Ash's POV
I turned eight last week.
The house still felt like it held echoes of laughter—crumbs from my cake stuck stubbornly in the corners of the kitchen, scuff marks on the backyard stones from Tauros chasing me and Houndoom around like it was a rodeo. Freya had stayed for my birthday too. That probably made it the best one I've ever had.
Mom baked the cake, a rich chocolate-honey thing that stuck to the roof of my mouth. Dad grilled outside even though it started raining halfway through. And Freya, being Freya, showed up late and soaking wet, tossing her jacket over one of the porch beams like she lived here full-time again.
I remember everything about that day.
Especially her gift.
***********
Flashback
"Here," Freya said, tossing me a small box as she lounged backwards on the couch, one leg hanging off the armrest like a teenager. "Happy birthday, runt."
I caught it mid-air, grinning. "You're not even gonna wrap it properly?"
"It's wrapped in tradition," she said with a lazy smirk. "Now open it."
I did, flipping the wooden lid with a quiet click. Inside was a single round pearl—except it wasn't just a pearl. The moment I saw it, my breath caught. A warmth, subtle but ancient, pulsed gently through the tiny sphere. It shimmered faintly even in the low light. I knew what it was.
A Keystone.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and masked my surprise the way I'd been practicing—Freya didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she did, and was pretending not to.
She leaned forward, her voice dropping just a little. "You know, Pokémon sometimes bring strange things with them when summoned. Not always berries or fur or food scraps. Sometimes it's... rarer. Stronger."
She tapped the edge of the box as she continued. "Most of the time, it's simple things. A Sitrus berry clutched tight in their paws, the stem still fresh. Or an Oran that's been fermented to the edge of sweetness—Pokémon know how to find the ripest fruit even in ghostlands. Sometimes they bring a shed scale, a bit of dried leaf, or even soil that's humming with latent energy. Nothing's random with them. Not really."
Her voice dipped lower, touched by something more reverent.
"But once in a while... they bring things we don't understand. A gemstone that resonates like a heartbeat. A piece of metal with no earthly origin. Tools shaped like bone, but too perfect to be natural. Gifts that hum with purpose."
She tapped the box again, gently this time. "That pearl—it didn't come from the sea. It came with a Pokémon. Centuries ago. It's stayed in our family ever since. We've tested it, tried to trace its energy. Never could figure out what it's for. But it feels old. Older than anything I've held before."
I nodded slowly, eyes locked on the Keystone, doing everything I could not to reach out and hold it tighter.
Freya chuckled. "But I've got a feeling, Ash. If anyone's gonna figure it out, it's you."
She ruffled my hair, and I rolled my eyes but let her.
Even then... something deep inside me had stirred.
***********
Present
I keep the Keystone hidden.
Not out of fear, exactly—just instinct. Like I was supposed to wait. To let something bloom on its own, not force it. Aunt Freya left two days after my birthday, promising she'd return before the next full moon. Dad said she'd been called up for a scouting assignment on the west coast. Something to do with distortions along the ley lines. He didn't explain more. He never does when it comes to the family's business with the Masters.
But since she left... something in me hasn't been the same.
I wake up before sunrise now, heart pounding like I've just run a marathon. Sometimes my hands tingle. And when I close my eyes—really close them—I see light. Not from outside. From me.
There's something inside.
Something waiting.
And I think...
I think it's finally waking up.
It was supposed to be a normal day.
I woke up before dawn like I always did, brushing the sleep from my eyes as I sat cross-legged in the corner of my room. Aunt Freya told me meditation helps stabilize the body—and the mind. "Every fighter's strength comes from stillness first," she said once, and I never forgot it. I could still hear her voice in my head as I inhaled slow and deep, then let it all go. Ten breaths. Fifteen. Twenty.
After breakfast, I helped Mom in the kitchen for a bit before she started our lessons—math first (ugh), then history, and then reading, which I didn't mind. Mom made everything sound like a story worth listening to. By midday, we were done. I changed into my training clothes and stepped outside with Dad. He didn't say much—he never really did when we trained. Just watched, corrected my stance, reminded me to breathe.
