Ficool

Chapter 1 - Ashes, and yet not

The light came first.

It wasn't the soft gold of dawn, nor the gentle silver of moonlight.

It was an all-consuming, blinding flash — fierce enough to make my entire body tense in the fraction of a second before thought ceased. The world had been Mount Silver one moment: jagged cliffs, wind biting at my cheeks, the muffled crunch of snow under boots… and the next, there was only that merciless light, born from the collision of two forces meant to end everything.

My force.

His force.

The mountain roared with it. I remembered the trembling beneath my feet, the way the air felt like it had turned solid, shoving against my chest. Snow erupted into steam. Boulders split apart. Time slowed in those last moments — just enough for me to realize that I was about to vanish completely. Not just die. Be erased.

And then—nothing.

No sound. No cold. Not even the taste of my own breath.

Just black.

---

When my eyes opened again, it wasn't to the jagged silhouette of Mount Silver's cliffs.

A ceiling.

Plain wood, pale cream, the faint scent of polish lingering in the air. My gaze tracked to the corner automatically — habit from years ago — expecting to see the hairline crack I'd stared at as a kid when I couldn't sleep.

It wasn't there.

I blinked hard, my heartbeat beginning to speed up. The wood looked too clean, too fresh, like it had been laid only days ago. This was… my old room in Pallet Town. But it wasn't.

My breathing slowed, but only because I forced it to. My hands — trembling before I even noticed — rose toward my face.

Skin. Warm. Smooth. Whole.

I shouldn't have had a face left to touch. The blast at Mount Silver… there was no way anyone could have survived that, let alone walked away unburned. If by some miracle I had survived, I should be lying in a hospital bed, half my body wrapped in bandages, machines forcing my lungs to work.

Instead, I was here. In bed. At home.

---

The sheets slid off my shoulders as I sat up. The fabric was soft, carrying the faint smell of sunlight and detergent. My feet met the wooden floor — cool, but not uncomfortably so.

The desk, the window, the dresser… they were arranged the way I remembered. But the dresser's wood grain was different, and the shelves were slightly taller. Every detail was almost right, but not quite.

If this were a memory, everything would match exactly.

If it were a dream, the differences wouldn't feel this real.

That left… something I didn't want to name yet.

---

A sound cut into my thoughts.

Soft. Faint.

Humming.

Female. Coming from the kitchen.

I froze, halfway to the door.

Opening it slowly, I stepped into the hallway. The stairs curved down into a living room that looked bigger than it should — the walls pushed further out, the space brighter. The carpet was new under my bare feet, thicker and springier than I remembered.

The humming grew clearer. My eyes shifted toward the kitchen doorway.

She stood at the counter, busy with something I couldn't see. For a moment, my chest tightened — the posture, the way she stood, the familiar rhythm of her movements — she looked like my mother.

But younger.

Her hair, instead of the chestnut brown I'd known, was a deep, glossy blue.

The difference was small. But it was enough to make my stomach twist.

I stepped back before she could turn, my heel catching on the edge of the rug.

And then I ran.

---

The morning air hit me hard as I burst outside.

The dirt path stretched out before me, the colors too sharp, too clean. The houses looked newer, freshly painted. The fences stood straight and unweathered. Even the air smelled different — crisper, almost like spring after rain, despite the fact that the clouds overhead were pale and dry.

This wasn't my Pallet Town.

It wasn't my time.

I kept running. My legs carried me past fences, past the last houses, until the paths gave way to open grass and scattered trees. The world blurred around me, my focus narrowing to the pounding of my own heart and the uneven rhythm of my breaths.

It didn't matter how far I ran — the truth followed me.

Somehow, impossibly, I had been given another life.

---

By the time I slowed, my lungs burned and my throat felt raw. I stopped near a tree at the edge of a lake, leaning my back against its rough bark.

The air here was quieter. Just the ripple of water against the shore, and the occasional chirp of a Pidgey somewhere in the branches above.

I tried to think.

This wasn't a dream. Not a coma. The world wasn't quite the same as I remembered — my mother's hair, the layout of the house, the size of the living room, the freshness of the roads.

I needed proof.

---

I walked toward the lake, crouching by the water's edge. My hands dipped into the surface — cool enough to make my skin tingle. As the ripples calmed, I saw my reflection.

And my breath caught.

The face staring back at me was mine… and not mine.

