The Genesis region, discovered nearly a decade ago, found by a group of sailors who were lost after a brutal storm. Its sheer size is staggering—large enough to contain every known region within its lands. It was dubbed 'Genesis' by researchers who were amazed by its staggering biodiversity, housing pokemon from every known region, from the weakest Caterpie to the Godlike Creation Trio itself. Even after so much time has passed, barely a fourth of its land has been charted, leaving the mysteries of the vast, unexplored wilderness to those brave enough—or desperate enough—to seek them out. In the heart of the mapped land is the City of Genesis, the strongest and most prosperous city in the new region, with a leader who has bonded with the legendary Rayquaza. To the east, on the edge of the charted land, lies the City of Vesta, where a sixteen-year-old orphan named Atlas Eterna walks home alone.
A family walked past, a smiling mother and father with their child, a Growlithe and Flabebe happily at their side. Atlas's gaze lingered on the pokemon, then on the child's hand clutched in its mother's. A familiar ache tightened in his chest. In this region, where strength and partnership were everything, a sixteen-year-old without any bonded were invisible to the rest of the world. He pulled the red pendant from beneath his shirt, the cold metal, a stark contrast to the warmth of a life that'd left him nearly 5 years ago.
5 years ago, after finding out that Atlas had trouble bonding with pokemon his parents tried to look for any solution to his problem. Unfortunately, even after looking everywhere in the city they couldn't find a solution. In a desperate attempt to find a solution, seeing that their options were dwindling, they signed up for the soonest expedition hoping to find something in the wilderness or other cities. Packing their bags they gave their goodbyes to Atlas with his mother leaving him a red pendant from her family telling him that they'll come back with a solution to his problem. They never came back, 2 weeks after they left news reached the City of Vesta that an expedition team that had been travelling Northward encountered Yveltal before being lost with no survivors.
Atlas, broken by the news, only had a small amount of money that his parents had left and with no income he had to look for a job and even that was only enough to support housing on the outskirts of the city in a small shack. Not able to find another job due to not having a pokemon essentially putting him in a lower class he's not been able to move out of this position since then.
Continuing his walk back home, still clutching onto the pendant he rounds the corner to the sight of a familiar group of people he would rather avoid. Turning to walk in the other direction before being stopped by a voice filled with malice.
"Hey! Look who it is, guys!" He stopped and turned to face the person he'd rather not have met.
Ben, a trainer with a pokemon and an air of entitlement. Two of his 'friends' stood behind him, laughing on cue, their lack of genuine friendship palpable.
"Well, if it isn't the unbonded loser," Ben sneered, stepping closer. A small Metapod sitting on his shoulder, a pathetic pokemon to most, but a symbol of immense power to Atlas. The difference in strength between a bonded trainer and an unbonded human was immense, and Ben knew it.
Atlas felt the humiliation burn in his cheeks, but he kept his voice low.
"Ben, I'm just trying to get home. I won't get in your way, just let me go." There was no point in fighting back. Treatment for a single beat-down would cost him more than he earned in a month, and there was no way he could fight against someone with a pokemon.
"Don't think you can order me around, you pathetic orphan!" Ben's anger flared, and he grabbed Atlas by the collar with one hand, lifting him easily off the ground showcasing the immense strength of a trainer. Atlas's feet dangled uselessly. He struggled to break free, his eyes wide with fear as Ben's other hand balled into a fist. He braced for the blow, closing his eyes, when a new voice cut through the air.
"Hey! What do you kids think you're doing over there?"
Ben's grip instantly slackened, and Atlas fell to the ground, catching his breath. He looked up to see a man in a police uniform with a calm, stoic Herdier at his side.
"Nothing, Officer," Ben said, his voice now a lot less threatening. He looked down at Atlas with pure hatred in his eyes.
"Don't think this is over," threatening me in a low voice so the officer didn't hear it, spitting at my feet, and then signaled for his friends to follow him as he stormed away.
Seeing that the conflict was over, the officer left the scene not even bothering to check if Atlas was okay.
