The scent of bread and hot Moomoo milk drifted through the great hall like a living spell—warm, sweet, and impossible to ignore.
Sunlight streamed through towering windows of old glass, dappling the long wooden tables with golden light. The carved beams overhead still held the scent of the pine trees they once were, and the whole hall buzzed with morning chatter, laughter, and the occasional Pokémon sound—a soft growl, a chirp, the flap of wings brushing the rafters.
Ash sat between his mother and Iris, legs swinging under the table, his plate piled high with roasted loaf and sweet cakes. Annie gently reminded him to chew slowly while passing a pitcher of syrup to a younger cousin. Iris had already finished her second helping and was now elbow-deep in conversation with a boy down the table about which Pokémon she hoped would answer her summoning.
Down at the far end, Gary was locked in a loud back-and-forth with an older cousin, grinning through every jab and interruption like he'd already won a battle no one else had noticed. He had bed-hair that looked styled, somehow.
Lance, meanwhile, sat across the table with his cup of tea held in both hands like a ceremony in itself. He didn't say much, but his presence grounded the chaos like an anchor in storm-tossed water.
There were no head tables, no high seats. Elders and children, cousins and uncles, parents and in-laws—all scattered like a mosaic, held together not by rank but by blood, bond, and the unspoken rules of the Ketchum household.
Ash still marveled at it.
Back in his old life, large family gatherings had felt more like politics in disguise—measured smiles, whispered judgments, alliances over dessert. But here, the Ketchum clan felt more like a storybook come to life. Even powerful Pokémon lounged between chairs or curled under the tables, accepting scraps or nuzzling plates without reprimand.
A Machoke pulled a stool up beside a Tauros and shared a bowl of roasted beans.
Someone laughed too loudly and knocked over a jar of syrup—no one yelled, they just cheered and passed towels.
Ash found himself smiling into his cup of warm milk.
"Did you sleep alright?" Annie asked gently, brushing a hand through his hair.
"Mhm," he nodded, cheeks full. "It was noisy, but... a good kind of noisy."
Annie chuckled. "That's the family way."
Suddenly a shriek of laughter erupted from two tables over. A Pidgeotto had swooped in from a rafter and stolen a buttered roll straight from someone's hand. The victim—a gruff-looking uncle with a beard like a Mightyena—pointed accusingly at the bird while shouting mock curses.
Ash giggled, nearly choking on his drink. Iris pounded his back helpfully, then grinned at him.
"Get used to it," she said. "Breakfasts around here are wild."
He looked at her—truly looked—and something shifted in him.
Maybe this was what belonging felt like.
Not the kind forged in ceremony or bloodlines or shared expectations.
But the kind built from meals shared, laughter unrestrained, and Pokémon stealing breakfast like they belonged too.
He caught David's eye from across the room—his father was speaking with Red, both standing with coffee mugs in hand. When David noticed him looking, he smiled. Just a small curve of the lips and a softening of the eyes.
Ash returned the smile, not realizing how much warmth it brought with it.
Today was the day. His day.
And for the first time since arriving, he didn't feel nervous.
He felt ready.
Breakfast was winding down. Plates were scraped clean, berry stains dotted napkins, and Pokémon were dozing with full bellies under benches and chairs. The older cousins were stacking plates, some of the younger ones darting out to the courtyard, already full of energy and questions about the upcoming ritual.
Ash stood up, brushing crumbs off his shirt. As he turned to leave, something caught his eye.
An old man was crouched near the far end of the hall, struggling to balance a tray filled with tea cups and empty bowls. His walking stick leaned awkwardly against the wall behind him, just out of reach. His hands, though strong, trembled slightly.
Ash hesitated. No one else seemed to have noticed—too caught up in their conversations or chasing after their own kids.
Quietly, Ash moved through the thinning crowd, careful not to bump into a tail or paw. He reached the Elder just as a cup nearly toppled.
"Here, let me help."
The Elder looked up, startled, then blinked behind his glasses. "Ah… Ash, is it?"
Ash nodded and steadied the tray. "I can carry it to the kitchen if you want."
The old man smiled, slow and warm. "You've got your mother's manners. And your father's timing."
Ash grinned, cheeks warming. "I just saw you wobble."
"Diplomacy, too," the Elder chuckled. "A good trait."
