Chapter 4
The morning sun poured golden light across the Astraeus estate, warming the fields that stretched into the horizon. The rain of yesterday had left the soil rich and dark, the air fresh with the scent of earth. Alaric rose early, as he often did, his mind restless with the memory of last night's riverbank.
Magikarp.
A creature mocked by many, dismissed as useless until it revealed its true form. To him, it was a symbol. But the time to act was not yet. First, he needed recognition, legitimacy, and the tools to begin. Nobility moved not through reckless impulse but through deliberate steps.
That morning, as he entered the great hall, he found his father waiting. Lord Astraeus sat at the head of the table, already dressed in the dark blue coat of their house, silver embroidery glinting faintly. His posture was commanding, yet his eyes held an unusual lightness.
"Alaric," he said, gesturing for his son to sit. "We have matters to discuss."
The boy bowed slightly before taking his place. Servants moved quietly, setting bread, fruit, and warm tea before them. Alaric ate little, his attention fixed entirely on his father.
"You've spoken wisely these past days," Lord Astraeus continued. "Not only at dinner, but in counsel. Word has reached even the steward of your observations on the Rattata problem."
Alaric lowered his gaze modestly. "I only spoke what seemed obvious, father."
"Obvious to you," his father corrected, "not to men who have labored in those fields their entire lives. That is no small gift. Which is why I have decided—it is time we consider your future more concretely."
Alaric's heart quickened. He kept his expression composed, but inside, anticipation stirred.
"You are nearing the age when boys and girls begin to think of their journeys," his father said. "And though I will not send you unprepared into the wilds, it is fitting that you take your first steps as a trainer. Our family has long been of noble stock, but nobility without strength fades. I would see you carry both wisdom and power."
Alaric folded his hands calmly. "I understand, father. And I am ready."
Lord Astraeus studied him for a long moment, then allowed himself the faintest of smiles. "You speak with the gravity of a grown man. Very well. This evening, you will come with me. I have an old acquaintance I wish you to meet. He may guide us in beginning your path."
The day stretched on with aching slowness. Alaric passed the hours in the library, reading accounts of the Johto League's history. He memorized the lineage of Champions, the wars fought and ended through trainers' influence, the delicate balance between regions. Every page confirmed what he already believed: this was not merely a world of monsters and games. This was a world where power was measured in Pokémon, where politics bent around those who wielded them.
By the time the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the estate, Alaric's mind was sharp, his resolve firmer than ever.
That evening, his father led him by carriage through the countryside. The roads wound past villages and farmlands, the people pausing to bow as the Astraeus crest rolled by. Alaric watched them silently, his expression unreadable. Each bow was not for him yet—but one day, it would be.
Their destination was a modest house on the outskirts of Violet City. Lantern light glowed warmly in the windows, and smoke curled from the chimney. It was far from grand, yet there was an aura of quiet strength about it.
A man greeted them at the door. He was older, his hair touched with gray, his stance straight as a soldier's. His eyes were keen, measuring Alaric the moment they fell upon him.
"Lord Astraeus," he said, inclining his head. "It has been some time."
"Too long, Master Rowan," Alaric's father replied.
Alaric's mind flickered—Rowan. Not the professor of Sinnoh, but perhaps a distant relative, or simply another trainer of repute. Regardless, the title of 'Master' carried weight.
"And this," Lord Astraeus continued, resting a hand lightly on his son's shoulder, "is my heir, Alaric von Astraeus."
The boy bowed gracefully. "It is an honor to meet you, Master Rowan."
The old trainer's lips quirked faintly. "Polite, and with eyes that already calculate. Yes, I see why you've brought him."
They were ushered inside, the room lined with bookshelves, racks of Poké Balls, and framed sketches of Pokémon battles. The air smelled faintly of parchment and herbs.
Rowan poured tea, then fixed his gaze on Alaric. "So. You wish to be a trainer."
"I do," Alaric replied evenly.
"Not every noble's child does. Many are content to rely on the Pokémon of their house guard, or to wield authority without venturing into the wilds. Why do you?"
Alaric met his gaze without flinching. "Because strength that is borrowed can be taken. Strength that is earned cannot. If our house is to endure, it must be through more than titles and servants. It must be through bonds that command respect even in the harshest field."
For a long moment, silence hung in the air. Then Rowan chuckled softly. "Well said. The tongue of a politician, the heart of a trainer. Dangerous, if tempered well."
He rose and gestured to a small side chamber. "Come. Let us see what stirs your spirit."
Alaric followed, his father close behind. Within the chamber were three small enclosures, each lit softly by lanterns. Inside rested young Pokémon—one a Chikorita, its leaf twitching curiously; another a Cyndaquil, its flames flickering faintly as it dozed; and a Totodile, snapping playfully at the air.
The Johto starters.
Alaric's breath stilled.
"These are not gifts yet," Rowan said firmly. "Merely introductions. A trainer's first bond cannot be chosen in haste. You will observe, speak, feel. If one calls to you, perhaps in time, arrangements can be made."
Alaric stepped closer, studying each. The Chikorita met his gaze with calm trust, radiating steadiness. The Cyndaquil twitched nervously, shy yet with fire beneath its skin. The Totodile barked cheerfully, brimming with reckless energy.
Any other child might have rushed to pet them, to laugh and exclaim. Alaric did none of these. Instead, he knelt, eyes thoughtful, voice quiet but clear.
"You are not tools. You are not prizes. You are partners, each with your own spirit. Chikorita, you carry patience, the strength of endurance. Cyndaquil, you burn quietly, waiting for the moment to blaze. Totodile, your joy is your courage, your laughter a shield against fear. All of you are worthy."
The Pokémon stilled, watching him. Even the restless Totodile quieted. Rowan's eyes narrowed slightly in surprise.
"But…" Alaric's gaze softened, almost distant. "My path lies elsewhere. I seek not only strength, but transformation. From weakness to greatness. From scorn to awe. That is the bond I must form."
Rowan's expression shifted, his lips tugging into a small, knowing smile. "I see. Then perhaps the river has already spoken to you."
Alaric's head turned sharply, violet eyes gleaming. His father looked puzzled, but said nothing.
Rowan chuckled. "We shall not force it. For now, you have met them, and they have met you. That is enough. When the time is right, the bond you seek will come."
The walk back to the carriage was quiet. Alaric's father broke the silence at last. "You surprise even old Rowan. To speak so to those Pokémon… it was as if you saw through them."
Alaric only smiled faintly. "I merely listened, father. The world always speaks, if one knows how to hear."
That night, as he lay in bed, Alaric's mind drifted again to the Magikarp leaping against the current. His lips curved into a small, resolute smile.
"Yes," he whispered into the darkness. "You will be mine."
The stars glimmered outside his window, silent witnesses to the vow of a boy who would one day shake the world.