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.

2. Chapter 2 - An Oaken Gamble

Chapter 2 - An Oaken Gambit

---

Ash's body hummed with nervous anticipation as he waited outside Professor Oak's laboratory, fingers twisting the hem of a shirt still stiff and foreign against his skin. Pallet Town clothing felt wrong- too light, too flimsy compared to the heavy-woven garments of Blackthorn.

It had been a week since his legs, leaden with triumph and anticipation, had carried him over the final ridge that separated him from home. Months of training, of enduring skeptical glances and whispered mockery, too small, wrong color, not true blood, would be vindicated once he completed the Selection and proved himself worthy of Wataru lineage.

But the Blackthorn that greeted him had been smoke and devastation, buildings still smoldering, walls breached, and dragonair, and poor little dratini reduced to charred corpses that littered streets he'd once played in. League personnel had swarmed the ruins like vultures, their efficient movements betraying neither urgency nor emotion.

Now the memory was a fever dream, details blurred and smudged like charcoal under a sweating palm. The televised reports spoke of "tragedy" and "investigation" before the story disappeared entirely, swallowed by governance announcements and tournament results.

A sharp, futile anger lodged beneath Ash's ribs, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Anger at whoever had robbed him of his chance to prove himself. Anger at those who had looked down on him for years. Anger at a world that could erase an entire clan's destruction as easily as wiping chalk from a slate.

Out of place though he might have been among the tall, red-headed Wataru, Blackthorn had been home. Elder Yarl had treated him no differently than the true-blooded children, spending countless evenings teaching him the old ways, his weathered voice spinning tales of Drake's past while his Dragonair watched with knowing eyes.

Ash closed his eyes, drawing a steadying breath. Blackthorn was gone. Professor Oak was his only hope now, he had been told. The League officials had been nothing if not professional. It had been a blur of hotel after hotel, face after face, and now he was here.

Steeling himself, he rapped sharply on the laboratory's metal door, marveling despite himself at the flawless, unmarked steel. Blackthorn's smiths would have spent months on such craftsmanship, imbuing it with dragons, flames, wings, claws as ironwork. Here, it seemed everything was merely... ordinary, flat. Clinical.

The laboratory's interior hit him like a physical blow- a cacophony of sights and sounds so removed from Blackthorn's stone halls that it might have belonged to another world entirely. Pristine white tiles stretched across the floor, dotted with islands of equipment whose purpose he couldn't begin to guess. Screens flickered with data, machines hummed and clicked, and everywhere lay scattered papers in drifts like autumn leaves.

Professor Oak himself sat behind a massive desk of polished wood, fingers dancing across keys as his keen blue eyes flicked between screens and papers with a predator's focus. Though his lab coat was rumpled and his hair stood in disarray, there was nothing soft about the man. His movements held the economical precision of someone who had once needed to be very, very quick.

The silence stretched. Ash opened his mouth to introduce himself, but Oak spoke first, never looking up from his work.

"Ash Wataru. Or should I simply say Ash now? I suppose that depends on whether you still claim the name of a clan that likely never claimed you."

The words struck unexpectedly. Ash stiffened. "I- "

Oak waved a dismissive hand, finally looking up. His smile transformed his face, cracking the stern mask to reveal something warm. "Forgive an old man's tactlessness. Theory and Pokemon occupy so much of my mind these days that I sometimes forget how to speak to people."

He stood, bones audibly protesting the movement. "You'll find different customs here than in Blackthorn. For starters- " he extended a hand, "We shake, not bow. A more egalitarian greeting, though perhaps lacking the poetry of tradition."

Ash took the offered hand, feeling calluses that belied the professor's scholarly appearance. They weren't the fresh, active calluses of a working man, but the permanent ones- the kind etched so deeply into skin they never truly fade.

"No worries, lad. You'll adapt." Oak's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Young minds are marvelously plastic that way."

The professor turned, gesturing expansively at the laboratory. "This must seem like sorcery compared to Blackthorn's... charming antiquity. Electricity, computer systems, modern plumbing- all comforts you've never had the pleasure of, I imagine."

"They had their reasons," he said, sharper than he'd intended. "The old ways preserved knowledge that would have been lost otherwise."

"Knowledge?" Oak's eyebrow rose. "Or power?" He shook his head. "But listen to me, lecturing a boy who's lost everything about the failings of his home. Inexcusably poor form."

Oak moved to a side table where a kettle sat warming. "Tea? It's a poor substitute for proper hospitality, but the best I can offer until we get you properly settled."

"Thank you." Ash accepted the steaming cup, grateful for something to do with his hands. "Professor, may I ask... what happened to Blackthorn? No one will tell me anything. It's like the whole town just... disappeared, not just physically but from everyone's memory."

Oak's movements stilled, his expression carefully neutral. "The League investigation is ongoing," he said. "What I can tell you is that an attack of that magnitude, against a settlement of that significance, wasn't random. Someone wanted something, or someone, in Blackthorn destroyed."

"But who would- "

"That," Oak interrupted, "is the question keeping many powerful people awake at night." He studied Ash over the rim of his cup. "Including, I suspect, the person who sent you to me."

Ash's brow furrowed. "The Drake sent me because there was nowhere else- "

"Lance sent you to me because he knows I can recognize what he sees in you," Oak said, setting down his cup with deliberate care.

A chill raced down Ash's spine. "I don't understand, Lance doesn't know me personally…"

"No," Oak agreed, his smile returning though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "He doesn't, though Elder Yarl did. And Elder Yarl was Lance's most trusted confidant."

Elder Yarl. The name stung still.

The professor clapped his hands together, dispelling the tension like mist beneath sudden sunlight. "Now then! You'll be staying in Pallet for the foreseeable future. I know it's not what you had planned, especially given your upcoming Selection trials."

Ash's heart sank. "My journey, I was supposed to begin this year. In Blackthorn, the trials start at twelve, and I've been preparing for- "

"League regulations stipulate sixteen as the minimum age for trainer licensure," Oak cut in, his tone brooking no argument. "Blackthorn operated under... special dispensation, due to their unique relationship with the current Champion. That privilege doesn't extend to Pallet Town."

Four years. Four years trapped in this strange place, surrounded by customs and technologies he didn't understand, while the other remaining Wataru children moved on without him.

"I can see by your expression that this news falls somewhat short of delightful," Oak said dryly. "Would it help to know that I offer preparatory training to promising students? Not just the technical aspects- types, matchups, battling theory- but the real component as well. How to think like a trainer, survive in the wild as a trainer, not just act like one."

Hope flickered, a fragile thing. "You'd teach me?"

"I don't waste time on lost causes," Oak said bluntly. "If I offer training, it's because I see potential worth cultivating. But understand this- " his eyes hardened, chips of blue ice in a suddenly severe face, "- I accept nothing less than absolute commitment. Anything less is an insult to both of us. Are we clear?"

That steely gaze cut through Ash like a Blackthorn wind. There was something beneath the professor's genial exterior- something dangerous that had never truly been tamed, merely leashed.

"Crystal clear, Professor," Ash said, straightening his spine. "I won't disappoint you."

"Good." Oak nodded, the dangerous edge receding. "Let's get you settled, then. I've arranged lodging at our local orphanage, comfortable enough until more permanent arrangements can be made."

As they stepped outside into Pallet's warm afternoon light, Oak kept up a steady stream of commentary, pointing out landmarks and greeting locals with practiced ease. Ash half-listened, still wrestling with the whiplash of the professor's shifting demeanor. One moment grandfatherly, the next sharp as a razor's edge.

Pallet itself was another contradiction- so different from Blackthorn's austere beauty that comparison seemed futile. Where Blackthorn had been vertical, all soaring towers and plunging valleys, Pallet sprawled lazily across gentle hills. The air hung heavy with salt and grass rather than the thin, clean scent of mountain heights.

A sharp, electric crackle pulled him from his thoughts. Oak froze mid-sentence, head cocked.

"Ah! Our power thief returns," the professor muttered, eyeing a nearby electrical junction where wires spilled from an open panel. "This way, quickly now."

Oak moved with surprising speed for his age, purpose replacing the carefully cultivated academic languor. Ash hurried after him down a narrow side street to a fenced area filled with humming metal boxes.

There, gnawing determinedly on an exposed cable, sat a small yellow rodent, electricity dancing across its fur as it fed.

"A Pikachu," Oak explained, voice dropping to a whisper. "Electric type. They sustain themselves partially on electrical current- it's why they seek lightning strikes in the wild. This particular specimen has developed quite the taste for Pallet's power grid."

Ash stared, fascinated. He'd never seen an electric type before. Blackthorn's harsh climate supported few Pokemon varieties.

"I've been trying to capture it for study," Oak continued, "but our little friend has proven remarkably elusive." His eyes glinted with sudden calculation. "Perhaps you'd care to try? Consider it your first practical lesson."

Ash glanced dubiously at the sparks crackling around the Pikachu's body. "Without a Pokemon of my own?"

"Sometimes the simplest approach yields surprising results," Oak said enigmatically. "Go on, then."

Heart hammering, Ash stepped closer to the electric mouse. In Blackthorn, approaching wild Pokemon without a dragon of your own would have been considered suicidal folly. But this wasn't Blackthorn, and he was no longer constrained by its rules- for better or worse.

"Hey there," he called softly, pitching his voice in the same soothing tone Elder Yarl had used when approaching newly-hatched Dratini. "Don't suppose you'd stop chewing on that wire? It can't be good for you."

The Pikachu glanced up, dark eyes gleaming with intelligence and... was that amusement? It considered him for a long moment, whiskers twitching, then deliberately bit down on the cable again, gaze never leaving his.

"Right," Ash muttered, inching closer. "Didn't think it'd be that easy." He tried again. "Come on, now. I'm sure we can find you something tastier than electrical cable. What do you say?"

To his utter amazement, the Pikachu released the wire and sat back on its haunches, head tilted in open curiosity. It chittered something that sounded almost like a question, ears perked forward attentively.

"That's right," Ash continued, emboldened by the response. "No need to keep snacking on the town's… power supply."

Acting on instinct, he extended a hand toward the creature, palm up in what he hoped was a universal gesture of peace. The Pikachu's nose twitched as it sniffed his fingers, whiskers quivering with assessment.

"Ash, wait- " Oak's warning came too late.

The Pikachu darted forward, placing its tiny paws directly in Ash's outstretched palm. Electricity crackled over its yellow fur, arcing visibly between its red cheeks as it chittered excitedly.

Ash braced himself for pain, for the searing bite of electrical current- but it never came. Instead, he felt only a pleasant warmth where the Pikachu touched him, a gentle tingling like blood returning to a numbed limb. The electricity danced harmlessly over his skin, blue-white sparks that should have left him convulsing on the ground.

"Interesting," Oak breathed, the word charged with meanings Ash couldn't begin to decipher.
"Fascinating"

The Pikachu climbed further up Ash's arm, chattering happily as it settled on his shoulder. Its tail curved around his neck, a gentle pressure, almost proprietorial.

"It seems you've made a friend," Oak said, voice carefully neutral despite the intensity in his eyes. "How... fortuitous."

"Is that... normal?" Ash asked, reaching up to scratch behind the pikachu's ear. "For them to be so friendly?"

Oak's laugh held no humor. "Normal? No, my boy." He stepped closer, studying Ash with an intensity that made him want to squirm. "Tell me, did you feel anything when it discharged? Any pain, numbness, tingling?"

