The first thing I feel every morning is the hum of Aura in my veins.
Cool. Calm. Steady.
It doesn't roar like fire or crackle like lightning. It pulses like the ocean tide—gentle but endless, brushing the edges of my senses in a soft blue glow. I sit cross-legged on the floor of my room, palms open on my knees, breathing in the quiet.
Pikachu snores lightly beside me, tail flicking as he dreams of—probably—shocking someone's shoelaces again.
Outside, the town of New Hope is still waking up. Birds chirp, wind hums through the hills, and somewhere in the distance, a delivery truck backfires. Typical Tuesday.
I open my eyes, letting the morning light pour in through the window. My Aura responds to my focus, gathering around my arms like rippling smoke before disappearing again.
Three years of training. I'm not just guessing anymore. I can feel the flow of Aura now. Bend it. Mold it.
I'm eleven now.
Just a kid, by most standards.
But I don't feel like one.
After a quick wash and getting dressed, I head outside with Pikachu stretching on my shoulder. His fur fluffs up in the breeze, and he yawns so wide he nearly flips off me.
"Careful," I laugh, catching him.
He chirps sleepily and clings to my hoodie like a baby koala.
We start with simulation training—just like always.
"Gardevoir, target sweep! Psychic terrain and disable sequence!"
She glides out across the field, graceful as ever. Her eyes glow, the earth bends to her will, and the dummies I set up collapse without a whisper of sound.
Above her, Corvisquire shrieks and dives like a missile. Steel Wing tears through two targets and he pulls up mid-air, smug as usual. He flaps once and lands beside me with a little squawk that might as well be, "Was there ever any doubt?"
Charmander goes next, his flames extra fiery this morning. He charges at the last remaining dummy, claws blazing.
"Flame Charge, wrap it with Smokescreen, then finish with Scratch!"
The combo isn't pretty yet, but he's fast. Wild. Fierce. Still figuring things out—but mine. He growls happily at the ruined dummy and puffs up when I praise him.
In the pond, Shiny Magikarp flops uselessly and smacks a floating dummy in the face.
I try not to laugh. "Good hustle, buddy."
He sparkles in response. Pure pride.
Gengar phases in and out of view like a contented shadow, his grin wide and mischievous as he sneaks up on Pikachu and flicks his ear with a spectral tongue.
Pikachu retaliates with a tiny Thunder Shock, just enough to singe the air.
I sigh. "Enough, both of you."
Breakfast is warm and simple.
Mom made eggs and toast, with her usual cup of tea steaming gently in front of her. Dad's going over some notes for work, still wearing his hoodie and sweatpants. He never looks like someone who's trained with Pokémon—but then again, looks can be deceiving.
Albus, the Stoutland, is napping with one eye open under the table. Lala the Jigglypuff hums to herself on the windowsill, while Hooter the Noctowl perches quietly on the back porch, as still as a statue.
"Morning, Ash," Mom says as I sit down.
"Morning." I smile, patting Pikachu as he hops into my lap and steals a bite of toast.
Dad raises a brow but doesn't stop him. "Training go well?"
"Yeah. Gardevoir and Corvisquire are getting sharper every day. And Charmander's figuring out how to chain techniques."
"That's good," Dad says, glancing out the window. "You're getting close to forming a full frontline."
"I've got six now," I say, trying not to sound too proud. "I think I can handle it."
He smiles. "We'll see."
Outside, wind brushes the ivy on the porch. Peaceful. Familiar.
I think about what today is. The date.
August, 2000.
In this world, everything's almost normal. So far, the only Marvel-type news I've seen is about some minor Mutant scuffles—someone getting caught stealing from a bank with laser eyes, a woman floating mid-air in a news clip once. Whispers. Rumors.
No aliens. No Avengers. No costumed heroes jumping across rooftops.
Not yet.
And I wonder, sometimes, how long that peace will last.
I sip my orange juice, watching the morning sun stretch across our little home.
***
In the afternoon, Aunt Freya dropped by.
She claimed it was just to "hang out," but we both knew the truth. She came to spar.
It's kind of our thing now.
She was already tossing her jacket on the porch and rolling up her sleeves before I even opened the front door. Her smile was sharp, hungry—she lived for moments like these.
"You ready to lose again, nephew?"
I grinned, stepping barefoot into the yard. "Only if you're lucky."
We didn't use Pokémon for these matches—not always. This was just us.
Aura vs. Aura.
The field behind our house was already marked with old burn scars, cracks, and flattened grass from weeks of training. Freya paced a slow circle around me, eyes gleaming. Her presence always felt like a storm on the horizon—calm on the surface, but ready to strike.
"Begin."
She was on me in a flash.
I ducked under her first swing—an Aura punch that blurred the air with orange-red force—and twisted to the side. My palm glowed, blocking her second strike. The pressure rolled through my arm like a shockwave.
She was fast. Brutal. Almost animalistic in the way she chained moves.
But I was faster.