Younger. Around seven years old. The features softer, untouched by years of travel and battles. And my eyes — they weren't the dark shade I'd known all my life. They were bright red.

Red.

Like my name.

Then the memories hit me.

---

Not mine — his.

The boy who had lived in this body before me.

Or maybe "lived" wasn't the right word. He existed. He woke, ate, went to school, came home. He answered when spoken to, but rarely spoke first. He showed no expression when his mother fretted over him. The other kids tried to talk to him, play with him, but gave up when he never reacted. Even on his birthday, when the cake was placed in front of him, candles flickering, he didn't smile. Didn't even blow them out.

A life without purpose. Without spark.

A shell.

---

The rush of alien memories was painful — sharp, pressing against my skull until I had to grip my forehead with my palm. I clenched my teeth and waited until the ache ebbed away.

Then I cupped the lake water in my hands, letting it run over my face. The coolness steadied me.

So… there hadn't really been a "previous owner." No will, no soul. Just a body moving because it had to. A husk, waiting for something to fill it.

I had been forced into it. But I wasn't taking it from anyone.

---

"Seven years old," I muttered to my reflection. "Plenty of time to get ready. More than enough."

The memories confirmed that his — no, my — mother still called me Red. That was convenient. I didn't want to adapt to a new name.

Then another thought struck me. I'd run out without saying anything. If she was anything like my mother from before…

She'd be worried sick.

---

I turned back toward town, only to freeze at the rustling from the bushes nearby.

A tail, tipped with flame, appeared from the leaves.

"…Charmander?"

It was rare to see one in the wild here. Possible, but unlikely.

Then, from the trees behind it, two shapes burst forth — Mankeys, their small eyes narrowed in aggression.

Charmander stood its ground, but its body trembled. Its tail flame was smaller than it should be, and the patches of singed fur on the Mankeys told me it had been fighting already.

They charged. Charmander exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, vanishing from view. The Mankeys' attacks hit nothing but air — and then each other.

Snarls turned to blows as they forgot their original target and started brawling with each other.

Charmander took its chance, spitting a quick burst of embers at both. The Mankeys collapsed — but so did Charmander, falling to the ground from exhaustion.

---

I moved without thinking.

The sky above had darkened, clouds gathering heavy with rain. I knelt, lifting the fainted Charmander carefully into my arms. Its body was warm, but too light, and its breathing was shallow.

I couldn't leave it here.

By the time I reached the house, the first drops of rain were falling.

---

The door swung open.

She was there immediately, rushing toward me.

"Red!" Her arms wrapped around me so tightly I almost lost my grip on the Charmander. "Where have you been? I was so worried—"

Her voice trembled. My body stiffened — the warmth of the hug felt strange after so many years without it. My mother, back in my old world, had been like this once. That memory was faded now, but this… this warmth stirred something buried deep.

She pulled back, her hands on my shoulders. "Tell me what happened."

"I… I just wanted to see some Pokémon," I said, lowering my gaze. "I had this dream I was a trainer, catching so many… I wanted to see if it felt real."

Her eyes widened. It was the first time she'd seen me show real expression — surprise, wonder. Her lips curved into a soft smile, and she hugged me again, laughter and relief mixing in her voice.

---

When she noticed the Charmander in my arms, her expression turned serious.

"You found him like this?"

"Yeah. He was fighting two Mankeys. I couldn't leave him."

She glanced toward the shelf. "Maybe you should keep him. If he's alone, he might not have a trainer. And you saved him — maybe he already sees you as his."

She searched the shelf, pulling down a Poké Ball and a small med kit. "Here. These should help."

---

Upstairs, I set Charmander on the bed and opened the med kit.

"Alright, buddy," I murmured, "let's fix you up."

He stirred, eyes opening just enough to meet mine. The tail flame flickered weakly.

"You've still got some fight left. Good. You'll need it."

He twitched as I cleaned the burns and cuts, but didn't resist much — he didn't have the strength.

It took two days before he was fully healed.

---

On the morning after, I crouched in front of him, holding the Poké Ball.

"I'm too young to start a journey now," I said, "but if we work together from here on, we'll be unstoppable. What do you say?"

He studied me for a long moment. Then, with a faint, resigned huff, he tapped the ball with his claw.

The ball clicked shut.

I closed my fingers around it, a small smile forming.

"I won't let you down, buddy."

---

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