"Just warmth," Ash admitted. "Like sunshine, almost."

"Sunshine," Oak repeated, his expression unreadable. "Of course." He fell silent, lost in thought, before visibly shaking himself back to the present. "Well! It appears our little troublemaker has found a new interest. Perhaps we should capitalize on this unexpected development."

The professor's hand moved with practiced efficiency, producing a Pokeball from his coat pocket in one fluid motion. Not the shiny new ones Ash had glimpsed in trade caravans that occasionally braved Blackthorn's mountain passes, but something older- scratched in places, the metal of its hinge darkened with use.

"Stand back," Oak instructed, his voice dropping an octave, shoulders squaring with the muscle memory of a thousand such moments. Gone was the affable researcher, replaced by something harder and more certain. "The first capture is always the most... instructive."

Oak balanced the sphere in his palm, eyes never leaving the Pikachu. "A Pokeball creates a temporary field that converts matter to energy," he explained, "The conversion isn't painless, though it is quick. Remember that, when you're catching your own."

With a flick of his wrist- too fast for Ash to properly track- Oak tossed the ball. It struck the Pikachu with a sharp crack, splitting open in a flash of crimson light that enveloped the creature like liquid fire. The yellow rodent's form wavered, distorting as if viewed through disturbed water, before vanishing in a swirl of energy.

The Pokeball dropped to the ground, rocking violently. Once. Twice. Three times.

A soft click echoed in the sudden silence.

"There," Oak said, satisfied. He retrieved the ball with another practiced motion, turning it over in his fingers like a man inspecting a familiar weapon. "One less hazard for Pallet to worry about."

"You caught it," Ash breathed, a strange feeling settling in his chest. In Blackthorn, capturing their dragons was unnecessary, until they headed out into the wider world after the Selection. The clan bred their own dragons, maintaining bloodlines with the same fervor they maintained their own.

"Did you think I'd forgotten how? Now, shall we continue to your lodgings? I suspect we've had enough excitement for one afternoon."

As they walked towards the orphanage, behind them, the junction box sparked fitfully, electricity jumping in blue arcs between severed cables.

Oak didn't look back once.

---

The Pallet Town Orphanage squatted before them, weather-beaten clapboard and ivy-choked brick slumping against the afternoon sky. Nothing like Blackthorn's stone dormitories, carved from the mountain's flesh itself, but there was a certain defiance in its ramshackle persistence.

The wind shifted, carrying salt and unfamiliar flowering plants, so unlike the thin, knife-edged air of mountain heights. Ash's chest tightened. Wrong. Everything here was wrong.

"Well," Oak said, breaking the silence between them, "Home sweet home." His voice held no particular sentiment, merely observation of fact.

Ash said nothing, his throat closing around words that wouldn't matter anyway. Four years until he could leave. Four years trapped in this foreign place with its too-bright colors and too-soft edges.

Oak studied him, those keen, electric blue eyes missing nothing.

"You're thinking of running," Oak said. "Don't. The League has eyes everywhere, and a Blackthorn orphan would draw attention you can't afford." He paused, letting silence work its own persuasion. "Besides, where would you go? Back to ashes?"

"I wasn't- " Ash began, then stopped himself. Lying to Oak seemed suddenly as futile as lying to Elder Yarl had been. "How did you know?"

A genuine smile creased the professor's weathered face. "Because I would have. At your age." Something flickered behind his eyes then- a memory, perhaps. "The boy I was would have been halfway to the mountains by nightfall, stomach and pockets empty. Pride makes for poor companions but excellent motivation."

Oak's hand settled on Ash's shoulder, the weight of it surprising. Not the gentle touch of scholarly fingers but the firm grip of a man who had once held lives in those same hands.

"Listen carefully, because I won't repeat this." Oak's voice dropped to a sympathetic baritone, stripped of scholarly affectation. His eyes focused solely on Ash- perhaps the first time since his arrival that the Professor wasn't simultaneously cataloguing a dozen unrelated thoughts behind that electric blue gaze.

"You have three paths before you. Run, and take your chances with the League. Stay and wallow in self-pity, and live meaningless. Or stay and learn, and perhaps discover why someone reduced your home to cinders."

Ash's head snapped up, breath catching. "You know something."

"I know many things," Oak countered, releasing his grip. "Most of them irrelevant. Some of them dangerous." His smile returned. "Now then! Shall we meet your new guardian?"

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 stood framed in the doorway like a fortress gate- broad-shouldered and imposing, built with the squat solidity of an Ursaring. Steel-gray hair pulled back in a severe bun emphasized a face carved by hardship rather than time, all sharp angles and watchful suspicion. Her eyes took Ash's measure in one swift glance.

Only the slight softening around her mouth as she looked at Oak betrayed that she possessed anything resembling warmth.

"Samuel," she said, the name carrying the weight of shared history. "You've brought another stray."

"Indeed I have." Oak chuckled, the cheerful scholar once more. "This is Ash Wataru. He'll be joining your little brood for the foreseeable future."

Lucretia's eyes narrowed fractionally at the surname. "Wataru? Dragon folk." Her gaze swept over him again, reassessing. "Tough bunch. Proud, too. I'll expect you to pull your weight," she continued, voice hard as Blackthorn granite. "I run a household, not a charity. Everyone works, everyone contributes."

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

"See that you do." The steel in her voice softened imperceptibly. "Promises mean something in this house."

Oak turned to Ash, "Mind Lucretia well, lad. She has buried two husbands and raised seventeen children not her own. There is little she hasn't seen and less that escapes her notice."

"I will, Professor," Ash vowed. A sudden thought struck him, and he blurted, "Will I still join your training program? Like you mentioned before?"

"Of course!" Oak looked almost offended. "I'm a man of my word, aren't I? You'll start next week, joining with the others your age."

He clapped Ash on the back, the casual contact with a strength behind it- exactly enough force to make him sway without stumbling.

"But that's for later. For now, settle in. I'll see you soon enough." With that, he turned and strode away, whistling a tune.

Ash watched him go, already feeling the absence like a severed limb- he had no idea what to make of the man, but Oak had been his sole connection to anything familiar since Blackthorn fell.

"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, already moving down the narrow hallway. "I'll show you to your room. You're fortunate- Tyrus left on his journey months ago, so you won't be sharing. At least not yet."

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.

Ash grimaced as a familiar cramp lanced through his side, a knife of pain twisting between ribs that hadn't grown as broad or strong as they should have.

No matter how hard he pushed himself, no matter the hours spent in grueling practice or the blood spat onto frozen mountain paths, he always fell short of the Wataru ideal. The bitter truth had been hammered into him with each scornful glance from his red-haired clan-mates: he would never truly belong.

The words had followed him like shadows, whispered behind cupped hands when elders thought he couldn't hear. Blackthorn had a way of making even silence feel like judgment.

Now those voices were ash and memory. Blackthorn burned. Its people scattered or buried. And he was here- the orphan outsider of a city that no longer existed.

The memory ambushed him as it always did: smoke billowing above ancient rooftops, the distinctive stench of burning flesh that no amount of time could scour from his nostrils. His hands clenched until knuckles whitened, nails cutting half-moons into his palms. The pain was welcome- something real to anchor him against the tide of helpless rage.

You weren't there. Couldn't have changed it. Wouldn't have mattered.

The thoughts offered no comfort, just another twist of the knife lodged permanently in his gut.

Pallet Town sprawled before him, a study in contrasts to everything he'd known.

Where Blackthorn had been vertical- all sharp peaks and plunging valleys, stone and ice- Pallet was horizontal, soft. Gentle hills rolled beneath a sky that seemed impossibly vast without mountain walls to contain it. Trees that would have been precious commodities in the high altitudes of Johto grew here in reckless abundance, their canopies alive with chattering Pokemon.

A snarl rippled through the undergrowth, something stalking the edges of the path. Ash quickened his pace, hand instinctively reaching for a knife no longer hanging at his belt. Professor Oak had assured him the local Pokemonwere "relatively tame," but Ash was quickly learning that the old researcher's definition of danger bore little resemblance to his own.

Another thing that's different here. They treat Pokemonlike part of life.

In Blackthorn, wild Pokemonhad been a rarity. The natural order had been altered by centuries of the Wataru's pact with the Dratini evolutionary line, the clan's dominance ensuring lesser creatures kept their distance. But here? Rattata scurried openly across paths. Pidgey squabbled over territory in plain sight. The wilderness pushed against the town's edges with an insolence that would never have been tolerated.

Even the orphanage felt wrong- squat and wooden instead of stone, warm instead of bracing.

As he approached the hill where Professor Oak's laboratory perched like a gleaming brick and metal sentinel, Ash felt the familiar twist of uncertainty in his gut. An emotion he was growing to hate. Blackthorn had been cruel in its way, but the rules had been clear. Here, nothing made sense. Why would the region's preeminent researcher offer training to an outsider with no connections, no money, and no future?

"Neither reckless nor timid," Ash muttered, invoking the old Wataru adage like a ward against the doubt gnawing at his resolve. The words tasted like ash in his mouth.

"Who are you talking to?"

The voice came from behind him, bright with curiosity and a hint of amusement that set his teeth on edge. Ash turned, a flush of heat crawling up his neck.

The girl standing there studied him with eyes the color of forest moss- not the pale green of his own, but something darker, earthier. Her hair caught the breeze, a cascade of reddish-brown that reminded him painfully of autumn in the mountains. She looked at him with none of the wariness he'd come to expect from Pallet's residents, her smile too wide, too open.

"Just myself," Ash admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture he knew betrayed discomfort. "Bad habit."

"Well," the girl said, "I can't fault you for having good taste in conversation partners." She pushed hair from her face with a careless gesture. "I'm Leaf, by the way. You're new here, right? I would have remembered eyes like those."

Ash blinked, caught off-guard by her forwardness. No one in Blackthorn would have commented on his eyes. They were a physical reminder of his dubious origins. "Yeah, I just arrived. I'm Ash."

"Ash, huh? Like from a fire?" Leaf fell into step beside him as though they'd been walking together for years. "Appropriate, considering where you're from."

He shot her a sharp look. "What exactly do you know about where I'm from?"

"Easy there," she said, hands raised in mock surrender. "Oak mentioned you were from up north. BlackthornThe Professor likes to prepare us before new students arrive- especially ones he's sponsoring personally." Her head tilted, studying him with new interest. "You're touchy about it, though. Fair enough."

Leaf continued before he could respond, words tumbling out with practiced ease. "I'm heading to the lab too. First day of summer training and all that." She gestured vaguely at the building ahead. "I've got to say, I'm surprised Oak let you join our group so late. Must have really impressed him."

Ash snorted. "Or he took pity."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Leaf countered, one eyebrow arching. "The strays usually get relegated to the back fields with the assistants. Oak never teaches them personally."

The statement hung between them, a question disguised as observation. Ash had no answer to give. He didn't understand the Professor's interest any more than she did.

As they crested the hill, Ash's gaze fixed on a lanky figure lounging against the lab's entrance. Even at a distance, the boy was unmistakable- that deliberately messy brown hair, the slouched posture calculated to appear effortless.

Gary Oak, grandson of the Professor and self-appointed prince of Pallet. They'd crossed paths only once since Ash's arrival, but that brief encounter had been enough to establish the natural order between them.

Gary straightened as they approached, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Well, well, well," he drawled, voice pitched to carry. "Look what Gramps dragged in. The Wataru himself. Gotta say, I thought you'd be taller."

