Chapter 1 — The Day the World Changed

Ash

The air in Pallet Town was thick with a damp, overcast stillness, as though the village itself was mourning. The once-lively streets were muted, the cheery chatter of children and Pokémon long replaced by an oppressive quiet. Ash Ketchum walked those streets for the first time in months, his fingers clenching the strap of his worn backpack. His steps faltered as he reached the gate of his family home—if it could even be called that anymore.

The house stood in silence, its once-bright blue shutters faded to a dull gray. The garden his mother had so lovingly tended was overrun with weeds, a shell of the vibrance she’d cultivated for years. A lone, wilted flower struggled to stand amidst the chaos, its petals drooping under the weight of neglect. He stopped in front of the crooked mailbox, the name "KETCHUM" etched on its side like a ghost of better times. The letters were chipped, the corners rusted, but still legible—mockingly so.

“She wouldn’t have let it get like this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though saying the words too loudly would make the reality all too real.

A shadow passed over him as a flock of Pidgey fluttered overhead, their cries distant, mournful. He closed his eyes, gripping the strap tighter to steady the tremor in his hands. A memory flashed unbidden—the sound of her laugh as she pruned roses, her hands caked in soil, her voice warm and full of life. She was gone, and nothing could change that.

The funeral was held in the town square. It felt wrong. His mother deserved better—a grand ceremony, a celebration of her life. But instead, only a small group of villagers and a handful of familiar faces had gathered. Professor Oak stood at the front with his hands clasped tightly, his expression caught between grief and the determination to hold it together. Ash’s gaze swept the crowd, landing on Misty and Brock.

They were seated together, heads low. Misty’s fiery hair hung limply across her shoulders, duller than he had ever seen it. Brock’s arms were crossed, his lips pressed into a thin line, his usual calm demeanor overshadowed by something heavier. Ash wanted to be grateful that they came—he wanted to—but he wasn’t sure if his heart could hold anything but the painful knot twisting inside him.

As Oak delivered the eulogy, his words barely registered in Ash’s mind. His thoughts kept drifting: to his mother’s smile, to the way she’d always believed in him, to the promise he’d made before leaving on his journey to become a Pokémon Master. *“Go follow your dreams, Ash,”* she’d told him, her voice brimming with hope and pride. *“You’re destined for great things.”* Those words had been his anchor, his compass. Now, without her, he felt adrift. Untethered.

When Oak’s speech ended, the mourners dispersed slowly, offering quiet condolences to Ash as they passed. He nodded politely, murmuring thanks, but their words blurred together, their pity weighing on him like a heavy fog. He didn’t need their sympathy. He needed her.

As the crowd thinned, Ash lingered by the simple stone marker that now bore Delia Ketchum’s name. He knelt, running his fingers over the smooth, freshly carved letters. The sight of her name etched so permanently into granite felt like a cruel finality. He thought again of her smile, of the warmth in her voice, and suddenly his throat tightened.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I should’ve been here. I should’ve—”

“—left well enough alone.”

The words hit him like a sucker punch. He froze, his hand still resting on the headstone, as he turned his head. Voices. Just beyond the quiet circle of the graveyard, hidden behind the towering oak trees that bordered the square.

“I’m just saying,” Misty’s voice cut through the stillness, sharp and hushed, as though trying to keep the conversation private. “If he hadn’t been so reckless, maybe none of this would’ve happened.”

“That’s not fair,” Brock replied, his tone softer but no less weighted.

“Isn’t it?” Misty snapped back. “His obsession with being the best—it put a target on him, on all of us. Delia tried so hard to keep things together, but she couldn’t. And now, look where we are.”

Ash’s body stiffened. The knot in his chest twisted, burning like a live wire. His nails dug into his palms as he listened, every word slicing deeper.

“Misty, you don’t mean it that way,” Brock said, his voice low, almost pleading, but even he sounded unsure.

“I do,” she hissed. Her voice wavered, faltering slightly. “And deep down, even you know it’s true. We had to distance ourselves from him. Otherwise, we’d just get dragged down with him. Ash doesn’t think ahead—he never has. And I—I just couldn’t watch him destroy himself anymore.”

The words hit harder than any Pokémon’s attack ever could. Ash rose slowly, one hand clutching the edge of the headstone as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. He didn’t know what he’d expected today to be—a quiet goodbye, maybe, or some sense of solidarity from the people he’d called friends. What he didn’t expect was to hear how they truly felt about him.

He should’ve walked away. He should’ve ignored it. But the pain bubbling inside him was too much to contain.

“Say that to my face,” he said coldly, stepping out from behind the oak tree. His voice was quiet but razor-sharp, cutting through the still air like a blade.

Misty and Brock whipped around, their faces draining of color.

“Ash!” Misty stammered, her hands tightening into fists. “We didn’t—listen, you weren’t supposed to—”

“Weren’t supposed to what?” he asked, his crimson eyes narrowing, his voice shaking with restrained fury. “Hear the truth? That you think I’m a failure? That my dream—my life—is just some reckless game to you?”

“That’s not it,” Brock said, stepping forward, his hands raised defensively. “Ash, we didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” Ash snapped, his voice rising. “Just don’t. You think I haven’t noticed? You think I don’t see the way you’ve both been avoiding me? And now—now you’re standing here, at my mother’s funeral, calling me selfish?”

Misty opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, she looked to Brock, who only dropped his gaze to the dirt.

“We were trying to protect you, Ash.” Her voice cracked, the tension giving way to something raw, desperate. “You wouldn’t stop chasing some impossible dream! You put so much pressure on yourself—on everyone around you—and we were scared, Ash. Scared that one day, it’d all come crashing down. And it did.”

Ash felt his fists trembling at his sides, his knuckles white with strain. Her words echoed his own fears, his own doubts. He wanted to shout back, to defend himself, but part of him felt trapped. Another part of him burned with anger—anger that they, of all people, would turn their backs on him now.

“That’s not your decision to make,” he said finally, his voice low and trembling with restraint. “I trusted you. Both of you. And I would’ve done anything for you. But now, I see what that trust meant to you.”

Misty reached out as if to stop him, her expression crumbling. “Ash, wait—”

But he was already walking away, his steps heavy and unsteady. He didn’t know where he was going—he just knew he couldn’t stay. Not here. Not like this.

He passed Professor Oak on his way out, the older man’s brow creased with concern, but Ash didn’t stop. Not until he was far beyond the square, beyond the whispers of the villagers and the memories of the life he’d lost.

When he finally stopped, standing at the edge of the woods that bordered Pallet Town, he tilted his head up to the gray sky. The first drops of rain began to fall, mingling with the tears he hadn’t even realized were streaming down his face.

“I’ll show them,” he whispered, his voice laced with equal parts determination and sorrow. He reached into his pocket, brushing his fingertips against the cool surface of the Aura Pendant. Its faint, uneven pulse echoed his own heartbeat—a reminder of its power, a spark of what might come.

“I’ll show them all.”

And with that, he disappeared into the trees, leaving behind the last remnants of the boy he used to be.