Somewhere, in a place beyond places, Evan drifted.
He remembered only fragments now.
A flicker of warm laughter... the rustling of trees... the thrill of imagining Pokémon in hidden forests...
He remembered kindness.
He remembered dreaming.
He remembered a crash.
And then...
Darkness had wrapped around him, pulling him through a place without time.
Until now.
Until the sharp, impossible feeling of being pulled into life once again.
First came sound — muffled, low, almost underwater-like.
Then a weight — heavy, overwhelming, as if the very air pressed against fragile skin.
Then light — burning, harsh, yet somehow pure.
He was being born.
He wanted to scream but his lungs were too small, too soft. The world around him shook with noise — gentle, urgent voices, the shifting of cloth, the thick scent of clean linen and something sweet, like herbs.
Pain bloomed through his new body, not sharp but huge, a reminder that he was alive.
Hands — large, rough but careful — caught him, lifting him into the world.
He opened his eyes.
And for a moment, all he could do was exist, blinking against the bright, overwhelming light.
The first face he saw was his mother's.
She was breathtaking — not in the impossible, airbrushed way he remembered from human illusions, but in a very real, very human way.
Elira Frostveil had the kind of beauty that life had touched — the sheen of sweat on her brow, exhaustion painted in soft purple under her eyes, but the way she looked at him — as if he was the world itself — made her radiant beyond measure.
Tears clung stubbornly to the corners of her pale violet eyes. Her hair, a soft, dusty silver-blue, clung damply to her forehead. She looked utterly exhausted, utterly spent… but utterly alive.
She smiled, though it trembled at the edges.
"You're... here," she whispered, her voice cracked and rough with emotion.
Standing beside his exhausted mother was a figure that immediately caught his newborn attention. It stood tall, almost ethereal — white robes draped over a lithe, almost human form, trimmed with a flowing green veil that shimmered like silk in a soft breeze. Its ruby-red eyes glowed faintly with warmth and concern.
Delicate, elegant hands hovered protectively above him, as though shielding him from the unseen. The being radiated pure emotion — overwhelming love, tender sadness, fierce protectiveness — emotions so strong they nearly made him weep though he did not know why. Gardevoir, a name stirred from the depths of his reincarnated soul.
The Embrace Pokémon. A guardian of hearts.
Gardevoir leaned forward slowly, reverently, and gently brushed a delicate hand across Elira's forehead — then turned her gaze to him.
He saw emotions stir in Gardevoir's eyes: awe, worry, wonder.
The Pokémon's hand trembled slightly as she reached out and, with infinite gentleness, traced a circle in the air above his tiny body — a blessing, a protection.
"Thank you," Elira whispered to Gardevoir, fresh tears slipping free.
Her voice cracked, barely a breath, but filled the entire room.
In the background, another voice — firm, low, trembling — broke through:
"How... how is she? How is the baby? Are they... safe?"
It was his father.
Darian Frostveil — a tall man, built broad across the shoulders, with a rough, salt-and-pepper beard despite his youth — stood a few paces away, his entire body taut with fear and hope.
His clothes were slightly rumpled, his hands stained faintly with blood and herbs — proof he had helped in the birth — but his green eyes shone with unshed tears.
The midwife, an elderly woman with crow's feet earned from decades of welcoming life into the world, chuckled softly.
"She's tired... but alive. And your son..." she lifted the baby — him — and placed him gently into Elira's arms.
"Your son is strong."
The word sank into Evan's barely-awake mind like a stone into deep water:
Son.
He was no longer Evan.
He was something new.
There was movement near the doorway.
An older man and woman stood there, hands clutched tightly together.
The man — tall but stooped with age, his once-raven hair streaked with silver — wiped at his eyes openly, not caring who saw.
The woman — slender and graceful despite the years, her hair arranged neatly in a bun — smiled, but her hands trembled.
They were his grandparents.
Garrick Frostveil and Selene Frostveil.
Behind them stood a slightly younger man — in his mid-thirties perhaps, lean and sharp-eyed, a small scar cutting through one eyebrow.
That was his uncle, Merek Frostveil — the "wild card" of the family, always somewhere between adventure and mystery.
Each of them had Pokémon with them — companions so bonded they were more like extensions of their souls.
In the quiet corner by the window, another presence floated.
Its body was soft, translucent, like delicate glass, swaying gently in the air as if caught by an invisible lullaby. It had large, round eyes that shimmered with kindness and a body that chimed a silent song that soothed every frayed nerve in his newborn mind. The creature's aura was cool, calming — like being cradled in pure serenity. Chimecho, whispered an ancient memory. The Soothing Pokémon — a gentle spirit that could calm even the most broken of hearts. It was his grandmother's pokemon.