"Gary," Leaf sighed, exasperation evident. "Play nice. Ash is new here, and the last thing he needs is you being... well, you."

Gary clutched at his chest, staggering backward as though struck. "You wound me, Greenie. I'm just trying to welcome our refugee properly." His gaze locked onto Ash's, a challenge glittering beneath the friendly veneer. "I've heard all about you- Gramps hasn't talked about anything else for days.."

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a mock whisper. "Between us, though? I think the Wataru reputation might be a little overblown, especially considering what happened to Blackthorn. Couldn't even defend their own home, could they?"

Heat surged through Ash's limbs, a familiar rage rising to meet the boy's casual cruelty. For a heartbeat, he saw himself lunging forward, hands finding Gary's throat, silencing that smug voice. The vision was so vivid he could almost feel the other boy's pulse hammering against his thumbs.

"You're right, Gary," Ash replied instead, "You don't know anything about me or what I'm capable of." He met the taller boy's gaze without flinching. "I'm here to train and become the best version of myself. Same as anyone else."

Something shifted in Gary's expression- disappointment, perhaps, at being denied the reaction he'd sought. Then his smirk returned, wider than before. "Well said, Ashy-boy. Very diplomatic. We'll see if you're still so calm when we're finally allowed to battle."

He executed a mocking salute and turned on his heel, sauntering into the lab with exaggerated confidence. The door swung shut behind him with a soft pneumatic hiss.

"I'm sorry about that," Leaf said, tension visible in the set of her shoulders. "He's always been a bit of a jerk, but lately it's gotten worse. I think he sees you as a threat."

Ash gave a humorless laugh. "To what, his ego?"

Leaf's answering laugh was genuine, cutting through the tension. "Probably. Gary's used to being the star around here." She studied Ash with new interest. "You handled that well, though. Most people either cower or snap back at him."

"I've dealt with worse than Gary Oak," Ash said, the memory of his clan-mates' taunts still fresh despite the years.

"I believe it." Leaf took his arm, the casual contact sending an unfamiliar jolt through his system. "Come on. Let's get inside before Gary tells everyone you chickened out."

For a brief moment, as they crossed the threshold into the laboratory's sterile brightness, Ash felt a flicker of something unfamiliar. Not quite hope, but something adjacent to it. A sense that perhaps, here in this strange place with its alien customs and bewildering technology, he might find something worthwhile.

The lab's interior hit him like a physical assault- bright lights, the hum of machinery, the faint chemical tang that coated the back of his throat. Ahead, a cluster of teenagers gathered around a central workbench where an older man gestured animatedly, white lab coat flapping like a battle standard.

Professor Oak turned as they entered, his perpetually distracted expression sharpening into focus.

"Ah, our final two students have arrived!" Oak's voice carried easily across the room. "Miss Green, punctual as always. And Mr. Wataru- " His gaze lingered on Ash a moment longer than necessary. "Welcome to your first day of summer training. I trust you'll find it illuminating."

The other students turned to stare, curiosity and assessment in equal measure. Ash felt their gazes like physical pressure, measuring him against some unknown standard.

Ash felt his jaw tighten. He would prove himself here, too. Not for Gary, not for Oak, not even for the memory of a clan that had never truly accepted him.

For himself.

The insistent voice cut through Ash's dreams like a blade against flesh, dragging him from the sweet darkness where Blackthorn still stood, untouched by flame.

"Ash! Where the hell are you? We're going to be late!"

Leaf's voice- more edge than usual to it. Ash's eyes snapped open to sunlight far too bright for early morning. Memory crashed through his sleep-dulled mind with brutal clarity. Today was sparring day. The day he'd crush Gary Oak before the entire class, wipe that smirk off his face once and for all.

And he was late. Again.

"Shit," he muttered, flinging himself from bed with such force his legs tangled in the sheets. He hit the worn floorboards with a sound that was half-grunt, half-curse, his tailbone taking the brunt. Pain lanced upward, sharp and immediate.

Ash scrambled to his feet, lurching toward the window. The rusted latch resisted, then gave with a shriek of protest. He leaned out, squinting against the summer glare, to find Leaf standing below. Arms crossed, foot tapping- the universal stance of female irritation. Even from this height, he could see the clash of emotions on her face: annoyance warring with that particular brand of fond exasperation she reserved solely for him.

"I'll be right down!" he called, forcing a grin he didn't feel. "Just grabbing my things!"

Leaf's eyes rolled heavenward. "Does that include a shirt, Wataru?" Her voice carried the hint of a laugh beneath the scorn. "Or are you planning to distract your opponents with that pasty chest?"

Heat crawled up Ash's neck as he registered his half-dressed state. "Sure thing, Greenie!" He ducked back inside, snatching clothes from various surfaces. "Unlike some people, I don't need cheap tricks to win!"

As he dressed with frantic haste, his eyes caught on the small wooden plaque above his bed. The words etched there, in Leaf's careful hand: Neither reckless nor timid. The Wataru motto- one of the few tangible connections to a home that no longer existed. Three years in Pallet, and still that raw wound beneath his ribs whenever he thought of Blackthorn's fall.

A fist hammered against his door. "Shut that girl up before I do it myself!" Bobby's voice, thick with sleep and irritation. The orphanage's oldest resident had worked the late shift again, which meant his temper would be as short as his patience.

"Going now!" Ash called back, jamming his faded cap onto his head. The mirror showed a stranger- no longer the pale, frightened boy fresh from Blackthorn's ashes. Three Pallet summers had filled out his frame, etched bits of muscle where once was bone, bronzed skin once kept pale by mountain shadows.

He pounded down the stairs, taking them three at a time, only to skid to a halt before Lucretia's imposing bulk. The orphanage matron stood like a Rhyhorn in the doorway, silver brows drawn together in that expression that had terrorized generations of Pallet's orphans.

"And just where," she said, each word precise as a blade, "do you think you're going, young man?"

Ash's mind raced through possible excuses, discarding each as quickly as they came. Lucretia had an almost supernatural ability to detect lies. "Pokemon sparring day," he said finally, deciding truth was the safest option. "I'm already late, and Leaf's waiting, and- "

"And you thought you'd face the day on an empty stomach?" Lucretia's weathered face softened a fraction. "I swear, boy, you'd forget your own head if it wasn't attached."

She reached into her apron pocket and extracted a slice of toast, charred at the edges just how he liked it. "Here. Can't have you fainting in the middle of showing up that Oak boy."

Ash blinked, surprised by the unexpected alliance. Lucretia wasn't one for taking sides. "You know about that?"

A dry chuckle escaped her. "This town's got three streets and more gossip than Saffron City. 'Course I know." She pressed the toast into his hand. "Now go. Show them what Wataru blood means, even if it doesn't come with that ridiculous red hair."

The unexpected kindness left Ash momentarily speechless. He managed a nod before bolting out the door, toast clenched between his teeth.

Leaf waited at the bottom of the hill, green eyes sharp with impatience. "Finally! I was about to send in a search party." She fell into step beside him, matching his hurried pace with practiced ease. "Or organize a funeral. Gary's been strutting around like a Primiape with a rash, telling everyone you'd chicken out."

"Let him talk," Ash growled around a mouthful of toast. "He'll shut up quick enough once I'm done with him."

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Ashy-boy and his babysitter."

Gary's drawling voice sliced through their conversation like a knife. He lounged against a tree by the path, the perfect picture of calculated nonchalance. Everything about him screamed privilege- from his perfectly styled hair to his custom-made boots. Even his posture spoke of someone who'd never questioned his place in the world.

"Gary," Ash acknowledged flatly. "Bit far from the lab, aren't you? Or did your Gramps kick you out for being unbearable?"

A flash of anger crossed Gary's face before his customary smirk reasserted itself. "Just making sure our little Wataru orphan found his way. Seems he needs a girl to hold his hand these days." He nodded dismissively toward Leaf. "No offense, Greenie."

"Call me that again," Leaf said pleasantly, "and they'll need tweezers to remove that Pokeball from where I'll put it."

Gary's laugh held genuine amusement. "Always had a mouth on you." His gaze shifted back to Ash, hardening instantly. "Ready to find out what a real trainer looks like, Ash? Your family name might have gotten you special treatment from my grandfather, but it won't win you battles."

The words struck with practiced precision. Ash felt his pulse quicken, a familiar roaring in his ears. His vision narrowed, tunneling until all he could see was Gary's smug face, all he could hear was the blood hammering through his veins.

"Real rich coming from you," he spat, stepping forward. "Last I checked, it's your grandfather handing out pokemon. At least my name was earned through centuries of- "

"At least my family is still alive to disappoint," Gary cut in, voice dropping to a cruel murmur. "Face it, Wataru. You can't coast on sympathy forever. Eventually, you'll have to prove you're more than a charity case."

Something snapped inside Ash with an almost audible crack. The anger that had been simmering beneath his skin erupted into white-hot rage. He lunged forward, fists clenched, dimly aware of Leaf's startled cry behind him.

A firm hand caught his arm, fingers digging into muscle with surprising strength. "He's baiting you," Leaf hissed, her voice barely piercing the blood-thunder in his ears. "This is exactly what he wants."

Ash stood frozen, chest heaving, caught between the urge to break free and the rational part of his mind that knew she was right. His nails dug crescents into his palms, anger coiling like a serpent in his chest.

Gary's smile widened, revealing teeth. "What's the matter, Ashy-boy? Can't fight your own battles? Need the girl to save you?"

For a moment, Ash teetered on the edge of violence. Then, with deliberate effort, he exhaled slowly and turned away. Each step toward the laboratory felt like wading through mud, his body still vibrating with unused adrenaline.

"You're pathetic, Wataru!" Gary's voice followed them up the path. "Just like your clan!"

Leaf's hand remained on his arm, steady as a heartbeat. "He's not worth it," she murmured. "Save it for the battle. Make him eat those words where everyone can see."

Ash nodded, not trusting himself to speak. As they crested the hill, the Professor's lab came into view, white walls gleaming in the morning sun. Despite the conflict, a spark of excitement flickered to life in his chest. Today was the day he'd waited for- the day he would prove himself not just to Gary, but to all of Pallet Town.

The laboratory's familiar hum greeted Ash as they entered- a symphony of whirring machines and electronic chirps that had once seemed alien but now registered almost as a comfort. The air carried its usual mixture of ozone, old books, and something chemical that lingered no matter how many windows the Professor propped open during Pallet's sweltering summers.

Ash paused just inside the doorway, momentarily thrown by the scene before him. Professor Oak sat cross-legged on a cushion in the center of the room, his weathered face carved with concentration. Opposite him, a towering gold Alakazam mirrored his posture, floating several inches above the floor. Between them lay a chessboard populated by pieces modeled after a swathe of different Pokemon.

The stillness was unsettling.

Ash's boot came down on a crumpled paper, producing a crunch that seemed to interrupt the moment.

Oak's head snapped up, his penetrating gaze fixing on Ash with startling intensity before smoothing into his customary expression of benign interest.

"Ah, Ash!" the Professor exclaimed, blue eyes glinting beneath bristling white brows. "You've arrived at last. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten our appointment."

Confusion washed over Ash, tugging his brows together. "Appointment? But I'm here for the sparring match. I'm sorry I'm late, but- "

"Sparring?" Oak's brow furrowed in apparent bewilderment. "Oh! You mean the practice battles." He rose to his feet with surprising agility for a man of his years, dusting off his lab coat with precise movements. "Yes, well, I'm afraid there's been a change of plans."

