Lucas's limbs felt heavy, his head swimming in a haze of heat and confusion. The first instinct that surfaced from the fog in his mind was survival: sense, discern, and assess.
The air was thick with smoke, pungent and suffocating, pierced by the distant crackle of flames. A scorching heat assaulted him relentlessly, setting every nerve on edge.
Blinking against the light, Lucas slowly opened his eyes. The sight that met him was both familiar and alien: the family villa he had once called home was now engulfed in towering flames, its walls collapsing like paper in a storm.
"You're awake! Lucas! Oh, my poor child!"
The voice belonged to an elderly woman with wisps of white hair framing her wrinkled face. She rushed forward, wrapping him in an embrace that shook with grief and relief. Her tears fell freely, soaking the back of his shirt.
Lucas flinched, instinctively pushing her away with his left hand while his right darted to his lower back, searching for the familiar weight of his life-bound partner. His heart skipped a beat.
Empty.
His battle belt—his Pokémon and the tools of his trade—were gone. Panic flashed in his dark eyes, quickly replaced by cold calculation. Before he could react, he noticed the old woman rising to her full height, somehow taller than he remembered.
"Lucas… I know it hurts, but the dead cannot return. If you'll allow… Grandma…" She enveloped him again, murmuring softly, trying to calm him.
Lucas's gaze drifted to the villa. Memories—distant, faded, but still painfully sharp—resurfaced, overlaying the reality before him.
This is… my home?
The old woman's sobbing continued. To everyone else, Lucas looked like a broken, grieving child. But twenty years in the shadows as an assassin had taught him a different truth: survival demanded calm. Adaptation was instinct. His mind already pivoted to the questions that mattered most.
Was this fire deliberate? That energy… it wasn't just residual—it was intentional.
He closed his eyes, drawing on the Dark Power coursing within him. A pure black energy surged quietly, sensing the subtle currents of the world. His eyes momentarily turned obsidian, then returned to normal. Relief washed over him—the power was intact, unchanged, just as it had been before this life began anew.
Unchanged… why?
Lucas suppressed the lingering doubt. Survival came first. He noticed, through the Dark Power, the faint trace of energy still lingering around the ruins—a feeling of disdain, cold and calculated.
The adults around him shouted warnings, trying to keep him back, but Lucas's instincts had long since outpaced fear. He took careful steps forward, letting his senses probe the flames without endangering himself. The crowd tensed; to them, he seemed reckless, but he moved with purpose.
The energy dissipated almost instantly. Lucas withdrew, knowing the feeling wasn't gone by chance—it had been faint and deliberate. A circle of strangers now surrounded him. He felt a fleeting pang of gratitude, but his old life had left him ill-equipped to show it. He silently retreated.
Lucas…" The elderly woman's voice called out again, soft and pleading. He said nothing. Grief and sympathy were convenient distractions for others, but for Lucas, they were merely noise. His mind was already working.
The fire had left more than ash. Through his Dark Power, Lucas discerned its origin: residual energy from a Ghost or Psychic-type Pokémon. Both types were infamous for silent assassination, arson, and manipulation. Whoever had orchestrated this fire had intended it to leave a mark—an imprint of disdain.
As the firefighting team arrived—Water-type Pokémon coordinating Hydro Pumps and Water Guns in perfect rhythm—the villa's inferno was gradually subdued. Four Golduck carried stretchers, but Lucas did not look. The elderly woman tried to shield him, but he noticed another presence: a "righteous aura," sharp and invasive, approaching
Officer Jenny.
Lucas's years underground had honed him to detect subtle energies; hers set his teeth on edge. Suppressing the revulsion, he met her gaze directly.
"I… I'm sorry. The road was blocked, and our rescue was delayed. Please accept my condolences," she began, awkwardly.
Lucas lowered his eyes, hiding the storm behind them. He knew this was not just a gesture of sympathy. Before he could process, Jenny continued:
"Lucas, given your situation, I can help you apply to live in the Pokémon League's special welfare institution. You can complete your studies there, and your parents' inheritance will be transferred to you when you come of age."
He nodded once, expression unreadable.
"Good… then it's settled," she said, relief flickering across her features.
Lucas's thoughts, however, were elsewhere. A peaceful, ordinary life was not his path. Not now. Not ever.
He had been reborn, yes—but the past life's shadows lingered. The Ghost Ship Organization still loomed in his memory, a promise of danger, skill, and power. The inheritance, the orphanage, the League—they were conveniences, tools for survival. True power lay elsewhere.
He had to start small. Survey, learn, prepare.
And one day… I'll uncover the truth behind my parents' deaths.
Lucas's gaze returned to the ruins of his home. Amid the ash and smoke, a plan began to take shape—a strategy born of instinct, honed in darkness, and now reborn with purpose.