The sun was already up when Ash finally opened his eyes.
Not that he'd slept much.
The ceiling above his bed was familiar—white, slightly cracked in the corner, with a glow-in-the-dark star sticker half-peeled near the center. His room smelled like clean laundry, morning light, and something faintly floral from Annie's fabric softener.
It should've felt safe.
But it didn't.
Ash rolled onto his side, his blanket bunched under one arm, and stared at the wall.
His head buzzed.
His chest still felt too tight.
And behind his eyes, the thoughts churned like they had all night.
"This could be the MCU… or it could be something worse."
He hadn't been able to stop thinking about it—not since the words Tony Stark takes over Stark Industries flashed across that old television screen.
It was too familiar. Too perfect. Too real.
Tony becoming CEO at a young age?
That happened in multiple timelines.
But the which was the problem.
Because there were a lot of Marvel Universes out there. Some survivable. Some… not.
Ash sat up slowly, legs dangling off the bed, and let his feet touch the cold floorboards.
He rubbed his face and took a deep breath.
Possibility One: The Marvel Cinematic Universe.
If this was the MCU, there was hope.
It wasn't safe—far from it—but it was a universe with structure. A universe with arcs. Events played out in rhythm, disasters came with warning signs, and—most of the time—heroes won.
There were dark times, yes. People died. Cities got leveled. But if you stayed off the radar and played it smart, you could survive it. Hell, if you were bold, you could even thrive.
Ash could live with that.
Prep. Train. Stay ahead of the curve.
"I can work with the MCU," he muttered. "It's dangerous… but it's clean."
But that was just the best-case scenario.
And the Marvel Multiverse wasn't known for mercy.
Possibility Two: Earth-616. The Mainline Marvel Comics Universe.
Now this one…
He exhaled hard.
The so-called main universe—the original canon—the one where every event stacked on the last until the world became a chaotic, cosmic blender of overlapping crises.
You didn't survive 616. You navigated it. You dodged and prayed and kept moving.
Gods. Demons. Clones. Secret wars. Civil wars. Skrulls. Phoenixes. Galactus.
Heroes died and came back like clockwork. Cities got flattened on Wednesdays. The X-Men went to space. The Fantastic Four lived in space.
There were no breaks.
Just overlapping catastrophes with bigger stakes every time.
"If this is 616… I'm already on borrowed time."
Ash swallowed thickly.
His Pokémon might help—but even with a team of six, he was a child. He couldn't fight Kang or Magneto or Apocalypse. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
"And if someone finds out what I have in those Pokéballs…"
He didn't finish that thought.
Possibility Four: Something Else. An AU. A Fusion Timeline.
That's what truly disturbed him.
Maybe this wasn't any of those universes.
Maybe this was something new. Something stitched together by fate or chaos or some cruel multiversal accident.
An amalgam.
MCU tech. 616 magic. Ultimate politics. Hell, maybe even zombies down the line if things really went sideways.
There were infinite universes in Marvel.
Some with talking ducks. Others where Charles Xavier ruled Earth with a peaceful iron fist. Even one where Deadpool ran a daycare.
There was no guarantee this world followed any rules he knew.
That made it the most dangerous possibility of all.
Ash stood, walked to the window, and watched the quiet street.
New Hope looked… normal. Bright lawns. Morning joggers. A kid on a bike.
But so did Westview. So did Mutant Town. So did Sokovia—before.
The silence of a world before the storm.
He needed answers. Soon.
Because this world?
It was hungry.
The scent of coffee and warm toast drifted through the air as Ash padded down the stairs, one hand brushing lightly along the rail. The old wood creaked beneath his steps, but he didn't mind. He needed the sound—something real to anchor him after a night of multiversal dread.
The kitchen came into view.
Morning light poured in through the window above the sink, casting soft glows across the countertops. His mother was at the stove, still in her robe, humming something under her breath as she turned over pancakes in a skillet.
She glanced up at the sound of his footsteps—and blinked.
"Well, look who's up before I had to come get him," Annie said with a little smile. "I didn't even put the kettle on yet. What woke you, birthday boy?"
Ash gave a vague shrug. "Just... couldn't sleep long."
It wasn't a lie.
It just wasn't the part she needed to know.
He moved toward the table, pulling himself up onto the same chair he always used—the one that wobbled slightly on one leg. His eyes flicked to the far end of the table.