"A change of plans," Ash echoed, his voice dropping to match the flatness growing inside his chest. "Professor, I've been preparing for weeks. The match against Gary- "

"Will have to wait for a more appropriate time. Besides, you're not properly equipped yet." He moved toward his desk, rummaging through a drawer with focused determination. "I have something rather important to discuss with you. A walk, perhaps?"

Leaf glanced between them, her expression carefully neutral in that way she had whenever adults were being particularly incomprehensible. "Should I wait here, Professor? Or..."

"Oh, no need, my dear," Oak waved a dismissive hand, not looking up from his search. "Lieutenant Surge is handling the sparring sessions today. You should hurry if you don't want to miss the pairings."

At the mention of Surge, Ash felt his heart sink deeper.

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

"No buts, my boy. Some matters take precedence, even over youthful rivalries. Besides," he added, his voice lowering conspiratorially, "I've observed your progress. A battle with loaner Pokemon would do neither you nor Gary any good."

Before he could formulate a response, Leaf touched his shoulder gently.

"Go with the Professor," she said, her fingers tightening briefly. Something flickered across her face- concern, perhaps, or resignation. "I'll tell you everything later. Every embarrassing detail of Gary getting his ass handed to him by Surge."

Despite himself, Ash felt his lips twitch toward a smile. "Promise?"

"With illustrations," Leaf assured him, squeezing his shoulder once more before turning to leave. She paused at the doorway, looking back with an expression he couldn't quite read, then slipped away.

Oak cleared his throat. "Shall we, then? The day grows no younger, and we have quite a trip ahead."

"Trip?" Ash questioned. "Where exactly are we going, Professor?"

Oak's smile turned enigmatic. "To see a man about your eyes, my boy. Nothing to worry about- just a precaution most trainers take care of when they're younger."

"My eyes?" Ash instinctively reached up, fingers hovering near his face. "There's nothing wrong with my sight." But even as the words left his mouth, he remembered the occasional headaches after intense study sessions, the way distant objects sometimes blurred at the edges on overcast days.

"Perhaps not," Oak agreed, leading him toward the rear exit of the laboratory, "but clear vision is paramount for a trainer. The difference between correctly identifying a Pidgey and a Spearow at distance can mean life or death in the wild."

Ash frowned, unconvinced. "Wouldn't the Viridian clinic be better for an eye exam?"

"For an ordinary check-up, certainly. But you are to be a trainer." Oak clapped a hand on his shoulder, steering him firmly through the door. "Now, enough questions. All will become clear in due course."

As they stepped out into the summer sunlight, Ash found himself studying the Professor with new scrutiny. Oak had always been an odd mixture of absent-minded academic and shrewd observer. Rarely though, he'd have a tightly-coiled energy, and today was one of those days.

"I don't understand," Ash said finally, frustration bleeding into his voice. "Why are you being so cryptic? If this is just about avoiding a confrontation with Gary- "

Oak stopped abruptly, turning to face him fully, making Ash's words stop in their tracks.

"We'll be teleporting," Oak announced, as casual as if he'd suggested a stroll through the park. "It's rather disorienting the first time, but I assure you it's perfectly safe."

Before Ash could protest, Oak's Alakazam materialized beside them, spoons gleaming in the sunlight. The world around them blurred, colors bleeding together like watercolors in the rain. His stomach lurched, the sensation of falling upward mixed with the disturbing feeling of being turned inside out.

Then, as abruptly as it began, the disorientation ceased.

The balmy air of Pallet Town had been replaced by a chippy coastal wind that carried salt and the promise of storms. They stood on the edge of a cliff, waves crashing against jagged rocks far below with a violence that sent spray hissing onto the path. In the distance, dark clouds gathered, turning the sea into a foreboding expanse of slate-gray.

Ash fought down a wave of nausea, gripping his knees as he steadied himself. His stomach felt like it had been left somewhere behind them, possibly still in Pallet Town.

"A little warning would have been nice," he gasped, the words whipped away by the wind.

Oak, seemingly unaffected by the teleportation, merely adjusted his lab coat with practiced precision. "My apologies. I find it's rather like removing a bandage- best done quickly and without preamble."

When Ash had regained his composure, he took stock of their surroundings. They stood on a narrow path carved into the cliffside, leading up to a squat brick structure that seemed to grow directly from the rock face. Antennae and satellite dishes sprouted from its roof like strange metallic vegetation, humming faintly in the wind.

"Where are we?" he shouted over the wind's howl.

"Somewhere private," Oak replied, his white hair whipping about his face. "Come, our host awaits, and I'd rather not be caught in the approaching deluge."

The Professor set off up the path with surprising agility, forcing Ash to scramble after him. The trail was bordering on treacherous, loose stones slipping beneath their feet as the wind buffeted them from the ocean. By the time they reached the building, Ash's lungs burned from the effort, though whether from exertion or the stinging salt air, he couldn't tell.

Oak rapped sharply on a metal door set flush against the brick. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, without human intervention, the door swung inward with a pneumatic hiss, revealing a space that defied the building's exterior appearance.

Where Ash had expected a sterile, technical environment to match the satellite equipment, he instead found himself looking into what could only be described as an eccentric's study. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed to bursting with tomes of various sizes and apparent ages. A fire crackled in a stone hearth, casting dancing shadows across plush rugs and mismatched furniture that seemed collected from a dozen different eras.

And in the center of this unexpected coziness, protruding from beneath a half-disassembled machine that looked like nothing Ash had ever seen, was a pair of lanky, denim-clad legs.

"Just a moment, Samuel!" a muffled voice called from beneath the contraption. "Delicate operation in progress!"

The wait stretched uncomfortably, punctuated by muttered curses and the clatter of dropped tools. Ash shifted his weight, growing increasingly uneasy. What kind of doctor worked from a cliff-top lab?

This is about the battle with Gary, he decided. Oak must think I'd embarrass him or something. Or he would embarrass me. But why go to all this trouble?

"Bill," Oak said finally, his patience visibly wearing thin. "We had an appointment."

"And I'm keeping it!" the voice retorted, followed by a series of metallic bangs. "Just because time is a construct doesn't mean I'm not respecting yours!"

With a grunt of effort, the man finally extracted himself from beneath the machine. He stood in a disjointed motion, pushing a pair of thick-lensed glasses up a nose that appeared to have been broken at least twice.

Bill was nothing like what Ash had expected. Wild hair stuck out in all directions as if perpetually electrified. His clothes, though well-made, bore the stains and burns of countless experiments. And his eyes- sharp, assessing, much like Oak's, moved over Ash with the precise calculation of a scientist examining a particularly fascinating specimen.

"So," Bill said, wiping his hands on a rag that only spread the grime further, "this is the Wataru boy." His head tilted, bird-like. "Interesting. Very interesting." He leaned forward, peering intently at Ash's face. "Those eyes. Just as you described, Samuel. Remarkable."

Oak nodded. "Indeed, Bill. I trust you have the contacts ready?" His eyes flicked to Ash meaningfully.

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

He scuttled across the room, digging through drawers seemingly at random, muttering to himself the entire time. Ash shot a curious glance toward Oak, who merely shrugged as if to say, You get used to him.

This is beyond strange, Ash thought, watching Bill knock over a stack of papers in his search.

The Professor could have easily scheduled a normal eye exam in Viridian City. Indeed, it was not unheard of for most needs that Pallet could not provide, to instead be provided in Viridian City. Such was the reasoning behind Oak clearing the pathway North. Gary's ego, or his own fledgling confidence surely couldn't be worth the effort of this trek on the part of Professor Oak, right?

Before he could crystallize his growing suspicions, Bill thrust a simple wooden case into his hands. The box was warm to the touch, as if it had been sitting near the fire.

Inside, nestled in velvet the color of midnight, lay two transparent discs, almost glassine, with hair-thin silver tracery embedded within. They caught the firelight strangely, seeming to absorb rather than reflect it.

"Now then," Bill said, his earlier scattered demeanor giving way to unsettling 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 series of increasingly bizarre instruments. One device emitted a soft hum that made his teeth ache, while another flashed a series of colored lights that left ghostly afterimages dancing across his vision.

"Hmm, yes, these should do nicely," Bill muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He straightened, suddenly businesslike. "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, as if the world had suddenly gained a sharpness it hadn't possessed before.

"How do they feel?" Oak asked, watching him carefully.

"A bit strange," Ash admitted, resisting the urge to rub his eyes. "But I guess that's normal for new contacts?"

"Quite so, quite so," Bill said, his attention already wandering back to the half-dismantled machine. "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. Can't have a trainer mistaking a Gyarados for a Magikarp, now can we?" He chuckled at his own joke.

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."

When? Ash wanted to demand. After everyone's already decided I'm afraid to face him? But he knew better than to argue with the Professor when he used that tone. It was the same one Elder Yarl had employed when explaining particularly unpleasant truths.

"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. "They're adjustable, you know. Quite the innovation. If you feel any significant discomfort, just pop them out and give old Samuel a shout."

"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."

As Alakazam prepared to teleport them back, Ash cast one last look at the strange little building perched on the cliff's edge.

---

The sun died a slow death across the horizon, its final rays bleeding across the water before drowning in the sea. The beach transformed in that failing light- no longer the welcoming stretch of sand Ash's feet. Only the rhythmic crash of waves and the soft crackle of their small bonfire broke the silence, the raucous Wingull having long retreated to their nests.

Beside him, Leaf breathed slow and even, her shoulder pressed against his. The steady rhythm of it acted like a metronome, lulling him deeper into the trance that had claimed him since Oak had pulled him from the sparring matches. Ash stared vacantly at the darkening horizon, thoughts circling like carrion birds.

"Ash?"

Leaf's voice cut through his reverie, thick with a concern he didn't deserve. He turned to find her watching him, green eyes catching the campfire's glow.

"You were going to tell me about today," she pressed, fingers picking absently at the seam of her shorts. "Gary was gloating all afternoon, but I didn't think..." She trailed off, leaving the question hanging between them.

Ash fished the wooden case from his pocket, flicking it open with a practiced thumb. The contacts nestled inside like secrets waiting to be told.

"Oak dragged me off to get these," he said, voice flat. "Contacts, apparently. Though my eyes are fine as they are."

When he looked up, Leaf was studying the contacts with a frown etched between her brows, an expression he'd seen a thousand times.

"That's strange," she said carefully. "The Professor's never interfered with your rivalry before." She tried for a smile, but it died before reaching her eyes. "He works in mysterious ways sometimes. Best not to question it too much."

Ash snorted, letting the strange events of the day slide away for a moment. Here, with Leaf's shoulder pressed against his and the fire painting the gathering darkness in shades of amber, he could almost believe things were simple again.

Almost.

"You're a terrible liar, Greenie," he murmured, using Gary's nickname for her deliberately, watching for the flash of annoyance it usually sparked.

Instead, her fingers stilled, and something distant passed across her face. "And you've always seen right through me, haven't you?"

Before he could parse the strange current running beneath her words, the soft shush of sand underfoot snapped his attention upward.

He gently shifted Leaf off his shoulder as he rose to his feet, muscles coiled tight as bowstring.

A familiar silhouette sauntered into the firelight's glow, casting a long shadow across the sand between them.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Ashy-boy and his little shadow." Gary's voice dripped with the particular blend of arrogance and mockery that had always set Ash's teeth on edge. His smirk was audible even before his features fully resolved in the firelight. "I've been looking all over for you. Thought you might be hiding from me."