At the foot of the bed, another figure stood guard.
Its body was sleek and athletic, like a seasoned swordsman awaiting a command.
A green crest curved elegantly over its head, contrasting against a white, sharp-edged body.
Its arms resembled twin blades, yet it stood without menace — only a quiet, steady readiness, like a knight awaiting a king's birth. Its emerald eyes fixed on him, bright and unwavering. Gallade, the whisper returned. The Blade Pokémon — a sworn protector. He was partner pokemon of Evan's Grandfather.
Merek leaned casually against the doorway, beside him in the shadowed part of the room, almost unseen, lurked another figure.
It was tall, its black and crimson fur blending seamlessly into the gloom. A flowing mane of red, streaked with darker hues, cascaded over its shoulders like wildfire.
Its golden eyes glinted mischievously, but also knowingly, as though it understood secrets even the adults had forgotten. Its very presence felt like a challenge and a promise — a guardian not bound by rules. Zoroark. The Master of Illusions. A bringer of tricks... and fierce loyalty.
The moment felt suspended in crystal.
Everyone's gaze was on him — the newborn child.
Their eyes weren't looking at perfection.
They were looking at a miracle.
A new beginning.
A new hope.
Elira cradled him against her chest, breathing in the newborn scent of his skin, her heart hammering loudly against his tiny ear.
"What shall we name him?" Garrick asked after a long silence, voice thick with emotion.
Elira looked at Darian.
Darian swallowed hard.
They had talked about this, during those quiet nights when they had dreamed about who he would become.
Elira pressed a kiss against the crown of his head.
"Aiden," she whispered.
"Aiden Frostveil."
The name wrapped around him like a cloak woven of light.
Evan — the boy from another world — slipped away, like a shadow at dawn.
Aiden — the boy of hope and rebirth — was born.
The Days That Followed
The house filled with gentle chaos.
Aiden was swaddled in soft linen, resting in his mother's arms or his father's chest.
Gardevoir never strayed far — watching him with her bright, liquid-silver gaze, humming a psychic tune that lulled him into peaceful sleep.
Selene would often rock him, singing soft songs that smelled of lavender and summer grass.
Garrick taught him — even as a babe — about strength without cruelty, the way he would let Gallade show small flourishes of sword-dance patterns, the glint of blade slicing harmlessly through the air.
Merek would toss pebbles lightly, laughing when Zoroark caught them mid-air with shadowy tricks, earning small squeals of laughter from baby Aiden.
The family Pokémon became his first protectors, first teachers, first storytellers.
They would nuzzle him, offer warm fur or cold, smooth skin to press tiny hands against.
In the quiet evenings, he would listen — absorbing words not meant for him yet still meant for his soul.
He learned, piecemeal, about the lives into which he had been reborn:
Darian Frostveil, his father: once a renowned Border Tactician, master of battlefield strategy, now semi-retired to Floaroma to raise a family in peace.
Elira Frostveil, his mother: a Psychic Healer, using her talents to mend minds broken by the harshness of the Pokémon world.
Garrick Frostveil, his grandfather: a Veteran Trainer turned Tactical Mentor, training the next generation in forgotten techniques.
Selene Frostveil, his grandmother: a Mystic Herbalist and Medium, who danced between the worlds of the living and the unseen.
Merek Frostveil, his uncle: a Wandering Researcher, chasing old myths and undiscovered truths.
They were a family tied not by wealth, but by knowledge and spirit — protectors of ancient truths hidden beneath the modern world's glitter.
He was born in Floaroma Outskirts, Sinnoh Region.
A town on the edge of endless fields, where flowers blanketed the hills in wild colors and the air was heavy with the scent of blooming dreams.
It was far from the buzzing cities like Jubilife — simpler, older — a place where every breath felt like it carried a little magic.
The town was small, yes — but fierce in its spirit.
Known for breeders, healers, and researchers who preferred quiet wisdom over fame.
It was the perfect place for a boy like Aiden to be born.
As Aiden grew from a tiny, blinking infant into a stumbling toddler, more Pokémon entered his expanding world.
One evening, a massive form lowered itself beside him — a creature whose silver-blue body shone like living steel, its four arms moving with impossible grace.
Its crimson eyes regarded him not as something fragile, but as something important.
Metagross, his mind named it. His father's oldest companion, a mind sharper than any human's.
A soft breeze would sometimes stir his hair as Togekiss, his mother's second partner, floated overhead.