Together, they made their way to the side kitchen, the Elder's cane tapping gently alongside Ash's quicker steps. As they reached the counter, Ash gently set the tray down and began helping sort the cups without being asked.
"You excited for the ceremony?" the Elder asked, watching him.
Ash hesitated. "A little nervous. But… it feels right. Like it's finally happening."
The old man nodded. "You'll do fine. The Ketchum blood runs deep. But the heart? That's what matters more. I see plenty of that in you already."
Ash looked down, unsure what to say, but the words settled in his chest like a warm stone.
The Elder patted his shoulder with a bony but firm hand. "Now go, before your cousins eat all the good luck fruit without you."
Ash gave a soft laugh, nodded, and jogged off, the faintest spring in his step.
***
The warmth of breakfast still lingered in Ash's belly, but outside, in the heart of the Ketchum ancestral estate, the air felt charged.
He stood on a stone path now, just a step behind Gary and Lance. The five of them—himself, Gary, Lance, Iris, and Lorelei—had been dressed in light ceremonial robes by various aunts, uncles, and Elders. The robes were simple yet beautiful: ivory-white linen that breathed in the summer air, lined with deep forest green and embroidered with golden thread. Over their left breast was the sigil of the Ketchum bloodline: a mighty tree with a flame curling at its roots.
Elders had taken care in preparing them. Even now, Ash felt the faint memory of rough but kind hands fixing the collar of his robe, someone brushing a speck of lint from his shoulder, and another murmuring, "You'll be fine. The bond chooses you as much as you choose it."
Lance looked steady, quiet as ever. Gary, fidgeting but not nervous, kept glancing at the others like he wanted to race someone. Iris kept bouncing on her toes. Lorelei, calm and sharp-eyed, stood slightly apart, her hands tucked into her sleeves.
Ahead of them stood the ceremonial grove—a stone circle built in the center of an ancient clearing. The platform was smooth, gray, and older than anyone could remember. The stones formed a ring beneath the open sky, where morning sunlight spilled in columns through the tall trees surrounding it. Birds rustled in the high branches, and more than a few Pokémon perched silently like watching sentinels: Noctowl, Trevenant, even a Dragonite curled lazily around a tree trunk.
Ash stepped onto the edge of the moss-laced stone and looked around.
But something was… off.
No one had entered the circle yet. The Elders were murmuring to one another behind patient smiles. His father stood a little distance away with Freya and Red, all speaking quietly. A few younger cousins, already bonded with their Pokémon, waited nearby, eyes wide with envy and excitement.
The tension wasn't sharp—but it was there. Waiting. Thick and expectant.
Ash edged closer to the oldest man present—his great-grandfather, the eldest Elder, a figure who carried authority simply by breathing. His long hair was silver-white and tied back, and his cane—carved from a piece of ancient petrified wood—rested beside him in the grass. Despite his age, his back was straight and his eyes as clear as the morning sky.
Ash tugged lightly on the sleeve of his robe. "Grandpa?"
The Elder looked down, then crouched slightly with a quiet creak of old knees and a soft grunt.
"Why are we waiting?"
The man's face creased into a smile—warm, amused, but also carrying the weight of centuries.
"Ah… good question," he said. His voice was deep and steady, like the trees themselves had learned to speak.
He gestured for Ash to walk a few paces with him, away from the main gathering. The other children glanced over but said nothing. The forest's hush grew deeper here.
"Every summoning," the Elder began, "is sacred, Ash. A tether between you… and something ancient. Older than even our line."
Ash blinked, listening intently.
"But today is not just one summoning. It is five. Five bloodlines, five hearts, calling out together. When this happens… the veil between our world and others thins."
Ash swallowed. The weight of that didn't come from fear. It came from awe.
The Elder placed a hand on his shoulder, gentle but firm.
"And so we wait. For the Master of the Mystic Arts to arrive. They are not family by blood, but they are guardians of the threads that connect us to other realms."
"Guardians?"
He nodded. "There are… other places, Ash. Realms you don't want reaching back when you call out with power in your heart. Places with teeth, and hunger, and things that wear faces like masks."
Ash felt a chill crawl up his arms.
"But," the Elder said, smiling again, "there is one place you do want to answer."
Ash leaned forward slightly. "The Hall of Arceus?"