With a flourish that reeked of practiced showmanship, Gary tossed a Pokeball into the air and snatched it on the downstroke, the firelight flashing across its polished surface. "But I knew that couldn't be true. Not when we have unfinished business."

Ash's hands curled into fists at his sides, blunt nails digging half-moons into his palms. Every instinct honed in Blackthorn's harsh training grounds screamed at him to move, to strike, to make Gary Oak swallow that smirk along with a mouthful of sand.

A touch, feather-light, on his forearm halted him. Leaf had risen beside him, her presence at once soothing and restraining.

"It's late, Gary," she said, her voice perfectly even in a way that spoke of great effort. "Whatever this is, it can wait until morning."

Gary's eyes flicked to Leaf, and something complex passed across his features- possessiveness, perhaps, or triumph. His grin turned feral in the wavering light.

"Oh, I don't think so, Greenie." The nickname sounded different coming from Gary, edged with something Ash couldn't quite identify. "See, I borrowed a couple of Gramps' Nidoran. Figured it was high time Ashy-boy and I settled our differences like real trainers." His gaze cut to Ash, sharp as a blade. "Unless..."

He let the challenge hang between them, more effective than if he'd spelled it out.

"Unless you're too scared?"

Something snapped deep in Ash's core, like ice breaking over a winter lake. The accumulated frustration of the day, of Oak's interference, of Leaf's strange behavior, of a life spent always being second-best, always being looked down upon crystallized into a single, burning point of determination.

He shrugged off Leaf's restraining hand and stepped forward, the firelight casting half his face in sharp relief, leaving the other in shadow.

"Can't stand losing, can you? Even your Gramps has to save you from it."

Gary's eyes narrowed dangerously, but his smile never faltered. "Big words from the boy who ran from our match today."

"I didn't run anywhere," Ash growled. "But we both know why the Professor kept me away."

Uncertainty flickered across Gary's face, there and gone so quickly Ash might have imagined it. Then his rival's grin widened as he held out two Pokeballs, one in each palm.

"Left or right, Ashy-boy," he taunted. "Let's see what you're really made of."

Ash hesitated for only a heartbeat before snatching the left ball, fingers tightening around the cool metal. The sphere felt heavy with potential and consequence. From the corner of his eye, he caught Leaf's resigned sigh as she retreated to the sidelines, worry etched in deep lines across her usually smooth brow.

"Well?" Gary called, clutching his own ball, white knuckled. "Send out your Pokemon already, Wataru!"

The name struck like a physical blow. Ash's head snapped up, eyes narrowing as they locked on Gary's face.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, Ash released the Pokemon within. In twin flashes of light that momentarily banished the gathering darkness, the Nidoran materialized on the sand- a light blue female on Ash's side, her oversized ears flopping comically against her small frame, and a purple male before Gary, his horn already glistening with toxin in the firelight.

Dropping to one knee, Ash tried to forge a connection with his borrowed Nidoran. In Blackthorn, they'd spoken often of the sacred bond between trainer and dragon- a partnership built on blood and time, an unbreakable covenant forged over weeks and months, eventually years. Here, he had seconds to build trust with a creature he'd never met, to convince it to fight for a boy it didn't know.

"We're gonna take that smug bastard down," he murmured, his voice pitched low so only the Nidoran could hear. He jerked his chin toward Gary. "Give it everything you've got, and there's a Pokepuff in it for you. The fancy kind from Celadon."

The Nidoran's ruby eyes gleamed at the mention of the treat, a flicker of understanding passing between them. She turned her head, sizing up her opponent with more calculation than Ash would have expected from such a small creature.

He straightened, squaring his shoulders as he met Gary's smirk head-on. The other boy was watching him with undisguised contempt tinged with something that might have been anticipation.

"A female Nidoran?" Gary laughed, the sound scraping against Ash's already raw nerves. "Guess you really got the short end of the stick. Sure you want to do this? I can still let you walk away, Ashy-boy."

Ash's jaw clenched until pain radiated up into his temples. Gary had a point, and they both knew it. 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," he said, each word bitten off and spat out. "I never have."

"Prove it, then." He glanced over at Leaf, who stood watching them with arms wrapped protectively around herself. "Hey Greenie, mind playing referee? Since you're so good at staying neutral these days?"

Leaf's eyes flashed, but she stepped forward dutifully, placing herself equal distance between the two trainers.

"Three," she called, her voice carrying across the beach.

Ash felt his heart begin to pound, blood rushing in his ears like the tide.

"Two."

Gary leaned forward slightly, muscles tensed and ready.

"One."

The Nidoran lowered themselves into battle stances, mirroring their trainers' intensity.

"Begin!"

Time seemed to dilate around Ash, his senses sharpening to a painful clarity. Every grain of sand beneath his feet, every crash of the waves behind them, every flicker of the firelight across Gary's triumphant face- all of it seared into his awareness with preternatural vividness.

"Nidoran, Horn Attack!" Gary shouted, seizing the initiative with the eagerness of one born to command.

The male Nidoran charged, powerful hind legs propelling it across the sand with startling speed. Ash watched it come, noting the slight quiver in its haunches that betrayed inexperience- this Pokemonwas used to the controlled environment of Oak's laboratory, not the shifting uncertainty of real battle.

His mind raced through possibilities, discarding and selecting strategies in the space between heartbeats.

"Sand Attack, then dodge!" he called, the words tumbling out before he'd fully formed the thought.

But in his haste, the commands tangled together, and his Nidoran reacted to the first part a split second too early. She pivoted and kicked up a cloud of sand with her hind legs, but the hasty strike lacked the force necessary to truly blind her opponent. The purple Nidoran barreled through the thin veil of grit largely unhindered, horn lowered for a devastating strike.

Ash's heart lurched in his chest. His Nidoran was a sitting duck, the male bearing down on her with its poisonous horn aimed directly at her vulnerable flank. He had to act, had to call something, had to-

"Dodge low and Horn Attack upward!" he yelled, his voice cracking.

For a heartbeat that stretched into eternity, nothing happened. The female Nidoran stood frozen, the male hurtling toward her like a poison-tipped arrow.

Then, just as purple met blue, Ash's Nidoran folded her legs beneath her, dropping into a crouch that carried her just beneath the male's stabbing horn. Her own horn, smaller but still capable, sparked with sudden power as she surged upward, catching her opponent in the soft underbelly and sending him arcing overhead.

Gary's Nidoran hit the sand with a dull thud, kicking up a cloud of dust that momentarily obscured it from view. Ash held his breath, hardly daring to hope. The strike had been perfect- a counter that used the opponent's momentum against them, straight from one of Oak's practical lessons.

Had they done it? Had they actually won?

The dust began to settle, revealing the male Nidoran sprawled on its side. For one wild moment, triumph surged through Ash's veins. Then the downed Pokemonbegan to glow.

Horror seized Ash's heart as he watched his rival's Pokemonshift and warp, its form expanding grotesquely in the eerie white light. Muscles rippled and bulged beneath its skin, its horn elongating into a ruthless spike, its limbs extending and thickening with newfound power.

As the glow faded, an evolved Nidorino stood where the battered Nidoran had fallen, its hide a deeper purple, its frame nearly twice the size of its pre-evolution. It shook itself once, as if casting off the last vestiges of its former self, and turned to face Ash's comparatively tiny Nidoran with murderous intent.

Gary's laugh cut through the night, each harsh syllable like a spike driving into Ash's resolve.

"Guess you had me worried over nothing, Ashy-boy!" he crowed, arms crossed in smug satisfaction. "Funny how life works out, isn't it?"

Disappointment settled in Ash's gut like a stone, cold and heavy and impossible to ignore. He fought to keep his expression neutral. He wouldn't give Gary the satisfaction of seeing how deeply this cut.

"It's not over yet," he said, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears.

Bitterness welled up like bile in the back of his throat. The unfairness of it all burned- that Gary's Pokemonwould evolve at such a convenient moment, that once again the universe seemed to conspire to place victory just beyond Ash's grasp.

For a moment, he was sorely tempted to simply 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. Why had Oak kept him from the official sparring matches? What was the old man hiding?

Then his hand drifted down to the Pokeball at his belt. He should end this now, before his borrowed Pokemonwas hurt any worse. It wasn't worth it. None of this was worth-

A brilliant white light erupted from the center of the battlefield, so intense it momentarily blinded him. Ash raised a hand to shield his eyes, blinking against the afterimages dancing across his vision.

As his sight cleared, his heart nearly stopped. There, on the sand before him, his Nidoran was engulfed in the same radiance that had transformed Gary's Pokemon moments ago. Her small form began to shift and warp, growing larger, more powerful, delicate features hardening into something formidable.

When the glow receded, a newly evolved Nidorina stood proudly before him, her sleek blue hide almost luminous in the moonlight, her frame sturdy and powerful. She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, and Ash felt the breath freeze in his lungs.

Her eyes blazed, not just with determination or battle-fury, but with something far deeper- something primal and ancient that defied description. In that moment, the barriers between them dissolved like morning mist under a summer sun.

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

A roaring filled his ears, like waves crashing against the cliffs beyond Pallet. Distantly, as if from the far end of a long tunnel, he could hear Gary shouting commands. He could feel the vibrations of Leaf's shifting rippling through the sand beneath his feet.

But it all faded to the connection, the feeling imbuing his, their very body, that felt at once utterly alien and achingly familiar, like coming home to a place he'd never been.

Sand flew from beneath their feet as they surged forward as one. The briny night air filled their lungs, his lungs, her lungs, their lungs, crisp and invigorating. The moonlight kindled an eldritch fire in their veins, time slowing to a viscous crawl as they closed the distance to the Nidorino.

He saw through her eyes, felt through her skin. The world transformed- sharpened, stratified, saturated with scents and sounds he had no names for. Gary's Nidorino loomed before them, muscles tensed to strike, but they were already moving, already anticipating the attack, already countering.

The impact came with a head-shaking thud, the Nidorino's horn scraping against Nidorina's flank as she twisted at the last possible moment, her own counterattack driving into her opponent's exposed throat. Strain rippled through muscles that weren't quite his, the effort of the blow resonating, equalizing, transferring.

Then the connection snapped like an overtuned string, reality fracturing around him. The last thing Ash saw before darkness claimed him was Gary's face, transformed from smugness to shock.

Then nothing but velvet dark, swallowing him whole.

Professor Oak stood on the beach, dawn's weak 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.

"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.

"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 carved ragged furrows through the laboratory's silence. Oak watched her fold in on herself, knuckles white against tear-streaked skin. This girl he'd known since her first breath, now splintered by truths that should have remained buried. The hollow comfort he might offer withered on his tongue.

"Leaf," he began. "I know this is- "

"You knew." The accusation lashed out, all venom and broken edges. She lifted her head, green eyes fever-bright through tears. Not a child's eyes anymore, she was seventeen, soon to start her journey. "You knew what he was. What he could become. The same thing that..." Her voice fractured, a momentary weakness swiftly cauterized. "The same monster that butchered my parents. And you brought him here. To us."

Oak absorbed the blow without flinching. "Yes."

Simple truths cut deepest.

The admission hung between them, unanswered. Oak's joints creaked as he pushed himself upright, age a burden he usually wore with more grace. He moved to the east windows where morning spilled gold across Pallet Town- too bright, too innocent for the shadow that spread between them.