Lunch came and went. A bit of rice, some seared vegetables, and that weird plum sauce I didn't really like but ate anyway because Mom made it.
Then I went into the backyard to play with Albus and Hooter. Hooter was gliding over the grass in lazy loops, hooting now and then as Albus tried to chase her shadow. He always got frustrated when she went too high. I laughed and threw a stick into the bushes, watching him bolt after it like his life depended on it.
Everything was normal.
Until it wasn't.
It hit me like a spear to the chest.
One second I was laughing, and the next—I couldn't breathe.
My knees buckled under me like I'd been shot. My hands clawed into the grass, dirt wedging under my fingernails as something massive, burning, pressed outward from inside me. The earth beneath me was still warm from the afternoon sun, but suddenly it felt cold against my palms. It wasn't pain at first. Just pressure. Like the air in my lungs had been replaced with fire and light and noise.
Then the pain came.
I screamed.
It wasn't a cry or a shout—it was a gut-wrenching, soul-tearing scream that tore out of me like it had been trapped there for years. My whole body shook. I couldn't stop it. The world blurred. I heard Albus barking from the porch, his voice high and frantic. Hooter screeching from somewhere above, wings beating frantically.
Then Mom.
"Ash?!"
I saw her running—barefoot across the wooden porch, her footsteps pounding against the boards before hitting the grass. Her dress caught in the wind as she sprinted toward me. Her face was pale. Terrified.
She didn't make it to me.
Because that's when it happened.
The pulse.
It exploded out of me like a shockwave—blue and blinding, alive and wild and loud in a way that didn't make a sound but still roared through the air like thunder. Everything around me shuddered. Grass flattened in a perfect circle, blades bending away from me as if pushed by invisible hands. The wind screamed backward. Hooter tumbled in the air, her startled cry cut short. Albus yelped as he was tossed back against the porch railing. Mom—Mom was flung several feet before landing hard on the earth, her breath leaving her in a sharp gasp.
And then everything was quiet.
Even the birds had stopped singing.
I remember hearing my heartbeat. Once. Twice.
Then nothing.
Just darkness.
**********
Annie's POV
"Ash!"
The scream still echoed in her ears as she scrambled upright, her knees scraping against the yard stones, palms burning where they'd hit the ground. She didn't care. The wind had been knocked clean out of her—her ribs ached with each desperate breath—and the air around her still buzzed like lightning had kissed the earth, making her skin prickle.
She was already on her feet and running again—this time slower, her legs shaking violently with the aftershock. Her heart hammered so hard she could feel it in her throat.
Ash lay in the middle of the yard, unconscious. His body looked untouched, no bruises, no cuts... but his skin shimmered faintly in the late afternoon light. Like light was trapped just beneath it. A soft, pulsing blue glow flickered around him, barely visible but unmistakably there.
"Ash," she whispered again, falling to her knees beside him. Her fingers hovered over his chest, trembling, terrified to touch. What if she hurt him? What if whatever had done this was still inside him, waiting?
Albus came over, whining low in his throat and gently licking Ash's limp hand.
Annie's heart was pounding so hard it made her dizzy. She grabbed the phone from her dress pocket with trembling fingers—nearly dropping it twice—and hit the emergency contact with a shaking thumb.
"David," she said the moment he picked up, her voice cracking. "Come home. Now. It's Ash. Something's happened."
She didn't wait for a response. She knew he was already moving.
Her eyes didn't leave her son's face, even as her mind raced through every possibility she'd ever read about—illness, psychic surge, magical interference. But none of it felt right. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. She pressed them against her thighs, trying to still them.
Because this... this wasn't a sickness.
It was something awakening.
Something old.
Something his.
**************
David's POV
The car screeched to a halt in front of the Ketchum house, tires biting into the gravel driveway. David didn't even bother shutting the door as he leapt out, boots pounding the pavement, keys still swinging in the ignition. His heart had started hammering the moment he heard Annie's voice on the phone—trembling, breathless, choked with panic.
