He stood at the mouth of the cave for a long moment after Ash and his friends disappeared from view, watching their tiny figures slowly make their way down the treacherous path. The partner Pikachu sat on his shoulder, its ears twitching as it tracked the group's progress with obvious concern.
They wouldn't make it.
The thought struck him with sudden, uncomfortable clarity. He had given them supplies—enough food and water and healing items to last a week, maybe two if they rationed carefully. But the descent from Mt. Silver was just as dangerous as the climb, if not more so. Exhausted trainers made mistakes. Tired Pokémon couldn't fight at full capacity. One wrong step, one unexpected encounter with a territorial Tyranitar, one sudden blizzard, and—
No.
He shook his head sharply, dispelling the dark thoughts. He had just spent an hour nursing these trainers back from the brink of death. He had given Ash photographs and wisdom and a glimpse of what true strength looked like. He had felt genuine hope for the boy's future, had seen the spark of potential that might one day grow into something remarkable.
He wasn't going to let them die on the way down.
The partner Pikachu looked up at him, its expression questioning. "Pika pi?"
He reached down and scratched behind its ears absently, his mind already working through the logistics. Flying them down himself on Charizard was an option, but the fire-type's back wasn't designed for multiple passengers. He could carry one person, maybe two if they squeezed together, but three trainers plus their injured Pokémon would be too much.
Dragonite, though. Dragonite was different.
He pulled the Poké Ball from his belt and released the dragon-type with a flash of light. The massive orange Pokémon materialized in the snow before him, its small wings somehow supporting a body that should have been too heavy for flight. It let out a cheerful cry, pleased to be called upon, its perpetually friendly expression a stark contrast to the harsh mountain environment.
Dragonite was one of his most versatile Pokémon—powerful in battle, yes, but also gentle and caring in a way that made it perfect for situations like this. It had carried Red through countless journeys, had rescued stranded trainers from dangerous situations, had served as both transportation and comfort when needed.
He pointed toward the distant figures of Ash and his friends, then mimed a carrying motion with his arms. Dragonite followed his gesture, its intelligent eyes narrowing as it assessed the situation. Then it nodded, understanding completely.
"Pika pika!" The partner Pikachu hopped down from his shoulder and climbed onto Dragonite's head, clearly intending to come along. He considered objecting, but the electric-type's expression made it clear that this wasn't up for debate.
He climbed onto Dragonite's back, settling into the familiar position between its wings. The dragon-type's body was warm—almost hot, really, its internal temperature far higher than any normal creature. It was like sitting next to a furnace, the heat pushing back against the mountain's eternal cold.
With a powerful beat of its wings, Dragonite lifted off from the summit. The acceleration was smooth but rapid, the ground falling away beneath them as they rose into the crisp mountain air. Within seconds, they were soaring over the peaks, the wind whipping past at speeds that would have been uncomfortable without the natural windbreak provided by Dragonite's body.
He spotted Ash and his friends almost immediately. They had made decent progress in the short time since leaving the summit, but their pace was slow and unsteady. Misty was limping—her makeshift shoe had apparently given out—and Brock was supporting her with one arm while favoring his own injured leg. Ash led the way, his Pikachu on his shoulder, picking a path through the snow with determined but exhausted movements.
They didn't notice Dragonite's approach until the dragon-type was almost directly above them. Ash looked up first, his eyes widening with shock as he registered the massive orange Pokémon descending toward their position. Pikachu's cheeks sparked with reflexive alarm, preparing for a fight that thankfully wouldn't come.
Dragonite landed softly in the snow before them, its wings folding against its back, its friendly expression unchanged. On its head, the partner Pikachu waved cheerfully. And on its back, he sat in silence, waiting for the inevitable questions.
"Red?" Ash's voice cracked with surprise. "What are you—why did you—"
He didn't respond with words, of course. Instead, he slid down from Dragonite's back and approached the exhausted group. Without ceremony, he scooped Misty up in his arms—she let out a squeak of indignant surprise—and carried her toward the waiting dragon-type.