He stood silent, letting the weight of that single word settle. When his voice finally emerged, it came as if from across a great distance, detached from the man who spoke.

"I had a student once," he said without turning. "Brilliant beyond measure. A hunger for knowledge and pokemon, that seemed almost virtuous in its intensity." His fingers traced patterns on glass warmed by sunlight. "He had a gift, Leaf. The same gift that sleeps in Ash."

"Red," she whispered, the name passing her lips like bloody froth.

"Yes, his name was Red."

"You say that name as if it were just another word," Leaf said, her laugh brittle enough to cut. "All those stories they tell. The vanished Champion. The prodigy who reached heights quicker than any before. They never mention the corpses he left behind." Her voice dropped to something broken. "They never mention what was left of my mother. What was left of my father. What was left of your son. Your daughter in law. What was left for me."

Oak's reflection grimaced in the window glass. "That wasn't how it began. None of us start as monsters."

"Don't you dare." Her voice cracked like a whip. "Don't you dare make excuses for what he did."

Oak turned, shoulders squared against the morning light, all pretense of the gentle academic stripped away.

"I make excuses for no one, least of all myself," he said. "I saw the signs, Leaf. Small things at first. Moments where his control slipped. Flashes of something... hungry in his eyes. I convinced myself I could contain it. That I, the great Samuel Oak, was clever enough, wise enough, strong enough to manage what lived inside him."

He looked down at his hands, scholar's hands now, though they'd once, and could again, command forces that could level mountains. "Instead, I watched as the gift consumed him, piece by piece. By the time I understood what was happening, the boy I'd trained was gone. In his place stood something... else."

The room narrowed around them, the silence broken only by Leaf's uneven breaths.

"I could have stopped him sooner," Oak continued, voice hollowed by something resembling regret. "Should have. But I hesitated, clinging to the hope that some piece of the boy remained." His eyes fixed on a point far beyond the laboratory walls. "By the time I found my courage, the bodies were already cooling. Too little, too late. All I could do was drive him from Indigo's shores, counting the dead he left in his wake."

He moved to where Leaf sat, joints protesting as he lowered himself to one knee before her. Age had bent him, but not broken him. Not yet.

"After the funerals were done and the graves filled, I swore an oath. Never again. Whatever the cost." His hands curled into fists at his sides. "Then Ash arrived, carrying the same terrible gift, if not the same potential, and I saw a chance. Not for redemption- I'm not fool enough to believe in that, but for understanding. If I could study him, recognize the warning signs..."

"So he's your experiment?" Leaf's voice had dropped to something dangerous, rage simmering beneath grief. "Your lab Rattata to poke and prod?"

"No!" The denial tore from Oak's throat. "He is a boy, a teenager. One who had no more say in his inheritance than you did in the color of your hair."

He reached for her hands, fingers that had once commanded powers nearly beyond imagination now clasping hers. They felt so small, despite her growing age, already calloused from work with Pokemon.

"Through Ash, we have an opportunity," he said, intensity burning through decades of carefully cultivated scholarly reserve. "To learn, to understand this phenomenon. To chart its course and perhaps find a way to avert disaster before it blossoms." His grip tightened. "For every innocent who might suffer as we have, I must try. Do you understand?"

Leaf's chin trembled, fresh tears spilling unchecked. "And if you can't? If he becomes like... him?" She couldn't bring herself to speak the name again- those forbidden syllables haunting them both.

"If the worst comes to pass, I'll do what I should have done all those years ago."

The vow settled between them, cold and absolute. Leaf studied his face, her gaze traveling over every line and shadow as if searching for weakness or deception. Oak let her look her fill, hiding nothing.

"I believe you," she whispered finally. "I'll keep your secret. For Ash's sake." Her voice caught, stumbling over the name. "But I can't help you watch him. I won't- I can't sit beside him day after day, waiting for that moment."

"I know," Oak said gently, letting go of her hands. How could he begrudge her refusal when she'd already paid for his failures in blood?

He helped her to her feet, steadying her when she swayed. "Go home, child. Rest. Today has been..." he paused, words failing where they so rarely did. "Well. It's been."

Leaf walked to the door with the careful movements of someone carrying something broken inside them. Hand on the latch, she paused, looking back.

"Professor." Her voice had found its strength again, steel beneath the weariness. "If Ash starts his journey, and someone discovers what he is..."

Oak closed his eyes against a flood of possibilities, each more dire than the last.

"I'll handle it," he said simply. "Whatever that requires."

As she turned to leave, Oak called after her once more.

"Leaf."

She paused, half-turned, the morning light catching the ragged edges of her grief.

"For what it's worth," he said, "I believe there's hope for Ash. That he can master this gift rather than be mastered by it."

Their eyes held for a moment longer, a silent communion of shared burden. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her with finality.

Oak slumped ever so slightly against his desk, the weight of decades pressing down.

I am with you, old friend

Alakazam's voice murmured in his mind, the Pokemon materializing beside him in a shimmer of psionic energy.

As I have ever been

Oak nodded once, drawing what comfort he could from the presence of his oldest companion. The die was cast. For good or ill, Ash Wataru would walk the path before him.

Outside, Pallet Town stirred to life beneath cloudless skies, oblivious.

---

The sun bled out across the western sky, painting the clouds in shades of copper and crimson that reminded Ash too much of Blackthorn's final hours. He sat hunched on the cooling sand, knees drawn to his chest, a solitary figure on Pallet's empty beach.

Night would come soon. Another in an endless procession stretching back to that day.

Three years since smoke had blackened the mountain air. Three years since he'd walked among charred bodies, some still twitching with the last futile spasms of life. The stench lived in his nostrils still- cooked meat and melted fat, scorched hair and boiled blood. The sounds haunted his dreams- not screams, which might have been cleaner somehow, but the soft, desperate wheezing of lungs too damaged to cry out.

And now Leaf was gone too, his one anchor in this foreign place. Not dead but worse in its way. She lived and breathed, yet had become a ghost to him. The wound of her abandonment festered, made worse by glimpses of her with Gary Oak, her laughter carrying on the breeze, a sound he'd once believed belonged partly to him.

The crunch of footsteps on sand pulled him from his rumination. Hope flared briefly, foolishly, before reality crushed it beneath its heel. Not Leaf, but the unmistakable measured tread of Professor Oak. Ash didn't turn.

"Sitting here won't bring them back, you know." Oak's voice carried on the salt breeze, neither gentle nor harsh. Simply matter-of-fact, like the tide's inexorable rhythm.

Ash's jaw tightened. "I'm not trying to bring them back."

Oak lowered himself to the sand with a grunt that spoke of old injuries and older regrets. For a long moment, they sat in silence, watching as the sun's final embers sank beneath the horizon.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" Oak finally said, his voice stripped of scholarly lilt. "The first time I saw a sunset over this beach, I knew I'd build my lab in Pallet. After- " He stopped himself, something unreadable flickering across his features. "After things ended at the Plateau."

Ash glanced sidelong at the professor. Without his lab coat, dressed in worn trousers and a simple shirt, Oak looked less the renowned researcher and more... human. Fallible. The fading light deepened the lines around his eyes, carved by decades of seeing too much.

"They're not going to find who did it, are they?" Ash asked, the words escaping before he could swallow them back. "The League. They're not even looking anymore."

Oak's shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly, his fingers curling against the sand. "No," he answered after a carefully measured pause. "They're not."

The honesty was unexpected, a blade slipped between Ash's ribs when he'd braced for a bludgeon of platitudes. He found himself oddly grateful for the pain.

"You know why," Ash said. Not a question.

Oak's gaze remained fixed on the darkening horizon. "I have theories."

"Tell me."

"No." The word fell between them like stone. "Not yet. Perhaps not ever." Oak turned then, eyes sharp as flint in the gathering dusk. "Some knowledge is a poison, Ash. It gets into your blood, works its way to your heart. Changes you."

Anger flared, a brief and savage heat. "I've already changed."

Oak studied him, the corner of his mouth lifting in what might have been the shadow of a smile. "Yes, you have. I remember when you first arrived in Pallet. That scrawny boy from the mountains who'd never seen electric lights or plumbing. The way you kept flipping light switches, convinced there was some form of magic trapped inside the walls."

Despite himself, Ash felt heat crawl up his neck. "I wasn't that bad."

"You spent twenty minutes watching the toilet flush," Oak said dryly. "And you jumped every time the refrigerator motor kicked on."

Ash looked away, embarrassed yet oddly comforted by the reminder. It felt like another lifetime ago, that wary, silent child thrust into a world of bewildering technologies and stranger customs.

"You've grown since then," Oak continued, his voice softening. "Not just physically. You've adapted. Learned. Found your place here, even made friends." Something in his tone shifted on the final word. "Leaf, for one, has been good for you."

"She won't even look at me now," Ash cut in, the words sharp as broken glass. "Like I've become something... contaminated."

A shadow crossed Oak's face, there and gone so quickly Ash might have imagined it. "People disappoint us, Ash," he said, so quietly the words nearly vanished beneath the surf's steady murmur. "Even those we believe will stand beside us through anything. Perhaps especially those."

He paused, gaze drifting back to the darkened horizon. "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 unexpected confidence hung in the air between them. Ash had never heard Oak speak of his past with such raw honesty, had never glimpsed this depth of feeling beneath the professor's carefully maintained facade of academic detachment.

"What happened between you?" he asked, unable to help himself.

"Life," Oak answered simply. "Choices. Different paths." He shook his head. "The point is, what seems like an ending might simply be a bend in the road."

"Leaf's made her choice," Ash said, bitterness seeping into his voice. "She chose Gary."

"Leaf has her reasons," Oak replied. "As does Gary."

"What reasons?" Ash demanded. "What happened? One day she was my best friend, and the next- " He gestured sharply, unable to put words to the chasm that had opened between them.

"That," Oak said with quiet finality, "is for her to tell you. If she chooses to."

Frustration coiled in Ash's gut. Always this dance with Oak. Moments of startling frankness interspersed with maddening evasion. The professor doled out truth in careful measures, like a doctor administering precise doses of medicine.

"I'm going to find them," Ash said, returning to Oak's original query. "Whoever destroyed Blackthorn. Whoever killed Elder Yarl and the others. I'll find them."

"And then what?" Oak asked, his voice deceptively mild. "What will you do when you've run your quarry to ground?"

Ash's hands curled into fists, nails biting crescents into his palms. "What do you think?"

"I think," Oak said slowly, "that vengeance is a poor companion for the long road. It will drive you forward, certainly. But unlike a true friend, it offers no warmth, no comfort in the dark hours. And should you reach your destination, you'll find it abandons you there, leaving nothing but dust in your mouth."

He spoke with the weight of personal experience.

"You sound like you've walked that road yourself," Ash said.

Oak's smile was a grim thing, though he did not respond.

Instead, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a Pokeball, its metallic surface gleaming dully in the fading light.

"I had intended to give you this when you officially began your journey," Oak said, turning the sphere between his fingers with practiced ease. "But I think you need it now more than you will then."

He held out the Pokeball. "This world has taken much from you, Ash. Perhaps it's time it gave something back."

Ash hesitated, suspicion warring with curiosity. "Why now? Why me?"

"Because you've earned it," Oak said simply. "I've watched you push yourself harder than any of your peers. You've come so far from that lost boy who arrived at my doorstep." A genuine warmth touched his eyes, replacing the habitual calculation. "And if I'm honest, I'm tired of watching you walk these beaches alone with only your ghosts for company, like you have for the past few weeks."

