks to ponder life's mysteries. So, what knowledge did the Magikarp bestow upon you today?"

"That," he replied with a wry smile, "is strictly between me and the Magikarp."

She glanced at him but didn't press further, her silent support a steadying presence as the crash of waves faded behind them. Ash welcomed the familiar sights and sounds of Pallet - the clang of the smithy, the amiable chatter spilling from storefronts and homes. With each step, the specter of Blackthorn retreated a little further.

But later, as he lay fighting the pull of sleep, the memories returned unbidden once more. Craggy peaks knifing a slate-gray sky. Light glinting harshly off snowdrifts and clan eyes, unyielding as the mountains themselves...

The tempest raged with otherworldly fury, its howling winds tearing at the ancient stone of Blackthorn. The ancestral home of the Wataru stood as a bastion against the storm, unyielding and eternal, spires reaching into the roiling clouds like draconic claws grasping for the heavens.

High above, the silhouettes of dragons wheeled against the storm-dark sky, their keening cries punctuating the tempest. Echoes of an age long past, when the world was young and the great beasts ruled the skies unchallenged.

Atop the tallest tower, a solitary figure stood unbowed against the gale. Champion Lance, the Drake of Blackthorn, scion of the Wataru's most exalted bloodline. Fiery hair, the color of dragonflame, whipped about a face seemingly carved from the very stone of the mountain, its chiseled angles thrown into stark relief by the guttering light of the braziers that flanked him. His cape, crimson as his hair, snapped and billowed in the relentless wind.

"Champion." The word was almost lost to the tempest's fury, yet Lance's head snapped around, eyes the color of storm clouds narrowing as they fell upon the newcomer.

"Delia." His voice cut through the maelstrom like a blade, cold and unyielding. "I should have known you'd find a way past the guards at the gates."

She stumbled forward, arms wrapped protectively around a bundle clutched to her chest. Her simple traveling cloak, once a vibrant yellow, now hung in rain-soaked tatters. "Please, Lance. I wouldn't have come if-"

"If there was any other way," he finished, a sneer twisting his lips. "And yet, here you are, darkening my door after all these years."

Delia's slight frame trembled, though whether from cold or trepidation was impossible to discern. "Lance, please, I-"

" Champion Lance," he corrected, his tone as glacial as the depths of the Ice Caves. "Or Drake of Blackthorn, if you prefer. We're long past the familiarity of first names, Yellow- that's what they called you is it not?."

She flinched at the epithet, the old name from her past falling from his lips like an accusation. "You know why I left."

"Do I?" Lance turned his back on her, his gaze drifting to the tapestries that adorned the tower's inner walls. Masterful weavings depicting the Drakes of the past. Lance's own father stared back at him, immortalized in thread, his draconic partner coiled at his side. "You vanished without a word, Delia. No goodbyes, no explanations. Only to return years later with... this."

His eyes flicked disdainfully to the bundle in her arms.

"He needs your protection, Lance."

"My protection?" Lance scoffed, rounding on her. "Or to raise another man's child? To pass him off as a Wataru and sully my clan's bloodline?"

He flung an arm out, gesturing to the sprawling city below, ancient and proud. "I am the Drake of Blackthorn, Delia. I have responsibilities, to my clan, to my city, to all of Kanto and Johto. The regions teeter on the brink of war, and you bring me this... complication."
Delia shook her head vehemently, raven hair plastered to her face by the driving rain. "It's more than that, Lance. The gift... it's strong in him.

Lance stilled, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he closed the distance between them, looming over Delia's diminutive form. "Show me," he commanded, his voice low and dangerous.
With shaking hands, Delia peeled back the sodden blanket. The child within stirred, blinking up at the newcomer with eyes of startling, vivid green. Eyes that seemed to pierce Lance to his very core, shining with an intensity he had seen only once before…

"Is this a cruel joke, Delia?" he breathed, realization dawning, "He's-"

"His son," Delia confirmed, voice trembling. "That's why I came to you, Lance. His father… he wants nothing to do with the child."
Lance's jaw clenched. "And where is this paragon of paternal virtue now? Chasing rumors and legends across the world, while you clean up his mess again?"

Delia flinched as if struck. "He disappeared shortly after the birth. I have to find him, Lance. You know the damage he could do if left unchecked."

The Champion barked a harsh, mirthless laugh. "So this is your grand plan? Abandon your child on my doorstep and embark on a wild Zangoose chase? And what of the boy? Am I to play nursemaid?"

"I didn't want this!" Delia cried, anguish writ plain across her delicate features. "But he's not safe with me, Lance. His father's enemies... if they find out about him..." She swallowed hard, blinking back tears. "You're the only one strong enough to protect him. The only one Red ever feared."

"Feared? Red never feared me, Delia. He never feared anyone, except perhaps..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "No, if Red feared anyone, it was Samuel Oak. The man saw through him from the start, saw the darkness lurking beneath that exterior. And Red knew it."

Lance's gaze sharpened, fixing on Delia with an intensity that made her flinch. "Why not take him to Oak? The man's made a habit of collecting strays and prodigies. Not to mention he always had a soft spot for you, you and your little group of 'gifted' individuals."

"You know I can't... Samuel, he's been through so much already. With Blue's disappearance, Daisy left to raise Gary alone... I couldn't burden him with this, too."

"And yet you'd lay this at my feet instead?" Lance snarled. "Because the great Samuel Oak is too fragile? Spare me, Delia."

"It's not like that!" She pleaded, desperation coloring her tone. "Oak is a good man, but he's not... He doesn't have your strength, Lance. Your conviction. Not anymore, not after what happened."

"My strength?" Lance laughed bitterly. "Is that what you call it? The strength to clean up Red's messes? To bear the weight of his failings?" He shook his head. "Oak is ten times the man I'll ever be. He should have been Champion; he deserved it more than that madman you took up with."

Lance's voice grew lower, each word dripping with venom. "But no, the great Red had to have his glory, didn't he? And I was left to pick up the pieces of the League he shattered. To rebuild what he destroyed in his madness."

His gaze dropped to the child in Delia's arms, something akin to pity flickering in his eyes. "And now you want me to raise his child? To protect the progeny of the man who nearly brought Kanto to its knees?"

"He's not Red, Lance," Delia insisted, her voice breaking. "He's an innocent child. A child who needs your protection."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the howling of the wind and the soft whimpers of the baby. Finally, Lance sighed, the fight draining out of him.

"Damn you, Delia," he whispered. "Damn you for this."

He reached out, taking the child from her arms with a gentleness that belied his harsh words. The baby cooed, tiny fingers grasping at the Champion's cape.

"I'll take the boy," Lance said, his voice heavy with resignation. "I'll have him raised as a Wataru, same as any other child in Blackthorn. But this is the last time, Delia. Find Red, and ensure he never sets foot in Kanto again. I won't be so lenient again."

Tears streaming down her face, Delia nodded. "Thank you, Lance. I won't forget this."

She leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss to the baby's brow, her fingers lingering on downy soft hair. Then, with a final, anguished look, she turned and fled down the winding steps, her sobs swallowed by the storm.

Lance watched her go, his expression unreadable. Then, with a swirl of his cape, he turned and strode into the heart Blackthorn, the child cradled close to his chest. Around him, the wind shrieked and moaned, the dragons' cries echoing the tempest in his heart.

---

One of many ancient towers of Blackthorn groaned under the assault of a tempest that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth. Within its stone embrace, Elder Yarl's study stood as a bastion of calm, the only sounds the crackling of the hearth and the soft rustle of parchment.

Elder Yarl carefully rolled the scroll he'd been writing and stood with a soft groan. His joints protested as he shuffled towards the great shelving unit that dominated one wall of his study.

The shelves were a masterwork of oak, intricate carvings of legendary beasts winding through the framework. Hundreds of scrolls nestled in the alcoves, each one a fragment of Wataru history. With reverent care, Yarl slotted his newest addition into place.

As he straightened, wincing at the twinge in his lower back, firelight caught the silver strands of his beard. Deep lines etched his face, some carved by laughter, others by the weight of centuries of dragon lore.

A fond smile crossed his weathered features as his gaze fell upon the serpentine form curled before the hearth. Scales of deepest sapphire glimmered in the firelight, seeming to absorb and reflect the flames in equal measure.

"Come, old friend," Yarl murmured. "Time for these bones to seek their rest."

The Dragonair stirred, stretching languorously. The gem beneath its chin caught the light, scattering prismatic patterns across the tapestry-laden walls. Feathered ears twitched as it raised its head, intelligent eyes meeting Yarl's gaze.

Their nightly ritual was interrupted by a thunderous pounding at the door. The Dragonair hissed, coils tightening protectively.

Before Yarl could reach the door, it burst open. Lance, Drake of Blackthorn and Champion of the Indigo League, strode in. His cape, the color of dragon flame, billowed behind him, and cradled in his arms was a small bundle.

Yarl's eyebrows rose. "A child, Lance? I'd thought I would be long in my grave before witnessing such a day."

"It's not mine," Lance snapped, pacing the length of the study. "And you may yet see that grave sooner than you think, old man."

"Mind your tongue, boy," Yarl admonished, though there was a twinkle in his eye. "I taught you better. Now, what calamity brings you to my door at this hour, babe in arms?"

"This child... it bears the gift."

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Yarl's expression hardened, years falling away. "You're certain?"

"See for yourself," Lance growled, tilting the bundle.

Yarl peered down, adjusting his spectacles. The babe slumbered peacefully, tufts of dark hair crowning its head.

But as Yarl watched, its eyes fluttered open. A soft green glow emanated from them, pulsing gently like a heartbeat, noticeable to only those who knew what to look for.

"Preserve us," Yarl breathed. He looked up sharply. "Why does it still draw breath, Lance? You know our laws, our duty-"

"It's the child of... a friend," Lance ground out.

Understanding dawned in the elder's eyes. "Ah. I see. The mother..."

"Lives," Lance confirmed. "Though perhaps it would be kinder if she didn't."

"You seek to protect it," Yarl stated, realization dawning. "Here, in the heart of Blackthorn."

"Where else?" Lance demanded. "You know as well as I do that nowhere else in Kanto or Johto could be entrusted with such a responsibility.."

Yarl stroked his beard thoughtfully, his expression troubled. "The gift is a heavy burden, Lance. It has brought nothing but sorrow to those it touches. You've seen the destruction it can wreak."

"Not always," Lance insisted, "There are stories, legends of those who mastered the gift-"

"Legends oft-repeated, yet unproven," Yarl countered gently. "Comforting lies we tell ourselves to forget the rivers of blood spilled."

Silence fell, broken only by the soft cooing of the infant. Yarl looked at the child, then at Lance. He saw the determination in the younger man's eyes, the set of his jaw.

"What would you have me do?" he asked. "Cast it from the cliffs? Leave it to the mercy of the wilds? I gave my word, Elder."

Yarl sighed heavily, suddenly feeling every one of his many years. "You always did have a flair for the dramatic, my boy." A wry smile touched his lips. "Very well. The Wataru will raise the child as one of our own. Perhaps, surrounded by our ways, guided by our wisdom, the gift can be... tempered."

"Thank you, Elder. I swear, I will take full responsibility-"

Yarl held up a gnarled hand. "The child will be my charge, Lance. You have responsibilities enough as a Champion. And perhaps..." His eyes twinkled. "Perhaps an old man's patience is what this child needs most."

Lance hesitated, then carefully transferred the bundle to Yarl's arms. "I... I don't know its name," he admitted.

Yarl barked out a laugh. "Some things never change, do they? Still as scatterbrained as when you were a hatchling yourself." He gazed down at the child, its eyes now closed in peaceful slumber. "Well then, little one. Let's find you a proper Wataru name, shall we?"

Hours later, after Lance had departed, Yarl sat before the dying embers of the fire. The child nestled safely in Dragonair's protective coils, the great serpent crooning a soft lullaby.

"You know," Yarl mused, swirling amber liquid in a crystal tumbler, "I'm half of a mind to end this here and now. Save us all a world of trouble." But there was no real threat in his voice, only weary resignation.

Dragonair's head snapped up, eyes flashing dangerously. It curled tighter around the babe, hissing softly.

Yarl chuckled. "Peace, old friend. I'm not so far gone as that." He sighed, gazing into the depths of his glass. "I suppose if you're to be the child's protector, you should have some say in his name."