"Hey! What do you think you're—put me down!" Misty's protests were weakened by her obvious exhaustion, her struggles half-hearted at best. "I can walk! I don't need to be carried like some kind of—"
He set her down on Dragonite's back, positioning her so that she could grip the Pokémon's neck without risk of falling. Then he turned back for Brock.
"You don't have to do this," Brock said, even as he allowed himself to be guided toward the dragon-type. "We can make it on our own. We've been through worse."
He raised an eyebrow skeptically—an expression that somehow conveyed exactly how much he doubted that claim—and helped the older trainer climb up behind Misty. Brock settled into position with a groan of relief, his injured leg finally freed from the burden of supporting his weight.
That left Ash.
The young trainer stood in the snow, his Pikachu on his shoulder, his expression a mixture of gratitude and stubborn pride. He clearly wanted to refuse the help, to insist that he could make the journey on his own, to prove that he wasn't as weak as his devastating loss had suggested.
He understood that feeling. Red had felt it countless times during his own journey—the burning need to prove himself, to demonstrate strength even in moments of obvious vulnerability. It was a noble impulse, in its way, but it was also dangerous. Pride could get you killed on a mountain like this.
He walked over to Ash and placed one hand on the boy's shoulder, meeting his eyes with an expression that he hoped conveyed understanding. Then he pointed at Dragonite, at the space behind Brock, at the clear sky that promised safe passage to the mountain's base.
Let me help you. It's not weakness to accept help. It's wisdom.
Ash stared at him for a long moment, something shifting in his eyes. The stubborn pride was still there, but it was tempered now by something else—humility, perhaps, or simple exhaustion. Finally, reluctantly, he nodded.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Okay. Thank you."
He helped Ash climb onto Dragonite's back, positioning him behind Brock with Pikachu tucked safely in his lap. Then he climbed up himself, taking the lead position just behind Dragonite's head. The partner Pikachu hopped onto his shoulder, resuming its usual perch, and they were ready to go.
Dragonite rose into the air with a powerful surge of its wings, the sudden acceleration drawing gasps from the passengers behind him. Within seconds, they were high above the mountain, the treacherous slopes falling away beneath them like a bad dream fading upon waking.
"Oh my god," Misty breathed, her earlier indignation completely forgotten. "This is incredible."
And it was. From this altitude, Mt. Silver revealed its true majesty—a fortress of ice and stone that had challenged and defeated countless trainers over the years. The peaks stretched toward the sky like frozen fingers, their surfaces gleaming in the afternoon light. The valleys between them were shadowed and mysterious, hiding the caves and territories that had nearly killed them during the ascent.
But they were above all of it now. Safe, warm, carried by a Pokémon whose power made the mountain seem almost trivial. The journey that would have taken weeks on foot would take mere minutes by air.
"I can see the whole region from here," Ash said, his voice filled with wonder despite his exhaustion. "Look, Pikachu—you can see the forests, and the towns, and... is that Blackthorn City?"
"Pika pika!" His Pikachu pressed against his chest, its earlier fatigue temporarily forgotten in the excitement of flight.
Brock was quieter, his attention focused on the landscape below with a more analytical eye. "The terrain down there is brutal," he observed. "Ravines, cliff faces, unstable snow fields. We would have had to navigate all of that on the descent."
"And we would have," Misty said, though her voice lacked conviction. "Eventually."
No one responded to that. They all knew the truth—the descent would have been just as deadly as the climb, if not more so. Without Red's intervention, without this miraculous rescue by dragon-back, there was a very real chance they wouldn't have survived.
He let them process that realization in silence, guiding Dragonite in a wide arc that would bring them down to the mountain's base without passing through any particularly dangerous airspace. Wild Pokémon were less common at these altitudes, but they weren't absent entirely—a flock of Fearow or a territorial Skarmory could make even a mounted flight dangerous.
As they descended, he found himself thinking about what came next. Ash would return to his gym challenge, presumably, working his way through Johto's eight gym leaders before attempting the Pokémon League. Misty and Brock would accompany him, providing support and friendship and the occasional reality check. They would grow stronger together, face challenges and overcome them, continue building the bonds that would define their lives.