The simple truth of it struck Ash with unexpected force. With cautious fingers, he accepted the offered ball, surprised by its warmth against his skin.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Your starter. Release it and see."

Ash triggered the mechanism. White light spilled forth, coalescing into a form unlike any he'd seen before- a small shape resembling a bird, its wings covered in downy feathers white as midwinter snow, with a body of softest blue peeking from beneath cloud-like wings.

The creature blinked at him with intelligent onyx eyes, head tilting in frank assessment. Then it trilled, a sound like mountain streams over polished stone, musical and bright.

"A Swablu," Oak explained, something approaching tenderness softening his voice. "From Hoenn originally. Extraordinarily rare in Kanto, you're unlikely to encounter another in your travels."

Ash stared, transfixed. The Pokemon hopped closer, unafraid, its movements delicate and precise. He extended a hand, barely breathing, and the Swablu rubbed its head against his palm, feathers impossibly soft against his calluses.

Something shifted in Ash's chest, a tectonic movement. This creature- this new life, had been given to him. Was his to protect, to nurture, to train. The responsibility settled across his shoulders, not as a burden but as a counterweight to the emptiness.

"It's beautiful," he whispered, the inadequate word catching in his throat.

Swablu chirped, fluttering upward to perch atop his head as if it had always belonged there, tiny claws gentle against his scalp. The warmth of it seeped into him, reaching places long gone cold.

Oak watched them, calculation and something less definable mingling in his gaze. "According to official classification, Swablu and its evolution Altaria are pure Flying types." He leaned forward, voice dropping conspiratorially. "But between us? I've suspected for years there's more to this particular line than meets the eye. Something ancient in its blood, dormant perhaps, but waiting for the right catalyst."

Understanding struck like lightning. "A dragon," Ash breathed. "You're giving me a dragon."

The very idea was absurd. After the attack on Blackthorn… Ash had long ago given up any hope of training a dragon type.

"I'm giving you a partner," Oak corrected. "One I believe uniquely suited to you."

Swablu trilled again, the sound impossibly bright against the gathering darkness, and Ash felt an answering resonance within himself. A connection, immediate and undeniable.

"I don't understand why you chose me," Ash admitted, hating the vulnerability in his voice but needing to hear Oak's answer nonetheless. "Why you took me in, why you're giving me this Pokemon, why any of it. I'm just a refugee from a clan that barely accepted me in the first place."

"You are far more than that, Ash Wataru," Oak replied. "You've proven yourself these past years- your dedication, your resilience. I believe you have the potential to become something extraordinary."

He stood, joints popping in protest, suddenly looking every one of his years and then some. Sand clung to his clothes, but he made no move to brush it away.

"The path ahead won't be easy," Oak continued, his voice gentling. "But I believe you have the strength to walk it. And now you won't walk it alone." He nodded toward Swablu, still perched contentedly atop Ash's head. "Take care of each other. That's what matters most in the end."

"I will," Ash promised, surprised by the fervor in his own voice. "Thank you, Professor."

Oak smiled, genuine warmth replacing his usual reserved calculation. "I have faith in you. More than you know."

With those words hanging in the salt-laden air, the professor turned and walked away, the darkness gradually swallowing his silhouette until Ash sat alone once more. No- not alone. Swablu shifted above him, chirruping softly as if in reassurance.

Ash reached up, stroking the Pokemon's impossibly soft wing. In response, it nuzzled against his fingers, the simple affection more potent than any words of comfort.

"You hear that, Swablu?" he murmured, words carried away by the salt-laden breeze. "The great Professor Oak has faith in us."

Swablu trilled, the sound fierce despite its delicate source.

"I'm going to find who destroyed my home," Ash continued, giving voice to the vow that burned like a coal beneath his breastbone. "And when we do..."

He left the promise unfinished, but Swablu seemed to understand nonetheless, its small body tensing in readiness, in solidarity. The surge of gratitude Ash felt was almost painful in its intensity- this creature knew nothing of him, yet offered its strength without reservation.

Together they gazed northward, toward Viridian Forest and the world beyond Pallet's sheltering boundaries. Out there lay answers, perhaps. Justice, possibly. Vengeance, maybe.

But for one of the first times since smoke had billowed above Blackthorn's ancient stones, Ash felt the seed of something unexpected take root alongside his anger. Something fragile and green, pushing through the ashes of all he'd lost.

Not hope, exactly. But perhaps the promise of it.

Dawn wormed its way through threadbare curtains, painting the cramped room in sickly amber. Ash cracked open an eye, his skull pounding with the remnants of another night spent wrestling with memories rather than sleeping. Swablu's soft trilling had pulled him from dreams filled with burning stone and screaming children- a mercy, even if waking offered its own particular hell.

The bird perched on the wall where Leaf's gift had once stood. He'd replaced the mantra with the perch three days ago, unable to bear viewing it each morning.

"Another day in paradise," he muttered, voice cracked and dry.

Swablu cocked its head, regarding him with an intelligence that still unnerved him. Three days together had formed a bond he couldn't quite explain, couldn't fully trust. The creature seemed to read his moods with uncanny precision, offering comfort without demand- a concept foreign to him.

Ash swung his legs over the bed's edge, bare feet connecting with floorboards worn smooth.

"The exam," he said suddenly, the realization cutting through his morning fog. "Shit."

Swablu chirped, fluttering its impossibly soft wings.

"You can't come," Ash said, already fumbling for clothes discarded on the floor. "The League forbids trainers from obtaining pokemon before certification." He yanked his shirt over his head, wincing as it caught on his ear. "Breaking that particular law carries steeper penalties than I care to test."

The bird made a noise that sounded suspiciously like disappointment.

"Don't give me that look. I didn't write the rules."

Ash silently cursed as he fumbled with his pants, one leg becoming hopelessly entangled. Freedom waited six days away- the official departure date when Pallet would release its trainers to the wider world with pomp and ceremony. Six more days trapped in this suffocating town where even the air felt recycled as of late, passed from one mouth to another until all vitality had been stripped away.

"You stay hidden," he instructed Swablu, finally dressed. "Anyone finds you, and Oak gets questions he won't want to answer."

With surprising obedience, the creature flew to the small closet, disappearing within the shadowed interior. One blue eye peered out, gleaming with what Ash could have sworn was mischief.

Sure, he could have returned the pokemon to its ball, but that wasn't how Blackthorn had taught him to raise a dragon.

The stairs proved a gauntlet of creaking wood and half-awake teenagers, each step threatening discovery. Lucretia stood in the kitchen, a mountain of flour-dusted determination already preparing breakfast. She fixed him with a look that suggested she knew exactly what he was hiding upstairs.

"Running late again, Ash?" She handed him a piece of toast, burnt to perfection just as he preferred. "Professor Oak doesn't appreciate tardiness, especially today."

Ash snatched the offering with a grunt of thanks, already calculating how fast he'd need to run. The toast scalded his fingers, but the pain was preferable to arriving empty-stomached. Hunger led to mistakes, and today, mistakes would cost him dearly.

Pallet's streets were just stirring to life, shutters opening like sleepy eyes as shopkeepers prepared for another day of mediocrity. The sun had barely cleared the horizon, yet somehow Ash was already behind. His feet pounded against packed dirt, each breath burning in his lungs. Not from exertion- he'd run the north trail at Blackthorn every morning before most children had opened their eyes, and had continued a similar regiment here, but from the peculiar mixture of dread and anticipation coiling in his gut.

Four years of study, of bending his neck to Oak's teachings, of enduring Gary's smug superiority. Four years of waiting for this moment, this chance to prove himself worthy.

The laboratory loomed ahead, gleaming white against the rose-gold sky. Ash's stride faltered as he spotted the other candidates already filing inside- fifteen children born here, raised here, their futures laid out before them like gifts. And among them, her auburn hair catching the morning light, stood Leaf.

She didn't turn, though she must have heard his approach. Her shoulders stiffened, a subtle tell he'd learned to read years ago. Beside her, one hand resting possessively on her shoulder, stood Gary Oak- prodigy, heir, thorn in Ash's side since the day he'd arrived in Pallet with nothing but nightmares and a dead clan's name.

Ash swallowed his bitterness like a pill too large for his throat and pushed past them both without acknowledgment. The laboratory's antiseptic smell hit him with familiar force- chemicals and knowledge and the faint, indescribable scent of Pokemon that permeated every surface despite Oak's rigorous cleaning protocols.

Inside, the testing room had been transformed. Individual desks replaced the communal workstations, each bearing a sealed examination packet. At the front stood a proctor Ash didn't recognize- a balding man with a mustache that seemed to twitch with independent life. The League pennant hung behind him, a reminder of power and authority beyond Pallet's borders.

"Punctuality," the man announced as Ash slipped into the last empty seat, "is a vital trait for any aspiring Pokemon trainer, Mr..."

"Wataru," Ash supplied, refusing to shrink beneath the collective gaze now fixed upon him. "Ash Wataru."

The name rippled through the room. Even after four years, it carried weight. The Wataru clan might be gone, their mountain stronghold broken, but legends didn't die so easily.

"Yes, well." The proctor's mustache twitched. "See that you don't make a habit of tardiness, Mr. Wataru. Take your seat so we may begin."

Ash slid into place, acutely aware of the chair beside his own. Leaf sat ramrod straight, eyes fixed forward, pretending he didn't exist. The space between them, barely two feet, might as well have been an ocean. Just months ago, they'd planned their journey together, mapping routes on Leaf's bedroom floor, arguing good-naturedly about which Gym to challenge first.

Now she wouldn't even look at him.

The proctor droned on about procedure and protocols, words washing over Ash without leaving impression. He focused instead on the subtle tells of his fellow candidates- the nervous tap of Gary's pencil, the way Samson Miller kept wiping his palms against his thighs, the slight tremor in Leaf's hand as she opened her exam packet.

The questions, when he finally turned his attention to them, proved disappointingly straightforward. Type advantages. Habitat recognition. Basic evolutionary chains. The geography of Kanto's major routes. Nothing he hadn't known since his second year in Pallet. Ash worked mechanically, his mind elsewhere, barely registering the content before marking answers.

What was the point of these paper tests? In Blackthorn, children learned by doing. By suffering. With Oak, students were taught both theory and application. Theory was worthless without application, without consequence. Yet here they sat, regurgitating facts without understanding what waited beyond these protected walls.

He finished with time to spare.

When the proctor called time, a collective exhale rustled through the room. Gary stood first, making a show of stretching, his exam held aloft like a trophy already won. "Too easy," he announced to no one in particular, though his gaze flicked to Ash as if expecting a challenge.

Ash said nothing, waiting until Gary had sauntered from the room before approaching the proctor's desk. He surrendered his exam without comment, then turned for the door, every muscle coiled tight with the need to escape.

Sunlight hit him like a physical blow as he emerged, temporarily blinding. He blinked away the dazzle, already moving toward the orphanage, desperate to check on Swablu.

"Ash, wait..."

The voice froze him mid-stride, soft and uncertain in a way he'd never heard before. He turned slowly, finding Leaf standing behind him, her green eyes carrying an emotion he didn't know.

"Can we talk?"

A muscle jumped in Ash's jaw. Three weeks of silence, of avoidance, of whispering with Gary while shooting wary glances his way.