He took the stairs to the porch two at a time, then slammed open the front door hard enough to rattle the frame.
"Ash!" he called out, his voice booming through the house.
No response.
But he didn't need one. David closed his eyes, steadied his breath for a half-second, and reached inward. The pulse of his family's presence—faint and warm—flickered upstairs. He raced up the steps, his hand already glowing faintly with aura, floorboards creaking under his urgent footsteps.
Ash's bedroom door was open.
Annie was kneeling beside the bed, eyes locked on their son, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Her breath came in short, tight gasps, and her hair clung to her temples with sweat. She didn't look up when David entered. She didn't speak.
Ash lay motionless in bed, tucked under blankets, his face far too pale against the white pillowcase. His chest rose and fell—shallow, but steady.
David's stomach clenched.
Without a word, he stepped closer, standing at the foot of the bed. Then he closed his eyes and pulled deep from within—the world around him falling into silence as his Aura Vision awakened.
The room shifted.
Colors emerged. The low hum of Hooter's energy from the living room, the faint golden-blue glimmer of Albus beside him... and Ash.
David's breath caught.
A radiant blue flame blazed within his son's body—barely stable, flickering wildly like a storm held back by the thinnest barrier. Like a sun barely contained behind fragile glass. But it was there. Alive. Burning. Pure.
He exhaled slowly, his eyes dimming back to normal.
"He's okay," David murmured.
Annie finally looked up, eyes wide and red-rimmed. "Okay? David, he—he screamed. Something came out of him. A shockwave. It—he collapsed and wouldn't wake up—"
"Easy. I know." He crouched beside her, one hand gently resting on her shoulder. "I know, love. But it's not an illness or a wound. It's his Aura. It's awakening."
She blinked, lips parted in disbelief. "His...?"
David nodded slowly. "This is what it looks like when someone with his kind of gift comes into it all at once. Sudden. Intense. Painful as hell. But it means he's ready."
He looked her over, frowning softly now.
Only then did he notice the cuts. Faint scratches along her arms. A bruise on her cheekbone from where she must've hit the ground after the pulse.
David's eyes darkened—not with anger, but with protective instinct.
Without another word, he unclipped a familiar capsule from his belt and tapped the button.
With a shimmer of red light, Lala emerged.
The Jigglypuff blinked up at him with large, intelligent eyes, her head tilting in concern as she immediately sensed the tension in the room.
David crouched, resting a gentle hand on her soft head. "Heal Pulse," he said quietly, motioning toward Annie.
Lala didn't hesitate. She closed her eyes, her body pulsing with a soft pink glow that spread gently through the room like ripples across a still lake. The warmth of her aura washed over Annie, gently knitting skin, calming nerves, and lifting away the exhaustion that clung to her like mist.
Annie let out a quiet breath, some of the tightness leaving her frame.
David looked at her then, properly—his wife, fierce and gentle, shaken but still steady.
"Should've been here," he said quietly. "But you handled it perfectly."
Annie looked at Ash, then back to David. "What happens now?"
David turned toward their son again, his eyes solemn.
"Now," he said, "the boy becomes what he was always meant to be."
*************
Ash's POV
Ash stirred.
At first, it was faint—the way a dream slips into silence before waking. A dull thrum, like a heartbeat not quite his own, pulsed quietly through his chest. The world felt heavy, muffled. His limbs didn't respond right away. He floated there, adrift somewhere between asleep and awake.
And then—
It hit him.
A surge. A flash of everything. The room, the air, his own breath—it all felt... louder. Clearer. It wasn't sound. It wasn't sight. It was awareness. As if something inside him had flared to life and refused to go quiet again.
His fingers twitched under the sheets. His brow creased.
Then his eyes opened.
