Ash's POV
They say you can learn a lot about someone by watching how they battle.
I've been watching Aunt Freya for the last four days, and I think I've figured her out.
She's a battle maniac.
Not in the scary, angry way. Not the kind who yells or breaks things when she loses. No—she lives for it. It's like every nerve in her body lights up the second someone says the word "spar." She's challenged Dad every morning since she got here. Once before breakfast, once after lunch, and usually again after dinner. And the thing is… she's good. Really good.
I mean, Dad's no slouch. He's calm, careful. Knows his team like the back of his hand. But Freya? She fights like she's dancing through a storm. Like she wants to get hit just to hit back harder. Her Pokémon move like they've fought through real wars—and so has she.
I've seen her catch a thrown Pokéball without even looking. I've seen her dodge Albus mid-charge and flip him onto his side using just his momentum. I've seen her call out two counters at once like her brain is playing ten games at the same time. And I've seen her smile through it all like the battle itself is the reward.
She's stronger than Dad.
That's hard to admit, even to myself. But it's true. Not just as a trainer. As a warrior.
Sometimes I catch Dad watching her during their matches, his mouth a flat line, eyes following her every move. I can't tell if he's impressed or annoyed. Maybe both.
And it's not just battles. She's been helping me train, too.
Nothing fancy. Just movement drills, balance work, a few small exercises to build awareness. She says I need to learn how to move before I can command anyone else to.
"You can't lead from behind," she told me. "Your Pokémon will know if you're just shouting things. You have to mean it. With your whole body."
It's hard. My legs ache by the end of the day. But I love it.
She calls me 'Kid' most of the time, ruffles my hair when I get something right, and whacks me with a stick when I don't keep my guard up. I think that's her way of saying she likes me.
She's also been showing me how she trains without her Pokémon. That part's wild. There's this move she does—something between a spin and a backstep—and somehow she always ends up behind her opponent. She says it's from an old Ketchum family technique used when sorcerers fought side-by-side with warriors and Pokémon. I didn't even know our family had techniques like that.
Honestly? If I didn't know she was my aunt, I'd have guessed she was some kind of elite warrior sent from another world.
**********
Freya's POV
It had been four days since I showed up on David's doorstep, wind-chapped and half-drained from a mission that took more out of me than I'd admit. Since then, I'd slipped easily into the rhythm of their little household—morning training, shared meals, late-night tea with Annie while David pretended not to eavesdrop from the hallway.
It was quieter here.
The kind of quiet that didn't last long.
Ash was the reason for that.
I sat cross-legged at the edge of the backyard clearing now, watching the boy hurl himself at a makeshift dummy again and again, trying to land the exact combination I'd drilled into him yesterday. His feet were still too loud on the grass, his weight shifted too far forward on the third strike—but he was improving. Fast. Too fast.
I didn't let it show on my face. Not in front of him. But behind the mask of a casual, slightly grumpy aunt, I was starting to get unnerved.
The boy was a monster.
Not in a cruel or reckless way—not like some prodigies I've seen whose power made them arrogant or hollow. No, Ash's strength was rooted in something else. Raw instinct, maybe. A kind of resonance with the world around him. He didn't just mimic the moves I showed him—he absorbed them, bent them, made them his own.
And he wasn't even five yet.
I tilted my head, gaze sharpening.
Maybe it was time I stopped guessing.
Quietly, I took a breath, closed my eyes, and drew the Aura forward.
It started in my chest—a flicker, a pulse, like catching the beat of a war drum miles off. I let it build, let it flow outward, centering in my eyes. When I opened them again, the world shimmered.
Everything had a hue, a glow, a weight. Life, intent, potential—all of it visible in threads of energy most people could never see. The clearing around us was soft with the blue of grass and tree spirits. My own Aura—orange and burning low—throbbed faintly in the edge of my vision. Houndoom, lounging behind me, was a pulsing crimson.
And Ash—
I blinked.
Ash burned.
Where the boy stood, panting and frowning in concentration, there was no subtle color or gentle ripple. His Aura was blue, but not the calm kind you'd expect from a healer or scholar. It was roaring, overwhelming in scale, flaring outward in blazing waves. It wasn't just alive. It was radiant. Vast.
Like a sun made of stormlight.
My breath caught in my throat.
That much Aura in someone his age… it shouldn't be possible. Even among the Ketchums—our bloodline born of pact-walkers and dimensional war veterans—this was something else.
I'd read about Miriam, of course. Everyone in the family had. The woman who had once bonded with seventeen Pokémon, who forged the first Containment Spheres with the help of ancient Sorcerers. A legend. A benchmark.
And this boy—this child barely tall enough to lift a blade—already carried more potential in his frame than anyone I'd ever met.