"Talk about what, Leaf?" The words emerged with cold precision, each syllable honed to cut. "About you abandoning me without explanation? About choosing Gary Oak, of all people?"

She flinched as if struck. "It's not that simple. There are things you don't understand, things I wish I could explain- "

"So explain them." He stepped closer, close enough to see the pulse hammering in her throat. "Make me understand, Leaf. You owe me that much."

For a heartbeat, something like defiance flashed across her face, the familiar spark that had drawn him to her from the beginning. Then it guttered out.

"I can't. Not yet." She drew a shuddering breath. "I just came to say... thank you, Ash. For everything. For being my best friend." Her hand lifted to touch his arm, trembling slightly. "And to say goodbye."

The word hung between them, ugly and final.

"Goodbye?" he echoed, hollow. "What do you mean? I thought we- "

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

Before he could respond, before he could grab her shoulders and demand answers, she turned and fled, auburn hair streaming behind her.

Ash stood rooted, anger and confusion warring in his gut. Four years of friendship, erased. Four years of shared dreams, abandoned. And for what? What had changed? What had he done to deserve this rejection?

The answer slithered through his mind, unbidden. The Nidorina battle.

And now she looked at him with fear.

Ash moved through Pallet's streets in a daze, each familiar sight transformed into mockery. The hill where they'd watched clouds and planned beach path where she'd always found him.

His feet carried him without conscious direction, back toward the orphanage that had never quite become home. Inside, the world narrowed to a single purpose, cold and clear as mountain air.

It was time to leave. Not in six days with Pallet's blessing, but tonight, under cover of darkness. Without fanfare. Without permission. Without Leaf.

Darkness clung to the corners of Ash's room like old grudges, reluctant to yield as first light crept between the threadbare curtains. He'd been awake for hours, watching the ceiling, listening to the soft warbling of Swablu as the bird preened atop the wardrobe. Sleep had become an elusive quarry these past months, always darting away just as exhaustion threatened to drag him under.

Memories waited in the darkness. Fire and screams. Elder Yarl's quiet wisdom. The thundering silence that followed Blackthorn's fall.

Ash ran calloused fingers over the worn leather of Oak's pack- another man's charity, another debt to be carried. Around him lay the carefully arranged fruits of four years in Pallet: three shirts, two pairs of trousers, a knife with a handle worn smooth by hands not his own. Pathetic, really. A lifetime reduced to items that wouldn't fill a child's knapsack.

"Not much to show for it, is there?" he murmured.

Swablu chirped, tilting its head at a precise angle that managed to communicate judgment more effectively than words ever could. It hopped from the wardrobe to the bed's iron frame, the cloud-like wings rustling with soft purpose. The empty space on the wall where Leaf's photograph once hung seemed to mock him, a pale rectangle preserving the memory of better days.

"What would you know about it anyway?" Ash muttered, stuffing a shirt into the pack with unnecessary force. "You've been mine three days."

The creature trilled, a sound like spring water tumbling over polished stone, and fluttered to his shoulder. The gentle weight of it, the impossible softness of wings against his neck, anchored him somehow.

"Suppose I should be grateful."

Swablu nipped his ear, just hard enough to sting.

"Fair enough."

Sunlight pushed further into the room, catching dust motes and transforming them to specks of gold. The supplies Oak had provided lay spread before him- silent testament to an old man's expectations. The battling gear felt alien beneath his fingertips, supple reinforced leather. Nothing like the rough-spun cloth favored in Blackthorn.

"This is..." Ash lifted it, weighing it. "Ridiculous." He slid it into the pack. "But I'm not above using it."

The med-kit came next, packed with more healing supplies than he'd seen in his time in Pallet. Full Restores gleamed in the growing light, their purple casing something meant for only those of means.

"Seven thousand Pokedollars, at least," he whispered, almost afraid to touch them. "Old man must be going soft."

Swablu chirped, hopping impatiently from foot to foot.

The Pokedex sat heavy in his pocket, a constant, uncomfortable reminder. Not the newest model, Oak wasn't infinitely benevolent, but leagues beyond what most trainers carried. Another gift.

Ash hefted the tent, bewildered by its lightness. The trainers who'd brave Blackthorn's passes to visit the city had shown similar wonders, rattling on about "synthetic polymers" and "performance fabrics," but such things had been beyond his reach then. Beyond his understanding, too, if he was being honest.

Swablu's head snapped toward the door a moment before the floorboard outside creaked. Ash froze, muscles tensing. Too many midnights spent training outside the town's boundary had sharpened both their senses. But it was too late now.

The pack swallowed the last of his possessions with reluctant gulps. He tightened the straps, shouldered the burden, and moved toward the stairs. Each step a separate battle between stealth and speed, between honor and necessity.

The wood groaned beneath his weight as he descended. One more landing. Three more steps. Freedom waited beyond the door, a silver promise in predawn light.

His hand closed around the cold iron of the handle, heart hammering against his ribs. One turn. One step. And then-

"Running away's a bold choice for someone who claimed he'd never break his word."

Ash's spine stiffened. Lucretia stood behind him, arms folded beneath her sagging breasts, hair caught in a loose braid that hung over one shoulder. Her nightdress, patched in a dozen places, couldn't disguise the squat strength of her body.

"Not running," Ash managed, the lie burning his throat even as it left his mouth. "Getting an early start."

"Oh? And six days ahead of the official departure makes sense to you, does it?" She moved closer, footfalls heavy against the floorboards. In the half-light, her face was all angles and shadows, a map of disappointments worn proudly. "You always were a poor liar, boy."

The barb struck home, though he fought to keep his face impassive. "Wasn't aware I had a reputation for dishonesty."

"Selective truth-telling, if you want to be charitable about it." A half-smile ghosted across her weathered face. "But that's neither here nor there, is it? You're leaving."

It wasn't a question.

"I have to." The words emerged rougher than intended.

"Because of the girl."

"She has nothing to do with this."

"Liar."

Ash's jaw clenched. "I can't stay here. Not anymore. Not after- "

"Not after she chose the other boy." Lucretia stepped closer, close enough that he could smell the mint tea on her breath. "Not after she looked you in the eyes and told you goodbye."

"You don't understand, it's not like that!"

"Don't I?" Her laugh was a harsh, brittle thing. "You think you invented heartbreak, boy? I buried two husbands before your mother ever squeezed you into this world. I've raised seventeen children, eighteen counting you, and watched each one walk away. Some came back. Most didn't. But none of them snuck away before dawn like thieves."

"I'm not like them."

"No," she agreed, dropping her hand. "You're not. You're harder. Colder. Someone broke you before you ever reached my doorstep." The truth of it hung between them. "And that's why I'm letting you go."

He blinked, wrong-footed. "What?"

"You heard me. The others- they needed pushing. Needed someone to tell them they were ready for the world outside." She stepped aside, clearing his path to the door. "But you've been ready since you arrived. Too ready, maybe."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Doesn't have to." Lucretia moved toward him again, arms open. "Now come here and give an old woman a proper goodbye before you disappear."

Ash hesitated, then stepped into her embrace, surprised as always by the iron strength hidden beneath her matronly exterior. She crushed him against her chest, the scent of mint enveloping him.

"Look at you," she murmured, pulling back to study his face. "All hard angles and thunder in your eyes. The mountains never left you, did they?" Her grip tightened fractionally. "You keep in touch with me occasionally, you understand? And the Professor too, even if he was fool enough to give you that bird and think I wouldn't notice."

Despite himself, Ash felt his lips twitch upward. "Nothing gets past you."

"Damn right." She released him, stepping back. "Go on then. Get. Your destiny or revenge or whatever you're chasing isn't going to find itself."

Before he could respond, she turned away, the conversation clearly finished. Ash pulled the door open, stepped out into the chill morning air, and left the closest thing to a home he'd known since flames devoured Blackthorn.

Twilight clung to Pallet Town's edges, the faint glow of lanterns blooming in windows like early stars. The air tasted of salt and possibilities, the distant roar of the ocean a constant reminder that the world didn't end at the town's boundary. Ash moved through the streets like a ghost, avoiding the pools of light thrown by newly installed electric lamps.

Oak's grants had changed Pallet, dragging the frontier town kicking and screaming toward progress. Four years ago, darkness had ruled these roads after sunset. Now, metal poles studded the main thoroughfare, each crowned with a humming bulb that cast everything in sickly yellow.

Progress.

Swablu shifted in its ball, a restless presence against his hip. The creature disliked confinement, but Ash couldn't risk being seen leaving.

Families would soon spill from wooden houses that he passed, their faces alight with excitement. Children would clutch small flags bearing the Indigo League's crest. Banners announcing "PALLET TOWN SUPPORTS OUR TRAINERS" hung from shop fronts.

A celebration would be beginning. Festivities lasted for around a week. There were games, celebrations, food. He had been a participant, but never as a trainer before.

If one thing brought Pallet together, it was Oak, and the trainers he tutored.

He had looked forward to it for years. Only if everything had gone according to plan. Only if Leaf kept her promise.

The thought of her burned.

"Going somewhere, Wataru?"

The voice froze Ash mid-stride. He turned slowly, muscles coiling tight beneath his skin.

Gary Oak stood alone at the town's edge, silhouetted against the deepening purple of the eastern sky. He wore traveling clothes- practical, expensive, every inch the heir to Pallet's most prestigious name. In the gathering darkness, his expression was unreadable, but the set of his shoulders spoke volumes.

"What's it to you?" Ash countered, one hand drifting toward Swablu's ball.

"Just surprised." Gary stepped forward, into the spill of light from the nearest lamp. "Figured you'd wait for the ceremony. All that cheering. The adoration of the locals." His mouth twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. "The tearful goodbyes."

"I've had enough of those," Ash said flatly.

"I'll bet." Gary's eyes were cold. "She told me what happened. After the Nidoran battle."

"You don't know anything."

"I know enough. I know she's afraid."

The accusation hung between them, razor-edged and gleaming.

"She should be," Ash said, the words escaping before he could swallow them back. "So should you."

"Run along then, Ashy-boy. Get your head start. You'll need it."

"Is that a threat?"

"A promise." Gary turned away, presenting his back in casual disregard. "We'll see each other again. Soon."

"Count on it," Ash muttered, watching him melt back into Pallet's embrace.

When Gary had disappeared, Ash drew a deep breath, steadying himself against the sudden surge of rage. His fingers closed around Swablu's ball, the metal warm against his palm.

"Time to go," he whispered.

The Pokeball opened with a soft clicking sound, light spilling forth like liquid silver. Swablu materialized in a flurry of cloud-soft wings, trilling its greeting before settling on his shoulder. Its weight was slight but comforting, a reminder that he wasn't entirely alone.

"Ready for an adventure?" he asked, reaching up to stroke the creature's downy head.

Swablu chirped once, the sound remarkably fierce for something so small.

Beyond Pallet's boundary, the road to Viridian City stretched like a promise, dark and unknown. Somewhere out there lay answers- to Blackthorn's fall, to Leaf's abandonment, to why he was a Wataru in the first place.

"Let's find out what we're really made of," Ash said, more to himself than his partner.

Together they stepped beyond the town's edge, leaving warmth and safety behind. The night swallowed them whole, two small shadows against a vast darkness. But for the first time since flames had claimed his home, Ash moved with purpose rather than pain.

The Indigo League lay ahead, along with all its promised glories. But deeper, darker currents pulled at him too, and it was both of these he would follow- to vengeance, to answers, to power.