And someday—maybe sooner than anyone expected—Ash would return to Mt. Silver. He would climb the mountain again, this time prepared, this time ready. And when he reached the summit, when he stood before Red once more...
Well. That was a battle worth anticipating.
The base of the mountain came into view—a small ranger station that served as the official entry point for trainers attempting the climb. A few figures moved around the building, their colorful uniforms marking them as Pokémon Rangers. They looked up as Dragonite descended, their expressions shifting from curiosity to shock as they recognized the legendary Pokémon and its silent rider.
Dragonite landed softly in the clearing before the station, its wings folding against its back with practiced grace. He dismounted first, then helped Ash and his friends down one by one. Their legs were unsteady after the flight, but the solid ground beneath their feet seemed to restore some of their confidence.
The Rangers approached cautiously, their eyes wide with recognition.
"Is that... are you...?" One of them, a young woman with short green hair, seemed unable to complete her sentence.
"It's Red," another Ranger said, his voice hushed with awe. "The Champion. I thought he never came down from the summit."
"He saved us," Misty said, her voice surprisingly strong. "We were attempting the climb, and things went... badly. He found us at the summit, gave us food and supplies, and then flew us down here himself."
The Rangers exchanged glances, their expressions mixing disbelief with growing respect.
"You attempted Mt. Silver without proper preparation?" The green-haired Ranger's voice was sharp with professional concern. "That mountain has killed experienced trainers. You're lucky to be alive."
"We know," Brock said quietly. "Believe me, we know."
He tuned out the conversation, his attention drifting to the surrounding landscape. The base of Mt. Silver was beautiful in a different way than the summit—lush forests replacing frozen wastes, the sound of birdsong filling the air instead of howling wind. It was warmer here, the temperature almost pleasant compared to the eternal cold above.
He should return to the summit. His training wasn't complete, his isolation not yet ended. There were still so many things to work on, so many ways to push himself and his Pokémon toward greater heights. The mountain was waiting for him, patient and eternal.
But something made him hesitate.
Ash was watching him, he realized. The young trainer had disengaged from the conversation with the Rangers and was standing slightly apart, his Pikachu on his shoulder, his eyes fixed on Red with an intensity that bordered on uncomfortable.
"Thank you," Ash said, his voice carrying across the clearing. "For everything. Not just the flight, but... the battle. The advice. The photographs. All of it."
He nodded, acknowledging the gratitude without dismissing it.
"I meant what I said up there," Ash continued. "I'm going to come back. I'm going to train harder than I've ever trained before, and I'm going to challenge you again. And next time..." He paused, a grin spreading across his face despite the exhaustion that still lined his features. "Next time, I'm going to make you work for it."
It was such a bold claim, so wildly optimistic given the devastating loss he had just suffered. Any other trainer would have been humbled into silence, would have slunk away to lick their wounds and reconsider their life choices.
But Ash wasn't any other trainer. Ash was something special—a fire that burned so bright it was almost blinding. The same kind of fire that Red had possessed at his age, the same determination that had carried him to championship glory and beyond.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a Poké Ball—empty, its surface gleaming in the afternoon light. He walked over to Ash and pressed it into the boy's hands.
Ash looked down at the ball, confusion evident on his face. "What's this for? It's empty."
He touched his chest over his heart—the same gesture he had used before, indicating the bond between trainer and Pokémon. Then he pointed at the ball, then at Ash.
Fill it. Find a new partner. Someone who will grow with you, fight with you, help you become the trainer you're meant to be.
Understanding dawned in Ash's eyes. "You want me to catch a new Pokémon? One that will help me get stronger?"
He nodded.
"But I already have Pikachu. And Charizard, and Bulbasaur, and—"
He held up a hand, stopping the flow of words. Then he pointed at the ball again, more emphatically this time.
Not just any Pokémon. The right Pokémon. The one that's meant for you. You'll know it when you find it.
Ash stared at the ball for a long moment, turning it over in his hands. The partner Pikachu on Red's shoulder chirped encouragingly, and Ash's Pikachu responded with a sound that might have been agreement.