I countered with a palm strike to her gut—enough to stagger her—then slipped behind and swept at her legs. She flipped, catching herself mid-air, and came down with a blazing axe-kick.
I caught it with both hands, skidding back in the dirt.
My Aura surged.
Now.
I pushed forward with a burst of Aura Reinforcement, faking high before spinning low. She dodged barely—then I was behind her.
A flick of my wrist and the blade of Aura shimmered into life—solid, blue, humming like a blade of condensed will.
I stopped it just an inch from her throat.
She blinked, wide-eyed, then slowly raised both hands.
"I Yield," she said, panting.
I let the blade dissolve.
Freya stepped back and grinned. "Damn. You've been holding out on me."
"I'm just getting started," I said, trying to catch my own breath.
She shook out her arms and laughed, short and sharp. "Tch. That's what I get for going easy on you."
I just smirked, breathing hard. The glow of my Aura was already fading from my palms.
She still got me, sometimes. Just not often.
Out of ten fights… maybe one would tip her way.
But when it did, it was always something clever. A trick I hadn't seen coming. A shift in rhythm. A trap she'd been laying for three rounds without me noticing. Experience—that was her weapon. And even now, it kept me honest.
"I'll give you this," she added, brushing dirt off her pants. "You've got more raw power than anyone else in the family your age. Maybe ever."
I didn't answer.
She gave me a sidelong look and stretched her back. "You done showing off, or we going another round?"
I grinned wider, stepping into stance again.
"You tell me."
These fights weren't about pride. Not really.
They were how we spoke. How we understood each other.
She was still better with Pokémon, more tactical in team battles—but when it came to raw Aura combat?
I had her.
And we both knew it.
***
Later That Evening – The Ketchum Living Room
The smell of roasted garlic and butter filled the house. Mom was in the kitchen, humming an old tune as she stirred something in the pot. Pikachu lay sprawled across the couch with a full belly, snoring softly. Gengar hovered above him like a dopey balloon, occasionally phasing through the ceiling and giggling to himself.
Freya had one leg slung over the armrest of the couch, an ice pack against her ribs.
David sipped his tea with a smug smile.
"So," he said lightly, "lost again?"
Freya groaned dramatically. "Oh, don't start."
David leaned back. "You know, I remember when you used to beat me bloody in sparring matches. What happened to the family prodigy?"
"She got older and wiser," Freya muttered. "And maybe a little slower."
Ash, seated nearby and polishing one of his Pokéballs, tried not to grin.
David raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe she just got beaten by an eleven-year-old."
"That eleven-year-old throws Aura like it's air," Freya snapped, half-laughing. "It's not my fault the kid's a freak."
David held up his cup in mock salute. "Genetics."
Freya flipped him off without looking.
Ash snorted, then sat up straighter as Freya suddenly pulled a scroll from her coat pocket and tossed it onto the table.
"Speaking of freaks," she said, "the Sorcerers reached out. There's been a tear in the veil over northern Greenland. Minor dimensional bleed. Too unstable to ignore."
David's smile faded. "Hell Dimension?"
Freya shook her head. "Not that heavy. Probably a collapsed pocket space. But it's leaking—enough to warrant cleanup."
She turned toward Ash.
"I was thinking of taking this one solo… but if you're up for it, kid, I could use the backup. You in?"
Ash's heart kicked up in his chest. He sat frozen for a second, then slowly turned to look at his dad.
David met his eyes. Calm. Measuring.
A long moment passed.
Then David gave the smallest of nods. "Stay sharp. Don't follow her example."
Freya rolled her eyes. "Hey."
Ash stood, smile spreading, a quiet flame lighting in his chest.
"I'll get my gear."
A Few Minutes Later – At the Front Door
Ash zipped up his jacket and slung his travel pouch over his shoulder. His Pokéballs—six of them—clicked softly against his hip. Freya was already waiting outside, tossing a pebble up and down with bored ease, but Ash paused at the door.
His mom stood in the hallway, drying her hands on a towel. She looked calm, but there was a tightness in her eyes.
"I won't be gone long," Ash said gently.
Annie smiled faintly. "You're sounding more and more like your father."
He blinked. "That a good thing?"
She stepped forward, brushing a few stray hairs from his forehead, her hand lingering against his cheek.
"It means you say things like that and think it'll make me less worried."
Ash chuckled awkwardly. "Right."
Her expression softened. "Just… stay close to Freya. She can be reckless, but she'll never let anything happen to you. And remember, you're still a kid, no matter how strong you've gotten."
Ash leaned into her touch for a brief moment. "I know."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wrapped sandwich, slipping it into his bag.
"You'll forget to eat otherwise."
He gave her a quick hug, squeezing tight. "Love you, Mom."
"I love you too, Ash." She pulled back and kissed the top of his head. "Come home safe."
He nodded, pulling the door open to the cold breeze waiting outside.
Freya looked up. "Ready?"