There sat Dad.
Home on a day off. Hair slightly tousled, wearing a faded T-shirt and flannel pajama pants, his fingers curled around a mug of steaming black coffee. One of the few times he looked fully at peace.
Ash studied his face for a moment.
The man was reading the newspaper. Relaxed. Ordinary.
But Ash knew better now.
There were things in this house that didn't belong in any world—things that defied everything he thought he knew about the laws of physics, biology, existence.
And David Ketchum had brought them here.
Ash's voice was quiet, but carried the weight of decision.
"Where did you get them?"
David looked up slowly. "Get what?"
Ash didn't blink. "The Pokémon."
There was a beat of silence.
His father's brow creased—just a hair. He leaned back slightly in his chair. "The what?"
Ash pointed.
To the corner of the kitchen where a small bundle of creamy fur, stubby limbs, and closed eyes was curled beneath the hanging houseplants—peaceful, unbothered, faintly snoring.
Lala.
A Jigglypuff.
A Pokémon.
Or, as this world called them…
"Pocket Monsters," Ash said softly. "Or Extradimensionals. Whatever you call them. That's what I mean."
Annie stopped moving behind the stove.
Dad set the paper down. His face was no longer peaceful.
He looked at Ash—not dismissively, not even confused exactly—but as if trying to gauge just how much he understood. How much he remembered.
And Ash held his gaze with the fierce, stubborn fire of someone who would not be placated with lies.
Not this time.
Not anymore.
Annie and David exchanged a glance across the table. It was brief.
Silent.
But loaded.
Ash caught it immediately—the wordless conversation between two people who'd rehearsed a moment like this. Who'd asked themselves, When? and How much? and Is he ready yet?
And now… it seemed the answer was yes.
Annie gave the smallest nod. Barely perceptible.
Dad set down his coffee. His shoulders straightened. He exhaled quietly through his nose, as if closing the door on a simpler world.
"Come with me," he said.
Ash slid down from his chair without a word and followed.
The hallway was quiet. Morning light filtered in through the windows, but it all felt dimmer now—like the air had shifted. Like the rules had changed.
David stopped in front of a locked door beneath the stairs.
Ash had never seen it open.
Not once.
It had no handle. Just a series of old metal fastenings along the frame and what looked like a heavy latch engraved with a symbol—something circular, faintly familiar, like a crest worn down by time.
Dad pressed his palm to it.
And then… it happened.
A warm, golden glow flickered to life beneath his skin. Not artificial like arc reactors or machines—but something older. Organic. Alive.
The light spilled from his hand in threads, like sunlight woven into muscle and bone.
Aura.
Ash's breath caught.
"Wait. Are you a… Magician?" he asked, almost reflexively.
David's lips twitched. "Not quite. We'll get to that."
The lock clicked.
With a low, grinding sound, the door unlatched itself and slowly creaked open.
Cool air drifted out, tinged with dust and something older. Not musty. Not decayed. Just… untouched. Preserved.
They stepped inside.
The basement was nothing like Ash expected.
No tools. No old furniture. No half-finished projects.
It was clean. Purposeful. Lined with shelves of books and strange objects encased in glass. Scrolls. Crystals. A small orb that shimmered with a light not of this world.
And there—resting on a pedestal near the far wall—was a thick, leather-bound book.
Old.
Heavy.
Worn.
Dad stepped forward and gently lifted it from its resting place.
"This," he said, turning toward Ash, "is the Record."
He brought it over to a nearby desk and set it down with reverence.
The cover was stamped with an intricate crest—almost like a stylized Poké Ball, but older, more ornate. Embossed with symbols Ash didn't yet recognize.
David opened it slowly.
Pages of yellowed parchment whispered softly as they turned.
And then… images.
Creatures.
Descriptions.
Dates. Names. Bonding rituals. Sketches of battles. Notes on behavior.
Ash stared.
'This is a Pokédex,' he thinks, stunned. 'It's—it's not digital, but… this is a Pokédex.'
His father's eyes glimmered with something unreadable.
"It's our family's history."
Ash's fingers drifted toward the page.
A sketch of a Riolu stared back at him, mid-strike, fists glowing with raw energy.
Beneath it: Name: Kairo. Bonded: Eirik Ketchum, 1894.
Ash's heart beat faster.
