"To remember is to suffer. To forget is to die. He chose to do both."
---
The morning air in Pallet Town felt too crisp, too untouched—like a lie dressed in spring.
Ash stood barefoot in the dewy grass outside his childhood home. The town hadn't changed a bit. Not the windmill, not the lab, not even the cracks on the pavement near the mailbox. Too perfect.
Pikachu stood beside him, ears twitching. There was no tension in his little body—only contentment. Blissful ignorance.
Ash's fingers curled into fists.
Because deep inside him, something screamed.
Something ancient. Something wrong.
He looked down at his palm, where the thread pulsed. Faint. Golden. Almost invisible to anyone else. But he saw it. Felt it. Heard its whispers.
It was memory made flesh.
---
Inside, Delia Ketchum hummed as she flipped pancakes.
"Ashy-boy!" she called. "Breakfast is ready!"
That voice. So warm. So normal.
Ash hesitated before walking in. Each step across the wooden floorboards echoed louder than it should have.
He sat at the table.
And forced a smile.
But every bite of food tasted like ashes. He stared at the plate as Delia spoke about Professor Oak, chores, and weather forecasts. Her voice was a distant melody, lost in a sea of phantom screams only Ash could hear.
He saw the table morph, for a moment, into an altar of blood and sacrifice.
He blinked. It was gone.
---
That night, he stood alone at his window, moonlight casting pale shadows across the room.
He hadn't touched the Pokédex on his desk.
Because he knew it would open not to stats or maps, but to war zones. To the screams of his fallen. To the smell of burnt fur. To Serena's broken smile. To Misty's final scream before the sea swallowed her.
He clutched the thread in his palm like a lifeline.
And then—
Thunder.
It didn't belong.
There were no storm clouds. No wind.
Ash rushed out, barefoot again, as Pikachu followed.
---
Down the street stood a hulking figure.
Lt. Surge.
But it wasn't him.
This Surge wore no insignia—only scars and scorched metal.
His right arm was gone, replaced by a biomechanical monstrosity that sparked and hummed with artificial lightning. His eyes glowed a sickly yellow. His chest bore the faded remains of a dog tag melted into flesh.
"I found you," Surge rasped.
Ash's voice cracked. "Why are you here?"
Surge stepped forward, dragging an enormous hammer, its handle inscribed with forgotten symbols.
"You shouldn't exist," he said. "None of us should."
---
Without warning, Surge slammed the hammer down.
A quake of lightning erupted, shattering windows, turning lamp posts to slag. Pikachu yelped as sparks scattered.
Ash rolled aside, adrenaline burning like acid in his veins.
"You're a leftover," Surge growled. "The system rebooted. We were erased. Deleted like corrupted data."
Ash coughed, skin blistering from the static in the air.
"I remember," he said hoarsely. "All of it."
Surge's face twisted. "Then you know why I can't let you live."
He lunged.
---
Ash moved like he had in a hundred wars. He ducked the hammer swing and drove his shoulder into Surge's ribs.
Pain shot through him like ice. Surge's body felt like steel.
Pikachu leapt into the air and discharged a Volt Tackle. The impact was massive—white-hot light engulfed them all.
When it faded—
Pikachu lay twitching, convulsing.
Surge stood, smoking, coughing.
"You think electricity hurts me?" he spat. "I've drowned in it."
He kicked Pikachu aside. The little body hit a tree with a sickening crack.
Ash screamed.
He saw Charizard burning alive, begging for death.
He saw Greninja's body torn in half, eyes still open.
He saw Kukui's crushed skull, fingers still clutching a Poké Ball.
---
Ash snapped.
He pulled the Pokédex from his belt. It flared open—not with data, but with a golden battlefield etched in time. The thread glowed.
From the Pokédex, a blazing shape rose.
Charizard—his Charizard. Not reborn, but remembered. Wreathed in ghostly flame.
Surge stared, eyes wide.
"Impossible…"
Charizard roared.
Surge swung.
But Charizard's fire collided midair and exploded, engulfing both men.
Ash stood his ground, protected by the memory.
Surge screamed as flame scorched his body. Metal cracked. Circuits sparked.
He dropped to his knees.
"I was a soldier," Surge gasped. "We fought for a world that doesn't remember us."
Ash knelt before him, eyes filled with ancient sadness.
"And I'm the only one who does."
He placed his hand on Surge's chest—and willed the thread to pass.
Surge's eyes widened.
Tears streamed down his soot-covered cheeks.
"Thank you…"
And then he disappeared.
Not like a Pokémon fainting.
But like a ghost released.
---
The street was silent.
Ash turned. Pikachu was alive—barely. He cradled him, whispering apologies, feeling every bruise, every broken piece of the world he'd failed to save.
The stars above seemed too quiet.
Because the war wasn't over.
It was just beginning again.
---