The Pokemon Center in Scrapyard City was a contrast to the world outside. Its walls were a calming white, and the air lacked the metallic tang that had settled into their lungs.
As they approached the counter, the automatic doors hissed shut behind them. Elias placed his three pokeballs on the healing tray.
"Give them a full restoration." He requested.
"Of course! It'll just be a few minutes." Nurse Joy replied, though her eyes lingered a second too long on Anne.
Anne leaned against the plastic counter. She seemed to be vibrating with a restless energy that the calm music of the Center couldn't soothe.
"Elias..." She whispered, her eyes scanning the lobby to ensure no one was eavesdropping. "Look over there."
He followed her gaze to the corner of the waiting area. A group of young trainers sat huddled together. They didn't have the usual post-battle excitement, they looked defeated. One boy was staring blankly at an empty pokeball in his hand, his eyes red-rimmed.
"Team Rocket." Anne breathed, her voice laced with venom. "They didn't just win battles. They took their pokemon. 'Civilian Asset Requisition,' they call it. It makes my skin crawl."
Before he could respond, a low, rhythmic thudding started outside. It wasn't the sound of scrap metal falling. It was the synchronized footfalls of a heavy pokemon.
The sliding doors hissed open again.
A man in a black uniform with a red 'R' emblazoned on his chest stepped in. He wasn't a grunt. His uniform was tactical, reinforced with light armor, and he carried a whip coiled at his hip. Behind him, a Rhyhorn snorted, its heavy feet cracking one of the entrance tiles.
The lobby went dead silent. The Nurse Joy's hand hovered over the 'Restore' button, frozen.
"Attention!" The Rocket operative called out, his voice bored yet commanding. "This facility is now under the temporary jurisdiction of Team Rocket. All healed pokemon currently in the system are to be turned over for... processing."
Anne's hand went to her belt, but Elias's hand shot out, gripping her wrist with surprising strength.
"I'll handle this."
Elias stepped forward, his expression unreadable behind his glasses.
"Team Rocket, why are you doing this?"
The Rocket operative's eyes shifted towards Elias, a slow, mocking grin spreading across his face.
"Why?" He barked a short, ugly laugh, cracking his whip against his boot. "Because the strong dictate the terms, kid. These 'trainers' are wasting potential. We're putting their assets to better use. Now, step aside before my Rhyhorn treats you like a piece of scrap."
Elias took another step forward. On the healing tray behind Nurse Joy, the restoration machine chimed a frantic, high-pitched alert. The three pokeballs opened, releasing a burst of light.
Staravia emerged first. It banked sharply, the wind from its wings scattering the papers on Nurse Joy's desk as it hovered mere inches from the Rocket member's face, its sharp eyes fixed on his jugular.
Krokorok surged out next. It lowered its body, a low growl vibrating through the tiles, his dark-tinted eyes locked onto the Rhyhorn.
Scraggy was the last. It landed with a heavy thud that shaken Nurse Joy's desk, completely scattering all the papers. It pulled its shed skin up to its neck, its eyes bloodshot and wide, radiating a sheer malice that made the air in the room feel heavy.
The Rocket operative took an involuntary step back, his hand fumbling for his whip. His Rhyhorn shuffled uneasily, its horn dipping as it faced the three hostile pokemon that had materialized in an instant.
Scraggy took a heavy step forward, its knuckles dragging on the floor. It didn't look at the Rhyhorn. Its bloodshot gaze was fixed solely on the Rocket man.
Elias hadn't moved. He stood between Anne and the counter, his hands at his sides. His glasses reflected the lights, hiding his eyes.
"I see." Elias said. "This is my pokemon. Would you like to try and take them?"
***
Forest of Dignity...
In the heart of a silent grove stood a ruined fountain. The stone basin was cracked, choked with ivy and stagnant water, but its centerpiece—a weathered statue of a noble pokrmon long forgotten—still held a sense of fractured dignity.
Martin stood before it, his hands clasped behind his back.
"The resonance here is faint." He murmured to the empty air. "But it's persistent. Like a memory that refuses to fade."
A heavy snap of a branch echoed from the tree line.
Martin didn't turn. He didn't even flinch.
Out of the darkness stepped a young man with blue jacket. Beside him, a towering Feraligatr moved. Its eyes were fixed on Martin's back, a low, guttural rumble beginning in its chest.
"I've finally found you." Shan said. His voice was rough, fueled by a mixture of exhaustion and an iron-clad resolve.
Martin finally turned. His expression impassive.
"Shan." Martin said, the name sounding heavy in the air. "I am impressed. Most trainers of your age are busy collecting badges and chasing the shallow glory of the League. You, however... are chasing us."
"You bet I am!" Shan replied, stepping closer. The Feraligatr hissed, its massive claws digging into the soft earth. "I saw what you guys did at Deviel Cave. I saw what you're doing at Felspar. You're tearing the land apart for 'artifacts' you don't understand."
"But do you understand it?" Martin stepped away from the fountain, walking a slow semi-circle. "Did you remember what I told you in Deviel Cave? I told you that we're here to break the endless cycle of the strong crushing the weak. I created Team Xycle to help me create a balance world where fighting do not exist."
He stopped just across from Shan, his hand raising by his chest, containing some kind of a piece of plate. It's rusty and definitely old, but the half formed figure of a pokemon is still visible.