Its feathery wings left trails of sparkling dust that danced in the sunlight, a creature of pure, gentle joy.
The old halls of the Frostveil house would often tremble with a low growl as Arcanine, his grandfather's mighty companion, patrolled like a guardian lion — but nuzzled Aiden with a warm, damp nose that smelled faintly of burnt wood and old leather.
In the garden, Roserade spun floral crowns for him, weaving magic into petals with a careful, loving grace.
Each crown placed gently onto his messy hair as though he were a prince of an unseen court.
And sometimes — only sometimes — when the house was silent and shadows stretched long across the floor, a pale shape would materialize.
Absol.
A guardian born of whispers and warnings, watching him with crimson eyes full of ancient sorrow and fierce protectiveness.
Every creature — every friend — had their own soul, their own song.
And Aiden's heart grew strong singing alongside them.
By the time he reached four years old, flashes of his previous life began to surface.
One night, as he lay beneath the stars outside, feeling the pulse of the world through the grass and earth, a memory stirred:
The Voice.
The one who had guided him in the space-between-worlds.
A great, warm light had spoken to him of gifts — Psychic Power and Aura Manipulation — seeds sown within him, to be nurtured slowly.
The memory wasn't clear — it never was — but the sensation remained:
A deep understanding that if he learned to focus, to reach inward as well as outward, he could awaken the powers gifted to him.
They were not meant for destruction.
They were meant to protect. To heal.
To uncover truth.
The seasons in Floaroma flowed as softly as the breeze that rustled the endless fields of blossoms.
Aiden's childhood passed in a series of moments so vivid, so colorful, that sometimes he wondered if he were dreaming.
But no dream could have felt this warm, this real — the scratch of Arcanine's rough tongue licking his cheek, the soothing hum of Chimecho lulling him to sleep, the rumble of Metagross as it taught him how to stack wooden blocks into towers taller than himself.
His family, his Pokémon, his village — all stitched together into a perfect tapestry of simple joy.
First Steps Into Learning
At the age of five, like every child in the village, Aiden was enrolled in Floaroma Elementary — a cozy wooden building nestled at the edge of town, where the scent of wildflowers clung to every wall and laughter echoed through open windows.
He remembered clutching Elira's hand tightly that first day, staring wide-eyed at the other children and their curious Pokémon partners.
Some kids were already racing through the fields with baby Budew or bouncing happily alongside Pichu.
Others sat shyly with Eevee curled in their laps or tried to coax shy Ralts out of hiding.
The Basics of the Pokémon World
In class, their teacher — a kindly woman named Miss Selwyn, who smelled of ink and Pecha berries — began weaving the basics of the world into their young minds.
"Listen well, little ones," she would say, a gentle smile curving her lips. "Our world and your future depend on understanding these truths."
Aiden sat spellbound, every word carving itself into his heart.
The Nature of the Pokémon World
The Pokémon World was not a playground.
It was vast, wild, beautiful — and dangerous.Wild Pokémon weren't evil, but they lived by instincts older than humanity itself.
Travelers, Trainers, and even villages needed protection against rampaging Beedrill swarms, migrating Tauros herds, or territorial Ursaring.Humans, too, were different here.
Their bodies, shaped over thousands of years by coexistence with elemental power, were tougher than the humans of his past life.
Most people could survive heat that would have seared flesh back on Earth, or withstand injuries that once would have been fatal.
"It is not that we are invincible," Miss Selwyn would say.
"It is simply that we are… harder to break."
Aiden felt a thrill at that.
It explained so much — why the fire flickering from an overexcited Charmander's tail didn't send people screaming, why a boy who tripped into a shallow river crackling with a Shinx's electricity could be scolded and sent home with only a bandage.
This was a world built tougher, meant for greater challenges.
As he grew, the lessons grew, too — layered like the petals of the Floaroma fields.
The bell rang across Floaroma Town's central plaza, its tones rich and deep, calling all senior students for a rare and honored tradition: The Grand Lecture.
It only happened once — for every child who reached the verge of adulthood.
Aiden Frostveil sat among the crowd of teenagers, his heart pounding with anticipation, as teachers, Pokémon masters, and town elders gathered beneath the blossoming trees.
Metagross loomed protectively behind Elira and Alaric, their faces proud but soft.
Gardevoir hovered at Aiden's side, her hand on his shoulder, a quiet presence that kept his nerves steady.
Zoroark leaned against a tree lazily, arms folded, grinning like he knew something Aiden didn't.
Gallade stood straight-backed with the other Pokémon guardians, twin blades gleaming in the afternoon sun.