"I'll do it," Ash said finally, his voice filled with renewed determination. "I'll find that Pokémon. And I'll train it, and all my other Pokémon, until we're strong enough to challenge you for real."
He smiled—a small expression that he had learned to allow himself, here in this world where he was becoming someone new. Then he climbed back onto Dragonite's back, the partner Pikachu resuming its position on his shoulder.
"Wait!" Misty called out, stepping forward. "You're just going to leave? After everything?"
He looked down at her, at the concern and frustration evident in her features. She didn't understand him—how could she? The Silent Champion was an enigma, a mystery wrapped in legend. His actions defied normal explanation.
But he didn't need to explain himself. Not to her, not to anyone. He had done what needed to be done—saved the trainers who had foolishly climbed his mountain, given them the tools to survive, pointed them toward a brighter future. What more could anyone ask?
He inclined his head slightly—a farewell, an acknowledgment, a wish for safe travels. Then Dragonite's wings beat powerfully, lifting them into the air.
"Thank you!" Ash's voice followed them up, growing fainter with distance. "I won't forget this! I won't forget you!"
He didn't look back. Looking back was for people who had regrets, and he had none—not about this encounter, at least. Ash would be fine. Misty and Brock would be fine. They would continue their journey, face their challenges, grow stronger in ways they couldn't yet imagine.
And someday, they would meet again.
The flight back to the summit was peaceful, the late afternoon light painting the mountains in shades of gold and amber. Dragonite flew steadily, its powerful wings carrying them higher and higher, back toward the frozen peaks that had become his home.
The partner Pikachu nestled against his neck, its warmth a comfort against the increasing cold. "Pika pi?" it asked softly, its tone questioning.
He reached up to scratch behind its ears, a gesture that had become as natural as breathing. The question was obvious even without words: Are you okay? Was that the right thing to do?
He thought about it for a long moment, watching the landscape pass beneath them. Had it been the right thing? Saving Ash and his friends, giving them advice and encouragement, flying them to safety? Red—the original Red—would have simply sent them away after the battle. He wouldn't have cared whether they survived the descent. He wouldn't have offered photographs or empty Poké Balls or gestures of hope.
But he wasn't the original Red. He was something new—a fusion of two lives, two perspectives, two sets of experiences. He carried Red's power and Red's legacy, but he also carried his own memories, his own values, his own sense of right and wrong.
And to him, leaving those trainers to die on the mountain would have been wrong. Simple as that.
"Pika pika," the partner Pikachu said, its tone satisfied. It pressed closer against him, its small body radiating approval.
You did good, it seemed to say. You did what was right.
He smiled, a genuine expression that still felt foreign on Red's face but was becoming more natural with each passing day. The Pikachu was right. He had done what was right. And that was worth more than any amount of isolation or training.
The summit came into view, its familiar profile rising above the clouds like a beacon. Home—or the closest thing to home he had in this world. The caves were waiting for him, with their stored supplies and training areas and the small grave in the back where a fallen friend rested eternally.
Dragonite landed softly in the snow, and he dismounted with practiced ease. The dragon-type let out a cheerful cry, pleased to have completed its mission successfully, then allowed itself to be recalled to its Poké Ball.
He stood alone on the summit—alone except for the partner Pikachu, which was always with him—and looked out at the world spread below. Somewhere out there, Ash was beginning his next adventure. Somewhere out there, Team Rocket was continuing their schemes. Somewhere out there, countless trainers were starting their journeys, chasing dreams of glory and friendship and the unbreakable bonds between humans and Pokémon.
It was a beautiful world. A world worth protecting, worth fighting for, worth living in.
He turned and walked back toward his cave, the partner Pikachu chirping contentedly on his shoulder. Tomorrow, he would train. Tomorrow, he would continue pushing himself toward heights that even Red had never reached.
But tonight, he would rest. He would think about Ash and his friends, about their determination and their love for each other. He would think about what it meant to be a Pokémon Master—not just someone with power, but someone who used that power to help others.
