"We are the pages that were torn out… but we still remember how the story was meant to end."
---
The battle was over, but the war had only just begun.
Ash stood at the precipice of Mt. Coronet, wind cutting across the mountain's spine like a blade. His cloak was torn, stained by soot and lightning burns. Around him, his team rested—exhausted, battered, but alive.
Below, the valley was silent. Fires still glowed in patches from where Charizard's inferno had met the Spectral Champion's voidstorm. The land was littered with fragments of worlds that never were—ruins, scripts, beta creatures glitching in and out of form, half-formed memories swirling like ash in the wind.
Pikachu leaned against his side.
Serena arrived moments later, kneeling beside him. "You're still bleeding," she whispered, fingers trembling as she reached for the gauze.
Ash's voice was distant. "We lost something more than blood today."
---
Down in the collapsed shrine, the thirteen returned champions—those erased by the master script—stood like faded stars. Their eyes were clearer now, less haunted by code. But something still simmered beneath the surface.
"They didn't vanish," Mira said. "Why?"
Ash turned to them.
"Because I said your names."
A hush.
Red stepped forward, watching Ash with unreadable eyes. "You've done what no one ever has. You've pulled memories back from the Tomb."
N looked around nervously. "Which means the Tomb is leaking. That's why we're still here."
"Or," Kael muttered, "someone opened it."
---
The data shard Red had recovered still burned with unstable fire. Serena held it, her gloves singeing from its heat.
"What is it?" she asked.
Ash answered slowly. "A memory key. Fragment of a deletion that never completed. Proof that a version of reality refused to be rewritten."
They all turned to Red.
He said two words.
> "The Memory Tomb."
N staggered back. "That place was sealed by Arceus at the First Rewrite. It shouldn't be possible…"
"But it is," Red said, gaze dark. "Archivus has found a way to tear the lock."
Serena frowned. "What's inside?"
Ash's face was pale.
> "All the people we were supposed to forget."
---
In a universe no longer mapped, floating between timelines and failed drafts, the Memory Tomb opened.
A surge of white-hot memory burst outward—names, voices, stories. Characters who never made it past the drawing board. Trainers whose journeys were cut short by production notes. Worlds with different rules, different champions, different ends.
Ash heard them all.
> "My name was Kai. I was the original hero. Before Red."
"I was Ayame, rival to Hikari. I was cut for being too complex."
"I was Sora. My partner was Eclipseon—the Ghost evolution of Eevee. They said I was too dark."
He gritted his teeth as the storm overwhelmed his mind. It felt like drowning in past lives.
And then he heard something worse.
A version of himself.
> "I never left Pallet. I never caught a single Pokémon. I watched others live while I just… stayed."
The pain wasn't just psychic. It was personal. It was guilt.
> These were not strangers.
These were the Ashes who never got the chance.
---
The sky cracked.
From it, she descended.
Aletheia. The First Rewrite.
Her form was shifting script, ancient punctuation scars, her voice an echo of every editor who ever said, "Cut this. It doesn't matter."
> "Ash Ketchum," she said, tone hollow. "You were the end. The final draft. But you refused to close the book."
Ash stepped forward, Pikachu beside him.
"I didn't refuse. I just kept writing."
> "Then you must answer for the stories denied."
Behind her, they emerged—the Lost Leagues.
Champions of versions that never existed:
— The Gold King, ruler of a Galar that had no Dynamax but infinite war.
— The Kalos Shadow Queen, whose Absol had devoured her soul.
— The Dragon Monk, who merged with his Hydreigon and became part-Pokémon.
Serena clutched Ash's hand.
"These aren't just champions," she whispered. "They're timelines made flesh."
"They want blood," Red added.
"They want justice," N corrected.
But Ash knew the truth.
> "They want to be remembered."
---
Aletheia raised her hand.
"Then remember this—"
She opened a void.
Ash fell.
---
He landed on a battlefield shaped like a giant book, each page a different universe. He stood on a page marked Kanto.
Across from him: The Gold King.
He wore a cloak of rusted medals and a crown of glitching Poké Balls. His golden Cinderace snarled. A ghost-Zacian growled, flickering.
"You stole my future," the King said.
"I never knew it," Ash answered.
"But they chose you."
And the King attacked.
Thunder crashed. Steel clashed. Memory flared.
Pikachu struck first—only to be devoured by the ghost-Zacian's passive aura. The energy turned and fired back—twice as strong.
Ash rolled, bleeding from his shoulder.
He called for Lucario.
The ball shattered in his hand.
"No…"
> "Every hit," the King said, "erases someone from your past."
Ash gasped.
A memory of Brock vanished. Just… gone.
His knees buckled.
The King advanced. Another blow. May disappeared.
"You're losing the life you lived," the King snarled. "How does it feel?"
Ash's breath hitched.
Pikachu collapsed.
And then—
He heard a voice.
---
A forgotten Ash. A version who never journeyed. Who watched instead of lived.
> "Even if I was never chosen, I still hoped. I still dreamed of becoming you."
All around him, the other Ashes emerged.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
They stood behind him, smiling.
Ash looked at his trembling hands. Felt their strength in his chest.
"I'm not alone."
He rose.
The pen in his belt—once a gift from Ho-Oh—glowed.
> "I carry all our stories now."
The King struck.
Ash caught the blade with his hand.
It shattered.
---
Light surged.
The pages caught fire—not in destruction, but in revision.
The champions fell to their knees, memory restoring them with dignity. Their names returned. Their worlds were given form.
And one by one—they smiled. Not out of vengeance.
But because they were finally… seen.
Even the Gold King removed his crown.
"Thank you," he whispered.
---
Back on the mountain, the others waited as the wind died.
Ash emerged—Pikachu on his shoulder, stronger than ever. His eyes were no longer confused.
He remembered everything.
"Did you fix it?" Serena asked.
"No. I honored it."
Red clapped him on the shoulder.
But Archivus stepped forward.
"Sentiment," he sneered. "Memory. Such fragile weapons."
He raised the Final Casket.
> "Let's see how you handle truth."
And from the box came something older than any memory:
The Origin Rewrite.
---