Ash leaned against the white-washed picket fence of Professor Oak's back ranch, watching a group of Doduo sprint across the horizon. It had been a week since the "Pinsir Incident," and his life had taken on a bizarre, dual-natured rhythm.
To the rest of Pallet Town, he was just Ash, the hyperactive five-year-old who had survived a scary bug bite. But inside his mind, he was navigating a complex architectural blueprint of ancient power.
"No numbers," Ash muttered, staring at his palms. "No health bars. No mana points. Just... vibes."
He sighed, kicking at a tuft of grass. The "Holy Persuasion" legacy was as real as the dirt under his fingernails, but it was frustratingly analog. In his previous life, he could look at a screen and know exactly how much experience he needed to level up.
Here, growth was felt in the way his lungs didn't burn quite as much when he ran, or the way the blue hum in his chest felt a little more like a roaring river and less like a leaking faucet.
Inheriting the path of the Holy Knight wasn't like getting a superpower; it was like inheriting a job. He was a "Guardian," a role that demanded tempering. He had to train his body to hold the Aura, and he had to train his spirit to command it. If he slacked off, the power would simply wither.
"It's like being an athlete," he whispered. "Except if I fail my training, a ten-foot-tall bug might eat me."
Ash looked over at Moon Half—the name he had officially given to the ginger menace once known as Barnaby. The cat was currently "collaborating" with Professor Oak, which mostly involved Moon Half sitting on a high-tech weighing scale while looking profoundly insulted.
The Holy Persuasion skill was the cornerstone of Ash's new life. It wasn't just a "catch" mechanic. It was a soul-binding contract. By using that first skill point, Ash had essentially grafted a piece of his own life force onto Moon Half.
The benefits were staggering. Moon Half's natural limits—the "base stats" of his species—had been shattered. He wasn't just a cat anymore; he was a cat with the potential of a legendary beast. But the cost was terrifyingly absolute.
The legacy in Ash's mind was clear: the bond was irreversible. If Ash ever tried to "release" Moon Half, the sudden severance of the shared Aura would likely extinguish the cat's life.
"We're in this together, buddy," Ash thought, watching Moon Half swat at the Professor's measuring tape. "Literally. To the death."
It was a heavy thought for a five-year-old, but Ash wasn't just five. He was a man who had lived through the crushing loneliness of a studio apartment, and he wasn't about to let his only friend go.
"Incredible! Absolutely preposterous!"
Professor Oak's voice boomed across the yard. He was staring at a digital readout on a portable tablet, his eyebrows nearly migrating into his hairline.
"Ash! Come here! Look at this data!"
Ash trotted over, Moon Half seizing the opportunity to leap off the scale and hide behind Ash's legs.
"What is it, Professor?"
"The force-per-square-inch on his claws," Oak said, pointing to a graph that looked like a jagged mountain range. "When he used that 'Fury Swipes' move on the test dummy, the kinetic output was nearly triple what a Persian of his size should be capable of. And his reaction time? It's bordering on the supernatural. It's as if he knows where the target is going before it moves."
Ash smirked. That would be the Aura Perception I'm sharing with him, he thought. But aloud, he just said, "He's just got a lot of heart, Professor."
"Heart? My boy, he has the power density of a small engine!" Oak laughed, though his eyes remained sharp. "I've had to re-classify him in my local database. He's technically a 'high-threat' wild Pokémon until you get your license. If I let you take him home and he decides he doesn't like the mailman, he'd put a hole through the front door!"
Ash looked down at Moon Half, who was currently trying to lick a stray piece of dust off his paw. "He wouldn't do that. Would you, Moon Half?"
The cat looked up, gave a disinterested Mrow, and went back to his grooming.
"See? He's a pacifist," Ash joked.
"A pacifist that shredded a Pinsir's carapace," Oak countered, shaking his head. "No, for now, the Lab is the safest place. Besides, I suspect he enjoys the gourmet Pokémon kibble I've been importing from the Celedon Department Store."