The dragon's eyes lit up. Its tail unwound, tip hovering near the fireplace. Yarl raised an eyebrow.

"Fire?" he guessed. Dragonair shook its head, gesturing lower. "Embers? Blaze?"

This continued for some time, Yarl growing increasingly exasperated. Finally, Dragonair plunged its tail directly into the ashes at the base of the hearth. When it withdrew, the bulbous tip was coated in soot.

"Ash?" Yarl breathed, understanding dawning.

Dragonair nodded.

Yarl drained his glass..

"Well then, little Ash Wataru." he murmured.

In the hearth, a single ember flared to brilliant life, casting dancing shadows across the slumbering child's face.

---

Nestled in the heart of Blackthorn City, the great hall of the Wataru clan rang with the clamor of an assembled feast.

Laughter and shouted conversation echoed off the vaulted ceiling, where murals of dragon riders in all their glory kept watch over the revelers below. Men and women crowded the long wooden tables, the firelight glinting off the copper shades of their hair and beards. Blackthorn was a city of redheads, and nowhere was this more evident than at a gathering of the Wataru clan.

At the head table, on a carved chair that was half-throne, sat a woman whose narrowed eyes belied her outwardly relaxed posture.

The lady Clair, sister to the absent Drake Lance, watched the controlled chaos of the feast with a stare. On either side of her, the clan elders picked at their plates, their lined faces reflecting a mixture of joviality and trepidation. They knew, as Clair did, that this night was about more than simple celebration.

Rising to her feet, Clair raised a hand. Silence fell like a heavy cloak, all eyes drawn to the Lady of Blackthorn.

"The time of Selection is upon us," Clair proclaimed, her voice ringing with authority. "Our most promising youth will venture beyond our sacred valleys, to prove their worth in the crucible of the wider world. They go to uphold the ancient ways of the Wataru, to demonstrate that the blood of dragons runs as strong in our veins now as it did in the days of our ancestors."

She paused, letting the import of her words sink in. The gathered Wataru watched her raptly, firelight flickering across their upturned faces.

"But hear me well," Clair continued, each word honed sharp as a dragon's fang, Those who pass through the Dragon Gate must remember where their true loyalties lie. The world beyond grows indolent and soft, seduced by empty promises of progress. Some," her gaze cut pointedly to the vacant seat at her side, "even within our noble ranks, feel the lure of that siren song."

A restive murmur swept through the crowd, stifled quickly by the steel in Clair's glare. She pressed on, voice thrumming with conviction.

"To any who may forget themselves, heed this warning - remember your heritage always. The blood of dragons is both gift and burden. It is carved into the very foundations of these peaks. Hold fast to this, and no trial will overcome you."

Clair thrust her goblet high, the silver rim sloshing with violet wine. "And so, in keeping with traditions as old as the stones, let the Selection commence!"

The hall erupted in a thunderous roar of approval. Fists pounded on tables, feet stomped in rhythmic fervor, and the keening cries of dragons echoed from the peaks above.

The valley of Blackthorn glimmered in the spring morning sunlight, dew glistening on flora barely a shade greener than lifeless gray.

Though few rays pierced the heavy clouds congregating over the peaks, those that did reflected off the massive torrents of water pouring over mountainside waterfalls. These ancient pathways, carved into stone by dragons centuries past, would soon facilitate the melted snow's descent from the summits to the town nestled below.

There was an eerie beauty in the valley's unnatural stillness. The landscape seemed too sparse, too lifeless - where one would expect the chirps and chatter of wild Pokemon, only silence reigned. The creatures had learned to keep their distance from the greatest bastion of dragonkind on the continent.

That pervasive quiet made the soft thudding of footfalls and labored breathing all the more conspicuous as it echoed across the vale. Two dozen youths, on the precipice of adolescence, ran at a measured pace across the damp grass. Each stride took the redheaded Wataru children closer to the towering stone gates in the distance. All but one shared the clan's signature scarlet hair and lanky build.

The sole outlier, a slight boy with a shock of unruly black hair, trailed behind his age-mates. For every long-legged stride they took, his shorter frame required two. Yet he pushed onward, determined not to fall further behind. Around each child's neck coiled a Dratini, the serpentine pre-evolution of Dragonite. These small creatures held the potential for unrivaled power, if only their partners could guide them there.

The children made their way into town, the cool mountain breeze drying the sweat from their skin and easing the flush from their faces. Unlike the rest of Kanto, Blackthorn eschewed modernity in favor of tradition. Sturdy wooden buildings lined the streets, their oak timbers and clay-shingled roofs in sharp contrast to the sleek metal and glass that dominated larger cities.

Smoke curled lazily from stone chimneys, carrying with it the scents of cooking fires and smithies. The paved avenues were narrow and winding, following the natural contours of the valley rather than any premeditated grid. Blackthorn was a place out of time, steeped in the weight of its own history.

The townspeople greeted the aspiring dragon trainers with boisterous enthusiasm, clapping them on the back and ruffling their hair. Each nod and smile carried an unspoken expectation - that these children would one day join the ranks of legends, as their forebears had before them.

In Blackthorn, even the humblest interaction was imbued with the shared sense of destiny that bound the Wataru together.

High above, in a chamber carved from the stone of the mountainside fortress, Elder Yarl watched the scene below with a heaviness in his ancient heart. His faithful Dragonair lay coiled at his feet, her scales glinting like polished sapphires in the half-light.

Every year the number of young hopefuls, and the trainers who returned to foster families in Blackthorn dwindled. How many more generations would these walls stand witness to? How many more bright-eyed youths would set forth from this valley, bound by oaths of blood and honor?

Every year, less and less of the Wataru who ventured forth from Blackthorn returned to raise their own families.

Yarl's mind drifted to one boy in particular, standing slightly apart from the others.

Ash, the orphan child Lance had brought to Blackthorn all those years ago. A dangerous gambit, that. But the Drake's word was law, and Yarl was nothing if not loyal to clan and tradition. Even so, doubt gnawed at him. The boy was different, marked by something beyond mere appearance.

Lost in thought, Yarl nearly failed to notice the whisper of footfalls behind him. He turned to see Clair framed in the archway, resplendent in her ceremonial garb, her face an inscrutable mask.

"You fear for the boy," Clair said without preamble, moving to join Yarl at the chamber's edge. She carried herself with the regal bearing of one born to rule.

Yarl huffed a humorless laugh. "Am I so transparent?"

The ghost of a smile flickered at the corners of Clair's mouth. "Only to those who know you well, old friend."

"I fear for us all," Yarl replied softly. "The old ways are fading. The world turns on, and still we cling to the past."

"The past is all we have." Clair's voice was flint-edged. "It makes us who and what we are. Would you see us become like the decadent southlands - just another faction of squabbling trainers scrabbling for hollow accolades? We are Wataru. We must be more than that."

Yarl sighed, knowing better than to pursue that worn path of debate. He stroked his Dragonair's gleaming scales. "I worry for the child. For Ash. He is...different."

"Different." Clair's voice held a dagger's edge. "A gentle word for a defiling of centuries of history, some might say. Many would argue he has no place among us at all."

Yarl stilled, hand coming to rest on Dragonair's sleek neck. "You disagree with your brother's judgment in bringing the boy to us."

"It is not my place to openly question the Drake." Bitterness tinged Clair's tone. "Lance's word is law. You of all people should know that well."

Another taut silence fell between them, the rhythmic clank of the smithy's hammer ringing in the distance. Finally, Clair spoke again.

"Do you believe he has any hope of surviving?" She inclined her head towards the lone black-haired figure in the square below. "Truly?"

"I believe," he said slowly, "that the threads of fate often weave in ways we cannot hope to discern. The gods rarely choose as mortals expect."

Clair snorted. "Pretty words Yarl. But pretty words won't help him when he's facing down a rampaging Dragonite or traversing the Ice Cave."

"No," Yarl agreed, "but courage might. And that, I think, our young Ash has in abundance."

They lapsed into pensive silence, watching as far below, Ash finally caught up to his peers, every line of his slight frame etched with stubborn determination.

---

The unmistakable stench of burning flesh suffused the air, heavy and inescapable.

Elder Yarl, at his advanced age, had hoped to never experience such a horrific smell again. Yet as he stood atop the ancient Wataru fortress, carved into the mountainside high above Blackthorn, he knew with grim certainty that today would be his last.

Beneath the stone ramparts, the city of Blackthorn lay in ruins. The sturdy oak buildings, symbols of tradition and permanence, were consumed by unholy blue flames. An eerie silence blanketed the valley, the expected clamor of battle notably absent. The attacker had chosen his moment well - with both Lance and Clair absent from the city, the Wataru were left vulnerable.

Yet even in the face of this unpredicted assault, the dragon tamers of Blackthorn should have been more than a match for any single foe. No ordinary trainer, no matter how skilled, could hope to challenge such a force.

But this was no ordinary trainer.

Through the smoke and flames, Yarl had glimpsed a Pokemon unlike any he had seen in his long years. In mere minutes, the unthinkable had occurred. Blackthorn, unconquered for centuries, had fallen to a single man.

The shadowy figure paced before Yarl, his features obscured save for eyes that met Yarl's. Despite the destruction he had wrought, there was no gloating in his demeanor, only a disturbing casualness, as if the razing of an entire city was a mere trivial concern.

"I will ask you once more, Elder," the man said, his tone almost conversational. "Where is the child?"

Yarl faced him steadily, feeling the blood trickle down his temple from a wound he couldn't recall receiving. "I will not betray my people. Not the one you seek, nor any of the other children. My life is a small price to safeguard their future."

The man considered him, head tilting almost curiously. "I can appreciate your loyalty," he allowed. "But your clan's penchant for noble, futile death serves little purpose. The boy will be found, with or without your cooperation."

"Then let it be without," Yarl rasped, voice rough with smoke and exhaustion. "The Wataru will endure, even if I do not."

A long, considering look, a trace of something unfathomable in those cold eyes. Then the man stepped aside with a mocking half-bow, gesturing to the rampart's edge and the fatal drop below.

"So be it. I give you the dignity of choosing your own end. Better to die on one's feet than on your knees, is that not the Wataru way?"

Yarl's thoughts turned unbidden to young Ash, the child delivered into his care so long ago. Ash - a name chosen by Dragonair in what now seemed a cruelly prophetic jest. All this death, this devastation, wrought because of a single child cursed with tainted blood. But not just any child - his child, his responsibility.

Slowly, agonizingly, Yarl turned from his tormentor to face the edge. His poor Dragonair lay broken at his feet, the serpentine body twisted and torn, she hadn't a chance. Mustering the last of his strength, he hobbled past the shadowed figure in a parody of dignified resolve.

At the very brink, he paused, his eyes fixing on the carved archway at the base of the keep. Through the gloom, he could just discern the ancient glyphs etched into the soot-blackened stone.

So long as those sacred traditions endured, so too would the Wataru. Lance, for all his arrogance and hubris, was a child of the old blood. He would ensure the survival of their ways, of their traditions. He, or one of the other surviving youngsters. Yarl was certain of it.

He had to be, for what came next.

Drawing himself up to his full height, the elder stepped into empty air. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he plummeted, robes billowing in his wake, framed against the shrouded sun and the flurries of falling ash.

One last thought seared across his mind, a mantra of defiance, old as the Wataru.

Courage. Neither reckless nor timid.

The wet crunch of shattering bone rang through the valley a heartbeat later, one final cry of defiance broken against the unyielding stone.

---

The pathway north to Viridian City stretched before Professor Samuel Oak like an unfinished canvas, a requirement for Pallet to ever grow beyond a small frontier settlement.

Dozens of Machop and Machoke grunted with determined focus, their powerful arms breaking through branches and trunks with practiced efficiency.

He had personally authored their Pokédex entries, understanding intimately how these fighting types thrived on pushing their limits. It was why masters like Bruno rarely settled in one place - their Pokemon's insatiable appetite for greater challenges drove them ever onward. Oak's own Machamp, released years ago when he stepped back from battling, was likely still out there somewhere, seeking worthy opponents.

Oak sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. The Machop and Machoke before him were content, for now, with the challenge of clearing this forest. But for how long? The world was changing, evolving faster than even Pokemon could adapt. And here he was, trying to carve a path through the wilderness, when the real battles were being fought in council chambers and arenas miles upon miles away… Such things were behind him now, though.