Ash glanced back once, just for a moment, at the warm lights of home and his mother standing there with a brave smile.
Then he stepped into the evening.
"Let's go."
Freya unrolled the ancient scroll with practiced fingers, the parchment already humming with a faint violet glow. Etchings along its edges shimmered as if breathing in the air around them.
"Coordinates aligned," she muttered, tapping a sigil in the corner. The symbols pulsed—then with a rush of wind and light, a vertical slit opened midair before them, warping reality like a ripple through water.
The portal stood tall, faintly translucent, the world beyond it an icy field surrounded by sloping cliffs and coniferous trees blanketed in snow. The sun hovered low on the horizon, casting amber light across the frost.
"Let's move," Freya said, stepping forward without hesitation.
Ash followed.
The sensation of walking through a portal was something he never got used to—like sinking into a dream and jolting awake at the same time. His boots crunched softly on snow as they emerged on the other side, a faint trail of mist curling from his mouth with each breath.
The clearing was quiet.
Too quiet.
Even the wind didn't howl.
"Sun's dipping fast," Freya said, scanning the treeline. "We've got maybe an hour of natural light."
Ash nodded and reached for his Pokéball. "Come on out, Charmander."
The ball clicked open, and with a flash of red energy, Charmander landed beside him with a happy chirp. His flame blazed steady and bright—golden orange, casting long shadows over the snow.
"Keep that tail up," Ash murmured, placing a hand on Charmander's head. "You're our lantern now."
Charmander gave a little salute and walked slightly ahead, his tail casting warm flickers along the icy path.
They moved together, boots crunching in rhythm, eyes fixed forward.
In the distance, just beyond a ridge, a strange glow shimmered through the cold haze. It wasn't fire, or sunlight.
It pulsed.
Like something alive.
"That's it," Freya whispered, eyes narrowing. "The rift."
Ash felt his Aura stir the closer they got. Like invisible fingers plucking at his nerves. Space felt… wrong here. Stretched thin.
He tightened his grip on his gloves, jaw set.
Whatever was waiting on the other side—it wasn't going to be friendly.
Ash felt the pressure shift first.
A subtle tremor in the air, like something exhaled behind them.
Freya suddenly froze mid-step.
Her hand shot out, stopping Ash in his tracks. Her other hand went to the hilt of her blade. "Something's already come through."
Ash turned, eyes scanning the misted snowfield behind them. The glow of the rift pulsed harder now—faster. As if reacting to something.
Freya pulled a small, jagged crystal from her belt—deep green, carved with spirals. It hummed violently in her palm.
She knelt and began tracing symbols into the snow with her finger, each glowing briefly before fading.
"You're closing it?" Ash asked, keeping his voice low but sharp. Pikachu tensed on his shoulder, fur bristling. Charmander inched closer, the fire on his tail growing hotter, brighter.
"Yeah," Freya said. "I was supposed to be here earlier after inviting you at the spur of the moment, we got a bit late. If something's already crossed, I can't let anything else through."
Ash narrowed his eyes. "Don't you usually work with a sorcerer to close these things?"
"I do," she replied, not looking up. "But they were busy dealing with some crap in the Balkans. Said it was probably just a minor tear and gave me an artifact to close it myself. Figured I could handle it."
Ash didn't like the sound of that. The tension in his spine hadn't eased.
Pikachu's ears twitched.
Charmander growled.
And then—they all heard it.
A low hiss.
Like steam escaping a vent, except wet. Slithering. Snow crunched unnaturally to their right, just at the edge of the shadows where the cliff curved.
Ash didn't wait.
"Charmander—Flamethrower!"
Charmander's tail flared to brilliant white for a second as he opened his mouth and blasted a wide, roaring stream of fire toward the source of the sound. The air sizzled from the heat, melting snow mid-arc.
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then a scream tore through the clearing.
Not human. Not even close.
The fire splashed over something enormous and wrong.
Snow burst away to reveal slick, scaled skin—black and oil-like, writhing with heat. A serpentine form thrashed in the flame, rising into view.
Dozens of feet long, with a split, lamprey-like jaw that opened in four directions—a wyrm.
Ash's pulse spiked.
"That's no minor tear," he muttered, stepping forward, eyes gleaming with Aura.
The beast screeched again and lunged.
Freya stood, crystal still glowing in one hand, sword drawn in the other. "Keep it off me!" she shouted. "This seal takes focus!"
Ash stepped in front of her, Pikachu and Charmander flanking him like twin guards.
His Aura flared, glowing blue around his limbs.
"Then let's dance."
____________________________________________________________________
A.N. Do you think a Machamp would be able to match the MCU version of the Hulk?
If not, why?
If yes, do you think legendaries could potentially match the heavy hitters of Marvel?
Like Jean Grey or maybe Captain Marvel??
If Pikachu zapped you with delight,Or Gengar gave you laughs (and a fright),Then toss a Power Stone our way—Ash needs them, like, every day!