The day Skylar turned seven, something shifted in the air.
Not just metaphorically. Literally.
Sinnoh's skies, usually cool and crisp, seemed warmer than usual. The sea breeze from Sunyshore felt heavier. The Pokémon in the estate garden were tense, skittish. Even Ralts, who rarely showed emotion beyond calm or curiosity, stayed unusually close to Skylar's side.
Something was coming.
And then it happened.
At breakfast, Flint set down his cup of coffee, his normally laid-back demeanor now replaced by seriousness.
"Skylar. Pack a bag. Just the essentials."
Skylar blinked. "Are we going somewhere?"
Flint stood, fire in his eyes.
"We're going to Mount Valor. It's time for your trial."
Skylar's heart skipped a beat.
He'd heard stories of Mount Valor. It wasn't particularly tall, but it was active—volcanic, warm, and swarming with Fire-types. It was a place where Flint had trained in his youth, a place where passion and heat pushed Trainers to their limits.
He glanced at his mother, Elena, who simply gave him a proud nod.
"Go," she said gently. "You're ready."
By midday, they arrived at the base of the mountain. The trail was rough, wild, and alive with volcanic energy. Steam hissed from cracks in the earth, and the air smelled faintly of sulfur and ash.
Skylar stood with a simple backpack, dressed in a light red hoodie, black athletic pants, and worn-in boots. Ralts hovered close, floating just above the ground.
"What's the trial?" Skylar asked as they reached a plateau near a rocky outcrop.
Flint turned, the sun catching his bright red hair. His expression was unreadable.
"Survive."
Skylar tilted his head.
"Excuse me?"
Flint dropped a Poké Ball.
It burst open in a blaze of crimson light.
Infernape.
Skylar's heart leapt. The powerful Fire/Fighting-type landed with a roar, eyes locked on Skylar. Muscles tense. Flames licking the side of its head.
Flint's voice was steady.
"You want to be a real Trainer? A master? Then prove it. Bond with fire. Not by catching it—but by enduring it. By standing tall even when your body screams to run."
Skylar swallowed.
"You want me to fight it?"
Flint shook his head.
"No. I want you to face it."
Infernape began to circle. Slow. Measured. It wasn't angry—but it was testing him.
Skylar stepped forward. Ralts moved to protect him.
"No, buddy," Skylar whispered. "This is mine."
He raised his arms slightly. Vulnerable. Defenseless.
Infernape stopped.
It lowered its body, a thin stream of smoke rising from its shoulders. Its eyes narrowed, challenging him to hold his ground.
Skylar closed his eyes and felt.
The heat. The pressure. The fear.
But beneath all of it—resolve.
He took a deep breath and reached out, not with his hand, but with his heart.
He felt the flame. Not just its danger—but its will. Its pride. Its passion.
"You're not a monster," Skylar thought. "You're a warrior. And I respect that."
Infernape flared up—its flame blazing tall and wild. Skylar flinched… but didn't move.
Seconds passed. Then… the flames subsided.
Infernape lowered its head in acknowledgment.
Skylar let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Flint clapped, slow and strong.
"You didn't flinch. You didn't fight. You connected."
That night, they camped on the mountainside. The stars above shimmered, while the embers of a fire danced below. Infernape sat across from Skylar, silent but watchful.
Flint handed Skylar a wrapped box.
"Happy birthday, kid."
Inside, nestled in red velvet, was a Poké Ball. But not just any Poké Ball—it was old. Weathered. A special emblem burned into its surface: the symbol of the Sinnoh Elite.
"This belonged to my first partner. Magmortar. He's long since passed. But this… this is my gift to you. It's yours now."
Skylar cradled the Poké Ball with reverence. "Thank you."
"You're not just my son anymore," Flint said, smiling. "You're a Trainer now."
The next morning, they descended from the mountain. Word of the "flame trial" had already begun to spread in whispers among local Trainers and officials. After all, not every child was given such an honor. Fewer still succeeded.
Back at home, Skylar sat in the garden. Ralts sat beside him. He now held Flint's gift close, unsure if he should use it yet.
"It's symbolic," he murmured to Ralts. "The real gift was the lesson."
Suddenly, Ralts perked up.
A rustle.
From the hedges, a wild Growlithe emerged. Its fur was slightly matted, its eyes wary. But it looked at Skylar with that same strange, knowing gaze.
Skylar smiled.
"Hey there."
He extended a hand.
Growlithe stepped forward, slowly. Carefully.
Connection.
Another bond formed—not through force, but trust.
Skylar laughed softly.
"Let's build a team… the right way."
That night, as he drifted off to sleep, Skylar dreamed.
Not of the mountain. Not of Flint. Not even of Pokémon.
But of the divine light from before.
And a voice.
"Well done, Skylar. The fire has chosen you."
He didn't know what that meant yet.
But deep down, he felt it.
His destiny was just beginning.