He turned back to the small folding desk he'd set up at the edge of the clearing, scattered with research papers awaiting his review. The work of a Pokemon professor never ceased, not even for the largest infrastructure project since the Viridian Forest pathway was carved out decades ago.

They had League approval to use fire types back then. A few well-trained Charizard could have made quick work of this task. But now? Every favor called in, every relationship leveraged with former colleagues, had resulted in the same frustrating denial.

"Lance," Oak muttered, the name tasting bitter on his tongue. The Drake of Blackthorn, Champion of the Indigo League, never had taken well to Oak's ownership of a Dragonite - one of the few not under Wataru control. It was short-sighted, petty even. But then, men like Lance could rarely comprehend those who lacked their all-consuming drive for the top.

Oak knew the feeling well; he had once been consumed by it himself. But time and loss had a way of changing things…

A distant sound tugged at the edges of Oak's awareness, growing steadily louder until it demanded his full attention. He looked up, squinting against the afternoon sun, and felt his heart skip a beat.

His hands instinctively reached for Pokeballs no longer at his belt. He had left Dragonite and Charizard, back at the lab. The life of a researcher had led to a certain complacency. He'd grown soft.

That faint, nagging sound had been fliers - a large number of them, moving with purpose. Oak's mind raced through possibilities. An invading foreign force seemed unlikely, which left only one real option: the League had decided to pay him a visit. He wasn't sure which prospect was worse.

As the contingent began landing some distance away, Oak's eyes locked onto a far too familiar sight: the glimmering orange scales of a towering Dragonite that could only belong to one man.

Lance.

His brow furrowed as he watched the imposing figure dismount, a small bundle cradled in his arms. The League only made house calls for two reasons - when they wanted something or when they were displeased. He wasn't sure which was worse.

---

Ash's body shook with anticipation as he waited outside Professor Oak's lab. His future could very well be decided in the next few minutes.

It had only been a week since his tired legs carried him over those fateful hills, satisfaction pooling deep within at the thought of proving wrong all those in Blackthorn who had viewed him as an outsider.

Yet smoke and devastation had greeted him instead, the once-proud town crawling with League personnel - even the Champion himself.

Now, the details of that day were fuzzy, just the barest outlines of burning buildings, ash, and soot lingering in his mind. The droning voices on television spoke of the tragedy with calm detachment, speculating about the cause before the story disappeared entirely. No information, no justice.

A futile anger burned in Ash's core - anger that he could never prove himself to the Wataru who looked down on him, and seething rage at whoever had dared rob him of his home.

Out of place as he may have been among Blackthorn's tall, red-headed physical specimens, it had still been home. Elder Yarl and the other instructors treated him no differently, and many nights were spent by the fireside as elders recited tales of past Drakes' achievements and escapades.

Now he was to start anew in Pallet, a world apart from all he had known. Professor Oak was his only lifeline. Steeling himself, Ash reached out and knocked on the lab's metal door, marveling at the flawless, unmarked steel - so unlike Blackthorn's painstakingly forged metalwork.

The lab's interior, a stark contrast to its bland exterior, was a wonderland of devices and contraptions beyond anything Ash had seen. Pristine white tiles were strewn with scattered papers that had overflowed from waste bins. Desks spread out from a whiteboard covered in inscrutable scribbles and symbols. Machines beeped, whirred and flashed, covered in dials and screens.

And there, seated at a massive mahogany desk in the room's center, was Professor Oak himself. The man's sharp blue eyes sparkled with keen intelligence behind reading glasses as he typed rapidly, glancing between the keyboard and a paper.

As the silence stretched, Ash started to announce himself, thinking he hadn't been noticed - but Oak preempted him.

"Hello there, Ash. Nice to meet you at last," the Professor said, standing and cracking his back. "I imagine this must all be quite the culture shock, coming from Blackthorn."

Ash blinked. "Er, what do you mean, sir?"

Oak chuckled warmly, the sound uncannily like Elder Yarl's laugh. He held out a hand. "Well, for starters, bowing went out of fashion as a greeting about a century ago. Handshakes are the norm now."

Face heating, Ash shook the proffered hand, feeling awkward and out of place.

The Professor smiled, not unkindly. "No worries, lad, you'll get the hang of things. I daresay you'll find a great many differences here in Pallet. Technology, for one - electricity, modern plumbing, television and the like. Even this Pokedex I'm developing, to scan Pokemon and provide trainers with detailed information... Quite different from Blackthorn, eh? Frankly, I'm astounded the Wataru remained so isolated for so long."

Ash could only nod, a bit dazed by the onslaught of unfamiliar terms and concepts. Oak, noticing his glazed expression, gave his shoulder a pat.

"Listen, I can only imagine what a trying time this has been for you, my boy. Truly, you have my deepest condolences for all that transpired in Blackthorn. I'm sure the League told you next to nothing, as is their way..."

At the Professor's kind words, the lump that had been building in Ash's throat threatened to choke him. He could only nod stiffly in acknowledgment, not trusting himself to speak.

Oak's eyes softened with sympathy and understanding. "You'll be living here in Pallet for the foreseeable future, at least until you come of age. I know it's not Blackthorn, but I hope in time you'll come to see the beauty and charm of our little town. I'll personally see to it that you have everything you need."

"Thank you," Ash managed hoarsely, struggling to regain his composure. He hesitated, then forged ahead with the question burning in his mind. "Professor, what about my selection trials? My journey? I was to begin this year in Blackthorn. I'll do whatever it takes, I swear it. I can't bear the thought of being stuck in one place for years and years..."

Oak raised a calming hand, gentle but firm. "I understand your eagerness, Ash, truly. But things are done differently here than in Blackthorn, which operated in a bit of a gray area due to its connection to Lanc- the Champion. League regulations stipulate that trainers must be sixteen years old to receive their license and starter Pokemon. No exceptions, I'm afraid..."

Ash's heart plummeted to his boots. Four years. Four long years trapped in this strange place…

As if sensing the dark turn of the boy's thoughts, Oak clasped his shoulder bracingly. "Chin up, young Ash Wataru. The delay may seem an eternity now, but there are ways to make the time pass productively. I offer preparatory training for students from all across Kanto, coaching them on Pokemon handling, types, battling, all the essential skills. You'd be most welcome to join, of course."

The Professor's eyes glinted suddenly, diamond-hard. "I'll warn you though... I accept only the best. I expect your full commitment. Anything less is unacceptable. Am I clear?"

There it was again... that sense of something deeper lurking beneath the Professor's genial surface. It sent a shiver down Ash's spine. He nodded.

"I won't let you down, Professor. I swear it."

Oak searched his eyes for a long moment, then smiled, the shadow lifting as quickly as it had fallen. "Good lad. I know you won't."

He patted Ash's back, steering him toward the door.

"Now then! Let's get you settled, shall we? I've arranged for lodgings for you at our local orphanage. The matron, Lucretia, is a good friend and will take excellent care of you. Though a word to the wise..." Oak lowered his voice to a whisper. "Stay on her good side. Trust me."

Ash couldn't help but crack a smile at that, a bit of the weight lifting from his shoulders. Professor Oak really was trying his best to make him feel welcome.

As they stepped out into the warm Pallet afternoon, Oak kept up a steady stream of amiable chatter, pointing out local shops and homes, waving to passersby who called out greetings. Ash soaked it all in, marveling at how different it all was from home.

Where Blackthorn had been rugged, starkly beautiful in its harsh lines of mountain and cliff, Pallet was lush and inviting. Golden light slanted through the trees, painting the town in perpetual warm hues. The air hummed with the sounds of Pokemon - chirps, growls, chitters so unlike the constant keening of the mountain winds. The people seemed more relaxed too, ambling about their business without the purposeful intensity that suffused the Wataru.

Maybe, just maybe, he could find a place here after all...

A sudden, sharp cry pierced his musings. Oak stopped short, eyes alight with interest.

"Aha, I believe we've found our culprit! Quickly, Ash, this way..."

The Professor hurried down a side lane toward a fenced area filled with odd metal boxes and wires. There, gnawing determinedly on a cable, was a small yellow rodent, electricity crackling through its fur as it chewed.

"Oh wow," Ash breathed, fascinated. "What is that?"

"A Pikachu," Oak said. "An electric Pokemon. They feed on electricity, you see. In the wild, they've been known to seek out lightning strikes to absorb their power."

"Amazing..." Ash had never seen an electric type before. In Blackthorn, dragons had reigned singularly supreme.

Oak gave him a speculative look. "Why don't you see if you can coax it to stop that gnawing, eh? Consider it your first lesson in handling wild Pokemon"

Ash gulped, eyeing the sparks dancing over Pikachu's coat. "If you're sure, Professor..."

He approached the mouse slowly, hands raised in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture. "Hey there, little guy. Would you mind stopping that for a minute? The Professor and I would really appreciate it."

Pikachu glanced up at him, dark eyes curious. It considered him for a moment... then deliberately bit down on the wire again, gaze challenging.

He couldn't let the Professor down. Not now, not like this. He had to find a way.

Ash tried again, willing calm and confidence into his voice. "Come on, buddy. I know that cable's probably tasty, but we really need you to stop. Pretty please?"

To his shock, Pikachu released the wire. It tilted its head, nose twitching - and then scampered right up to him, blinking up expectantly.

Half-amazed, half-terrified, Ash reached out a trembling hand to stroke Pikachu's head, ignoring the residual static sparking in its fur.

Oak made a strangled sound, stretching out a hand as if to yank Ash back. "Wait-"

The Pikachu leaned into the hand, purring softly, as the electricity cackled around the teen's hand, but not affecting him.

Oak's eyes widened again, for a different reason altogether this time.

The Pallet Town Orphanage loomed before Ash, all weather-beaten clapboard and ivy-choked brick. It had a certain shabby charm, he supposed - nothing like the austere stone dormitories of Blackthorn, carved from the wind-worn walls of the mountain cliffs themselves, but welcoming in its own ramshackle way.

Beside him, Professor Oak cleared his throat. "Well, here we are!"

Ash said nothing, stomach twisting into knots. Rationally, he knew this was his best option, the only path forward. But some small, childish part of him quailed at the thought of once again being the odd one out.

A warm hand landed on his shoulder, startling him from his spiraling thoughts. He looked up to find Oak watching him, eyes crinkled in gentle understanding.

"I know it's daunting," the Professor said quietly. "Starting over, finding your place, all of it. But I meant what I said before, Ash. You're not alone, not anymore. We'll all be here for you, every step of the way. Lucretia, myself, the other children...Trust in that."

Ash swallowed hard against the sudden tightness in his throat. "I... Thank you, Professor. Truly. I'll try my best to trust. It's just..." He shrugged helplessly.

"I know, lad. I know." Oak squeezed his shoulder once more, then released him, turning briskly to the door. "Right then! No sense dithering. Let's get you settled, shall we?"

He rapped smartly on the weathered wood, three sharp knocks. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal a woman who could only be Lucretia.

She was tall and sturdy, built like a Ursaring, with steel-gray hair pulled back in a severe bun and keen brown eyes that seemed to take Ash's measure in one swift glance. Her face was lined and stern, but there was a glimmer of warmth in the quirk of her mouth as she looked at Oak.

"Samuel," she said, by way of greeting. "You've brought the new arrival, I take it?"

"Indeed I have." Oak beamed, ushering Ash forward. "This is Ash, Ash Wataru. He'll be joining your little brood for the foreseeable future."

Lucretia eyed Ash up and down, assessing. He straightened instinctively under her piercing gaze, resisting the urge to fidget.

At last, she gave a curt nod. "Blackthorn, eh? Dragon folk. Tough bunch." She fixed Ash with a gimlet eye. "I'll expect you to pull your weight around here, boy. No freeloaders in this house."

"Yes ma'am," Ash managed, mouth dry. "I'll work hard, I promise."

"See that you do." But her voice had softened a touch, some of the steel leaving her gaze.

Oak turned to Ash, still smiling, but there was a serious cast to his eyes now. "Listen well to Lucretia, lad. She knows what she's about. Mind your manners, do your chores, and stay out of trouble, you hear?"

"I will, Professor," Ash vowed.

A sudden thought struck him, and he blurted, "Will I still be able to join your lessons? The training you mentioned?"

"Of course!" Oak looked mildly affronted that he'd even ask. "I'm a man of my word, aren't I? You'll start next week, joining with the other students."

