Four years.
It had been four long years since Red woke up in this strange version of the world — one where the faces were familiar, the places recognizable, yet everything was subtly, undeniably different.
The boy who once stood atop Mount Silver, cap pulled low over his brow as his Charizard roared defiance at a godlike pink phantom, was no longer the seven-year-old who had stumbled, dazed and disoriented, into this universe. He was eleven now — leaner, sharper, and stronger. The quiet aura that had once made him a curiosity in Pallet Town had hardened into something else entirely: a presence.
At his side walked his partner — no longer the small, scrappy Charmander he had rescued years ago, but a fierce Charmeleon, his scales now a deeper, burnished orange, tail flame burning with the heat of battle-earned confidence. Red had raised him carefully, with patience and relentless training, forging the kind of bond that could only be tempered by countless victories and near defeats.
Right now, Charmeleon was in the middle of a fight.
Three wild Pokémon — a Pidgeotto, a Raticate, and a Primeape — surrounded him in the dappled shadows of Forest near pallet town. The Pidgeotto dove from above in sudden bursts, wings slicing through the air with sharp whff sounds. The Raticate darted between roots and low brush, using its speed to flank, while the Primeape simply charged head-on, fists swinging with reckless fury.
Most trainers Red's age would have been panicking — shouting orders in a jumble, too focused on one opponent to watch the others. But Red stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, his expression unreadable, eyes following every shift of movement.
"Charmeleon," he said, voice calm but carrying the weight of command, "Flamethrower, left."
Charmeleon pivoted without hesitation, a stream of searing fire erupting from his jaws. The Raticate squealed, skidding back as the attack forced it into the open.
"Slash — up."
Claws gleamed silver as Charmeleon's arm whipped upward, catching the Pidgeotto mid-dive. Feathers scattered in the air as the bird cried out and veered away.
Primeape lunged in that instant, aiming to exploit the opening. Red didn't even blink.
"Brick Break."
Charmeleon's arm came down in a precise arc, striking the Primeape's temple with bone-cracking force. The fighting-type crumpled, rolling into the undergrowth.
Within moments, the battle was over. All three opponents lay defeated — scorched, dazed, but alive. Charmeleon shook himself once, tail flame flaring, then glanced at Red as if to say, What's next?
"Enough for today," Red said simply.
---
They walked back toward the edge of the forest, the canopy thinning to let sunlight spill over patches of moss and ferns. As they moved, Red thought about how far they'd come since that first meeting in Pallet.
It was last year, after a particularly grueling spar against a swarm of wild Mankey, a persistent flock of Pidgey, and a couple of overly-aggressive Rattata, that the town had started calling him the prodigy of not many words. The name stuck. His composure under pressure — the way he gave short, precise commands without shouting or panicking — had left an impression.
It wasn't that he didn't feel the heat of battle. He just didn't show it.
---
The sound of voices pulled him out of his thoughts.
Red's eyes narrowed, and he signaled for Charmeleon to stay low. They slipped behind a thick tangle of underbrush, moving silently toward the source.
Through the leaves, he spotted them: five men in black uniforms, the bold red "R" stark against the dark fabric. Team Rocket.
They weren't battling or searching in any obvious way. Instead, they stood in a loose huddle, their voices low but urgent.
"…boss wants it found fast," one was saying.
"Yeah, but how the hell are we supposed to catch something like that? It's the Phantom Pokémon for a reason."
Red's pulse quickened. Phantom Pokémon…
Another grunt snorted. "Orders are orders. If we spot it, we radio in. No heroics."
Red's fingers curled into a fist. That name — that title — could only mean one thing. His mind snapped back to the last battle of his old life, to the clash of fire and psychic light atop Mount Silver.
Mew.
For a moment, he froze. His body remembered that fight in a way words never could — the heat of Charizard's Blast Burn, the bone-deep vibration of Mew's psychic cry, the blinding white of the explosion that had ended it all.
"Seems like fate hasn't lost its grip on me," he murmured under his breath.
---
The Rockets broke formation, fanning out into the deeper forest.
Red's decision was instant. If they were after Mew, then he needed to know why.
'Mew's too strong to be captured by low-level grunts,' he thought, moving carefully in their wake. 'Most likely, they're here to observe, maybe track it for someone stronger.'
The deeper they went, the quieter the forest became. Birdsong faded, replaced by the occasional rustle of leaves. Every step Red took was measured, his eyes scanning for movement that didn't belong. Charmeleon padded beside him, tail flame kept low to avoid giving them away.
After several minutes, a flicker of motion caught Red's eye. He stilled instantly.
Through a gap between two massive oaks, he saw a figure in the clearing beyond.
Spiky brown hair.
For a split second, Red thought he was seeing a memory — but no. The boy was real, standing maybe twenty yards away, and Red would have recognized that face anywhere.
Blue Oak.
In his old world, Blue had been his rival from day one — cocky, self-assured, constantly acting like he was just one step away from surpassing Red. For years, their battles had been a cycle of provocation and payback.
But the Blue in front of him was… different.
His stance was balanced, his expression composed. There was no smirk, no taunting shout — only focus. He was locked in battle with a Pokémon Red knew all too well.
Mew hovered in the air above the clearing, tail swaying lazily, eyes fixed on the boy before it.
