The days blurred together in a rhythm of training, experimentation, and the quiet moments that made life on the mountain feel almost normal.
He woke each morning before dawn, the partner Pikachu stirring beside him as the first pale light began to filter through the cave entrance. The cold that would have killed an ordinary person was nothing more than a mild sensation against his skin—Red's body had long since adapted to conditions that would have been lethal for anyone else.
Breakfast was a simple affair. Canned food heated over Charizard's flames, protein bars that had somehow survived years of storage, water from melted snow that Blastoise purified with its internal filtration system. Not gourmet by any stretch, but sufficient to fuel the grueling days that followed.
Then came the training.
The first order of business each morning was the legendary birds.
He would release Articuno, Zapdos, and Moltres onto the training plateau, watching as they took their positions in a loose triangle formation. The goal was synchronization—learning to move together, to harmonize their vastly different energies, to build the foundation upon which fusion might eventually be constructed.
It was... challenging.
Articuno moved with the serene grace of eternal winter, each wingbeat measured and deliberate. Zapdos crackled with barely contained chaos, its movements sharp and unpredictable, lightning arcing from its feathers at random intervals. Moltres burned with steady passion, its flames flickering in patterns that seemed to follow some internal rhythm only it could hear.
Getting them to move in unison was like trying to conduct an orchestra where each musician was playing a different song in a different tempo in a different key.
The first week had been a disaster.
Zapdos would surge ahead while Articuno lagged behind. Moltres would spiral upward while its siblings banked left. Their elemental energies would clash—ice meeting lightning meeting fire in explosive bursts that carved new craters into the mountainside.
By the end of each session, the training plateau looked like a war zone. Scorch marks and ice formations and glassed sand where lightning had struck with devastating force. The wild Pokémon that lived on the mountain had learned to give the area a wide berth during morning hours.
But slowly, incrementally, progress was made.
By the second week, the birds could maintain formation for several seconds at a time. By the third week, they had extended that to minutes. Their movements became smoother, more coordinated, their elemental energies learning to coexist rather than conflict.
He worked with each of them individually as well, reinforcing the bonds that would serve as the foundation for fusion. Articuno would perch beside him in comfortable silence, its cool presence a balm against the intensity of the other training sessions. Zapdos would crackle with excitement as he scratched behind its crest, its volatile nature temporarily tamed by simple affection. Moltres would wrap its warm wings around him like a living blanket, its sacred fire providing comfort rather than harm.
The synchronization exercises continued each morning, pushing the birds closer and closer to the unity that fusion would require. They weren't there yet—not even close—but they were making progress.
And progress was enough.
After the birds came Charizard.
The fire-type had taken to Mega Evolution with an enthusiasm that bordered on obsession. Every day, without fail, it would emerge from its ball already vibrating with anticipation, its eyes fixed on the Mega Ring that gleamed on his wrist.
He understood the desire. Mega Charizard X was power incarnate—a dragon in truth as well as appearance, its blue flames capable of destruction that regular Charizard could only dream of. Who wouldn't want to experience that transformation as often as possible?
The challenge was endurance.
Mega Evolution was draining—not just for the Pokémon, but for the trainer as well. The bond that powered the transformation required constant energy, constant focus, constant connection between human and Pokémon. Maintaining it for extended periods was exhausting in ways that were difficult to describe.
The first time they had attempted a sustained Mega Evolution, Charizard had managed twelve minutes before the transformation collapsed. Not bad, but not nearly enough for a prolonged battle against a serious threat.
So they trained.
Each day, he would trigger the Mega Evolution, feeling the familiar surge of power as the Key Stone resonated with the Charizardite X. Charizard's form would shift—orange scales darkening to blue-black, flames changing from yellow-orange to searing blue, wings expanding to their magnificent draconic proportions.
And then they would hold it.
The first few days, they aimed for fifteen minutes. Then twenty. Then thirty. Each session pushed them further, tested the limits of their bond, forced them to find new reserves of strength they hadn't known existed.
By the end of the second week, they had reached forty-five minutes of sustained Mega Evolution.
By the end of the third week, they had broken the hour mark.
And by the fourth week, Mega Charizard X could maintain its form for nearly ninety minutes before the transformation began to waver. It wasn't indefinite—probably never would be—but it was enough.
Enough to face any battle. Enough to overcome any challenge.
Enough to make a difference when it mattered.
The afternoons brought a different kind of training—one that focused not on his Pokémon, but on himself.
He had realized early on that his physical capabilities, while impressive by normal human standards, were still a limiting factor. Red's body was strong and fast and tough, honed by years of adventure and the harsh conditions of Mt. Silver. But it could be more. It could be better.