He clapped Ash on the back, staggering him slightly. "But that's for later. For now, go on and get acquainted with your new home. I'll see you soon, my boy."

With that, he turned and strode off, whistling a jaunty tune. Ash watched him go, already feeling the Professor's absence.

"Well?" Lucretia's voice cut through his malaise. "Don't just stand there gawping, boy. In with you, now. The other children are doing chores, but they'll be eager to meet you once they're done."

Ash stepped hesitantly over the threshold, senses immediately assaulted by a barrage of unfamiliar sights and sounds - the tang of lemon-oil polish, the creak of old floorboards, the distant shrieks of children at play.

Lucretia shut the door behind him with a decisive click, making him jump.

"This way," she ordered. "I'll show you to your room. Tyrus left on his journey a number of months ago, so you'll have your own."

And with that, she marched off down the narrow hallway, leaving Ash no choice but to scurry after her, heart hammering against his ribs.

His new life, it seemed, had begun in earnest.

---

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 little attention either.

His mouth moved, though no sound escaped, and his fingers tapped restlessly against his thighs. Something was clearly bothering the aging man.

He reached a fenced area that he had frequented only hours prior. Now, however, he was alone. The man glanced around, ensuring that fact, before he entered the area filled with electrical equipment.

Truthfully, the area had been staged. Pallet's electrical grid was rudimentary, and subject to blackouts without allowing a Pikachu free reign on it. Several metal boxes, filled with electrical equipment were present. So was a yellow Pokemon who glowed slightly in the night.

Oak's brow furrowed as he addressed the creature. "I distinctly recall instructing you not to drain excess electricity, nor to make direct contact with the boy." His tone carried a mix of exasperation and concern.

The Pikachu, curled into a ball, seemed to yawn, chittering unconcernedly.

"You could have seriously injured him," Oak admonished, withdrawing a Pokeball from his lab coat pocket.

At the sight of the sphere, the Pokemon's demeanor shifted dramatically. A low growl rumbled from its throat as sparks danced across its fur, a clear warning.

In a flash of crimson light, the Pikachu vanished, recalled to its capsule. Oak pocketed the ball, casting one final glance around the area before departing, his footsteps fading into the night.\

---

Ash grimaced as a familiar cramp lanced through his side. No matter how hard he pushed himself, no matter how desperately he tried to match the effortless grace of his Wataru agemates, he always seemed to fall short.

It was a bitter truth he'd learned early in Blackthorn. He would never have their height, their strength, or the fiery cascade of crimson hair that marked a true child of dragonkind. In their eyes, he was an outsider, forever struggling to prove his worth in a clan that prized purity above all else.

Now, he didn't even know where the other Wataru had been spread to. All he knew was that he was the only one in Pallet Town.

The memory of smoke billowing above Blackthorn's ancient rooftops flashed unbidden through his mind, and Ash clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened.

He had been helpless, watching impotently as his home burned, knowing with certainty that even if he had been present, the outcome would have been no different. The realization galled him, a twisting knife in his gut that no amount of training could dull.

Shaking off the dark thoughts, Ash forced himself to focus on his surroundings.

The wilds of Pallet stretched out before him, a far cry from the craggy peaks and frigid valleys of Blackthorn. Here, towering trees dominated the landscape, their canopies alive with the trills and chatter of Pokemon. Pidgey and Spearow wheeled overhead, their aerial squabbles sending feathers drifting on the breeze.

A guttural snarl from deeper in the forest sent a chill skittering down Ash's spine, and he quickened his pace instinctively. Professor Oak had assured him that the local Pokemon were relatively tame, but Ash couldn't help but wonder if the old researcher and he had very different definitions of the word.

It was all so different from what he had known.

In Blackthorn, wild Pokemon had been a rarity, the natural order altered by the Wataru's ancient pact with dragonkind.

And the technology that pervaded every facet of life here, even in a supposed "frontier town," was beyond anything Ash had imagined. The thought of the gleaming cities he'd heard tell of, with their buildings that scraped the sky like man-made mountains, sent a thrill of trepidation through him.

In the days since his arrival, Ash had scarcely had a moment to process the upheaval of his world. Lucretia, the stern but not unkind matron of the orphanage, had taken him in without question, though he knew it had more to do with Professor Oak's influence than any charitable impulse. Still, he knew better than to make an enemy of her. There was a hardness in her eyes that spoke of a life lived on the edges, and he had heard whispers of her origins in Orre.

Now, as he approached the hill atop which the Professor's laboratory perched like a gleaming metal sentinel, Ash felt a flutter of nerves in his belly. Today marked the start of his training under the renowned researcher, an opportunity he could scarcely believe had been extended to him. An outsider.

"Neither reckless nor timid," Ash muttered under his breath, the old Wataru adage a talisman against his own self-doubt. He would not squander this chance to prove himself.

"Who are you talking to?" a voice chirped from behind him, curiosity laced with amusement.

Ash startled, a flush creeping up his neck as he turned to face the speaker.

A girl around his age grinned back at him, her long red brown hair caught in a playful breeze. But it was her eyes that drew his attention - a dark, earthy green that contrasted his own.

"Erm, just myself," Ash admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Bad habit."

The girl's grin widened. "Well, I can't fault you for having good taste in conversation partners. I'm Leaf, by the way. You're new here, right? I would have remembered eyes like those."

Ash blinked, taken aback by her forwardness. "Yeah, I just arrived a few days ago. I'm Ash."

"Ash, huh? Like from a fire?" Leaf mused, falling into step beside him as they continued up the hill. "Appropriate, considering where you're from."

He shot her a sharp look, but there was no malice in her expression. Still, he couldn't help but wonder how much Oak had told the others about his past.

"Anyway," Leaf continued blithely, seemingly oblivious to his discomfort, "I'm heading to the Professor's lab too. First day of training school this Summer and all that. I've gotta say, I'm surprised he let you join our group, especially so late. You must have really impressed him."

Ash shrugged, unsure how to respond. In truth, he had no idea why Oak had singled him out, or what the Professor expected of him. The uncertainty gnawed at him, yet another reminder of how out of his depth he felt in this strange new world.

As they crested the hill, the laboratory looming before them, a lanky figure detached itself from the shadows near the entrance. Ash tensed, recognizing the spiky brown hair and cocksure grin even at a distance.

"Well, well, well, look what Gramps dragged in," Gary drawled, sauntering over to them with a swagger that set Ash's teeth on edge. "The Wataru himself. Gotta say, I thought you'd be taller."

Leaf rolled her eyes. "Gary, play nice. Ash is new here, and the last thing he needs is you being... well, you."

Gary clutched at his chest. "You wound me, Greenie. I'm just trying to give our new friend a proper welcome, that's all."

He turned back to Ash, blue eyes glinting with a challenge. "I've heard a lot about you, Ash. Gramps seems to think you're something special. But me? I think the Wataru rep might be a little overblown, especially after what happened to Blackthorn. I guess we'll find out soon enough if you're the real deal, or just a pretender."

Ash felt a flicker of irritation at Gary's words, the dismissal of his clan's tragedy. But he refused to rise to the bait, taking a slow breath instead.

"You're right, Gary. You don't know anything about me or what I'm capable of," Ash said evenly. "I am here to train and become the best version of myself, same as anyone else."

Gary's grin only widened, as if Ash had just passed some unspoken test. With a mocking salute, he turned on his heel and sauntered into the lab, leaving Ash and a visibly exasperated Leaf in his wake.

"I'm sorry about him," Leaf sighed, shaking her head. "He's always been a bit of a jerk, but he's gotten worse lately. I think he sees you as a threat."

Ash snorted. "To what, his ego?"

Leaf laughed, the sound cutting through the tension. "Come on," she said, tugging him toward the lab entrance. "Let's get in there before Gary starts telling everyone you chickened out on your first day."

As they stepped across the threshold into the gleaming heart of the laboratory, and for the first time since the smoke had blotted out the sky above Blackthorn, he felt a flicker of something that might have been hope.

---

The insistent voice cut through Ash's dreams like a knife, dragging him reluctantly back to consciousness. "Ash! Where are you? We're going to be late!"

Leaf's exasperated tone finally penetrated the fog of sleep, and Ash's eyes snapped open. Sunlight streamed through the gap in his curtains, far brighter than it should have been. With a jolt of panic, he remembered: today was the first day of Pokemon sparring, the most anticipated event of Professor Oak's summer training program.

And he was about to be late.

Cursing under his breath, Ash scrambled out of bed, his legs tangling in the sheets. He tumbled to the floor in an undignified heap, pain lancing through his tailbone as it connected with the worn hardwood. Gritting his teeth, he stumbled to his feet and lunged for the window, fumbling with the rusty latch before wrenching it open.

A gust of warm summer air ruffled his unruly black hair as he leaned out, squinting against the bright morning sun. Below, Leaf stood with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. Even from this distance, Ash could see the mix of annoyance and amusement in her green eyes.

"I'll be right down!" he called, flashing a grin. "Just need to grab a few things."

Leaf rolled her eyes, shading them against the glare. "Does that include a shirt?" she quipped.

Ash felt his cheeks flush, suddenly aware of his bare chest. He ducked back inside, calling out, "Sure thing, Greenie!".

"Just hurry up, would you?"

As he dressed hurriedly, his gaze caught on the small wooden plaque hanging above his bed. The words etched there, written in Leaf's neat hand, had become a sort of mantra over the years:

Neither reckless nor timid.

A reminder of his Wataru heritage, of the legacy he carried even here, so far from Blackthorn. Leaf had never pried into his past, never pushed for more than he was willing to share. It was one of the things he appreciated most about her, though he'd never admit it out loud.

A hammering at the door interrupted his musings. "Oi, Ash!" Bobby's muffled voice sounded more aggrieved than angry. "Shut that girl up before I do it myself!"

"I'm going, I'm going!" Ash called back, snatching his beloved hat from the shelf and jamming it onto his head. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed what he already knew - he'd come a long way from the pale boy who'd first arrived in Pallet Town. Years of hard training under the Professor's watchful eye had filled out his wiry frame and bronzed his skin under the Kanto sun.

He'd learned other lessons too, like the importance of a good hat in warding off the worst of the southern Kanto sun. And the value of true friends.

Friends like Leaf.

Shaking off the rare moment of introspection, Ash thundered down the stairs, taking them two at a time in his haste. He was so focused on his destination that he nearly bowled over the imposing figure blocking the doorway.

"And just where do you think you're going, young man?" Lucretia asked, one silver brow arched in an expression that promised trouble.

Ash skidded to a halt, his mind racing to come up with an excuse that wouldn't end with him scrubbing floors for the foreseeable future. "Ah, Miss Lucretia! I was just-"

"Just about to run off without breakfast, I'll bet." The matron shook her head, her weathered face a map of fond exasperation. "I swear, you teens would forget your heads if they weren't attached."

Ash rubbed his neck sheepishly, a habit he'd never quite managed to break. "I'm sorry. Leaf is waiting for me, and today is the first day of Pokemon sparring!"

To his relief, Lucretia's stern expression softened into a smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "You know, I still remember when you first arrived here, waking me up in the middle of the night searching for an outhouse of all things." Her gaze grew distant, lost in memory. "You've grown into a fine young man since then, your penchant for causing trouble aside."

She pressed a slice of toast into his hand, her touch gentle despite her gruff demeanor. "Take this before you go, you hear? Can't have you passing out in the middle of a battle."

Ash nodded gratefully, mumbling his thanks around a mouthful of bread as he bolted for the door. The toast was slightly burnt, just the way he liked it, and he felt a surge of affection for the old matron.

Leaf was waiting for him at the bottom of the hill, her foot tapping an impatient rhythm against the dirt. The morning sun caught in her long reddish brown hair.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, falling into step beside him as they made their way up the winding path to the lab. "I was starting to think I'd have to come in there and drag you out myself."

"As if you could," Ash teased, bumping her shoulder with his own. The familiar banter helped ease the knot of tension in his stomach. "I seem to recall the last time you tried to tackle me, it didn't end so well for you."

Leaf scowled, her cheeks pinking at the memory. "That was one time, and you cheated! Using your freakish Wataru genes against a poor, unsuspecting girl like myself."