Clutching the cold pendant once again, Atlas continued his walk home, rounding the corner to the outskirts of the city. As dusk began to fall, he knew he had to hurry; nightfall on the outskirts, where the police were nonexistent, was a dangerous time. He took a familiar series of shortcuts through alleyways and backyards, each a glimpse into a life he couldn't have, filled with families and their pokemon.
The memory of Ben's cruel taunts and his humiliating job burned in his mind. If only I had a partner, even a weak one. Just one pokemon, and none of this would be my life.
The buildings around him dwindled and grew shorter, the apartment complexes giving way to small, makeshift houses. He slowed his pace, reaching the front steps of his own 'house,' a shack barely held together by eroding concrete and a door that hung precariously from a single hinge.
He carefully opened the door, a small mercy to keep it from falling, and walked inside, tossing his bag into a corner. He sat down at the table, his eyes drawn to a single picture frame. He took it in his hands, gazing at a photo of his family from years before the expedition, a trip to the park with his smiling parents and their pokemon, Scyther and Floragato. It was the last time they had gone out as a family before they discovered he was unable to bond with a pokemon.
A fresh wave of grief threatened to break him, but he quickly wiped the tears away. He put the frame back down, got up, and made a simple dinner with the limited food he had. The day ended as all of them did: with him heading to bed, haunted by the ghost of a life he could have lived, if only he had been chosen.
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Waking up, the noise of pops and cracks echoed through Atlas's bones as he stretched, a familiar feeling of weariness settling in. He rose and went about his morning routine, the limited contents of his pantry offering a humble breakfast of soggy cereal. As he sat down, his eyes were drawn to the faded picture on the table, but he quickly pushed the image of his parents from his mind. He grabbed his bag, the weight of it, a stark reminder of the job he was about to go to, and walked out the door, the morning sun bathing his body.
On the way to work, a crowd gathered around a makeshift arena in a secluded lot. Curiosity got the better of him, and he decided a few minutes couldn't hurt. He moved through the crowd, his above-average height and skinny body allowing him to get a clear view of the field. Two people stood facing each other, their fists raised, their partners—a Machop and a Mankey—at the ready.
A thrill coursed through Atlas as the trainers' yelled commands, their bodies moving in perfect sync with their pokemon. He watched as the Machop's trainer, a stocky man with a determined scowl, channeled a surge of powerful Fighting-type energy through his arms, his own movements mirroring his partner's. He could see how the trainer's very will flowed like a pokemon', amplifying his strikes and hardening his defense.
The battle raged on, but it was clear that one side had the upper hand. The Machop's trainer, with a final, guttural roar, threw a powerful uppercut, and the Machop's fist, crackling with Fighting-type energy, connected with the Mankey, sending it flying backward into a wall. The Mankey slumped, swirls in its eyes, as the Machop's trainer celebrated his hard-won victory.
The rush of adrenaline leaving his body as the battle ended and the crowd dispersed. He glanced at his watch, his heart sinking. The "few minutes" he'd afforded himself had turned into fifteen. Panic seized him, and he began to run, the weight of his bag feeling heavier with every step. He was going to be late, and his boss wasn't going to be happy.
Gasping for air, Atlas reached the construction site, his body aching from the rushed run. His eyes immediately fell on the supervisor, a stern-faced man with a permanent scowl, standing at the entrance. He wasn't surprised, the man was waiting for him.
"You're late," the supervisor said, his voice as flat and unyielding.
"I'm sorry," Atlas panted, taking a desperate breath between each word. "I got caught up in something and didn't notice the time."
The supervisor just stared at him, a flicker of contempt in his eyes.
"Just get to work, but I want to see you after the shift ends." He turned his back on Atlas, a dismissal more cutting than any words. Atlas, not daring to argue, simply nodded and went about his work, a sense of dread settling in his stomach for the rest of the day.
The final bell of the shift echoed across the site, a sound that brought a sense of relief to everyone but Atlas. He watched as his coworkers, with their pokemon partners at their sides, shuffled out of the gate.