"Yes. Only that. Only the voice of Arceus and His chosen beasts may reach you today. All other doors must remain shut. That is why we wait—for balance, for protection, and for permission."
Ash stared up at him, eyes wide.
"…Whoa."
The old man let out a low, pleased chuckle. "Yes. Whoa, indeed."
They stood in silence for a moment, the wind brushing through the trees like a passing thought.
Then, somewhere behind them, a chime sounded. Not a bell, not metal—but like a ripple in reality, like someone had tapped the world's edge.
Ash turned.
The air shimmered, just faintly, at the edge of the grove.
The Master was arriving.
A hush fell across the clearing.
Ash felt it in his chest before he heard it—a quiet ripple, like the very air around them had inhaled and held its breath.
Then the wind shifted toward the treeline, and golden light bloomed into existence.
A perfect, circular portal spiraled open between the trees. The light shimmered and crackled with a sound like turning pages and the ring of glass wind chimes. Shadows scattered in its glow. Pokémon near the treeline flinched and then stilled, watching in reverent silence.
Three figures stepped through.
The first two wore reddish-brown robes, identical in cut and weight, their hoods drawn up, hands tucked into long sleeves. Their presence was composed, disciplined. The third—cloaked in radiant golden-yellow robes—walked between them with quiet authority. Their gait was unhurried. Calm. Every step seemed to press against reality itself.
Ash stared, breath caught in his throat.
He'd seen portals before. In movies. In memory. But nothing compared to this—the shimmer of it, the way the grove itself seemed to lean forward to watch.
The moment their feet touched grass, the portal closed behind them with a sound like a deep exhale.
From among the Ketchum family, one figure stepped forward with no hesitation.
Noah Ketchum, David's grandfather—the eldest of the Elders.
He strode across the ceremonial circle, not with deference but with respect shaped by long acquaintance. He bowed slightly from the neck, hands pressed together, but his eyes sparkled with mischief even as he did it.
"About time you showed up," he said loudly. "Sun's been up since forever."
The two red-robed sorcerers said nothing. But the golden figure—hood still drawn—paused.
Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, the figure raised both hands and pulled the hood back.
Ash's eyes widened.
The Ancient One.
Her features were unmistakable—serene, sharp, and untouched by age. Her skin had the smooth clarity of someone decades younger, yet her eyes held a depth that stretched across centuries. Not youthful in vanity, but in a way that felt ageless, as if time itself had chosen to leave her untouched.
Eyes that had watched the rise and fall of civilizations—and never once looked away.
Yao, the Sorcerer Supreme.
She inclined her head. "It is good to see you again, Noah."
"Still bald, I see," Noah replied with a smirk.
"Still rude," she replied, with something that might have been a smile.
Ash wasn't sure whether to gasp or laugh.
Behind her, the two red-robed Masters of the Mystic Arts exchanged glances—but no one interfered. The atmosphere was… strangely casual. Like family friends arriving late to a reunion. But the respect in the grove was palpable. Everyone—even the Pokémon—had gone still.
David stepped forward next, arms crossed. "We were about to start without you."
"You wouldn't dare," said Yao. Her tone was light, but it carried the subtle hum of challenge.
Freya, leaning against a nearby stone, grinned. "She's right. You'd have to explain to the extradimensional horror why it's not allowed at the dinner table."
"Again," Cynthia added, strolling up beside her and stealing a berry from a passing plate. "I still have nightmares about the squid one."
Yao chuckled. "I did warn you not to attempt the summoning before sunrise."
David sighed. "And we listened. Now look how mature we are."
Noah turned toward the children—Ash and the others who stood quietly in their ceremonial robes, eyes wide.
"Ancient One," he said, gesturing toward them with a sweep of his arm. "The next generation, ready to call their partners."
Yao's gaze shifted, resting on each of the five children in turn.
Ash felt her eyes pass over him like a warm current—gentle but vast. She didn't speak directly to him, but in that moment, he felt… seen. Not just noticed. Understood. As if she could read every memory curled inside him like leaves in a book.
She nodded once, solemn. "The threads are ready. And the Hall of Arceus is listening."
The red-robed Masters began to move, stepping around the circle, drawing runes into the grass and stone. Glowing sigils lit beneath their feet, forming protective barriers and intricate wards, invisible to most—but unmistakable to those attuned.