The cave was warm and welcoming, lit by the gentle glow of luminescent moss that grew on the walls. He settled into his usual spot near the fire pit, the partner Pikachu curling up in his lap with a contented sigh.
Outside, the wind howled around the summit, a constant reminder of the mountain's eternal hostility. But here, in this small sanctuary he had carved out of the frozen stone, there was peace.
He closed his eyes and let sleep take him, dreaming of battles yet to come and trainers yet to meet.
The world was waiting.
And so was he.
Far below, at the ranger station at the base of Mt. Silver, three trainers were being treated for exposure and minor injuries. The Rangers had been kind, providing warm food and dry clothes and the medical attention that weeks of mountain climbing had made desperately necessary.
Ash sat on a bench outside the station, his restored Pikachu in his lap, the empty Poké Ball that Red had given him clutched in one hand. He turned it over and over, watching the way the setting sun reflected off its surface.
"You okay?" Misty sat down beside him, her expression concerned. She had changed into borrowed clothes—a Ranger uniform that was slightly too big for her—and her hair was still damp from the shower she had just taken.
"Yeah," Ash said, though his voice was distant. "Just thinking."
"About Red?"
"About everything." He held up the Poké Ball, showing it to her. "He gave me this. Said I should find a new Pokémon—the right Pokémon. Someone who would help me get stronger."
Misty studied the ball with interest. "That's... surprisingly thoughtful. For someone who doesn't speak, he sure knows how to get his point across."
"He understands things," Ash said quietly. "Things that most people don't. About Pokémon, about training, about what it means to be strong." He paused, looking up at the mountain that rose above them, its peak invisible in the clouds. "I want to understand those things too."
"You will," Misty said, her voice surprisingly gentle. "You're stubborn enough to figure out anything if you put your mind to it."
Ash laughed despite himself. "Thanks. I think."
Brock emerged from the station, limping slightly but looking much better than he had a few hours ago. His injured leg had been properly treated, and the color had returned to his face.
"The Rangers say there's a bus to Blackthorn City in the morning," he reported, settling onto the bench on Ash's other side. "From there, we can get back on track for the Johto League."
"The Johto League," Ash repeated, as if testing the words. "Right. That's why we came here in the first place."
"Are you having second thoughts?" Brock asked carefully.
"No. Just... different thoughts." Ash looked at the Poké Ball again, then at the mountain, then at his friends. "I thought climbing Mt. Silver was the most important thing. I thought if I could just challenge Red, everything else would fall into place."
"And now?"
"Now I know it's not that simple." Ash stood, stretching muscles that were still sore from weeks of climbing. "Red is incredible. His Pokémon are on a level I can't even comprehend. But that doesn't mean I should give up on everything else just to chase him."
"That's surprisingly mature," Misty observed, her tone teasing but her eyes warm.
"I have my moments." Ash grinned, the first genuine smile he had managed since the battle at the summit. "Besides, Red said it himself—the mountain isn't the destination. It's the journey. So I'm going to focus on the journey for now. Train my Pokémon, earn my badges, become the best trainer I can be."
"And then?" Brock asked.
Ash's grin widened. "And then I'm going to climb that mountain again. And this time, I'm going to make Red proud."
He looked down at Pikachu, who was watching him with adoring eyes. The little electric-type had been through so much today—battle and defeat and restoration—but its spirit was as strong as ever.
"What do you say, buddy? Ready to get stronger?"
"Pika pika!" Pikachu's cheeks sparked with enthusiasm, its tiny fist pumping in determination.
Ash laughed and pulled his partner into a hug. Around them, the evening was settling in, the first stars appearing in the darkening sky. The mountain loomed above, a constant reminder of how far he had to go.
But for the first time since starting this journey, Ash felt like he was on the right path. Not because he had conquered the mountain, but because he had learned from it. Learned from Red. Learned from his own failures.
Tomorrow, they would leave for Blackthorn City. Tomorrow, the Johto League challenge would begin in earnest.
But tonight, he would sit with his friends and his partner, and he would be grateful for everyone who had helped him along the way.
Including the silent Champion who watched over them all from the summit of the world.