Chapter 11
The great gates of the Astraeus estate loomed high, wrought in iron and gilded with the family crest—twin constellations woven into a crown. Beyond those gates stretched the road that led to villages, towns, and the endless horizons of the wider world. For most, it was merely a road. For Alaric von Astraeus, it was the path to the destiny he had been waiting for since awakening in this life.
Perseus padded at his side, head held high despite his small frame. The Eevee's fur was groomed to perfection, its eyes sharp and alert. To the servants lining the courtyard, it might have seemed like a child and his pet embarking on an adventure. But those who looked more closely, who had whispered of the battle in the forest, knew there was more.
Alaric adjusted the gloves on his hands, posture impeccable. His every movement was deliberate, each gesture carrying the weight of nobility. Yet beneath that calm exterior burned the quiet fire of the fan he once was in another life—the boy who had dreamed endlessly of journeys, of leagues, of the thrill of discovering Pokémon.
He had lived that life through screens and books. Now, he would live it with his own two hands.
At the head of the gathered onlookers stood his father, Duke Octavian von Astraeus, his face carved in stone. The man's gaze carried neither warmth nor hostility, only the cool assessment of one measuring potential. His mother, Lady Elara, stood beside him, her features softer, though her eyes flickered with a storm of worry and restraint.
"You depart with little fanfare," Duke Octavian said, his voice firm, carrying over the assembled servants and distant noble cousins who had come to witness the departure. "So be it. The world beyond these gates does not care for titles or bloodlines. It will test you without mercy. Return only if you can prove that you are worthy of Astraeus."
Alaric bowed with noble precision, but when he rose, his eyes did not waver. "I will not merely return worthy, Father. I will return inevitable."
A murmur passed through the onlookers at the boldness of the words. His father gave no sign of approval, nor rebuke, merely a flick of his cloak as he turned away.
Lady Elara stepped forward, kneeling briefly to adjust the collar of his traveling coat. Her touch lingered, and in her eyes, he saw a trace of something she dared not speak aloud before others. "Walk carefully, my son," she whispered, so only he could hear. "Trust no one too easily. And never forget that Perseus is not just your shield… but your heart."
Alaric inclined his head, a small acknowledgment, before stepping back. He had no desire to linger in sentiment.
From among the cousins came a sneer. Cedric, the boy with hair of gold and arrogance carved into every line of his face, leaned lazily against the stone pillar. "So the forgotten heir takes his mutt to play adventurer," he drawled. "I give it a week before he comes crawling back, tail between his legs."
Laughter rippled among the younger nobles at his side.
Alaric turned his gaze upon Cedric, cool and sharp, as if regarding a piece of furniture out of place. "A week?" he said smoothly. "Then it seems your imagination is as limited as your foresight. Pray your Pokémon has more endurance than your wit, Cedric. You will need it."
Cedric flushed, his smirk faltering, but before he could retort, Alaric had already turned. He placed a gloved hand on the gate and pushed it open. The iron groaned, and with that sound, a chapter of his life closed.
The road stretched ahead.
Perseus trotted forward, tail swaying, ears perked as if sensing the significance of the moment. Alaric fell into step beside him, his stride measured but unhesitating. Behind him, the murmurs of nobles and servants faded, replaced by the rustle of wind through leaves and the distant hum of wild Pokémon.
The world smelled different beyond the gates—earthier, rawer, alive. Villagers passed by on carts drawn by sturdy Ponyta, travelers with worn boots nodded as they made their way along the road, and occasionally, in the distance, a wild Pidgeotto soared, casting its shadow on the path. This was no curated estate ground, no sheltered training field. This was the living, breathing world of Pokémon, vast and indifferent.
Alaric's heart quickened, though his expression remained composed. He had studied maps, histories, and accounts. He knew the cities and their leagues, the routes between them, the dangers of wild Pokémon and the opportunities of trainer society. But knowing and living were not the same. Every rustle in the grass, every cry in the distance, was a reminder that he now walked in the very stories he once admired from afar.
By midday, he and Perseus had reached a clearing where the road widened. A group of travelers had gathered, resting beneath the shade of an oak tree. Among them, a boy no older than fifteen stood apart, a Poké Ball in hand, spinning it idly with the overconfidence of youth. His eyes lit up when he spotted Alaric approaching.
"You there!" the boy called out, stepping forward. "First day on the road, huh? I can tell by the shine on your boots. How about a quick battle? Nothing serious—just a friendly match."
Perseus growled lowly, stepping closer to Alaric's leg.
The boy grinned, already tossing his Poké Ball into the air. "Come on out, Spearow!"
The red light coalesced into a flapping form, wings beating rapidly as the small, sharp-eyed bird Pokémon circled above, crying out shrilly.
Alaric raised a brow. A wild encounter would have sufficed, but this was better. A battle against another trainer was not merely about strength. It was about control, perception, and reputation. Even here, on a dusty roadside, politics played their hand.
"Very well," Alaric said calmly. He gestured forward. "Perseus, to the field."
The Eevee stepped out, hackles raised, tail lashing.
The boy smirked. "I'll go easy on you. Spearow, Quick Attack!"
The bird dove like an arrow, its body a blur of motion. But Alaric's eyes tracked every wingbeat, every angle.
"Perseus," he commanded, his voice sharp and clear. "Shift left. Counter with Tackle!"
Perseus darted aside just as the Spearow streaked past, then twisted, slamming his flank into the bird mid-flight. The Spearow squawked, tumbling across the ground before fluttering back into the air, feathers ruffled.
The boy blinked, momentarily startled. "Not bad. But let's see you handle this! Spearow, Fury Attack!"
The bird darted forward again, beak jabbing in rapid succession. Perseus yelped as the first strike clipped his shoulder, but Alaric's voice cut through.
"Do not retreat. Time your steps—strike the moment it overextends."
Perseus steadied, eyes narrowing. The Spearow lunged again, its beak aimed for his flank. At the last instant, Perseus sidestepped, the beak glancing off fur instead of flesh, and rammed into the bird's exposed wing with a full-force Tackle.
The Spearow cried out, crashing to the dirt. It flapped weakly, trying to rise, but then slumped, defeated.
Gasps rose from the travelers who had been watching idly, now murmuring with surprise. The boy's smirk vanished, replaced by a flush of embarrassment. He recalled his Pokémon quickly, muttering something about a rematch before storming off.
Perseus stood proudly, chest heaving but eyes gleaming with fierce triumph.
Alaric stepped forward, placing a hand on his partner's head. "Well done," he murmured. "You did not yield to speed or aggression. Remember this feeling, Perseus. Victory is not given—it is taken."
The murmurs of the onlookers followed them as they continued down the road. Whispers of the young noble with the commanding voice and the fierce Eevee spread, carried not by servants this time, but by strangers.
And so, with every step away from the estate and into the world, Alaric's name began to move. Not with titles. Not with wealth. But with the beginnings of legend.