Pain.
It has names, categories, and definitions written neatly in textbooks. But when you're living it, pain stops being a theory. It becomes a truth of its own.
There are two kinds:
Emotional. A hollow ache that coils in the chest. The sting of words, the silence of loss. Invisible but suffocating.
Physical. Sharp, blunt, throbbing, burning. The body's alarm, impossible to ignore.
[Redacted] thought he knew them both. He'd lost family. Lost friends. Lost his place in the world. And finally, he'd lost life itself. What more could there be?
But death was not release.
It was only a door.
And on the other side waited agony.
His body—or what counted as one—was dismantled piece by piece. Muscles stretched until they tore, tendons snapping in an endless rhythm.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
Bones bent and twisted, breaking with the sound of metal under stress. Blood boiled like magma, searing every nerve.
He tried to scream, but the void swallowed the sound. He wasn't even sure if he still had a throat.
Worse than the physical tearing was the unmaking of self. His memories shredded into glowing filaments, threads of thought unravelling into colours that had no names. He felt himself scatter, lose shape, then be forced together again in something new—something that remembered, but no longer belonged.
And then—light. A tunnel through the void, bright and narrow. Hope flickered, fragile but real. He clung to it, letting the pain fall away like smoke.
When he finally hit the ground of the new world, he wasn't whole. But he was alive.
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Loneliness.
Ash Ketchum knew it as well as any pain.
Pallet Town was small. Everybody knew everybody. But sometimes that only made the distance between people sharper.
His mother, Delia, was warm and loving, her smile bright enough to light their little house. But behind her eyes lay grief. When Ash asked about his father, the light dimmed. Half-answers. Soft promises that someday he'd return. Someday. Ash stopped asking.
Professor Oak treated him kindly, too—like the grandfather he never had. But even he grew quiet when the subject of Ash's father came up.
And the other children noticed. They whispered. Teased. "No dad." "Freak." They said it behind his back, but he always heard. He laughed it off, pretended not to care, but the words dug deep.
Only Gary Oak stood close once. They fished together, played together. But Gary was brilliant, ambitious, and proud. Soon, his friendship soured into rivalry. He had everything—talent, recognition, the town's admiration. Ash had… Ash.
So Ash turned to Pokémon. They never mocked him. Never turned away. Rattata on the fences, Pidgey in the fields, the Tauros herds in the distance. They came when he called. They played when no one else would. He learned their moods, their sounds, their hearts.
With them, he wasn't lonely. Not completely.
Still, the ache remained. At night, when he saw his mother staring out the window at the empty road, he smiled brighter, laughed louder. If he acted carefree, maybe it would make her happy. If he was strong, maybe she wouldn't feel so alone.
But even playacting couldn't erase the truth: Ash wanted someone who would see him—not the boy without a father, not the rival always behind Gary. Just him.
Two weeks remained before his journey began. The day he'd dreamed of for years. Four trainers would leave together—Gary, Ash, and two others from outside Pallet.
Excitement buzzed in his chest, but so did fear. Was he ready? Could he prove himself? He tried to believe it. That morning, he wandered to the rocky outskirts, watching wild Pokémon dart between stones. He whispered encouragements under his breath, pep talks meant more for himself than for them.
He never heard the footsteps behind him.
A shove.
One of the local boys—bitter, jealous, desperate. He didn't think beyond that moment. He only wanted Ash hurt badly enough to lose his chance.
Ash stumbled forward. Normally, he'd catch himself. His body was stronger than most—sturdier, unknowingly bolstered by reserves of aura.
But fate has timing sharper than any blade.
His temple struck stone. Light burst across his vision. He fell, the world tilting into black.
And in that heartbeat, something impossible happened.
A second soul collided with his own.
Unconscious, the intruder should have overwhelmed him. But Ash was not ordinary. The Chosen of Will does not break so easily. His spirit dug in, stubborn and unyielding. He endured. He survived.
He remained himself— but he was no longer alone.
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In that quiet, forgotten corner of Kanto, two lives intertwined.
One seeking purpose.
One seeking connection.
And together, without knowing, they began the first steps of a legend.