Welcome to the first chapter in "Sanctuary of the Broken! New chapters will be Posted Monday, Wednesday, and friday. With today marking the first chapter in Chase's Saga.
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon nor do I claim to own Pokemon.
Chapter 1: The Festival's Smile
Azalea Town was the kind of place where time took naps. Even during festival week, when visitors poured in for Slowpoke-themed fun, the town moved with a lazy, gentle rhythm. The scent of apricorn blossoms mixed with charcoal smoke from Kurt's forge, and wind chimes clinked above every shop door. Somewhere, a Hoppip drifted over a fence. And on the edge of town, sprawled on a warm bench, Chase was doing absolutely nothing.
Medium-length reddish-brown hair flopped over one eye. His pale blue-green gaze flicked lazily from storefront to sky, sharp and unreadable. He had freckles, a worn Pikachu t-shirt, and a natural scowl that told people not to bother. A hoodie hung loose around his shoulders, sleeves frayed. His gray sweatpants sagged over scuffed sneakers that had given up pretending to be white. He looked like someone who didn't care. Mostly, he didn't.
A crumpled festival flyer fluttered against his foot. "Games. Food. Fireworks. Mystical Slowpoke energy. Great," he muttered. "Celebrate the Pokémon that forget it's raining while they drown."
"Chase!" Elise's voice snapped through the air. She stormed into view, juggling paper lanterns, glitter glue, and a stubborn tape roll. Precious, Mom's eternally grumpy Snubbull, trotted behind her, proud and puffed, the tape roll clamped between his teeth.
"Precious, give it back!" Elise yanked. Precious growled playfully and tugged harder.
Chase didn't move. "Your assistant's useless."
"He's trying!"
"If you're not helping," said a voice behind them, "you're watching Elise while she helps." Chase glanced toward the porch. Mom—Anna—stood with her arms crossed, apron dusted in flour, giving him a look that cut through excuses.
"Great," he muttered. "Babysitting and emotional support tape-holder."
"Aw, sweetie," she said with a smirk. "You're already so good at standing around doing nothing—might as well make it useful."
He didn't argue. She wasn't wrong.
By afternoon, the square buzzed with color and motion. Lanterns swayed overhead. Kids with Slowpoke hats chased each other past stalls selling berry soda and honeyed snacks. A dunk tank with a giant Slowpoke plush spun lazily. Elise shouted orders while Precious stalked after her like a pink shadow.
Chase trailed behind, arms crossed, tape dangling from one hand. He kicked a pebble into a pile of confetti—it burst in glitter. He sneezed.
A cheer rose from the center of the square. Chase looked up as Falkner—Violet City's Gym Leader—stepped onto the battle platform like he was posing for a poster. His blue-trimmed coat fluttered behind him, wind catching just right. Composed. Calculated.
Bugsy was already there. He adjusted his bug-pin-covered vest with a jerk of his chin. He smiled at the crowd, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. His usual boyish energy was sharper now—focused.
"Today's battle: Bug versus Flying," he called out. "Just for fun."
"Try to keep up," Falkner said, voice flat, and tossed his Poké Ball high.
Pidgeotto burst from the light with a shriek, wings slicing the air. It circled above, feathers gleaming.
Bugsy didn't waste a second. "Scyther, in position!"
Scyther hit the platform like a thrown blade, landing low with wings buzzing and eyes locked. The crowd leaned in.
"Wing Attack."
Pidgeotto dove fast, wing slicing downward. Scyther barely rolled out of range as the platform cracked beneath the blow. The air snapped with pressure. Chase felt it in his chest.
"X-Scissor!" Bugsy barked.
Scyther twisted, blades glowing as it slashed up and caught Pidgeotto across the chest. Feathers flew—several, not just one. The bird screeched and spiraled, blood blooming faintly beneath its wing.
A few in the crowd gasped. Someone cheered. Someone else hushed them.
"Double Team!" Bugsy followed up, voice tight with adrenaline.
Three Scythers blinked into view, surrounding the bird as it caught itself midair, breathing harder now. Chase noticed the twitch in Falkner's jaw.