Yao turned and lifted one hand.
A slow golden line spread from her palm, forming a ring around the entire stone circle.
The veil shimmered.
The ceremony was ready to begin.
The forest had stilled.
Even the Pokémon in the trees seemed to sense the gravity of what was about to happen. The ceremonial grove stood bathed in a golden light, still soft with morning sun, but heavy with anticipation. The stone circle ahead shimmered faintly as traces of protective runes, etched by the Mystic Arts, pulsed with energy.
Ash stood with Gary, Lance, Iris, and Lorelei in a tight semi-circle near the edge of the platform.
From the far end of the grove, Noah Ketchum walked slowly toward them. His cloak rustled gently as he moved, his eyes bright and full of something that lived between pride and reverence.
He stopped in front of them, resting both hands atop a polished wooden cane that he clearly didn't need, but carried anyway as a symbol of his station.
"Children," he said, his voice strong but tender, "what you're about to do is more than tradition. More than rite. It is bond and breath, sealed across worlds. You will not choose your Pokémon today—you will be heard by them."
His eyes turned to Iris, then Gary, then the others.
"Summoning is not a command. It is a calling. A door you open with heart wide and soul bared. So walk forward not with fear… but with faith."
He reached forward, placing a hand briefly on each of their heads—Ash last.
"And remember," he added with a faint smirk, "no matter who answers… they'll still have to survive being raised by a Ketchum."
The children laughed—softly, nervously—but it broke the tension like dawn chasing away fog.
Noah stepped aside.
The Mystic runes lining the platform pulsed in response.
A voice called gently through the grove.
"Iris Ketchum. Step forth."
Ash turned to see Iris breathe in and straighten her spine. She adjusted the ceremonial ring on her right hand—a glimmering piece of violet glass and metal carved into curling vines, a gift from her mother.
She walked to the edge of the stone circle. The wind stirred. The leaves rustled like whispers.
Her voice rang clear.
"To the dimension where Arceus watches over all—beyond stars, beyond time—I send my spirit. I offer bond, not command. Answer me… I choose you."
The runes flared gold.
The circle lit up.
And the veil began to thin.
The last word left Iris's lips—
"I choose you."
For a breath, nothing happened. The light pulsing from the runes slowed, like a heartbeat waiting to find rhythm.
Then the air inside the stone circle shimmered.
It began at her feet—threads of energy rising like mist, curling up her arms, brushing through her hair. The world around her dimmed, the trees bending inward with reverent silence. Even the sun above seemed to pause, caught in the moment.
Then, from the center of the summoning circle, a point of light blossomed—not like fire or lightning, but like a memory returning. The light rippled outward like a drop in still water, expanding until a shape emerged at its center.
Small. Round. Proud.
A tiny green dragon with tusks.
The creature stood in the circle, head tilted slightly as its eyes blinked wide at Iris. Its scales were a soft, gentle green, glinting like emeralds under the sunlight, and its little tail swayed once, cautiously.
Ash's breath caught.
Axew.
He knew the species instantly—but this one didn't carry the wide-eyed cartoonish air his memories once held. No, this Axew was real. Alive. Its gaze sharp, posture alert, its tiny form dense with potential and will.
The runes dimmed.
The energy stilled.
And the bond was sealed.
Iris exhaled only when the light had faded completely. Her hands were trembling, but she dropped to one knee instinctively, not to dominate—but to meet Axew eye to eye.
The Axew padded forward cautiously, nose twitching. It reached her knee and gave her leg a small nudge with its tusks.
She laughed—a clear, ringing sound—and cupped its cheeks in both hands.
"Hi there," she whispered. "I'm Iris."
Axew chirped in return and butted its head into her chest.
From the edges of the grove, cheers broke out. The Ketchum family roared like a sports team seeing the first point scored.
Noah wiped a tear discreetly. Someone shouted, "She's got a dragon! Looks like Freya's side wins the bet!"
Iris stood, Axew now perched on her shoulder like it was meant to be there all along. Her grin stretched ear to ear, wild and joyful.
She turned toward the others—toward Ash—and winked.
"You're next," she mouthed.
Ash felt something deep stir in his chest.
It wasn't envy.
It was longing.
Not for power.
But to be part of it. To be chosen. Seen.
And soon—he would be.