The ceiling above him came into focus, dappled in the golden afternoon light that streamed through the curtains. Dust motes danced gently in the sunbeam crossing his bed—but now, Ash felt them. He felt the movement of the air they stirred, the way the light warmed his skin differently where it touched versus where shadows fell. He felt the quiet, steady rhythm of his mother's breathing nearby, the faintest warmth of someone watching him.
His body was still sore, heavy in ways he didn't have words for. But it was alive. Brimming. His pulse beat like a drum in his ears—and under it, something else.
Something new.
Ash pushed himself up slowly, groaning as muscles complained. The blanket fell from his chest, and he winced at the strange pins-and-needles tingle still crawling up his spine. The fabric of his shirt felt different against his skin—rougher, more textured than he remembered.
"Ash!" a voice gasped.
Ash turned his head just in time to see his mother rush over from the chair beside his bed. Her arms were around him in an instant, gentle but trembling. She pressed her forehead to his and exhaled shakily.
"You scared me half to death," Annie whispered, brushing a hand through his hair. "Don't you ever do that again."
Ash tried to speak but found his voice dry, rasping. "Water?"
Annie laughed softly through her tears. "Of course." She quickly reached for the glass on the nightstand and brought it to his lips. Ash drank in slow, greedy gulps.
By the time he'd finished, he was sitting up properly—propped against pillows, his mother still close by, her eyes not leaving him.
"Where's Dad?" Ash asked.
"Downstairs. He's giving you space. Thought it might be better if I was here when you woke up." She gave him a pointed look. "And to make sure you didn't try to sneak outside five minutes after opening your eyes."
Ash managed a faint grin. "No promises."
He turned his head toward the window. Albus was resting in the shade near the porch, eyes half-lidded but alert. Hooter perched on the rooftop gutter, his feathers fluffed, head swiveling in quiet vigilance. And Lala... Lala was already waddling into the room, her big blue eyes fixed on Ash with something that looked very much like concern.
"She was the one who healed me?" Ash asked, his voice still hoarse.
Annie smiled and nodded. "Your father asked her to help. You knocked me flat, you know."
Ash's heart sank a little. "I... I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to—"
"I know." She brushed his cheek with her thumb. "It wasn't you. Not really. It was something awakening. You've felt it too, haven't you?"
Ash hesitated. Then slowly, he nodded.
"It's like..." He struggled for the words. "Like I can feel everything. I can feel you. Lala. Even Hooter outside. It's not like seeing or hearing. It's just... there. Like my heart's listening to the world."
Annie's breath caught slightly. Her hand returned to his, squeezing it gently.
"That's your Aura," she said quietly. "You've awakened it."
Ash blinked. "I did?"
Annie nodded. "We'll explain everything. But your father—he's the one who'll help you understand it best. He's... been through this before."
Ash was quiet for a long moment. Something was still burning inside him. Not painfully now—but like a flame quietly smoldering at the edge of his chest. It didn't feel dangerous. It felt alive.
Like something ancient had finally opened its eyes inside him.
Ash turned to his mother. "I felt... something explode. And then, before I passed out, I saw everything. Like colors. Lights. Not with my eyes, but somewhere in my head."
She nodded again. "You weren't dreaming. That was real."
Ash leaned back into the pillows, eyes half-lidded as he tried to make sense of it all. But even as his thoughts tried to race, his heartbeat remained slow. Steady. Balanced.
It felt like the world had become both more dangerous... and more beautiful.
Downstairs, footsteps approached. Heavy. Calm.
David.
Ash smiled faintly. "I guess it's time I talk to Dad."
Annie stood, smoothing the blanket over his lap. "It's time he starts helping you control your Aura."
Ash glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly.
"I think," he said, his voice low but certain, "I already know what this feels like."
He looked up just as his father entered the room.
"I feel... awake."
______________________________________________
A.N. A lot of POV's in this Chapter. Hope it wasn't too confusing.
The Next Few Chapters will be Ash training his Aura and getting his First Pokémon.
Let me know your thoughts of what you think of this chapter, I'll probably upload another chapter Today.
GIVE ME POWER STONES!!!