Moon Half's ears perked up at the word "Celedon." He let out a loud, approving purr.
"Traitor," Ash hissed playfully.
The Secret of the Blue Sphere
As the Professor went back to his notes, Ash wandered toward a secluded corner of the ranch, near a small pond where a group of Poliwag were blowing bubbles. He needed to test something.
The legacy didn't just give him the ability to command; it gave him the ability to protect. Deep within the folds of his memory was a move that every fan of the series knew, but few humans had ever mastered.
The Aura Sphere.
Ash stood in a wide stance, his breathing slowing. He tried to visualize the blue energy in his chest—the "magic pool" that was currently more of a "magic puddle." He cupped his hands together near his waist, his fingers trembling.
Focus. Don't think about the numbers. Feel the resonance.
Slowly, a faint, flickering blue spark appeared between his palms. It wasn't a solid ball yet; it looked more like a soap bubble made of blue neon. The air around his hands began to hum, and the Poliwags in the pond stopped their splashing, sensing the sudden surge of pressure.
"Come on..." Ash grunted, sweat beading on his forehead.
The sphere grew to the size of a golf ball, spinning erratically. It felt heavy—unreasonably heavy—as if he were holding a miniature star. But then, a sharp pang of exhaustion shot through his brain. His vision swam, and the blue light flickered out like a dying lightbulb.
"Hah... hah..." Ash collapsed onto his knees, his hands dropping to the grass. "That... that's going to take a while."
He was too weak. His "mana pool" was so shallow that a single attempt at a combat move left him feeling like he'd stayed up for three days straight writing web novels. He was a Holy Guardian, yes, but he was currently a Guardian with the stamina of a toddler.
I need to train, he realized. Physical training. Running, lifting, meditation. If I want to use the Aura, I need a vessel that can hold it.
The walk back to the main house was peaceful. Ash found Delia in the kitchen, humming a song while she prepared a massive pot of stew. The smell of carrots, potatoes, and savory broth filled the air, making Ash's stomach growl loud enough to be heard in the next room.
"There's my little hero!" Delia smiled, wiping her hands on her apron. "How was your day at the Lab? Did the Professor find anything new about your 'mysterious' friend?"
"He thinks Moon Half is a world-class athlete," Ash said, hopping onto a kitchen stool. "And Moon Half thinks the Professor is a world-class chef."
Delia laughed, placing a bowl of stew in front of him. "Well, as long as he's happy. But Ash... be careful. I see the way you look at the horizon. You're already dreaming of the road, aren't you?"
Ash paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth. He looked at his mother—this woman who had lived her whole life in this quiet town, raising him alone. He felt a surge of affection.
"I have to go, Mom," he said softly. "When I'm ten. There's a whole world out there, and Barnaby and I... we have a promise to keep."
Delia's expression softened. She didn't look surprised. She looked like she had known this day was coming since the moment he was born. "I know. Just promise me you'll eat your vegetables and wear clean socks."
"Mom!" Ash groaned, but he was smiling.
That night, Ash stood on the balcony of his room, looking out over the sleeping town. In the distance, he could see the silhouette of the Lab, where Moon Half was likely sleeping on a pile of expensive Celedon silk.
He felt the Aura within him, steady and cool. He thought about Serena, somewhere in the Kalos region, probably training with her Rhyhorn. He thought about Gary, snoring in the room next to the Lab, dreaming of fame.
He wasn't the "original" Ash, but he had inherited the dream. And with the legacy of the Holy Guardian flowing through his veins, he was going to do more than just "catch 'em all." He was going to protect this world.
"I am a Guardian," he whispered to the stars. "And this is my world now."
Down in the Lab, in a dark corner near the high-end kibble dispenser, a pair of orange ears flicked. Moon Half opened one golden eye, sensing the resonance of his master's vow. He let out a soft, contented purr and went back to sleep.
The countdown to age ten had begun. Five years of secret training. Five years of tempering the iron. The Paladin was rising, and the Pokémon world had no idea what was coming.