Enter Clefairy.
The pink fairy-type was not one of his most powerful Pokémon—not by a long shot. In a world of legendary birds and genetic abominations, Clefairy was almost comically mundane. But it had one ability that made it invaluable for his purposes:
Gravity.
The move allowed Clefairy to dramatically increase the gravitational pull in a localized area. Normally used to ground flying opponents or make evasion more difficult, it had another application that he had discovered almost by accident.
Training under enhanced gravity made everything harder. Running, jumping, even standing upright required more effort when the world was pushing down on you with greater force. And when the gravity returned to normal, everything felt lighter. Easier. Faster.
It was a technique straight out of Dragon Ball—Goku training under increased gravity to push his body beyond normal limits. He had wondered if it would work in this world.
It did.
They had started small. Two times Earth's gravity, then five, then ten. Each increase brought new challenges, new pains, new adaptations as his body struggled to cope with forces it had never been designed to handle.
By the second week, he was training at twenty times gravity.
By the third week, fifty.
And now, in the fourth week, Clefairy could maintain a field of one hundred times Earth's gravity—a pressure so intense that simply standing upright was an act of defiance against the universe itself.
He couldn't do much at that level. Walking was possible, if exhausting. Running was out of the question. Combat movements were laughably slow, his limbs moving through invisible molasses as he fought against the crushing weight.
But each session made him stronger. Each day, his muscles adapted, his bones densified, his cardiovascular system optimized itself for conditions that would have killed an ordinary person. When Clefairy released the gravity field and normal physics reasserted themselves, he felt like he could fly.
The partner Pikachu had tried to join him in the gravity training exactly once. At ten times normal gravity, it had been flattened against the ground like a yellow pancake, its cheeks sparking with indignant electricity as it struggled to lift its head.
It had not tried again.
Instead, the electric-type served as his spotter and cheerleader, watching from outside the gravity field with obvious concern and offering encouraging chirps whenever he showed signs of flagging. Its presence was a comfort, even when every fiber of his being screamed for him to give up and collapse.
Just five more minutes, he would tell himself. Just five more minutes, and then you can rest.
The five minutes always stretched longer. They always did.
The evenings were for something different entirely.
After the physical exhaustion of gravity training, after the mental strain of synchronization exercises and Mega Evolution maintenance, he needed something that didn't require pushing himself to his limits.
He needed connection.
Mewtwo had become an unlikely companion during these quieter hours.
The Genetic Pokémon was not social by nature. It had been created for power, designed for destruction, raised in an environment where connection meant vulnerability and vulnerability meant pain. Trust came slowly to Mewtwo, if it came at all.
But over the weeks of shared existence on the mountain, something had shifted.
It had started with simple proximity. Mewtwo would float at the edge of whatever activity he was engaged in, observing with its typical detachment. He had made no demands on it, no requests for interaction. He had simply let it exist, acknowledging its presence without forcing engagement.
Gradually, the distance had shrunk.
Mewtwo began appearing closer, lingering longer. It would watch his gravity training with what might have been scientific curiosity. It would observe the birds' synchronization exercises with analytical interest. It would study his interactions with other Pokémon as if trying to understand something that didn't quite make sense.
And then, one evening, it had spoken.
Why do you care so much?
The question had come out of nowhere, projected into his mind as he sat watching the sunset from the plateau's edge. He had turned to find Mewtwo floating behind him, its eyes fixed on his face with unnerving intensity.
Why do you care about each of us individually? You could command us without understanding us. You could use us without knowing us. Most trainers do. Why are you different?
He had thought about the question for a long time before answering.
Because you're not tools, he had projected back. You're not weapons or resources or means to an end. You're people. Different from humans, yes, but people nonetheless. With thoughts and feelings and fears and hopes. How could I not care about that?
Many humans could, Mewtwo had replied, its mental voice carrying echoes of old pain. Many humans have. They created me as a weapon. They saw me as a thing to be used and discarded. Your species has a long history of treating mine as lesser beings.
I know. He had felt shame at that—shame for a species he was only technically a part of, shame for cruelties he had never committed but benefited from nonetheless. And I can't change what others have done. But I can choose to be different. I can choose to see you as what you are, not what you were made to be.
Mewtwo had been silent for a long time after that. Then, slowly, it had descended to the ground beside him—the first time it had ever lowered itself to his level rather than floating above.
You are strange, it had said. But perhaps... not unpleasantly so.
Since then, their evening conversations had become routine. Mewtwo would appear as the sun began to set, and they would sit together—or float and sit, in Mewtwo's case—watching the light fade and talking about whatever came to mind.
