Chapter Text
A brilliant pulse of light split through the quiet decay of the house, chasing shadows away as a swirling portal opened in the center of the old living room. From its depths, a girl stumbled out, wrapped in a weather-worn kimono that whispered of another time. Her arms clutched a small, wide-eyed Piplup as the portal hissed shut behind her, leaving only silence in its wake.
Dawn stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat as she took in the room around her. The walls were just as she remembered—faded blue wallpaper, a crooked picture frame, and the couch her mother used to nap on during long afternoons. But everything was coated in dust, the kind that settles after years, not days. The house was still, cold, and hollow.
Her heart clenched.
This had once been her world. Her safe place. A place full of warmth and laughter and the scent of her mother’s cooking drifting from the kitchen. But now, it was like walking through a memory that had long since withered.
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She was nineteen now. She had survived Hisui—the trials, the storms, the bloodshed, and solitude. She had fought for Arceus, for balance, for a world not her own. But returning to this one… it hurt in a way the past never did.
The quietness echoed in her bones.
She walked slowly through the house, her footsteps soft, like she was afraid to disturb the ghosts of her own memories. Her hand trailed across the dusty dining table. Her old bedroom door was still ajar—inside, everything was preserved like a museum exhibit. Her childhood backpack still hung on a hook. Her Pokétch lay lifeless on the dresser.
But no sign of life. No warmth. No Mom.
“Where are you…” she whispered aloud.
A flicker of fear twisted in her gut. Had something happened while she was gone? Had time moved on without her more cruelly than she expected?
Piplup gave a low, concerned chirp in her arms, sensing her unrest. Dawn turned on her heel and ran.
She burst through the front door, not bothering to close it behind her. The late morning sun did little to warm the ice now growing in her chest. Her trembling hand reached for a Poké Ball on her belt.
“Braviary!” she cried.
In a flash of red light, a massive Hisuian Braviary emerged into the sky, shrieking powerfully and flaring its ghostly wings. Without hesitation, Dawn leapt onto its back.
“Let’s head in that direction,” she ordered, pointing south. “To Sandgem!”
Braviary launched into the air, the wind howling in her ears as the ground blurred beneath them. It took less than two minutes to reach the small coastal town, but to Dawn, it felt like an eternity. She ignored the stares of the townspeople—some shocked, some confused, some whispering her name.
She didn’t stop.
She dismounted in a rush, returning Braviary to its ball, and shoved open the doors to Professor Rowan’s lab.
Inside, the old professor looked up from a cluster of aides, his eyes going wide behind his glasses.
“Dawn Berlitz?” he said, his voice a mixture of disbelief and wonder.
Panting, dirt smudged across her cheeks and kimono torn at the edges, she looked at him with eyes full of desperation.
“Where is my mother?”
The heavy silence in the lab was broken only by the rushed footsteps of Professor Rowan as he moved from behind his desk. His stern face, usually unreadable and composed, twisted with disbelief and unspoken sorrow.
“Dawn…” he whispered again, as if saying her name might wake him from some long, impossible dream.
She looked so different now—taller, her features sharper with age, with a worn kimono that looked as though it had weathered storms and years. There was a heaviness in her shoulders that no child should carry, a haunted look in her blue eyes that made him ache.
He guided her gently to a seat near the lab table, his touch hesitant, like he was afraid she might vanish if he held on too tightly. “You… you’ve been missing for six years,” he murmured. “We all thought…”
His voice faltered, and he didn’t finish the sentence.
Dawn sat rigid, her breath still ragged, knuckles white as she held Piplup tightly to her chest. Her Pokémon trembled in her arms, sensing the tension in every beat of her heart.
Professor Rowan looked at his assistants, then back at Dawn. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Could you all give us a moment, please?”
The lab techs, their faces painted with confusion and awe, nodded and quickly made their exit. The door shut behind them, leaving only the hum of the machinery and the low, flickering hum of silence between them.
Rowan turned back to her. “Dawn… where did you go?”
