Chapter 2 — Words That Cut Deep

Ash

The rain had picked up, a rhythmic drum against the forest canopy above. Each droplet seemed to weigh heavier than the last, matching the storm brewing inside Ash. He trudged through the woods, his soaked sneakers squelching against the damp earth. The air was thick with the scent of wet leaves and cold soil, but even the familiar smells of the forest felt foreign now. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as Misty’s words echoed in his mind, sharper with each repetition.

*"Reckless."*

*"Selfish."*

*"Destroying himself."*

He stopped abruptly, gripping the rough bark of a tree to steady himself. His shoulders trembled beneath the weight of it all. This forest had been a haven once, a place filled with laughter and memories of carefree days racing with Pikachu. Now, it felt shrunken and suffocating, its roots and shadows curling around him like the doubts clawing at his chest.

“*Protect me?*” he muttered bitterly, his voice cracking as it left his throat. The words hung in the air, unanswered, mocking him. “Protect me from what? From myself?” His voice wavered, and he inhaled sharply. “Who asked them? Who asked anyone to—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. His breath hitched, and he pressed his forehead against the damp bark. His eyes burned, tears threatening to fall, but he refused to let them. Not here. Not now.

But the memories surged anyway.

The funeral. The cold, unrelenting stone of his mother’s grave. Misty’s harsh words. Brock’s complicit silence. The knot tightened in his chest. They were supposed to be his friends. They were supposed to be the ones who understood.

A crack of thunder startled the stillness, scattering a few Pidgeotto from the underbrush. The flutter of wings was a brief distraction, but Ash’s gaze quickly fell back to the forest floor, his breaths harsh and uneven. He felt exposed, as though even the trees were bearing witness to his unraveling.

Then, faint footsteps broke through the rain. Soft and deliberate. At first, the sound barely registered over the storm in his mind, but as it grew clearer, Ash tensed. He turned sharply toward the source, his crimson eyes locking onto a familiar figure emerging from the shadows.

Professor Oak stood a few paces away, his silver hair dampened by the rain. His white lab coat clung to his frame, droplets clinging to the fabric. His kind, weathered face bore an expression of quiet sadness and understanding. He didn’t approach further, his hands clasped behind his back, as though waiting for Ash’s permission to close the distance.

Neither of them spoke at first. The rain filled the silence, its steady rhythm punctuating the tension.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Oak said finally, his voice calm but low. He stayed rooted in place. “You’ve always come here when you needed to think.”

Ash scoffed softly, turning away from him. “Thinking doesn’t help much these days,” he muttered. His voice carried an edge, but it was hollow—a shadow of the fire it once held.

Oak stayed silent. His presence was steady, almost like the rain itself, patient and grounding. But the weight of Ash’s emotions boiled over.

“Did you know?” Ash’s voice rose suddenly, cracking through the stillness. He spun back to face Oak, his crimson eyes burning with accusation. “Did you know what they thought of me? What they were saying behind my back?”

Oak’s shoulders sagged slightly, his expression softening. “They didn’t mean for you to hear any of it,” he said gently. His tone was calm, measured, but tinged with regret. “People say things in grief, Ash. Things they don’t always mean.”

Ash let out a bitter laugh, his fists clenching tighter. “Oh, they meant it,” he snapped. “You don’t say things like that unless you’ve been thinking them for a long time.” His voice cracked, and he shook his head, stepping backward. Rain slicked his hair, plastering it against his forehead, but he didn’t care. His breaths came out in sharp bursts. “First it’s my dream that’s too big, my choices that are too reckless. Now it’s my grief that’s too much. What do they want from me, huh? What else can I even give?”

Oak’s gaze softened further, but his voice grew firmer. “No one is blaming you, Ash. Not in the way you think.”

Ash shook his head again, a humorless smile breaking through his despair. “Feels like they are.”

His hand drifted to the Aura Pendant hanging around his neck. Its faint blue glow flickered softly, barely visible through the dim light filtering through the rain. He grasped it tightly, the cool surface pressing into his palm like a lifeline. For a moment, it felt grounding. But then, the storm inside surged again. Frustration and anger swelled, and he yanked the pendant free, holding it up as though daring Oak to justify its weight.

“This,” he said, his voice trembling. “This is supposed to make me stronger, right? It’s supposed to mean something. Then why—why do I feel so weak?”

Oak stepped closer, his movements deliberate but unthreatening. “Strength doesn’t mean never feeling weak,” he said. “It means finding the courage to keep going, even when you do.”

Ash’s fingers tightened around the pendant as Oak’s words settled over him. He turned away again, his free hand raking through his soaked hair. His shoulders slumped under the sheer weight of everything pressing down on him.

“I’m tired, Professor,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m tired of trying so hard, only to lose everything anyway.”

Oak’s response came quickly, his voice steady but sharp. “Then stop trying for them.”

The words hit Ash like a jolt. He froze, his fingers loosening slightly around the pendant. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder at Oak, his expression unreadable.

Oak stepped closer, his tone unwavering but calm. “Stop trying to prove yourself to others. Stop chasing their approval. It’s not your burden to carry.”

Ash didn’t reply, but something shifted in his expression—a flicker of something raw and uncertain.

“You’ve always had a fire in you, Ash,” Oak continued. “It’s what pushed you to leave Pallet Town in the first place. To follow your dream of being the very best. That dream is still yours. No one can take that from you—not Misty, not Brock, not anyone.”

Ash’s jaw tightened. His chest rose and fell unevenly as he absorbed Oak’s words. He wanted to believe them—to cling to that fire that once drove him forward. But the ache of betrayal and loss still loomed, heavy and unrelenting.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” he whispered hoarsely. “How can I be someone worth believing in if I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be?”

Oak reached out, placing a steady hand on Ash’s shoulder. His grip was firm but gentle, grounding. “That’s a question only you can answer,” he said. “But you don’t have to answer it today. You’ve been through so much. Give yourself time to find your way.”

Ash looked up at him, crimson eyes searching desperately for something—anything—to hold onto. Oak’s gaze was unwavering, his calm confidence radiating the same quiet reassurance Ash had relied on so many times before.

For the first time that day, Ash took a deep breath. It didn’t erase the storm inside him, but it dulled the edges slightly—just enough to think. Just enough to hold on.

“Thanks, Professor,” he muttered, his voice subdued but sincere.

Oak gave a small nod, his hand lingering on Ash’s shoulder before releasing it. “Whatever you decide, wherever you go—I’ll be here.”

Ash didn’t reply. He turned back toward the woods, his steps slow and deliberate as he moved deeper into the shadows. The rain had started to lighten, patches of gray sky breaking through the canopy above. He didn’t know where he was going or what he would do next, but for the first time since stepping back into Pallet Town, he felt the faintest spark of direction.

He clutched the Aura Pendant again, its steady pulse a quiet reminder of what lay ahead. It wasn’t much, but for now, it was enough.

And for now, that was all he needed.