Philosophy, mostly. The nature of existence, the meaning of power, the question of what made a life worth living. Mewtwo's perspectives were unique, shaped by its artificial origins and the pain of its early existence. It saw the world through a lens that no natural being could replicate.
He found himself looking forward to these conversations more than almost anything else in his routine. There was something peaceful about them—a meeting of minds that demanded nothing except mutual respect and genuine curiosity.
The partner Pikachu had been jealous at first, sulking whenever Mewtwo appeared. But over time, even it had accepted the psychic-type's presence, occasionally joining their conversations with chirps and gestures that Mewtwo translated with surprising patience.
Your small companion has strong opinions about the nature of ketchup, Mewtwo had observed one evening, its mental voice carrying a note of bemusement.
He had laughed—actually laughed, a sound that rarely escaped him in this silent existence. The partner Pikachu had sparked its cheeks with pride, clearly pleased that its philosophical position on condiments was being taken seriously.
These moments of connection, of genuine relationship, meant more to him than all the power-building exercises combined. They reminded him why he was doing this—not just to become stronger, but to protect the beings who had come to mean so much to him.
But of all the strange sights he had witnessed during his time on Mt. Silver, nothing compared to what he encountered one afternoon during Charizard's flight training.
Mega Charizard X was practicing aerial maneuvers, its blue flames cutting trails through the mountain air as it twisted and dove and climbed. Dragonite was serving as its sparring partner, the orange dragon matching the Mega-evolved fire-type move for move.
Except something was different about Dragonite today.
He blinked, not quite believing what he was seeing.
Dragonite was wearing a robe. A flowing white robe that billowed dramatically in the wind, secured around its rotund body with what looked like a belt made of woven vines. And on its face—somehow attached to its snout—was a long white beard, clearly fake, made from what might have been Mareep wool or possibly shredded clouds.
The dragon-type looked like some kind of ancient martial arts master, descended from its mountain hermitage to dispense wisdom to worthy pupils.
Mega Charizard X had stopped mid-dive, hovering in the air with an expression of utter bewilderment. Its blue flames flickered uncertainly, as if even they weren't sure how to process what they were seeing.
He stared. The partner Pikachu on his shoulder stared. Even Mewtwo, who had been observing from a nearby peak, projected a wave of confusion that was palpable.
What, Mewtwo asked slowly, is happening?
He had no answer.
Dragonite descended to the training plateau with exaggerated dignity, its fake beard fluttering in the wind. It folded its small wings against its back and stood with what was clearly meant to be sage-like patience, waiting for Mega Charizard X to approach.
The fire-type landed before its apparent mentor, its confusion evident in every line of its body. It looked at Dragonite. It looked at the robe. It looked at the beard. It looked back at Dragonite.
A questioning rumble emerged from its throat, the sound carrying clear subtext: What in the actual hell?
Dragonite responded by stroking its fake beard thoughtfully, nodding as if Charizard had posed a profound philosophical question. Then it gestured toward the sky with one stubby arm, making a sweeping motion that seemed to encompass the entire mountain range.
Charizard's head tilted. Its confusion deepened.
Dragonite repeated the gesture, adding a second motion that might have been meant to represent flight—or possibly interpretive dance. It was hard to tell.
I believe, Mewtwo projected, its mental voice absolutely deadpan, that Dragonite is attempting to teach Mega Charizard X some kind of advanced technique.
He watched as Dragonite demonstrated again, this time adding what appeared to be a spinning motion. The fake beard whipped around, nearly detaching from its snout.
Where did it even get that costume?
Unknown. I was unaware that theatrical supplies were available on this mountain.
Charizard, to its credit, was trying to follow along. It mimicked Dragonite's sweeping gesture, then the flight motion, then the spin. Its movements were uncertain, clearly performed more out of respect for its training partner than any genuine understanding.
Dragonite nodded sagely, stroking its beard again. Then it took to the air, its stubby wings somehow supporting its considerable bulk, and demonstrated the full sequence of movements at speed.
And suddenly, it made sense.
The sweeping gesture was to gather momentum. The flight motion was to angle the body correctly. The spin was to build rotational energy. And when all three combined—
Dragonite executed a spiraling dive that ended in a devastating impact against a rock formation, shattering it into dust. The dragon-type emerged from the destruction without a scratch, landing with its robe barely ruffled.
Ah, Mewtwo observed. Dragon Rush. An advanced variant, incorporating rotational force for additional damage.
Charizard's eyes widened with sudden understanding. It looked at Dragonite with new respect, clearly reevaluating its opinion of the costume-wearing dragon-type.
Dragonite nodded encouragingly, gesturing for Charizard to try.