The wind carried the scent of the endless flower fields.
Everything felt alive.
Everything felt important.
The Secret of Pokémon Talents
Veylen raised a hand and a screen behind him bloomed with colored lights.
"Each Pokémon is born with a Talent — an inner flame that determines their growth potential."
He listed them:
White: Common Talent — slowest growth.
Blue: Uncommon Talent — better stamina, smoother progress.
Green: Rare Talent — gifted with quicker comprehension and strength.
Purple: Epic Talent — meteoric growth, almost unnatural skill.
Gold: Mythic Talent — found in legends... or not at all.
Aiden watched the colors swirl and burn.
Some part of him — old and deep — resonated with it.
Mastery of Moves
Next came the disciplines of battle.
"Move Expertise is life," Veylen thundered.
He broke it down:
Beginner — knows the move exists.
Intermediate — uses it without tripping over their own feet.
Advanced — molds it creatively in battle.
Expert — wields it like breathing.
Master — bends nature to their will.
"When a Pokémon masters a move," Veylen said, "they do not cast fire. They become fire."
The thought made Aiden's blood sing.
The True Growth of Pokémon
No numbers. No levels.
Only stages of life:
Infant
Child
Youth
Apprentice
Veteran
Champion
Sovereign
"Each stage," Veylen said, "requires growth in spirit, in mind, in body. Not just more battles. Not just victories. True mastery."
To reach Sovereign — the rarest stage — a Pokémon must master at least three to four moves at the Mastery level.
Aiden pictured it:
Zoroark, cloaked in illusions so perfect the world itself bent.
Gardevoir, singing songs that could split mountains.
The Path of Trainers
And then came the grades — not given by schools, but by the League itself:
Rookie — freshly registered, just beginning.
Junior — after earning 2-3 Badges, with Pokémon at least in Apprentice Stage.
Intermediate — 4-5 Badges, Pokémon at Veteran Stage.Senior — full Badge set, Pokémon nearing Champion Stage.
Elite — Champions of minor regional tournaments, at least 2 Pokémon at Champion Stage.
Master — Regional Champion levels, requiring minimum 3 Champion Pokémon.
Sovereign — Legends among humans; to qualify, a Trainer needed three Sovereign-ranked Pokémon under their command.
Gasps went through the students.
Three Sovereign Pokémon — it was a mountain no child could even imagine climbing yet.
But Aiden felt a slow, burning certainty rise in his chest.
Hidden Power — The Secret Flame
"Some Pokémon," Veylen said, "carry within them a Hidden Power — a second elemental type, invisible at first."
With dedication, a Pokémon could train that hidden element and learn moves beyond their visible nature.
He spoke of the fabled Surfing Pikachu — a lightning child of Kanto that rode the waves themselves.
"It is rare," Veylen said.
"But not impossible.
Those who listen well, who love well — they will awaken it."
The Starter Lottery
As the lecture closed, a new elder took the stage: Lady Juniper, head of the Starter Council.
"Tomorrow," she said, "you will enter the Starter Lottery."
She explained the tiers:
Common Draw — 100,000 Pokedollars — for basic partners.
Uncommon Draw — 500,000 Pokedollars — mostly uncommon partners, with 20% chance for something rare.
Rare Draw — 2,000,000 Pokedollars — rare Pokémon, with slight chances of pseudo-legendaries.
Epic Draw — 5,000,000 Pokedollars — access to ultra-rare Pokémon, and a chance to bond with first evolution of a Pseudo-Legendary like Salamence, Garchomp, or Metagross.
"No Legendary Pokémon will ever be given to new Trainers," she warned with a smile.
"Legends choose their own masters."
Aiden's chest tightened.
His family had scraped together every spare coin, sacrificing vacations, luxuries, even Alaric's old treasured guitar — just to afford the Uncommon Tier.
It was enough.
It had to be.
The Last Night of Childhood
That night, Aiden sat with his family under the open sky.
Elira braided his hair softly, a mother's gentle pride in every movement.
Alaric taught him how to roll his lottery token between his knuckles for good luck.
Uncle Merek handed him a heavy, worn Pokéball — a keepsake from his first partner.
Gardevoir sat beside him, her gown of light whispering in the wind.
"Tomorrow," she said into his mind, her voice tender, "you take your first step toward the stars."
Togekiss circled lazily overhead.
Zoroark lounged on a rooftop, pretending not to watch.
Gallade and Metagross flanked the family like ancient statues.
The world smelled of wildflowers and hope.
Aiden touched the token in his pocket.
He was ready.
He was ready for everything.