Alone, he walked to the supervisor's small, makeshift office, a cramped trailer filled with stacks of paperwork. The supervisor noticed him and motioned for him to sit in the single chair across from his desk.
The oppressive silence of the office was broken only by the scratching of the supervisor's pen against a stack of paperwork. The room was minimal, a single worn desk separating Atlas from the man who held his fate in his hands. Atlas sat on the edge of a soft cushioned chair, his heart thumping against his ribs, the events of the morning replaying in his mind.
"Do you know why I'm talking with you right now?" the supervisor asked, his voice a flat monotone as he finally looked up from his work.
"Um, is it because I was late today?" Atlas's voice was barely a whisper.
"Yes, and I'd like to address it. Your lateness is part of a larger problem. You're unreliable, and as an unbonded, you lack the discipline and focus that a true partnership provides." He set the pen down. "We will no longer be employing you."
Atlas's mind went blank. The ringing in his ears drowned out the man's words. He felt the cheap chair beneath him suddenly disappear, leaving him in despair. He barely managed to get the words out.
"But sir, this is the only job that will accept me. I'll do anything. I'll work harder, I'll be on time, I swear!" he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation.
The supervisor sighed, a sound of pure exasperation. He leaned back in his chair, a look of pity—or was it disgust?—on his face. "Atlas, this isn't about you. It's about the company. We can't have someone like you representing our business. An unbonded is an unstable element. It's just not good for our brand." He looked back at his paperwork, the dismissal final. "I'm sorry, but our decision is final. You can collect your final pay on your way out."
Leaving the office, Atlas collected his final pay, the small bundle of bills feeling tragically light in his hand. He walked, not with purpose, but in a daze, dreading the next day, the next week, the next month. Finding that job had been a miracle in of itself, finding another felt impossible. In his depressed state, he turned down a darkened alley, not bothering to look where he was going, and ran directly into someone.
"Uhh, sorry I wasn't look-" he started to apologize, but a hand grabbed his shirt collar, yanking him up to his feet.
"Well guys, if it isn't Atlas, our favorite unbonded," Ben sneered, his two 'friends' behind him laughing a little too loudly at the pathetic display.
Atlas felt the hope drain out of him. "Please… why are you doing this?" The question was a low plea, a crack in his voice as tears of frustration welled in his eyes.
"Because I can," Ben grinned, the words as cruel as a punch. His fist connected with Atlas's stomach, forcing the small amount of food he'd eaten to splatter onto the concrete.
"Awww, don't give up on me just yet." Ben's sadistic grin disturbed even his friends. "Hold him down while I beat him."
"You are sure we should be doing this, boss?" one of them asked, a slight quiver in his voice at the magnitude of the order.
"Just do as I say!" Ben snapped, backhanding the lackey.
Terrified, the two friends grabbed Atlas, holding him in place. Ben, basking in his power, lowered himself to Atlas's ear.
"This is why unbonded should kill themselves and cease to exist, scum of the world." He spat on Atlas's cheek before kicking him in the ribs, eliciting a low groan. The pain threatened to swallow him whole, a tempting thought to just let it happen and escape the world that had so ruthlessly abandoned him. But a stubborn refusal to give Ben the satisfaction of his complete defeat allowed him to push through. He held on, groaning through the agony. After a few minutes, Ben stepped back, admiring his work with a satisfied smirk.
"Throw him on the garbage and leave him there." Ben's voice was a cold command as he turned his back, trusting his lackeys to finish the job. They lifted Atlas and, without a word, unceremoniously dumped him onto a pile of garbage bags. His bruised body hitting the hard contents of the bags. The smell of decay filled his nostrils, and with the last of his strength, he let the darkness take him. He was truly alone, abandoned and betrayed by everyone and everything he had ever known.
Atlas awoke to a soft red pulse beneath his shirt. He slowly opened his eyes, the ache of his bruised body a constant reminder of the beating. His hand reached for the source of the glow—the pendant. He pulled it out, and for the first time in his life, it wasn't cold. It was warm, humming with a gentle power, and as it floated out of his hand, a vibrant red light pulsed from its center, pointing in a single direction.