Whatever was happening… this wasn't random.
And this wasn't new.
David watched Ash closely, as if trying to measure how much truth the boy could carry. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turned a few more pages in the Record.
"Our story," he began, "starts a long time ago. Before me. Before your grandfather. Before even America, the way we know it."
He flipped to an older page, the ink faded, the script more elaborate.
"Our ancestor… his name was Elias Ketchum."
Ash tilted his head, recognizing the surname.
Dad continued.
"Elias was a sorcerer. Or at least, he tried to be one."
That caught Ash's full attention.
"Wait. Was he powerful?"
David smiled faintly. "Kind of. But not nearly as talented. Or lucky."
He sat down beside Ash, one hand still resting on the open book, tracing the outline of a strange symbol on the page—a circle intersected by jagged lines and what looked like a triangle of stars.
"Sorcerers," Dad explained, shifting into that gentle tone adults used when teaching something delicate, "draw power from other dimensions. Each spell, each technique—it's like borrowing energy from a place outside our world. You shape it with your will, your intent, your focus. It's not just chanting words. It's… channeling."
Ash listened, wide-eyed. He knew what sorcerers were because he remembered Doctor Strange being one in the movies.
"But," David continued, "every dimension has a ruler. A being of immense power. We call them Dimensional Lords."
The air felt heavier just from the weight of the words.
"Some of them are ancient. Cosmic. Others are violent. Hungry. Some don't even care about humans. Others… want everything we have. They offer power in exchange for loyalty. A contract. And in doing so, they get a foothold in our world."
Ash's stomach twisted slightly. "So like… demons?"
Dad nodded. "Some are like that. Demons. Gods. Cosmic intelligences. Call them what you want. But they're real."
He leaned forward, flipping the page again.
"Now, Elias… he wanted to be great. He studied the arts. He tried to court the major Lords—Dormammu, Chthon. Even tried to use the Darkhold once."
Ash's eyes widened. He knew the Darkhold was bad news.
"But he failed. Every time. Some energies were too strong for him. Some rejected him outright. Others… tried to consume him. He was a subpar sorcerer, at best."
David smiled with a kind of bittersweet affection. "But he was stubborn. Brilliant in a way most people didn't understand. He kept digging. Kept exploring."
He paused, his voice lowering slightly.
"And eventually… he found a rift. A pocket realm. Something almost no one else had ever documented."
Dad turned the next page—and this one felt different.
Older. Heavier. The parchment darker, almost golden in hue.
"A dimension," he said quietly, "governed by a being called Arceus."
Ash felt something jolt inside him.
Like hearing the name of a god in a church you didn't know you were standing in.
David's fingers hovered just above the golden-edged page, reverent.
Ash stared at the name again: Arceus.
Even here, in a world of gods and mutants, the name felt sacred. It echoed. Resonated.
"Arceus," Dad said softly, "wasn't like the others."
He let the moment hang, letting Ash breathe in the weight of it.
"Most dimensional lords want something. Worship. Control. Chaos. But Arceus… Arceus maintained balance. Order. Life."
Ash felt a strange comfort at that.
"Elias," David continued, "made contact. Not directly—not with the god himself. But through a guardian. A mediator. What we now call a Legendary."
He flipped the page. On it was a beautiful, hand-inked depiction of a creature that looked like it had stepped out of both a myth and a dream—Mew.
"This being guided him. Not with words. But with intent. With emotion. With bond."
Dad tapped the page.
"Elias offered no worship. No servitude. He offered curiosity. A will to learn. And above all—a promise to protect what came through."
The next page showed Elias himself—rough sketch, long coat, a gaunt face with haunted eyes—and three familiar shapes floating around him.
Three Pokémon.
"They called them Extradimensionals back then. The term stuck. But to Elias, they were more than just creatures. They were… lifeforms. Children of balance. Each one carrying a spark of Arceus's essence."
Ash's throat felt dry. His fingers brushed the page.
"So Arceus allowed it," David said. "A limited tether. A leak in the veil between dimensions. One man, one family, granted access to its realm."
He turned the page again. Symbols danced across the parchment—none Ash could read, but all pulsing with strange, living geometry.
"From that connection," Dad whispered, "came Aura."
That word made Ash pause. He'd heard it before. Seen it, even, in some Pokémon films. But here, it didn't sound like a fictional power. It sounded real.