The wind quieted as Ash stepped into the circle.
The sun above the clearing seemed to pause in its climb. Even the Pokémon perched in the trees stilled, as if the world held its breath.
The ceremonial stone beneath his feet was cool, etched with ancient sigils that pulsed faintly beneath his sandals. Around the circle, his cousins—Gary, Iris, Lance, Lorelei—watched silently. The Elders, the sorcerers, even the Ancient One herself—eyes fixed on him.
David stood beside Annie, one hand on her shoulder, his gaze unreadable but steady.
Ash drew in a slow breath. His voice was quiet, but clear:
"Beyond the skies, through the folds of dimension, Where Arceus dreams the world awake— I reach for the one who stirs beside me. In truth and bond— I choose you."
The circle responded instantly.
A swirl of silver-gold light erupted from the stones beneath his feet, rising into the air like a spiral of stardust. A gentle hum filled the air—vibration, resonance—and everyone leaned forward, watching…
…But nothing emerged.
The light dissipated. The circle fell silent.
Ash blinked. His heart dropped. For a moment, he just stood there, stunned, unsure if he had done something wrong.
"Try again," David called out gently, his voice cutting through the quiet. "You're doing just fine."
Ash swallowed and nodded once, stepping forward again.
"Beyond the skies, through the folds of dimension, Where Arceus dreams the world awake— I reach for the one who stirs beside me. In truth and bond— I choose you."
Again the swirl came, faster this time. Brighter.
For a moment, everyone's breath caught.
Then—again—it faded. No Pokémon appeared.
Ash lowered his hand. The silence that followed felt louder than any roar. Embarrassment burned at the edges of his thoughts. Was he not worthy? Was he doing it wrong?
He clenched his fists, not in anger—but desperation.
"I've done this before," he whispered to himself. "I've done this…"
And then he felt it. Deep in his chest.
Aura.
Not wild or weaponized, not like in battle—but focused, gentle, a bridge. He closed his eyes and reached inward. Toward the part of him that still remembered what it felt like to trust.
To call, not command.
To connect.
His next breath glowed.
He raised his hand and spoke, voice ringing with subtle power:
"Beyond the skies, through the folds of dimension, Where Arceus dreams the world awake— I reach for the one who stirs beside me. In truth and bond— I choose you!"
The summoning circle exploded with light.
The earth trembled. The trees rippled outward. Pokémon cried out in alarm—but not fear—awe. Energy surged like a star had been born in the clearing.
Ash staggered back, shielding his eyes as pure white-gold radiance burst from the center.
Voices gasped. Someone whispered, "A legendary?"
David's eyes narrowed, but he made no move to interfere.
The light dimmed.
The world stilled.
And standing in the center of the circle…
…was a small, yellow mouse.
Its ears twitched. Electricity sparked from its cheeks, playful but controlled. Its eyes met Ash's—and something clicked.
Something ancient. Something eternal.
Ash stared.
For a moment, the entire world was silent.
Then Ash chuckled, a soft, disbelieving sound. "Of course," he said under his breath. "Of course it's you."
He dropped to one knee, holding out a hand.
The Pikachu tilted its head… then ran straight into his arms.
Ash closed his eyes and laughed—genuinely, freely—as the weight of the little Pokémon settled against his chest.
He hugged it gently, eyes wide with wonder. "So that's how it is," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "Some things really are meant to be."
A quiet murmur rippled through the family watching—some surprised at the size of the summoning energy for such a small Pokémon, others intrigued by the obvious bond that had formed instantly.
No one mocked. No one questioned.
Only curiosity… and something deeper. Respect.
From the edge of the circle, David exhaled, tension in his shoulders finally easing.
Beside him, Annie gave a small nod of approval.
And Red, still leaning quietly with arms crossed, offered a subtle tilt of his head—not in recognition of the Pokémon, but of the bond he saw form before his eyes.
The Ancient One watched in silence, the corners of her lips lifting just slightly—not at the outcome, but at the clarity of it. The rightness.
Even fate, it seemed, had a sense of humor—and a heart.
____________________________________________________
A.N. Finally! There is no Ash Ketchum without his Pikachu, right?
Tell me if you were to be isekai'ed into another world, who would you pick as your first Pokémon?
GIVE ME POWER STONES!!!!