He stumbled a bit on the final movement, caught himself, and reset his footing with a scowl.
Not frustrated. Determined.
The sun inside him flared brighter for it.
I let the Aura fade from my eyes and sat there for a long moment, heart drumming in my ears.
Then I muttered, mostly to myself, "You're going to outshine all of us, aren't you?"
Houndoom shifted behind me, lifting its head, sensing my change in mood.
I reached out and scratched its jaw. "I don't say that lightly."
Because I'd fought beside titans.
I'd seen a Master Sorcerer stop time in a single breath. I'd watched my own father bring down a Hydra with nothing but steel and silence. I'd stood back-to-back with warriors who didn't even flinch when the sky cracked open.
But Ash…
Ash would be greater than them all.
He just didn't know it yet.
And maybe that was for the best.
*******
Freya leaned back in the old porch chair, one leg propped on the railing. Her half-finished tea sat cooling on the wooden table between her and David, but she didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were on the stars—distant pinpricks scattered across a velvet-black sky.
David sat across from her, cradling his mug. He hadn't said anything yet. Just waited, like he always did, letting the silence stretch until it felt safe to speak in.
Freya finally sighed, her fingers drumming against the chair's armrest. "Kid's got quite the technique for someone his age."
David let out a quiet huff—somewhere between a laugh and an exhale. "You noticed that, did you?"
"Hard not to," Freya said, shifting forward to rest her elbow on her knee. "I've worked with plenty of promising youngsters before. But Ash..." She trailed off, swirling the dregs of her tea. "It's like he was born knowing things the rest of us have to bleed to learn."
David's thumb stopped tapping against his mug. His gaze drifted toward the stars, and when he spoke, his words came carefully. "Sometimes I watch him and wonder if we're doing right by him. Keeping things... simple."
"Simple?" Freya's voice carried a note of understanding. "You mean safe."
"Maybe." David set his mug down, the ceramic clinking softly against the table. "Annie and I, we built this life to be... ordinary. Peaceful. But sometimes I look at him and think..."
"Think what?"
David was quiet for a long moment, then exhaled slowly. "Think maybe ordinary was never going to be an option."
Freya glanced sideways at him, her expression unreadable in the dim light. "Worried about what that means?"
"Every day," David admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "The world's not kind to people like us, Freya. You know that better than anyone. And if he's got even half of what I think he's got..."
He didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to.
Freya leaned back in her chair, studying the constellations. "He's got good parents. That counts for something."
"Does it?" David's question hung in the air between them. "When the time comes—and we both know it will—is love going to be enough?"
Freya was quiet, her fingers still drumming that restless rhythm.
Then she murmured, almost to herself, "Kid's going to surprise us all, I think."
David nodded slowly, understanding passing between them without words. "Yeah. He already is."
They sat like that for a while, letting unspoken truths settle around them like evening mist. Somewhere inside, Annie shifted in her sleep. One of the Pokémon grunted softly in the backyard. The world continued its quiet rhythm.
Eventually, Freya smirked, breaking the tension. "Also, you're still slower than me in combat drills."
David rolled his eyes, some of the weight lifting from his shoulders. "We're having a moment here, Freya."
"Can't let you get soft just because you've gone suburban," she said, but her tone was fond.
David chuckled, and for a few precious moments, the stars above them felt just a little closer.
Freya's expression grew thoughtful again as she gazed upward. "Whatever's coming... he won't face it alone."
From behind them, a soft voice said, "No, he won't."
Both siblings turned.
Annie stood at the back door, arms wrapped around herself, her eyes calm and clear in the dim porch light. She stepped down onto the grass barefoot, moving with the quiet grace of someone who'd learned not to disturb sleeping households.
"Sorry," she said, settling onto the porch step beside David's chair. "I heard voices and..." She paused, glancing between them. "You two looked like you were solving the world's problems."
David reached down to squeeze her shoulder, his fingers finding the familiar comfort of her presence. "Just talking about our boy."
"Ah." Annie's smile was knowing, tinged with the same worry they all carried. "The 'what do we do with a child who might be extraordinary' conversation?"
Freya raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself. "You've had this talk before."
"Once or twice," Annie admitted, leaning into David's touch. "Usually around three in the morning when one of us can't sleep." She looked up at the stars. "Funny thing about love, though. It finds a way to be enough, even when it shouldn't be."
The Ketchum family had always been built on more than blood. It was love. Loyalty. Unshakable bonds in the face of impossible odds.
And Ash…
Ash had inherited all of it.
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A.N. A short Chapter here, What do you think of the Pace? Too slow? Too Fast?
Let me know down in the comments!
P.S. Give me the Stones!!!!!