"Aura," David continued, "is not magic. It's not elemental. It's a living current of dimensional energy. Think of it like… breath. Or blood. The force that flows through every being born of that realm."
He raised his hand again—and this time, Ash saw the glow clearly.
Golden. Gentle. Radiating like a heartbeat made visible.
"Our bloodline can tap into it," Dad said. "Because of Elias. Because of Arceus."
Ash stared. Mind spinning.
"We don't summon it," David said. "We harmonize with it. And in doing so, we bond. Not command. Bond. Like equals."
The weight of it sank in slowly.
This wasn't magic.
This was inheritance.
Ash's whole life—all three years of it—tilted slightly as he tried to absorb what it meant.
He wasn't just some lucky kid with a backpack full of Pokémon.
He was the descendent of the first human who ever partnered with them on Earth.
Dad knelt beside the old wooden table, the thick family tome still open in front of him, golden symbols faintly glowing under his fingertips.
Ash sat cross-legged across from him, silent, alert, and watching his father like every word might fall apart if he blinked.
"Once Elias formed the bond," David continued, "he crafted a ritual. Not complex—not in the arcane sense—but built on intent and resonance."
He reached into a small drawer beneath the table and pulled out a simple ring of silver, etched with concentric circles.
"Through this ritual," he said, holding the ring up for Ash to see, "we call out to their realm. Not to command—but to invite. To ask."
He placed the ring between them gently.
"If the being accepts, it comes through. It stays as long as the tether—your Aura—can sustain it."
Ash stared at the ring. A summoning circle, he thought. Except this one didn't drip with demonic symbols or blood runes.
It felt… alive. Like it pulsed with heartbeat and breath.
"And when they come," Dad said, a small, nostalgic smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "they don't roar or shriek like monsters."
He chuckled softly.
"They just are. They look at you. Wait. See who you are."
His eyes twinkled slightly now.
"And that's when you start calling them names like Lala or Albus or—" he grinned, "Pokémon, apparently."
Ash blinked.
"Wait. So what do you call them then?"
"We didn't," David said. "Not before you. We called them Extradimensionals. Spirits. Companions. Some of the old texts even say Heralds."
He shrugged, then smiled again, a bit amused.
"But I have to admit… Pokémon has a nice ring to it."
Ash's heart skipped. Something about hearing his father say that word—his word—grounded him, tethered him back to himself in a world that was tilting in a thousand directions.
"So… how many can you have?" Ash asked.
Dad's smile turned thoughtful. He tapped the book again and flipped to a page showing a family tree.
"It depends," he said. "On how much Aura you can channel. On your talent. On your emotional bond."
His fingers paused on a sepia-toned sketch of a woman in flowing robes surrounded by a host of creatures, their outlines barely inked but unmistakably varied—feathered, horned, scaled, furred.
"The strongest in our family—your great-great-aunt Miriam—bonded with seventeen in her lifetime."
Ash's jaw dropped. "Seventeen?!"
"She was a prodigy," David said with a wry smile. "Could shape Aura with a whisper. Held a link with half of them even as she fought against a rift storm off the Alaskan coast."
He leaned back, looking at Ash again—not as a child, but as an heir.
"Most of us don't get near that number. Three is average. Five if you're stubborn. More if you're foolish."
Ash didn't say anything. He was still staring at the ring. Still feeling the weight of what it all meant.
"The Ketchums," Dad went on, voice lower now, "we don't just hide this power. We don't hoard it."
He gestured toward the wall—toward the empty fireplace lined with strange carvings Ash had never noticed before.
"We work with the Masters of the Mystic Arts. With Keepers. With guardians of every kind. Because sometimes, the threats aren't from here. Not from Earth. Not from our dimension."
His tone darkened.
"Some come from what we call the Hell Dimensions. Others from shattered timelines. Places so broken that their monsters don't just eat—they replace."
He looked at Ash again. Stern now. Serious.
"When those things bleed through… people like us are the only line of defense."
Ash was silent. The air felt heavier than before.
Not just because of the revelations.
But because he understood what his father was really saying.
This wasn't just a gift.
It was a duty.
______________________________________________________________________
A.N. Give me some reviews of what you guys think, it'll help me understand what you guys like and don't like. It will also help this story reach more people.
P.S. Give me power stones!!!!!