"This... This is a piece of the Medal of Grace. Do you know it?" He asked. "If not, let me tell you."
"Three hundred years ago, the Ancient Warriors used this medal to synchronize with the legendary protector. They didn't use pokeballs, Shan. They didn't use force. They used resonance. They reached a state where the human and the pokemon were no longer two entities, but one singular force of nature."
Martin held the shard up.
"Faradity isn't just a pokemon. It is the architect of balance. If I can restore the Medal, I can broadcast that resonance across the entire region. I can suppress the primal aggression that fuels your League, your 'training,' and even the greed of Team Rocket. I can bring a silence so profound that no one will ever have to suffer the sting of defeat again."
Shan stared at the shard in Martin's hand, his face a storm of confusion and disbelief. The sheer scale of the claim stole the breath from his lungs for a moment. A world without fighting? Without battles? It sounded like a fairy tale, a child's naive dream. But the man standing before him was no child, and his eyes held a terrifying, unwavering conviction.
"You want to… what, brainwash every people? Turn them into… into statues?" He gestured wildly at the ruined fountain. "Is that your idea of balance? A world of silent, obedient stones?"
"You mistake peace for passivity." Martin said, his voice chillingly patient. "The silence I seek is not of the grave, but of the summit. A place beyond conflict, where understanding is inherent, not forced. An end to the cycle."
He closed his fist around the shard.
"The current world is built on a foundation of struggle. I am offering a way to remove the foundation itself."
Feraligatr let out another warning rumble, sensing its trainer's rising agitation. Shan shook his head, the initial shock hardening back into resolve.
"You're talking about taking away their will! That's not peace…!" He took a step forward, fists clenched. "Pokemon choose to fight with us! They choose to trust us! That bond… that's everything!"
"Choice..." Martin echoed, the word dripping with disdain. "A luxury afforded by a stable world. What choice does a pokemon have when its home is strip-mined? What choice does a trainer have when a stronger foe takes everything? I am not removing choice, Shan. I am removing the necessity for the choices that cause suffering. I will use this shard... I will use Faradity's power to create a state of perfect, mutual understanding. No words, no commands, just… peace!"
"I won't let you." Shan said. He raised a hand, and Feraligatr shifted its weight, a jet of water already building in the back of its throat. "The world you're trying to create is empty. An empty world is not a world at all. Peace shouldn't be empty, it should be where people and pokemon are laughing together. If I beat you right here, I can stop your plans."
A faint, almost sad smile touched Martin's lips. He raised the hand clutching the shard of the Medal.
"You wish to fight? Then fight not me, but the echo of the peace you so foolishly reject."
He slammed the shard down onto the lip of the stone fountain.
A soundless pulse erupted.
It wasn't light or noise, but a pressure, a wave of psychic resonance that visibly distorted the air. It washed over Shan and Feraligatr.
Shan gasped, staggering as a wave of profound, unnatural calm flooded his mind. His anger, his determination, his very will to fight began to leach away, replaced by a drowsy, placid acceptance.
Beside him, Feraligatr's aggressive stance melted. It blinked slowly, a low, confused whine escaping its throat as it looked at its own claws, then at Shan, as if wondering why it had ever wanted to use them.
Martin watched, the sad smile still in place.
"See? This is but a fragment. Imagine the completed Medal. Imagine a world that has forgotten how to raise a fist in anger. That is the future, Shan."
He turned his back, walking away into the forest, leaving Shan and Feraligatr standing by the fountain, trapped in a bubble of serenity, their fighting spirit smothered under the weight of an ancient, overwhelming peace.
***
Back in the Scrapyard City, Pokemon Center...
The Rocket operative's bravado had crumbled into fear, his eyes darting between the three hostile pokemon. His Rhyhorn was backing up, its stony hide scraping against the doorframe.
"You think this is over?" He spat, his voice trembling despite his attempt at menace. "This is a declaration of war against Team Rocket! Archer will hear of this! He'll turn this whole rust-bucket city inside out looking for you!"
"Scraggy." Elias said, his voice a flat command.
Scraggy didn't need a specific order. It understood intent. It took another heavy step forward. Then, with incredible speed, it lashed out. Not at the Rhyhorn, but at the wall beside the Rocket operative's head.
Its fist slammed into the reinforced drywall with a thunderous crunch. The wall exploded inward in a cloud of dust, leaving a gaping hole that revealed the wiring and insulation within. The impact was mere inches from the man's ear.
The Rocket operative shrieked, stumbling sideways and falling hard on his backside. The coiled whip clattered away from his fingers.
"Leave." Elias said, the word final.
The man scrambled to his feet, not even bothering to recall his cowering Rhyhorn. He fled through the shattered doorway, Rhyhorn scrambling after him with a panicked bellow.
The heavy silence in that followed was absolute.
Nurse Joy's hands, which had been clasped tightly over her mouth, slowly lowered. Her gaze was not on the destruction, but on Elias's back as he recalled his pokemon.
He turned from the counter. He adjusted his glasses, which had reflected the chaotic scene, hiding his eyes. Now, in the aftermath, she could see his face clearly. White hair, sharp features, an expressionless face.
The pieces clicked together in her mind.
The regional broadcasts. The Novice Clash from Metrolink City. She'd watched the finals, like many others, drawn in by the drama, the unexpected champion.
"You are... You are the Novice Clash Champion! Elias from Metrolink City!"