"Whirlwind."
A beat of wings. A burst of wind exploded from Pidgeotto's core, shredding banners and snapping a vendor's canopy clean off its post. The illusion copies vanished in the gust, and the real Scyther was already moving—face grim, body low, wings flickering.
"Quick Attack!"
Scyther became a blur and slammed into Pidgeotto's side. The hit cracked like a snapped tree branch. Pidgeotto hit the stage in a flurry of feathers and dirt, leaving a skid mark behind. It rose again slowly, blood now trickling from a gash on its flank.
Chase noticed the change in the crowd. The kids weren't cheering anymore. Parents leaned forward, unsure. A little boy tugged at his mom's sleeve. She didn't respond.
"Get above it," Falkner said calmly. "Aerial Ace."
Pidgeotto rocketed upward, dust spiraling in its wake, then arced down like a blade. It hit Scyther square in the chest—full speed. Both Pokémon tumbled, hard, slamming into the wooden stage. The platform groaned beneath the impact.
When the dust cleared, Scyther lay panting, crouched low, a jagged scratch torn across its left shoulder. Pidgeotto stood opposite, wings low, chest heaving.
Neither moved.
Bugsy looked up, breathing just as hard as his Pokémon. "Call it?"
Falkner stared at him a moment, then nodded once. "Draw."
For a few seconds, no one clapped.
Then the crowd exhaled. The applause came—but it was slower now. Muted. A few kids looked away from the stage. One started crying and was hushed. Adults smiled like nothing had happened.
Bugsy and Falkner turned from each other without another word. No handshake. No nod. Just two bruised champions walking off into the noise.
Chase didn't clap. He couldn't stop staring at the feathers still floating in the air… or the blood that stained the edge of the stage.
"Friendly battle," he muttered under his breath. "Right. Nothing says friendship like watching two Pokémon nearly shred each other while everyone eats cotton candy."
He turned away.
And the smile he didn't have on his face felt like it had cracked a little more.
Chase moved away from the stage, still hearing the muted cheers behind him. He didn't want to be part of it. The colors felt too bright now. The music too loud. The smiles too fake.
That's when he heard it.
"I said Flamethrower, not Ember! You're embarrassing me!"
The words cut sharper than any battle cry. He turned toward the fountain, where the crowd had thinned.
A tall trainer stood over a small, trembling Vulpix. Her fur was patchy and dull, dust streaked across her flank. Her tails drooped, and one ended in a streak of pure white—like snow scorched by fire.
"Pathetic," the trainer sneered. "Should've picked Growlithe." Then he kicked her.
The Vulpix let out a choked yelp, sliding across the cobblestones and slamming into a table leg. She didn't cry again—just lay there, shaking, tail wrapped tight around her body like a shield.
Chase felt his stomach twist.
The trainer pulled out a Poké Ball, stared at it for a second, then tossed it lazily into a nearby trash bin. "Stay lost."
A few heads turned. Some people slowed. No one stepped in.
And then, as if nothing happened, the music swelled again and the crowd swallowed the moment whole.
Chase didn't move. He walked toward the trash can slowly, hands shoved into his hoodie.
The Vulpix tensed, watching him through wide, tear-glossed eyes.
He crouched a few feet away.
"You always hang out in dumpsters," he asked softly, "or is this a one-time gig?"
She didn't answer. Just watched.
"Right. Social skills. Not my thing either."
He reached into his hoodie pocket, pulled out a squished Poképuff, and placed it gently on the ground between them.
"You don't have to trust me. But you're not trash."
Then he stood and walked away—never looking back.
That night, fireworks bloomed over rooftops. Chase stood outside, hoodie up, eyes on the sky.
He was surprised to see her.
The Vulpix stood at the porch steps, white-tipped tail wrapped tight. Eyes wide. Still afraid.
"…Well, damn," Chase muttered. "Guess you took the Poképuff bribe."
He sat beside her on the step, careful not to get too close.
"Name's Chase. I'm not great with people. Or Pokémon. Or… anything, really."
She didn't run.
And in the morning, she was still there.