Ash just laughed, marveling at how easily she could always coax a smile from him, no matter his mood. It was a skill he'd come to rely on more and more, especially in the face of-

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Ashy-boy and his faithful sidekick, Greenie." Gary Oak's drawling voice cut through the morning air like a knife, his tone dripping with barely concealed disdain.

Ash felt his good humor evaporate, replaced by the all too familiar surge of irritation that Gary seemed to provoke just by existing. He turned to face the other boy, his jaw clenched tight.

Gary stood a few paces away, leaning against a tree with an air of studied nonchalance. His spiky brown hair was perfectly styled, as always, and his clothes looked freshly pressed. Everything about him screamed arrogance.

"Gary," Ash said tersely. "What do you want?"

Gary's smirk grew, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Don't get yourself in a twist, Greenie," he drawled, clearly enjoying her annoyance at being addressed. "I wasn't looking for you anyway."

He turned his attention back to Ash, his expression sharpening. "Ash, are you ready to see what a real trainer is capable of? Your families' reputation might have opened some doors for you, but it won't win you battles."

Ash scowled, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "That's rich coming from you, Gary. Last I checked, it was your grandfather handing out Pokemon to new trainers."

For a moment, something dark flickered in Gary's eyes, but it was gone so quickly Ash might have imagined it. The other boy's smirk returned, though it seemed slightly strained. "At least I'm not getting special treatment because of what happened to my family. Face it, Wataru, you can't coast on sympathy forever. Sooner or later, you'll have to prove yourself- and sooner just might be today."

The words hit Ash like a punch to the gut, and he felt his anger surge. He took a step forward, fists clenched at his sides. The edges of his vision blurred, and a roaring filled his ears. All he wanted was to wipe that smug look off Gary's face, regardless of the consequences.

But before he could take another step, a gentle hand on his arm stopped him. "Don't let him get to you," Leaf murmured, her voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. "That's exactly what he wants."

Ash stood there, breathing heavily, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. The rage inside him warred with the part of him that knew Leaf was right. Ignoring Gary in the past had been easy, but in the last year or so, Ash's temper had grown harder to control.

Taking another breath, he turned away. Each step towards the laboratory was deliberate, fighting the urge to turn back and confront Gary.

"What's the matter, Ashy-boy? Can't fight your own battles? She can't protect you forever!" Gary's mocking voice carried up the path.

Leaf's hand remained on Ash's arm, a subtle reminder of her presence. "He's just trying to get to you," she said quietly. "Don't let him."

Ash nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. As they crested the hill, the Professor's lab came into view, its white walls gleaming in the morning sun. Despite everything, a thrill of excitement ran through him. Today was the day he'd been waiting for.

The familiar hum of machinery greeted Ash as he stepped into Oak's laboratory. What had once been an intimidating array of stainless steel and whirring devices now felt like a second home. He paused, drinking in the atmosphere, the scent of old books mingling with the faint ozone tang of electronics.

A muttered exclamation drew his attention to the center of the room. "Well I'll be... simply remarkable."

Professor Oak sat cross-legged on a cushion, his weathered face a mask of concentration. Across from him, a towering golden Alakazam mirrored his pose, hovering inches above the ground. Between them lay a chessboard adorned with pieces that seemed to defy description.

Ash hesitated, torn between curiosity and the desire to slip by unnoticed. He'd barely taken a step when a crumpled paper crunched beneath his foot, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet lab.

"Ah, Ash!" Oak's voice cut through the silence, making the young trainer wince. The Professor's brow furrowed as he looked up from the board, blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "Punctual for once, I see. I appreciate you keeping an old man on his toes."

"Sorry, Professor," Ash mumbled, heat rising to his cheeks. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Nonsense, my boy!" Oak chuckled, gesturing to the board. "Care to join us? Alakazam here is giving me quite the thrashing."

Ash eyed the bizarre chess pieces warily, noting how a crystalline Bisharp seemed to glare at him. "I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn't want to get in the way. Besides, I've never really understood chess."

"Oh, come now," Oak said, standing and brushing off his lab coat. "Chess, Pokemonbattles- they're not so different, you know." He picked up the Bisharp piece, turning it over in his hand.

"I don't see how pushing pieces around a board compares to a real fight," Ash countered, unable to keep the skepticism from his voice.

"Is that so? Then humor an old man, won't you?" The Professor began to move pieces on the board, his movements deliberate and precise. "In chess, we have the opening, where players follow a more or less predefined strategy. This mirrors the start of a Pokemon battle, where trainers choose their lead Pokemon and take each other's measure."

"The middle game where the stage is set, and the defining battles take place, sacrifices, baits, and so on. A well-timed sacrifice in chess," Oak said, hardly missing a beat, "could be compared to switching out a Pokemonto gain a strategic advantage. Though perhaps not this one..." he added with a rueful smile.

As if on cue, the Alakazam across from them raised a spoon, its eyes glowing. A pawn-like Pawniard slid across the board of its own accord, capturing one of Oak's pieces.

At this point only a few pieces were left on the board. "The endgame in both disciplines is where mastery truly shines. In chess, it's often down to a few key pieces, much like the final Pokemonon each side. Every move becomes critical, and understanding the nuances of each piece - or Pokemon, is crucial."

Ash opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. The Professor had a point, as he often did.

"You see?" Oak continued, his voice softer now. "The principles are the same. It's all about reading the situation, adapting to changes, and making the most of your resources." He paused, his expression growing serious. "Which brings me to why I called you here today."

Now that caught Ash's interest. "How so?" he asked..

Oak's expression softened, a mix of fondness and something Ash couldn't quite place. "Well, I'm afraid I must be the bearer of bad news." He stood, the chess game vanishing into thin air with a wave of Alakazam's spoon. "Take a walk with me, will you?"

As they stepped out of the lab and into the warm embrace of the summer sun, Ash couldn't help but marvel at the man beside him. Oak's spiky hair, almost pearly white, waved impetuously in the breeze. His face had always been lined with wrinkles, laugh lines, and crow's feet, yet he never got the sense the man was truly aging. To the contrary, the Professor seemed as spry, if not sprier, than the very trainers he was responsible for.

"Professor?" Ash questioned, wondering why Oak had led him out from the laboratory. Not that he was complaining- he'd take the soft summer breeze over a stuffy classroom any day, but it was peculiar.

Oak had never taken much interest in Ash outside of the classroom or the fields surrounding the laboratory. He was a good man, though, and had given Ash a way to earn his place in Pallet. It hadn't been easy, but it had been fair. The Professor was not fibbing when he told Ash he expected his best.

Almost as soon as he had arrived in Pallet Town, Ash had been put to work amongst the pastures, forests, and even ponds that were interspersed throughout the surrounding landscape. Oak's Flora, as it was called by the locals.

It was beautiful, in the sense that it seemed almost untouched by man, despite being created and fostered by them. Wild, uncontrollable, and untamed; ponds, forests, and fields teemed with Pokemon, their numbers and environment carefully monitored. There were few Pokemonwho would find this place uninhabitable. Yet, not even a mile away was a modestly sized town.

"Professor?" Ash questioned again. The man had been stonily silent, his gaze cast over the horizon.

Oak blinked, as if coming out of a trance. "Yes, yes, my apologies. I seem to grow distracted more easily with each passing year." He gestured outwards in a sweeping motion, the white lab coat hanging off thin arms. "I was simply remarking on how, of all my creations, this may be my favorite, if not the finest."

His voice grew softer, tinged with a hint of melancholy. "No matter, though. To the issue at hand. You will not be participating in the sparring today."

"What?!" Ash exclaimed, anger flaring in his chest. "I've been waiting for this day for years! It was supposed to be-"

"It was supposed to be when you defeated my grandson, I know," Oak cut in, his voice not outspoken or loud, but carrying a weight that silenced Ash's protests. "I've seen the sparring schedule. I am not ignorant of people like yourself and my grandson, Ash. People such as Gary or yourself have a hard time. You've got your talent, and you've got what your talent costs."

Oak smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. "Hard to say for you what this cost will be. For some, their cost is vanity, for some it is laziness, others madness, and others beyond it is anger... There are countless ways for aptitude to do more harm than good. You must be careful not to let it get the better of you."

Ash let the words sit, mulling them over. When he had been pulled out of the classroom prior to the sparring, he had certainly not expected this. There was some deeper meaning to the Professor's words, but elucidation eluded him.

Oak's smile turned genuine, and without hardly a sound, the same towering Alakazam which had been playing chess materialized, floating cross-legged next to the old man. "The reason I brought you out here, in truth, was because of something long overdue. You are being outfitted for contacts. Glasses don't mesh well with a trainer's lifestyle."

Ash scowled, his earlier anger resurfacing. "But I don't even have glasses. My eyesight is fine... You just wanted to prevent me from battling Gary, didn't you?"

Oak nodded, conceding the point. "Avoiding that battle did play a role, yes. Neither of you are ready for such an emotionally charged confrontation. It would do more harm than good." His voice softened. "Regardless, you do need these contacts, and I've known for quite some time. But I am a busy man. Conveniently, my schedule opened up today."

"What about the sparring?" Ash asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Who is going to oversee it?"

"Oh, you needn't worry. They're in good hands," Oak smiled, his eyes glancing towards a line of teens trailing behind a towering, shaven-headed blonde man in the distance. "Lieutenant Surge will take care of your friends."

The insulting barks that carried across the fields, all the way to where he and Oak stood, almost caused Ash's anger at the Professor for robbing him of the battle with Gary to abate. Almost.

As they watched Surge put the other trainers into pairs, Oak placed a hand on Ash's shoulder. "I know you're disappointed, my boy. But trust me when I say this. Sometimes the most important battles are the ones we avoid altogether."

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and nodded. "Alright, Professor."

---

The sudden, unexpected shift from Pallet Town's balmy weather to the coastal gale nearly knocked Ash off his feet as they materialized on the cliff's edge. Professor Oak's lab coat whipped around him like a flag in a hurricane, barely audible over the crashing of the slate-gray surf against jagged rocks below.

Ash shivered, more from anticipation than cold - this was nothing compared to Blackthorn's icy bite. Elder Yarl would surely scoff at him now, going soft in the southern sun.

"This way!" Oak called over the wind. "Our appointment awaits, and I'd rather not be caught in the rain." With surprising spryness, he set off up a steep path hugging the cliffside. Ash scrambled to keep pace, curiosity and unease warring in his gut with each step.

At the path's end squatted a squat brick building, bristling with antennae and satellite dishes. It looked more akin to a research outpost than any doctor's office Ash had seen.

Oak's knock was answered by the door swinging open untouched, revealing a cozy study crammed with books and illuminated by a crackling hearth. Amid the clutter of papers and tomes, a pair of legs protruded from a half-disassembled machine in the corner.

"Just a tick, Samuel!" a voice emanated from beneath the contraption, accompanied by the clang of dropped tools.

As the wait stretched on, Ash's impatience merged with a niggling wrongness. What kind of eye doctor was this? He glanced at Oak, but the Professor betrayed only mild exasperation as he tapped his foot on the plush carpet.

"Oi, keep that racket down!" snapped the voice.

"I thought we had an appointment," Oak rejoined, a hint of fond annoyance in his tone.

The mystery man finally extracted himself in a flurry of wild hair and thick spectacles. He looked like he needed a wash, or three.

"You're Ashton, eh?" He peered at Ash, who barely got out a correction before the disheveled host cut him off with a wave. "Ach, I showered, I swear! Seen that look too many times not to know what you're thinking. Anyway, Samuel, this is the contact kid?"

Oak nodded. "Indeed, Bill. I trust you added the special features we discussed?" His eyes flicked to Ash meaningfully.

"Oh, uh, right, right," the man - Bill, apparently - stammered, blinking rapidly. "I'll just fetch them, shall I? Have a fitting and all..."

Ash shot a curious glance between the two men. But before he could voice any questions, Bill thrust an ornate wooden case into his hands. Nestled inside were two transparent discs, almost glassine, with hair-thin silver tracery embedded within.

"Now then," Bill said, his earlier scattered demeanor giving way to focus. "Let's have a quick look at those eyes of yours, young man."

Ash submitted to a brief examination, trying not to fidget as Bill peered into his eyes with a few odd-looking instruments. One device emitted a soft hum, while another flashed a series of colored lights.

"Hmm, yes, these should do nicely," Bill muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Alright, let's get them in."

Under his guidance, Ash popped the contacts in, blinking at the odd sensation. They felt... different. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but there was a faint tingling at the edges of his vision that he couldn't quite place.

