"To be born of love, and raised by grief — what kind of fire does that forge?"
---
The silence before the storm was heavy, hanging over the remnants of Spear Pillar like the breath before a scream. Cracks still glowed faintly in the stone, echoes of the battle that had nearly ended the world. The wind was sharp, curling like talons through the ruined hall.
Auron stood on the edge of the crater, his black coat fluttering behind him, silver trim catching the fading light. His hand was clenched tightly at his side, the runes carved into his arm glowing ever so faintly. Behind him, the broken skies of Sinnoh pulsed with a faint crimson hue.
He remembered the look in Ares' eyes—those cold, merciless eyes that mirrored his own.
Ares. His half-brother. The creation of twisted ambition. The bastard heir of dimension and war.
"You're not ready," said a voice from behind.
Auron didn't turn. "He'll come whether I'm ready or not."
Professor Oak—aged, scarred, and missing two fingers—limped beside him. "That's what your father would've said."
"Would have?"
Oak's face darkened. "Ash was many things. A symbol. A hero. A fool in love. But he never ran."
Auron lowered his gaze. His breath fogged before him.
"I'm not him," he said quietly.
"No," Oak replied. "But you're his fire. Cynthia's steel. And right now, you're all we've got left."
From the east, a roar erupted across the sky, unnatural and echoing. Lightning tore through the clouds like slashes from a blade.
Ares had arrived.
---
He descended like a god of fury. No wings. Just pure momentum. His body was covered in obsidian armor infused with corrupted Aura. On his back, the fragments of a broken Poké Ball were embedded into his spine like a crown.
Auron stepped forward.
"Ares!" he shouted. His voice cut through the wind. "This ends today."
Ares touched down without a sound. Cracks spiraled beneath his boots.
"You think you're a match for me now?" Ares asked, eyes gleaming with bloodlight. "Little shadow of a hero. Little ghost of a love story."
"You killed my mother."
"You made me do it."
Auron charged.
Their fists collided like meteors. Aura met corrupted distortion. The explosion blasted the ruins apart, sending Oak flying back, shielding himself with a force field. The shockwave reached the far villages of Sinnoh.
Auron's eyes were glowing golden now—an echo of Ash's final Aura state. His fingers curled with sparking energy as he weaved through Ares' strikes.
Ares grinned. "You fight like him. But you don't have his heart."
"You're right," Auron growled, driving his knee into Ares' ribs. "I have hers."
He drew his sword—not steel, but a shimmering blade made of crystallized Aura and Garchomp scale, forged in Cynthia's final hours. As he slashed, it sang like the wind on the highest peak.
Blood. Sparks. Memory.
Cynthia's laughter. Ash's tears. Pikachu's sacrifice.
"You're not the future!" Auron roared.
"I am the future," Ares hissed back. "Born in blood. Fed by death. You are the relic, brother. You are ashes."
Auron's blade clashed against Ares' gauntlet. The impact echoed with a burst of light that split the sky for miles.
And then—a familiar spark.
A crackle of electricity.
A golden flash.
A voice—sharp, familiar, defiant.
"Wrong."
A bolt of lightning descended from the sky, striking beside Auron. The crater bloomed with light—and from it, emerged a silhouette.
Ears long.
Tail jagged.
Eyes burning with life.
Pikachu.
Reborn.
Ares' face twitched. "Impossible..."
Auron smiled, broken and bleeding. "You thought legends died. But this one? He just took a nap."
The storm had turned.
And the child of war—backed by the fire of legacy—was far from done.
---