She blinked at him, the question seeming to drag her out of a fog.
“Arceus,” she began, her voice rough from disuse and exhaustion. “He came to me in a dream. Said the world needed saving. Said I had to go… back. To the beginning.”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “The beginning?”
“The Hisui Region,” she whispered.
He inhaled sharply.
“I don’t know how long I was gone at first. I thought maybe a few weeks. But it turned into months. Then years. Six… I think. Maybe more. It was—” her throat tightened. “It was brutal, Professor. There were no Pokécenters. No towns like here. The people barely trusted Pokémon. They were afraid. And for good reason…”
She paused, and the way her eyes drifted into nothing made Rowan’s stomach twist.
“I nearly died so many times,” she said, voice cracking. “Wild Pokémon were… monsters. Real monsters. I watched people I cared about vanish in the snow, fall to fangs and claws. I lived in fear every single day. But I kept going. I had to. For Arceus. For the world.”
Rowan was silent, his hands clasped tightly in front of him.
“I missed my mom every day,” she said softly, her eyes lowering. “I held onto the idea that I’d see her again. That I’d walk through the door and she’d just… be there. Like she always was. With that tired smile. A warm meal. A hug.”
A lump rose in Rowan’s throat. He looked away for a moment and quietly picked up his Rotom Phone, dialing a number. Dawn didn’t seem to notice, her eyes lost in her story.
“Officer Jenny,” Rowan said. “Yes. I need you to come to the lab. Urgently. Yes… Dawn Berlitz has returned.”
There was a pause as the voice on the other end gasped, then agreed.
Rowan hung up and turned slowly back toward Dawn. She met his gaze, and the question was already there in her eyes.
“My mother…” she asked, her voice a fragile whisper. “Where is she?”
The question cut through the air like a blade.
Rowan looked down at the floor. He didn’t speak for several seconds. Then, with a sigh that seemed to pull from the weight of the years, he said quietly, “Dawn… I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe.
“She passed away… about a year ago. Her heart couldn’t take it, Dawn. She held out hope for as long as she could. Always said you’d come home. Every morning, she set the table for two. And every night, she put the second plate away, untouched.”
Dawn’s breath hitched, her hands trembling.
“But the waiting wore on her. The silence. The not knowing. It broke her in the end.”
Piplup gave a loud cry, burying its face against Dawn’s chest, little tears flowing freely down its cheeks.
Dawn didn’t cry—not yet. She held Piplup tighter, her eyes glassy but dry. Her whole body trembled as if it were being crushed under invisible weight.
“It’s alright, Piplup,” she whispered, her voice too soft, too calm. “No need to worry, buddy.”
But the lie cracked around the edges of her words.
The pain that clawed inside her chest was more than grief. It was rage. Regret. Helplessness. She had survived an entire other era, endured nightmares and carved out her place in a world that tried to swallow her whole. And for what?
To come back to this?
To an empty house?
To a world that moved on without her?
To a mother buried beneath cold earth, who died thinking her daughter was lost forever?
She felt like a string pulled too tight, ready to snap at the slightest touch.
A scream burned in her throat, but she swallowed it. Her fists clenched around Piplup’s soft feathers. She couldn’t break. Not now. Not yet. But the tears—Arceus, the tears—they burned so hot she thought they’d leave scars.
She looked up at Rowan, her voice barely a whisper.
“Arceus ruined my life.”
The Alolan breeze was warm, carrying the scent of the sea as it rolled through the open windows of his house. The golden glow of the setting sun bathed the living room in amber light, casting long shadows against the walls. Outside, the distant sound of Wingull calling over the waves filled the air.
But Ash didn’t hear it.
He sat on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped together as he stared at the Poké Ball sitting on the table in front of him. A simple, ordinary Poké Ball. But inside, one of his strongest partners rested—his Charizard, waiting for the next journey, the following search.
He would take off again soon.