"How do they feel?" Oak asked.

"A bit strange," Ash admitted. "But I guess that's normal for new contacts?"

"Quite so, quite so," Bill said. "You'll get used to them in no time. Now, it's important that you wear these regularly, young man- else your vision will continue to degrade."

Ash nodded slowly, but his mind was already drifting back to Pallet Town, to the sparring matches he was missing. He'd worked so hard for this opportunity, and now...

"Professor," he began, unable to keep the pleading note from his voice. "About the sparring-"

"Ah yes, the matches," Oak said, his expression softening. "I know how much you were looking forward to them, Ash. But trust me when I say this is for the best. There will be other opportunities to prove yourself."

Ash's shoulders slumped, disappointment a leaden weight in his stomach. But he knew better than to argue with the Professor when he used that tone.

"Now then," Oak continued briskly. "We should be getting back. Bill, thank you for your assistance."

Bill hardly seemed to note their departure, already rummaging through a crate of gadgets.

"Right, nice meeting you, Ash. Do take care of those lenses..." He made a shooing motion, attention clearly elsewhere.

"You'll have to forgive Bill," Oak sighed as they emerged back into the wind. "He's quite single-minded about his work. I know you're disappointed, my boy. But remember, the contacts are important. Wear them regularly, there are few senses as important as your vision as a trainer. Understood?"

Ash nodded, mind already racing with thoughts of how he might still catch the tail end of the sparring if they hurried back. "Yes, Professor. I understand."

---

The sun was setting across the horizon, dying rays reflecting brilliantly from the water, and across the beach. It seemed a different world, the once-welcoming sand now cool and aloof beneath Ash's feet. The crash of waves and the soft crackle of the bonfire were the only sounds, the raucous Wingull long since retreated to their nests.

Leaf's gentle breathing beside him was a metronome, lulling him into a trance. He wasn't sure which version of the beach he preferred - sunrise or sunset. But he knew which one he needed right now.

"Ash?" Leaf's voice was thick with concern, jolting him back to the present. "You were going to tell me about today. Gary was gloating, but I didn't think..."

Ash fished out the wooden case from his pocket, flicking it open, lenses inside. "Oak dragged me off to get these. Contacts, apparently. But my eyes are fine..." He shook his head. "I think he just wanted to keep me and Gary from battling."

Leaf frowned, green eyes sharpening. "That's strange. The Professor's never interfered with your rivalry before." She tried for a smile, "He works in mysterious ways sometimes. Best not to question it too much."

Ash snorted, the day's strange events temporarily forgotten. He was content to stay in this moment forever, Leaf's warmth seeping into his side, temporarily silencing his mind.

But the universe had other plans.

The soft shush of sand underfoot made Ash snap to attention, gently shifting Leaf off his shoulder as he rose. A too-familiar silhouette sauntered into the firelight's glow.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Ashy-boy and his little shadow." Gary's smirk was audible even before his features fully resolved. "I've been looking all over for you. Thought you might be hiding from me." With a flourish, he tossed a Pokeball into the air and snatched it on the downstroke. "But I knew that couldn't be true. Not when we have unfinished business."

Ash's fists clenched. Every fiber in him screamed to lash out, to make Gary eat his words... but a feather-light touch on his arm stayed him.

"It's late, Gary," Leaf said evenly. "Whatever this is, it can wait until morning."

Gary's grin turned feral. "Oh, I don't think so, Greenie. See, I borrowed a couple of Gramps' Nidoran. Figured it was high time Ashy-boy and I settled our differences like real trainers. Unless..." His gaze cut to Ash, a blatant challenge. "Unless you're too scared?"

Something snapped deep in Ash's core. Shrugging off Leaf's restraining hand, he stepped forward, the culmination of years' worth of resentment and rivalry burning through his veins. This confrontation had been inevitable from the moment he first set foot in Oak's lab.

Gary's grin widened as he held out two pokeballs. "Left or right, Ashy-boy. Let's see what you're really made of."

Ash snatched the left ball, fingers tightening around the cool metal. His chances hinged on the Pokemon within. Dimly, he registered Leaf's resigned sigh as she retreated to the sidelines, worry etching deep lines into her face.

"Well? Send out your Pokemonalready, Wataru!" Gary crowed.

In twin flashes of light, the Nidoran materialized on the sand - a light blue female on Ash's side, her oversized ears flopping comically, and a purple male before Gary, his horn already glistening with toxin.

Dropping to one knee, Ash tried to forge a connection with his Nidoran, to build in an instant the kind of trust and rapport that usually took weeks, just for an inkling of a bond. "We're gonna take that jerk down," he murmured, jerking his chin towards Gary. "Give it everything you've got, and there's a Pokepuff in it for you."

The Nidoran's eyes gleamed at the mention of the treat. Ash straightened, meeting Gary's smirk head-on. The other boy was already goading him.

"A female Nidoran? Guess you really got the short end of the stick. Sure you want to do this?"

Ash gritted his teeth. Gary had a point - male Nidoran were prized for their early-maturing poison glands and more aggressive nature. But backing down now was unthinkable.

"I don't need an advantage to beat you, Gary."

Something ugly twisted Gary's features. "Prove it, then." He glanced over at Leaf. "Hey Greenie, mind playing ref?"

Leaf glared balefully, but she stepped forward dutifully. "Three, two, one... begin!"

Time dilated, Ash's heartbeat pounding a wardrum in his ears. This was it - the moment he'd spent his whole life striving towards. His chance to prove himself, to show everyone that he belonged.

"Nidoran, Horn Attack!" Gary shouted, seizing the first move.

Ash watched the purple Nidoran charge, noting the quiver in his opponent's legs. His mind raced through scenarios as he called, "Sand Attack, then dodge!"

But in his haste, the words tangled together on his tongue, and his Nidoran sprang into action a split second too early. Sand billowed up between the two Pokemon, but the hasty strike allowed Gary's Nidoran to barrel through largely unhindered.

Ash's Nidoran was a sitting duck. He had to act fast.

"Dodge low and Horn Attack upward!" he yelled, hoping his loaned Pokemon understood.

For a breath, nothing happened. Then, just as purple met blue, Ash's Nidoran folded into a crouch. Her horn sparked with power as she surged up, catching her opponent in the belly and sending him arcing overhead.

Gary's Nidoran hit the sand with a dull thud, kicking up a cloud of dust. Ash held his breath, hardly daring to hope. Had they done it? Had they actually won?

Then the downed Nidoran began to glow.

Horror seized Ash's heart as he watched his rival's Pokemon shift and warp, its form expanding grotesquely. Muscles rippled and bulged beneath its skin, its horn elongating into a ruthless spike. As the light faded, an evolved Nidorino stood in place of the battered Nidoran.

Gary's laugh grated against Ash's ears, each guffaw a spike driving into his resolve. "Guess you had me worried over nothing, Ashy-boy."

Disappointment welled within, but he forced his face to remain impassive.. He wouldn't give Gary the satisfaction.

Bitterness welled up like bile, and for a moment, Ash was sorely tempted to just forfeit, to spare his brave little Nidoran the brutal thrashing it was sure to endure. His fingers brushed against his pocket, where the contacts Oak had given him rested, forgotten in the heat of battle. Then they drifted down to the Pokeball at his belt. He should end this…

But before he could make the call, a brilliant white light erupted from the center of the battlefield. Ash's eyes widened as he saw his Nidoran engulfed in the radiance, her form beginning to shift and change just as her opponent's had moments ago.

When the glow receded, a newly evolved Nidorina stood proudly before him, her sleek blue hide almost luminous under the moon. Ash's heart hammered against his ribcage. Maybe, just maybe, they still had a chance.

The Nidorina turned to look at him, and Ash felt the breath freeze in his lungs. Her eyes blazed, not just with determination, but with something far deeper - something primal and ancient that defied description.

Words failed him. Language was suddenly a pale shadow, an inadequate vessel for the sprawling expanse of his mind. But it didn't matter. He and Nidorina were bound by something far deeper than mere speech - an ancient, wordless communion.

Distantly, he could hear Gary shouting commands, could feel the very vibrations of Leaf's warning cry, but it all faded to insignificance.

Sand flew beneath their feet as they surged forward, the briny night air crisp and invigorating in their shared lungs, the moonlight kindling an eldritch fire in their veins.

Impact. Strain. Then nothing but velvet dark.

---

Professor Oak stood on the beach, dawn's pallid light seeping into the bruised sky. His hands fretted at the old, frayed Pokeball belt cinched around his waist. But it was the sight of the young man laid out before him, features slack in the stillness of unconsciousness, that held his gaze captive.

Ash Wataru.

In the gray light of early morning, he was the very image of his father at that age. The resemblance was enough to make the long years fall away, ancient hopes and bitter regrets welling up from the depths of memory

[You're getting too old for this, Samuel] a voice murmured in his mind, deep and resonant. [The mistakes of the past are not yours to fix.]

Oak glanced up, meeting the knowing crimson gaze of his Alakazam. "We're both too old, my friend," he said softly, a wry twist to his mouth. "But some responsibilities linger, no matter how far or fast we run."

His attention shifted to the Nidorina sprawled beside Ash, her flanks rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. With a grunt of effort, he bent to search through Ash's pockets, eventually fishing out a Pokeball, doubtless the Nidorina, and a familiar slim case. Popping it open revealed the contacts.

A humorless chuckle rattled past Oak's teeth. "So much for doctor's orders."

Twin pulses of psychic energy, and both Pokemon and trainer vanished, teleported to the safety of home.

The only evidence of their presence was the deep, dragging furrows in the sand, like scars gouged into the beach.

"And so the wheel turns," Oak murmured, to himself and to Alakazam. "But this time..." His fist tightened around the case until his knuckles blanched. "This time, we'll be ready."

"Come, Alakazam," he said, shaking off the shroud of memory. "We have a visitor."

The Pokemon inclined its head in silent assent, preparing to teleport himself and Oak back to the lab. The weight of an old vow settled over Oak's shoulders, a burden and a ballast in equal measure.

Never again, he had sworn, all those years ago. Never again.

Leaf's broken sobs echoed through the cluttered confines of Professor Oak's laboratory, each hitching gasp a serrated blade sawing at the old researcher's heart. She sat hunched and shaking in a worn armchair, face hidden in her hands, the very picture of a soul shattered by cruel revelation.

Oak watched her, this girl he'd known since the day she first drew breath, reduced to splintered pieces. He ached to go to her, to offer some modicum of comfort, but the words crumbled to ash on his tongue. What could he possibly say to make this right?

He understood this anguish all too well. Hadn't he drowned in that same poisoned well every day for the last twenty years?

"Leaf," he began haltingly, each word leaden. "I know this is-"

"You knew." Leaf's voice, raw and ragged, cut through his fumbling attempt at consolation. She raised her head to stare at him, green eyes glassy with unshed tears and some emotion far more corrosive. "You knew, Professor. You knew what he was. What he could become. The same thing that..." She swallowed convulsively, voice breaking. "The same monster that killed my parents. And you brought him here. To us."

The words struck Oak like a razor-edged whip, flaying away the last of his careful composure. He felt every one of his sixty-odd years pressing down on him like iron weights.

"Yes," he said heavily. "I knew."

Slowly, joints creaking in protest, he pushed to his feet and made his way to the floor-to-ceiling windows dominating the east sunlit serenity of Pallet Town stretched out before him, incongruous with the suffocating tension within the lab.

Oak watched the light play across the gently waving grass, the buzzing shock of Leaf's accusation fading into a dull, distant roar. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded foreign to his own ears.

"I had a student once, years ago. A prodigy, the likes of which I'd never seen before or since. Brilliant, driven, brimming with potential. He had a gift, Leaf. The same gift that resides in Ash."

He felt more than heard Leaf's sharp inhale, sensed the sudden rigidity in her bearing. Closing his eyes, he let the memories wash over him.

"I truly believed I could guide him, shape him into a force for good in this world." he murmured."I was a fool, blinded by my own damnable arrogance. My failure had consequences, Leaf. Devastating ones. My son and daughter-in-law, your mother as you well know, their blood is on my hands. Because I couldn't see the signs until it was far too late."

Leaf recoiled as if struck, a high, hurt sound catching in her throat. Oak pressed on ruthlessly, the words like poison he had to lance from a wound.