What followed was two hours of increasingly intense training, as Mega Charizard X attempted to master the spinning variant of Dragon Rush under Dragonite's watchful eye. The fire-type crashed into rock formations, carved new valleys into the mountainside, and generally caused geological devastation that would have alarmed any passing surveyors.
Dragonite observed all of this with the patience of an ancient master, nodding at successes, shaking its head gently at failures, and occasionally demonstrating the technique again when Charizard seemed to lose the thread.
The fake beard never came off. The robe never slipped. Dragonite was committed to this aesthetic choice with a dedication that bordered on spiritual.
By the end of the session, Mega Charizard X had more or less mastered the technique. Its spinning Dragon Rush was devastating—a whirling vortex of blue fire and draconic power that left craters wherever it struck.
Dragonite congratulated its student by producing two cups of tea from somewhere within its robe—how they had remained intact was a mystery for the ages—and offering one to Charizard.
The fire-type accepted the cup with obvious uncertainty, its claws too large to grip the delicate ceramic properly. But it made the attempt anyway, carefully lifting the tea to its mouth and taking a sip.
Steam rose from its nostrils. Whether that was due to its internal fire or the temperature of the tea was unclear.
Dragonite nodded with satisfaction, sipping its own tea with all the dignity of a martial arts grandmaster who had just passed on ancient secrets to a worthy successor.
I do not understand this world, Mewtwo projected, its mental voice heavy with something that might have been exhaustion.
He couldn't help but agree.
But as he watched Charizard and Dragonite share their strange tea ceremony, he felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with fire-type energy. His Pokémon were bonding, growing, developing relationships that existed independently of him.
They were becoming a family. A strange, eclectic, occasionally incomprehensible family, but a family nonetheless.
The partner Pikachu chirped on his shoulder, clearly amused by the spectacle. He reached up to scratch behind its ears, sharing the moment of inexplicable joy.
Where do you think it got the beard? he asked Mewtwo.
I refuse to speculate. Some mysteries are best left unsolved.
Fair enough.
The weeks continued in this pattern. Training and experimentation, progress and setbacks, moments of intensity and moments of absurdity.
The legendary birds grew closer to synchronization each day, their movements becoming more unified, their energies learning to harmonize rather than conflict. Fusion still seemed far away, but the foundation was being built.
Charizard's Mega Evolution endurance continued to improve, and its arsenal of techniques expanded under Dragonite's unconventional tutelage. The dragon-type had retired its sage costume after that first memorable session, but occasionally still appeared with props that defied explanation.
His own body grew stronger under the crushing weight of Clefairy's gravity fields. He could move more easily at higher multiplicities now, his muscles adapting to conditions that should have been lethal.
And the bonds between him and his Pokémon deepened with each passing day. Not just through training, but through the quiet moments—the shared meals, the evening conversations, the simple act of existing together in a world that neither of them had been born into.
It wasn't the life he had expected when he woke up on this frozen mountain all those weeks ago. But it was a good life. A meaningful life.
A life worth fighting to protect.
As the fourth week drew to a close, he stood at the edge of the summit plateau, watching the sunset paint the sky in colors that seemed impossible. The partner Pikachu sat on his shoulder, warm against his neck. Behind him, his Pokémon rested after another day of pushing their limits.
We're getting there, he thought. Slowly, but surely, we're getting there.
The mountain stood silent around him, patient and eternal.
And for the first time since arriving in this world, he felt like he truly belonged.
In the Hall of Origin, Arceus observed the routine that had developed on Mt. Silver with something approaching contentment.
He trains his body as well as his Pokémon, Dialga noted. An unusual approach for a trainer.
He understands that he is part of the equation, Arceus replied. That his own strength matters, not just the strength of those who fight for him. It is a wisdom that many never achieve.
The dragon-type with the false beard was... unexpected, Palkia observed, its spatial awareness having captured the entire bizarre scene.
Dragonite has always been eccentric, Arceus acknowledged. But its methods are effective. The Charizard has grown significantly under its tutelage.
And the fusion attempts? Giratina asked from the shadows. Progress is slow.
Progress is steady, Arceus corrected. He does not rush. He builds carefully, methodically, ensuring that each step is secure before moving to the next. That patience will serve him well when the true challenges arise.
The viewing pool shimmered, showing the trainer standing at the edge of his plateau, silhouetted against the setting sun.
He is becoming what I hoped he would become, Arceus said quietly. Not through divine intervention, but through his own effort and determination. Through the bonds he builds and the wisdom he accumulates.
He will be ready.
The Creation Pokémon said nothing. They simply watched, as they always did.
And in the depths of the Hall, the ancient presence that observed all things stirred with something that might have been approval.
The champion was growing.
And the world would be better for it.