His fingers curled into fists as he exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead into his palms. He wasn’t a kid anymore, not some reckless ten-year-old running into the unknown with nothing but dreams and endless energy. He was twenty now. The reigning World Champion for six years. The trainer who had conquered the Masters Eight, who had stood at the peak of Pokémon battling, who had been cheered on by millions around the world.
And yet… none of it filled the hollow space in his chest.
None of it erased the ache that had never truly left him.
None of it brought her back.
Dawn.
Her name sat heavy in his mind, an echo of a time that felt too far away now. He remembered her bright laughter, the way her blue eyes sparkled with excitement every time they battled side by side. The way she always told him, “No need to worry!”
But she was gone.
Vanished.
Six years ago, without a trace.
And no matter how far he searched, no matter how many people he asked, there were never any answers.
His nails dug into his palms. Dawn had been there, in that moment, in that arena in Galar, smiling and cheering for him when he won the championship. She had come all the way from Sinnoh to see it. He had seen her in the crowd, had waved to her, had promised they would talk after the ceremony.
But when he went to find her—she was gone.
Not just gone, but completely erased.
No one had seen her leave. No one knew where she went. It was as if she had never been there at all.
The thought made his stomach twist, just like it did every time he let himself sit with it too long. Every time he let himself be alone with his thoughts.
Everyone else had moved on. Time had kept going.
But he never stopped looking for her.
Whenever he had the time, he would set out. His Charizard, once a stubborn and defiant Pokémon, now flew without hesitation the moment Ash released him. They had crossed regions—Sinnoh, Johto, Unova, even Kanto again. And every time, every flight, every search, he held onto the smallest sliver of hope that maybe, this time, he’d find her. That maybe she was just out there somewhere, waiting to be found.
But every time, he returned empty-handed.
And every time, the weight in his chest grew heavier.
Pikachu stirred beside him on the couch, ears twitching before looking up at Ash with concerned eyes.
“I’m okay, buddy,” Ash murmured, reaching over and scratching Pikachu’s head. The little Pokémon leaned into the touch but didn’t look convinced.
Ash swallowed, sitting back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Where did you go, Dawn?
He had everything he had ever wanted—the title, the recognition, the respect. But what was the point of reaching the top if one of the most important people in his life wasn’t there to see it?
She should have been there.
She should have been here.
And yet, all he had left were memories and the distant whisper of her laughter in the back of his mind.
And a world too big, too empty, without her in it.
However, a Champion’s work never ends.
Even now, as the sun dipped behind the horizon, casting golden light over the Alolan sea, he was hunched over a desk covered in tournament plans. Stacks of papers, digital screens displaying battle brackets, security details, vendor lists—his hands were busy flipping through them, making adjustments, setting budgets, approving matchups.
It was easier this way.
Easier to lose himself in the numbers, the logistics, the demands of organizing the World Twilight Invitational.
A tournament that had grown into something huge—one of the biggest events in the world. The best of the best attended. Performers, coordinators, trainers. Every year, it was a spectacle. The kind of thing that brought together people from every region, all competing, all dazzling the world with their skills.
And every year, he told himself that this time, maybe this time, she’d come. That somewhere in the crowd, he’d see her again. That her voice would call his name. That she’d be smiling, wearing that determined look she always had before a contest battle, standing in front of him like she had never been gone at all.
But six years had passed.
Six tournaments had come and gone.
And she never appeared.
Ash sighed, dragging a hand down his face as he leaned back in his chair. The exhaustion in his bones had nothing to do with the tournament.
He was tired of waiting.
Tired of the unanswered questions.
Tired of organizing the perfect event, only to watch the stage fill with the world’s greatest trainers—and none of them were her.
His eyes drifted to a section of the list. Coordinators.
He had personally sent invitations to every famous name in the contest world. Lisia. Wallace. Even Cynthia had expressed interest in watching. But none of those names mattered.
There was only one he had ever been searching for.
Dawn Berlitz.
But no matter how many invitations went out, how many times he spread the word, how many times he looked for her in the crowds, her name was never on the roster.
She was never there.
Pikachu, who had been lying quietly beside him on the couch, let out a soft sound as if sensing Ash’s thoughts.