"I swore to myself, after the dust settled and the funerals were done, that I would never let it happen again. That I would do whatever it took to prevent that kind of tragedy." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Then Ash arrived on my doorstep, and I saw in him a chance to understand this phenomenon, to find a way to prevent others from suffering as we have. I thought if I could study him, learn to recognize the signs..." He trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished.

"So what, Ash is your test subject?" Leaf's voice was quiet, but there was a current of anger running underneath, hot and bright. "Some experiment for you to poke and prod at?"

"No!" The denial burst out of Oak, fierce and immediate. "I would never reduce Ash to a test subject. He is a boy, a child, one who had no more say in his heritage than you did in the color of your hair."

He crossed the room to kneel in front of her chair, taking her hands in his. They were so small, but already callused from years of working with Pokemon. The hands of a trainer in the making.

"Through Ash, we have an opportunity," he told her, a fervor bleeding into his words. "To learn, to understand this power that flows in his veins. And perhaps, if we can chart its course, we might find a way to avert disaster before it descends." Oak's grip on Leaf's hands turned almost vise-like. "I have to try, Leaf. For the sake of all the innocents out there who might otherwise suffer our fate, I must."

Leaf's chin trembled, fresh tears spilling over. "And if you can't? If Ash ends up like... like your student?"

The unspoken name hung in the air between them, heavy and suffocating. The nightmare that had lurked at the edges of Oak's awareness ever since a bright-eyed, black-haired boy had arrived on his doorstep.

"If it comes to that..." The words lodged in Oak's throat, but he forced them out. He owed Leaf the truth, no matter how ugly. "If the worst comes to pass, if Ash follows the path of my old student..." He swallowed hard, his mouth dry as bone. "I'll do what I have to. What I should have done all those years ago."

The vow settled over the room like a death shroud, bleak and absolute. Leaf searched his face for a long, endless moment, and Oak let her see it all - the grief, the guilt, the iron-clad resolve.

"I believe you," she whispered. "I'll keep your secret. For Ash's sake. But I won't help you. I can't-" Her voice cracked, and she looked away. "I can't sit by and watch. Waiting for that day."

"I know," Oak said gently, a wealth of understanding in the words. He couldn't begrudge Leaf her refusal, not when she'd already lost so much to the long shadow of his failures.

He helped her to her feet, steadying her when she swayed. "You should head home, try to get some rest. It's been an overwhelming day, to put it mildly."

She made her way to the door, each step heavy, leaden. She paused with her hand on the knob, looking back over her shoulder.

"Professor. If Ash does start his journey, and someone finds out the truth about him..."

Oak closed his eyes against the onslaught of scenarios, each worse than the last. "I'll handle it. Whatever it takes. That's a promise."

Leaf held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded once, a flicker of something like gratitude chasing across her face. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut softly in her wake.

Oak slumped against his desk, head bowing under the weight of exhaustion and responsibility. Was he doing the right thing, keeping Ash close? Or was he merely setting the stage for an even greater atrocity than the one that still stained his soul after all these years?

He gazed unseeing at his trembling hands, no closer to an answer than he had been when Lance first visited him within Viridian with that squalling bundle all those years ago. The only certainty in all this madness was that the die had been irrevocably cast.

For good or ill, Ash Wataru would walk the path laid out before him. There could be no turning back now.

[I am with you, my friend. As I have ever been.] his Alakazam murmured, manifesting beside him in a shimmer of psionic energy.

Oak nodded, taking comfort in the promise.

---

As the sun sank below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and indigo, Ash Wataru sat hunched and alone on the silent stretch of Pallet Beach. The fading light washed his features pale as bone as he stared out at the ceaseless churn of the waves, seeing not the foaming crests but the vivid horrors seared into his mind.

The acrid stench of smoke. The, not agonized screams, but silent, struggled wheezing of the dying. Charred flesh crumbling from blackened bone. The memories of his final day in Blackthorn played out in a ceaseless loop behind his eyes, inescapable no matter how far he ran. They followed him like vengeful ghosts, tainting every waking moment and poisoning his dreams.

With Leaf's abandonment, those ghosts were his sole remaining companions. A shudder rippled through Ash at the thought of his once-dearest friend, now little more than a stranger. The sting of her rejection still throbbed like an open wound, made all the sharper seeing glimpses of her with Gary.

The soft crunch of footsteps in the sand jolted Ash from his morose rumination. He turned, a hope kindling that he'd see Leaf there, apology and contrition in her eyes.

Instead, he found Professor Oak regarding him with a somber expression in the dying light. Ash's shoulders slumped, disappointment within him as the professor lowered himself to the sand with a soft grunt.

"I thought I might find you here," Oak said, his gaze traveling out over the darkening sea. "It's quite a sight, isn't it? The way the colors dance across the sky, nature's own masterpiece. One of the reasons I left the Indigo Plateau and the rest of Kanto behind..."

They sat in companionable silence, the fading golds and crimsons of the sunset slowly engulfed by descending indigo, before Oak spoke again, his voice low and pensive.

"I know you've heard this before, my boy, but I am so very sorry. For all of it. The loss of your clan, your home... no one should have to shoulder such a burden, least of all a child."

Ash stiffened, fingers curling into fists. "I'm not a child. Not anymore."

Oak inclined his head. "No, I suppose you're not. Not after all you've endured. Forgive an old man his follies." He paused, seeming to weigh his next words. "You know, when you first arrived in Pallet all those years ago, fresh from Blackthorn and barely versed in the ways of the modern world... I saw a spark in you even then. A resilience, a strength of spirit that refused to be quenched."

A faint smile touched his lined face. "I remember how fascinated you were by the most mundane things. Electricity, running water, television... Concepts so basic to the rest of Kanto, but to you, they were marvels. Miracles, even."

Ash shifted, discomfited by the reminder of his own naivete. It felt like a lifetime ago, not just fours ago, that wide-eyed boy stumbling slack-jawed through the technological wonderland of Oak's lab.

Oak, perhaps sensing his unease, moved on. "My point is, Ash, that even in your darkest moments, that spark endures. Hardship may dim it, but it's still there, burning in you steady as an ember. So long as you carry it, you'll never truly be lost."

Ash looked away, his throat aching with unshed tears. "I wish I could believe that. But after everything..."

"Friendships, Ash... even the deepest, most unshakable ones, they can be complicated. Fickle, even. People change, circumstances shift." Oak's gaze turned distant, as if seeing into a past only he could recall.

"I once had a friend, one I considered closer than blood. We were inseparable in our youth, bound by shared dreams. Yet now... it's been over twenty years since last we spoke, and I fear we may never again. But even so, I still think of her with an unmatched fondness, a warmth untarnished by time or distance."

The professor's eyes refocused on Ash, the intensity of his regard an almost physical weight. "No matter what happens, Ash, you must never forget your own worth. It's not dependent on anyone else's regard or validation. Not Leaf's, not Gary's, not even mine."

Ash nodded, unable to fully accept the sentiment but appreciating the attempt nonetheless. For a long moment, there was only the rhythmic crash of the waves. Then, so quietly the wind nearly swallowed it:

"Professor? Do you... do you know how they died? My clan?"

Oak's hand tightened on his shoulder. "Yes. I do."

Ash met his gaze, eyes burning. "I saw them. After. Some were still alive, barely. Others just... just burnt husks. I tried to find who did it, I couldn't... the helplessness, the anger, it consumed me. It still does."

"That anger is understandable," Oak said softly. "Expected, even, after what you've endured. But I urge you caution. The path of vengeance is a perilous one, not only to your enemies but to your very soul."

Ash looked away, gazing into the distant night as if he could divine answers from the stars themselves. "I will find who massacred my clan, Professor. One day. I swear it."

For a long, weighted moment, Oak simply looked at him, searching his face as if committing it to memory. Then he exhaled, slow and pained.

"I cannot dissuade you. But I implore you, at least consider another path forward. One that does not lead only into darkness."

From within his lab coat, the professor withdrew a gleaming Pokeball, the dying light dancing across its smooth surface.

He held it out to Ash, something unreadable in the depths of his eyes. "This world has taken so much from you already, my boy. Perhaps it can also give you a new beginning, if you'll let it. A purpose beyond revenge."

With trembling fingers, Ash accepted the sphere, thumb depressing the release. Brilliant white light split the gathering gloom, coalescing into a small avian form upon the cooling sand.

It was a Pokemon unlike any Ash had seen before, with downy feathers white as newfallen snow and plumage of softest sky blue peeking out from beneath fluffy wings. Though small, it was larger than Ash had expected for a bird, its head easily reaching his knee, easily double the size of any Pidgey he had seen. Intelligent onyx eyes regarded Ash with keen interest, glittering with curiosity and challenge.

"What is it?" Ash asked, voice hushed with awe. The little creature trilled, musical as windchimes, and despite himself Ash felt a smile tug at his mouth.

"A Swablu," Oak said, pride warming his tone. "Exceptionally rare outside their native Hoenn. I doubt you'll find another in all of Kanto."

Carefully, Ash extended a hand, marveling at the impossible softness of the Pokemon's feathers against his fingertips. Swablu chirped, fluffing up importantly, but after a moment it leaned into his touch, warbling approval.

An inexplicable feeling swelled in Ash's chest as Swablu nuzzled trustingly into his palm - a lightness, buoyant and radiant, piercing through the shroud that had settled over him.

Something deep within him, bruised and aching, unclenched ever so slightly.

This life, soft and warm and vital against his skin, felt like an answer to a question Ash hadn't even known he'd been asking.

"Hello there," he murmured, stroking a gentle finger down Swablu's back, earning another pleased trill. "Aren't you beautiful?"

Swablu preened under the praise, puffing up even further until it resembled a pale blue sky visible between twin wings of cloud. Ash couldn't help but chuckle.

With a flap of its cloud-like wings, Swablu took flight, rising to perch delicately atop Ash's head as if it had always belonged there. Its slight weight settled against him, grounding and inexplicably right.

"It's amazing," Ash breathed, tilting his head slightly to meet Swablu's glittering gaze without dislodging it. After a moment, he glanced back at Oak, puzzlement overtaking wonder. "But I've never seen anything like it. Is it a Flying-type?"

"According to official classification, both Swablu and its evolution, Altaria, are pure Flying-types," Oak confirmed with a nod. Then his eyes took on a familiar gleam, the spark of academic interest Ash recognized from countless lectures.

The professor leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "But between you and me? I've long suspected there's more to this one's lineage than meets the eye. A hint of something ancient and powerful, just waiting for the right partner to bring it forth."

Understanding crashed through Ash. "A dragon? But... how? And why give it to me?"

The very idea was ridiculous. He was an untested student, not even a proper trainer yet. In Blackthorn, Dratini were reserved for only the most promising of children.

Oak smiled, faint and a little wry. "I'll admit, I had to bend a few League regulations to make this happen. Dragon breeding and training are strictly controlled, Swablu less so. But it wouldn't feel right sending a scion of Blackthorn into the world with anything less than a dragon, even if your partner is a bit... unorthodox of one."

Ash glanced up at Swablu, who was now industriously preening his tousled hair. He still couldn't quite process it. Him, a dragon trainer, entrusted with so rare and coveted a partner. It defied belief.

Swablu trilled softly, rearranging a few errant strands of Ash's hair, and a sudden fierce rush of protectiveness surged through Ash.. Dragon or not, deserving or not, it didn't matter. Swablu was his now, his to care for and raise.

"I don't... I don't understand," he managed, fighting past the sudden tightness in his throat. "Why me?"

Oak regarded him steadily, something ancient and unfathomable in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was very soft, almost lost beneath the hush of the waves.

"The path ahead of you will be long and fraught, Ash. You will face challenges that will test the very mettle of your spirit, choices that will define the course of your life in ways you cannot yet comprehend."

The professor gripped Ash's shoulder, his fingers digging in with startling strength. "Your heritage, your experiences, they've shaped you, but they do not have to define you. It's the decisions you make from here on out, the way you choose to move through this world, that will determine the sort of man you become."

He straightened, releasing Ash and brushing sand from his coat. In the deepening twilight, his lined face was unreadable, remote as the watching stars.

"I have every faith that you will weather the trials ahead. That you will become the sort of trainer your clan would be proud of." His gaze flickered to Swablu, still perched contentedly atop Ash's head. "You and your new friend both."