Blue's partner — a young Charmander — darted in and out of range, spitting bursts of fire that fizzled harmlessly against Mew's shimmering psychic barrier.
"Flamethrower! Now!" Blue commanded, his voice sharp but not desperate.
Charmander obeyed instantly, flames bursting forth — only for Mew to vanish in a blink, reappearing behind them. Blue didn't hesitate.
"Back! Defense!"
Charmander spun, but Mew was already moving again, dodging every strike like it was a game.
Red watched quietly from the shadows. Blue wasn't winning — not even close — but he wasn't reckless. He knew when he was outmatched.
After several more exchanges, Blue exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing.
"That's enough," he said, recalling Charmander in a flash of red light. He didn't look angry or frustrated — only resolved.
Red found himself… impressed.
Without a word, he turned and slipped deeper into the forest, leaving before Blue could sense his presence.
---
The forest swallowed Red's silhouette as he moved away from the clearing. The air felt heavier here, thicker with the kind of quiet that wasn't natural.
Even though he'd left Blue behind, Mew's image lingered in his mind — the way it moved, the almost playful flick of its tail, the serene expression as if the battle hadn't been a challenge at all.
It was exactly as he remembered.
The same Pokémon that had once met his Charizard's strongest attack head-on without fear. The same creature whose power had brought his first life to a blazing, world-shattering end.
Red adjusted his cap, the brim shadowing his eyes.
Fate had a cruel sense of humor.
---
He didn't return to town immediately. Instead, he circled the forest in a wide arc, keeping to the game trails and animal paths, searching for any sign of the Rockets. They had scattered earlier, but their movements had been deliberate. If they'd seen Mew, they would be regrouping somewhere.
Charmeleon followed silently, matching Red's pace without needing a single spoken order. Every so often, his tail flame cast a faint glow over the mossy trunks and damp earth, then disappeared again as they slipped deeper into shadow.
A faint murmur of voices reached Red's ears after nearly twenty minutes of searching.
He lowered himself into a crouch, moving forward inch by inch until the figures came into view.
Two Rockets stood by a small campfire, its light carefully shielded by a rock outcrop. They weren't cooking or resting — their attention was on a small device one of them held. A scanner, Red guessed. Every few seconds, it gave a soft pulse, the display flashing faint blips.
"Nothing solid yet," one grunt muttered. "But it's close. We've been getting stronger readings since we split up."
The other shook his head. "Close isn't good enough. You know what happens if we lose the trail."
Red studied them in silence. The device was primitive compared to what he imagined their boss must have access to — probably just a portable tracker keyed to detect unusual energy patterns. Against something like Mew, though, even "primitive" could be dangerous if they got lucky.
---
He considered his options. He could confront them here and destroy the scanner, but that risked drawing attention from the rest of their squad. Worse, if Mew was still nearby, the commotion might lure it straight into an ambush.
'This isn't my fight,' he told himself. 'Not yet.'
But the thought rang hollow.
It wasn't just about Mew. It was about the pattern — the way trouble seemed to pull him along no matter which version of this world he found himself in. First it had been the mountains. Now it was this forest. The faces were different, but the rhythm was the same.
He backed away without a sound, vanishing into the trees before the Rockets could notice they were being watched.
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur of careful movement and silent observation. By late afternoon, the sun was sliding low between the branches, painting the forest in long stripes of orange and gold. Red and Charmeleon made their way toward the outskirts, choosing a less-traveled route to avoid crossing paths with the Rockets again.
When the familiar rooftops of Pallet Town came into view, the tension in Red's shoulders eased — slightly. But his mind was still running.
He replayed the scene with Blue over and over. The boy had grown. Not just in skill, but in control. The Blue he remembered would have pushed his Charmander until it collapsed, unwilling to admit defeat. This one had recognized his limits and acted accordingly.
It made Red curious. How much else had changed in this world? How much of the Blue Oak he had once known still existed here — and how much had been rewritten by this universe's own rules?
---
Back in his small, sparsely furnished home, Red dropped into the chair at his desk. Charmeleon curled up in his usual spot by the window, tail flame casting a steady glow against the wall.
For a while, Red just sat there, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
Four years in this world, and he'd learned to live with the differences. But seeing Mew again… it wasn't something he could just ignore. That fight on Mount Silver hadn't been just another battle. It had been the final chapter of his first life — the last thing he'd seen before waking up in this strange place.
And now it was here too.
---
Night settled over Pallet. Outside, the cicadas' steady hum filled the warm air.
Red finally stood, moving to the window. His reflection stared back at him — older now, sharper, but still carrying the same quiet determination in his eyes.
Somewhere out there in the dark forest, Mew was moving freely, untouched by the Rockets for now. But if they were determined enough, and if their leader wanted it badly enough, it was only a matter of time before things escalated.
Red didn't know yet whether he would step in when that happened. But deep down, he suspected fate had already made the choice for him.
---
By the time he turned away from the window, Charmeleon was asleep, the soft crackle of his tail flame the only sound in the room.
Red lay down without changing out of his clothes, eyes tracing the shadows on the ceiling.
Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow he would start moving pieces into place.
Because in this world, just like the last, the storm was coming.
---