“Yeah,” Ash whispered, his throat tight. “I know.”
This tournament—this whole thing—was his excuse to keep hoping. To keep searching. Because he didn’t know how to accept the alternative, that maybe Dawn wasn’t just missing. Maybe she was gone.
His stomach twisted painfully at the thought.
No. No, he couldn’t accept that.
She was out there. She had to be.
Ash clenched his fists and pushed back from the desk, standing abruptly. He needed air—needed space. Stepping outside, he inhaled deeply, letting the salty ocean breeze sting his eyes as he stared out at the darkening sky. He reached for his belt, pulled off a Poké Ball, and pressed it against his forehead for a moment before throwing it into the air.
A blinding light burst forth, and with a mighty cry, Charizard unfurled his massive wings. Ash climbed onto his back without hesitation, gripping the Pokémon’s scales as he pointed to the sky. “Let’s go,” he murmured. “Let’s fly.”
Charizard growled in understanding, powerful wings beating against the air before taking off, soaring high above the Alolan islands. Ash barely felt the wind against his face. His mind was elsewhere.
Maybe I missed something last time.
Maybe I should check Sinnoh again.
Maybe she’s waiting somewhere, just out of reach.
He stared down at the vast world below him, the lights of the islands, the stars above. And in the quiet, in the loneliness of the open sky, he let himself whisper her name.
“…Dawn.”
It disappeared into the wind, swallowed by the night. Just like she had been. And still, he searched.
Ash had been told—gently, cautiously, too kindly—that maybe he should consider moving on.
Six years was a long time.
Too long.
Even his closest friends had begun to give him those looks—the ones filled with quiet pity. They never said it aloud, but he could hear it in the silence between their words. She’s gone, Ash. You have to let her go.
But they didn’t know what he felt.
They didn’t see the way the wind carried the sound of her laughter in the trees when he flew above the forests of Sinnoh. They didn’t feel the warmth that rushed into his chest when he thought of her smile.
Dawn wasn’t dead.
He refused to believe that.
Not when she was one of the brightest people he had ever known.
Not when her presence had changed him in ways even he couldn’t describe.
Not when he could still feel her.
Not when her absence still ached.
If she was gone, wouldn’t that ache have dulled by now? Wouldn’t the hole in his chest have healed, at least a little? But it hadn’t. It only deepened, like a wound that refused to close.
He still saw her in his dreams. Sometimes, he’d reach out, and she’d almost touch his fingers—just before she vanished in a swirl of petals or light or mist. He’d wake up gasping, eyes wide, heart pounding, only to find Pikachu curled against his side and the night silent around him.
But those dreams didn’t scare him.
They gave him hope.
They reminded him she was still out there, somewhere.
Maybe she was trapped. Maybe she was lost. Maybe something had taken her far beyond what any of them could understand.
But she was alive.
And until the moment he looked her in the eyes and heard her voice again, he would not stop looking.
The tournament was his beacon. His signal fire. He made it grander every year, more impressive, more spectacular—something Dawn, with her love for contests, couldn’t resist if she was able to see it. He poured everything into it. Coordinators and performers flocked to Alola for it, but none was her. He smiled for the cameras, shook hands with champions, and gave speeches to roaring crowds.
And when it was all over—when the fireworks faded and the stands emptied and the music quieted—he would stand alone in the center of the arena, looking up into the stars. He would imagine her there in the crowd, clapping, calling out to him, eyes bright and full of admiration.
He would close his eyes and whisper, “Next year. I’ll see you next year.” And then he would turn and leave the stadium, the lights turning off one by one behind him. They could say she was gone. They could say he was chasing a ghost but he didn't care.
But he knew she was alive.
And he would search every region, climb every mountain, dive into every ruin, fly into every storm if it meant finding her because Dawn wasn’t just someone he missed. She was the piece of himself that had gone missing. And Ash Ketchum had never once lost a battle without giving everything he had. This was no different.
He was going to win.
He had to.