The professor turned to depart, but Ash called out, halting him. Oak glanced back, brow arched in query.

Ash swallowed hard, struggling to force the words past the sudden lump in his throat. "I won't let you down. I swear it, on my honor as... as a Wataru."

The name tasted strange on his tongue. But it felt right to claim it now. A vow and a declaration in one, spoken to the one man who believed in him.

For an endless moment, Oak simply stared at him. Then inclined his head in a shallow nod. "I know you won't, my boy," he said, very softly. "I know."

And with that, he turned and made his way up the beach, steps heavy with some old, unspoken grief, until the darkness swallowed him whole and Ash was alone on the shore once more.

Alone, yet not, because now there was Swablu, a warm weight atop his head, soft and impossibly real. Ash reached up, marveling anew at the downy feel of its plumage against his fingertips, and Swablu crooned, leaning into the touch.

Together, trainer and Pokemon stared out over the restless sea, the endless march of the waves. Overhead, the stars shone down in their ancient patterns.

"You hear that, Swablu?" Ash said, voice scarcely more than a whisper on the salt-tinged wind. "Professor Oak, he... he thinks we're going to do great things."

He swallowed hard, struggling to put to voice the dark, hungry thing that lived behind his breastbone, the vow he'd carved into his very marrow. "I'm going to find the ones who destroyed my clan, Swablu. And when I do..." The last word emerged as a growl, low and feral and aching with promise. "We'll make them pay."

Swablu trilled fiercely in response, the sound fierce and defiant, and a sudden hot rush of affection surged through Ash's veins, startling in its intensity. He didn't know what future awaited him on the long road ahead, what trials he'd be forced to overcome.

But he knew, with a certainty that eclipsed all else, that whatever he faced, he wouldn't face it alone. Not while he had Swablu at his side - his friend, his partner, his dragon.

Ash turned his gaze northward, to the great wide somewhere that called to him like a siren song, Pallet's lights glimmering in the distance. Out there, past the safe confines of this sleepy frontier town, a new path awaited.

And yet, as the sea breeze ruffled his hair and Swablu warbled a soft, lilting melody atop his head, Ash felt the first tentative stirrings of something fragile taking root in his chest. A feeling he'd thought lost to him forever, snuffed out in the smoke and ash of Blackthorn's fall.

Something like hope, or the promise of it.

---

The first rays of dawn filtered through the curtains, bathing the small room in a warm amber glow. Ash stirred, the soft warbling of Swablu gently rousing him from slumber. He blinked groggily, the events of the previous day slowly filtering back into his sleep-addled mind.

Propping himself up on an elbow, Ash's gaze drifted to where Swablu perched on the wall, right where a framed photograph of himself and Leaf used to reside. The absence of that cherished image sent a pang through his heart, the hurt of Leaf's abandonment still raw and aching.

With a heavy sigh, he flopped back against the pillows, throwing an arm over his eyes. The road ahead stretched out before him, at once thrilling and daunting in its vastness. So much had changed in the space of a few short days.

And yet, through it all, there had been one constant - the impossibly soft ball of feathers now regarding him with bright, curious eyes. Swablu had been his rock these last few turbulent days, a steadfast companion through the darkest of his moods.

They hadn't battled yet, instead just spending time exploring the wilderness around Pallet, careful not to stray too far away from the traveled paths, but never close enough to risk being seen. Receiving a starter prior to one's certification was violating several laws.

Not for a lack of trying, however. Swablu had chirped and trilled, wings flapping in excitement every time a Pidgey or Spearow had crossed their path, as if the very sight was a challenge.

With Swablu at his side, Ash had felt the first tentative stirrings of something like contentment. A sense of rightness, of purpose, that had eluded him for so long. Together, they would forge their own path, carve out their own legacy far beyond the confines of this sleepy town.

Suddenly, realization slammed into Ash with the force of a rampaging Tauros. He shot upright, sheets tangling around his legs in his haste.

"The exam! Swablu, I have to go! I told you about this yesterday, I can't take you yet, I'm not even supposed to have you!" His words emerged in a frantic rush as he stumbled from the bed, nearly collapsing to the floor, his blankets a quagmire beneath him.

Swablu trilled, a chiding note in its tone that Ash could have sworn was exasperation. But there was no time to dwell on the vagaries of Pokemon communication. He had an exam to get to, one that would determine the entire course of his future.

Tugging on his pants and shoving his feet into his shoes, Ash raced down the stairs, barely avoiding a collision with Matron Lucretia- with a harried apology, he barreled out the door and onto the dusty streets of Pallet.

The morning air was crisp and cool against his flushed skin, the sun just beginning its slow ascent into the sky. Pallet was only just stirring to wakefulness, shutters creaking open heralding the start of a new day.

But Ash scarcely noticed, his feet pounding against the packed earth as he sprinted towards Professor Oak's lab.

Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Ash pushed through the doors and into the classroom. His heart sank as he took in the rows of occupied desks, the proctor at the head of the room fixing him with a disapproving stare over the rims of his glasses.

"Punctuality is a vital trait for any aspiring Pokemon trainer, Mr..." The man paused, mustache twitching.

"Ash Wataru, sir," Ash supplied.

The proctor's eyebrows inched up a fraction at the name, but he merely waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, well. See that you don't make a habit of it. Take your seat so we may begin."

Ash slid into the proffered chair, all too aware of the presence beside him. Of Leaf, studiously avoiding his gaze, her expression shuttered and unreadable.

But as the proctor droned on about exam protocol, Ash forced himself to focus. He'd worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to be distracted now.

The exam itself proved to be little challenge, the material as familiar to him after years under Professor Oak's tutelage. He completed the questions mechanically, scarcely pausing to consider his answers before scratching them onto the paper.

In what felt like no time at all, he set his pencil down with a quiet, anticlimactic click, every page complete.

Resisting the urge to immediately bolt for the door, Ash forced himself to wait, watching from the corner of his eye as Gary rose and sauntered out, exam held aloft like a trophy. Only when the other boy had vanished from sight did Ash push to his feet and approach the proctor's desk, every muscle coiled tight with the need to be gone.

Just as he had reached the dirt path outside the lab, a voice spoke from behind him.

"Ash, wait..." Leaf's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Can we talk?"

Ash stiffened, a muscle jumping in his jaw. She must've waited for him to turn his exam in. He should walk away, put an end to this once and for all. But something in Leaf's tone, in the way her fingers trembled against his skin, stilled his feet.

"Talk about what, Leaf?" he asked, the words emerging harsher than he'd intended. "About you abandoning me without a word of explanation? About you choosing Gary Oak of all people?"

Leaf flinched. "It's not that simple, Ash. There are things you don't understand, things I wish I could explain..."

"So explain them," Ash bit out "Make me understand, Leaf."

For a long moment, Leaf simply stared at him, her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Then, with visible effort, she shook her head.

"I can't. Not yet." She drew in a shuddering breath. "I just came to say...thank you, Ash. For everything. For being my best friend." Her hand slipped from his arm, and she took a step back. "And to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" he echoed hollowly. "What do you mean? I thought we..."

"Were going to travel together," Leaf finished for him. A single tear traced a silvery path down her cheek. "I know. And I'm sorry, Ash. More than you'll ever know. But I can't. Not anymore."

Before Ash could formulate a response, before he could demand a reason or ask her to reconsider, Leaf turned on her heel and fled.

Ash stood there, rooted to the spot, his thoughts a whirling maelstrom. He wanted to run after her, to shake her until the answers he so desperately craved came tumbling out.

But he couldn't move, his legs leaden.

In a daze, Ash wandered out into the morning light, steeped in bittersweet memory.

Every cobblestone and fencepost held some echo of Leaf, some fragment of their shared history mocking him with its presence. The hill where they'd whiled away countless hours, dreaming of their futures. The path to the beach where she'd always known to find him when the restlessness grew too great.

And in that moment, with Leaf's farewell still ringing in his ears and a lifetime of fractured memories pressing in from all sides, Ash made a choice.

He would leave Pallet Town behind this very night. Strike out on his own to chase glory and legacy. Without Leaf. Without the expectations of Professor Oak or the judgment of Gary.

He would prove to all of them, but most of all to himself, exactly what Ash Wataru was capable of.

---

The pre-dawn chill nipped at Ash's skin as he stood in his small room, surrounded by an array of unfamiliar items. Swablu perched on the windowsill, trilling softly as it watched its trainer with curious eyes.

"I never knew packing could be this challenging," Ash muttered, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair.

Swablu chirped in response, fluffing its cloud-like wings. Ash appreciated the attempt at communication, even if his partner didn't fully grasp the situation.

His gaze swept over the collection before him - a stark reminder of how little he'd truly owned before this moment. The worn, hand-me-down clothes that had been his entire wardrobe now seemed paltry in comparison to the gear Professor Oak had provided.

Ash's fingers brushed over the supple leather of battling gear, designed to offer protection from wild Pokemon attacks. It felt like overkill for now, but he knew the wilderness could be unforgiving. A fully stocked med-kit sat nearby, complete with basic potions and even a couple of rare full restores that made his eyes widen.

The tent, proudly boasting "bug-repelling patterns" (whatever that meant), and an abundance of prepared meals rounded out the essentials. Ash grimaced at the thought of subsisting on those pre-packaged rations. Learning to cook suddenly seemed like a critical skill he'd overlooked.

In his pocket, the weight of the Pokédex was a constant presence. Not the latest model, but far more than he'd expected from Oak. Its unexplored features would have to wait; more pressing matters demanded his attention.

With a grunt of effort, Ash managed to stuff everything into his pack. He cast one last glance around the sparse room that had been his home for the past four years, feeling a complicated mix of emotions he couldn't quite name.

The floorboards creaked ominously as he made his way down the stairs, each step feeling like a countdown to freedom - or discovery. Just as he reached for the door handle, a voice froze him in place.

"And just where do you think you're going, Ashton?"

Ash's heart leapt into his throat as he turned, coming face to face with Lucretia. The orphanage matron stood there in her nightgown, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in that particular way that always made him feel like a guilty child.

"I, uh..." Ash stammered, his mind racing for a plausible excuse. "Just getting an early start on packing. You know how I am, always prepared."

Lucretia's stern expression held for a moment before cracking into a knowing half-smile. "You've never been able to lie worth a damn, Ashton. Not since the day you arrived."

"It's Ash, not Ashton," he grumbled, but there was no real heat in it.

"Oh, hush," Lucretia said, her voice softening. "Come here and give this old woman a proper goodbye."

Before he could protest, he found himself enveloped in a bone-crushing hug. He wheezed, marveling at the sheer strength hidden in Lucretia's stocky frame.

As he struggled to breathe, a realization struck him - there was more of home in Pallet than he'd been willing to admit, even without Leaf.

When Lucretia finally released him, her eyes shimmered. "You be careful out there, you hear me? And don't you dare forget to write, both to myself and the Professor."

Ash nodded, a lump forming in his throat. "I will. Thank you, for everything."

With one last squeeze of his shoulder, Lucretia shooed him toward the door. "Go on, then. You always were an impatient one, your adventure's waiting."

The evening air was crisp as Ash stepped outside.

All around him, Pallet Town stirred with an unusual energy. Families were already out and about, laughter and excited chatter filling the air. The normally sleepy town had transformed, infused with a sense of anticipation that reminded Ash of Blackthorn's single-minded focus.

As he walked, the weight of his pack settling into a rhythm against his back, Ash couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret. This was the beginning of the celebration he'd dreamed of being part of, standing proudly beside Leaf as the town cheered them on, before being sent off in a week's time.

But dreams, he was learning, rarely aligned with reality.

At the edge of town, Ash paused, unable to resist one final look back. His breath caught as he locked eyes with a familiar figure - Gary Oak, standing motionless at the town's exit, staring right back.

For a long moment, neither moved. Then Gary nodded his head, before turning on his heel and vanishing back into the town. A subtle movement- but one that held a promise. They would see eachother again.

Ash's jaw clenched, the memory of their last encounter burning fresh in his mind. The victory had been hollow.

His hand found Swablu's Pokeball, the warmth of it grounding him. With a soft click and a flash of light, his partner materialized, chirping happily as it circled Ash before settling on his shoulder.

"Ready for an adventure?" Ash asked.

Swablu trilled in response.

The road to the Indigo League stretched out before him, long and uncertain. But with Swablu by his side, he felt ready to face whatever came their way.