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Pressure never came from within. For all the faults Fernando would grow to resent his parents for, holding him to an impossible standard was never one of them. Not this early on in life. They too understood the struggles of carrying on the legacy of their linage.

Being born into such a prestigious name was more akin to being born with a silver fork rather than spoon. It feels them a life of lavishness but the spines of each bite prove dangerous when shoved too far in worthless opulence. Expectations were to be had but compared to their parents before them, Fernando’s tempered their heat to that of a lukewarm breakfast. Fair but necessary.

But his parents, and the tutors they hired, and the staff they employed could only do so much. The world beyond is fraught with frantic eyes who can never settle onto one topic long enough to understand it. They looks, they surmise, and they judge.

“Silph Co. reveals a new project. The Pokeball that can catch any Pokemon: the Masterball!”

Fernando’s eyes can’t keep open despite the exciting buzz of the television. It’s only a bit past ten but his body is young and untrained. It requires sleep and it’s long past his bed time.

“What does this mean for the future of Pokemon merchandise? Silph Co.’s direction in the last few years have played a part of their impressive growth in the market cap. Analyst predict that with the earning’s report of third quart—”

Thud!

Fernando’s head hits his notebook when he finally dozes off the deep end. He immediately reawakens, grumbling as he stares at the scribbling line cuts through his math homework. He can barely read the fractions he’s written down in the past hour, realizing that his exhaustion has bled into his work.


“Mmm. I have to work harder. I want to be like mommy.”

His admiration only takes him too far. Even the bright and earnest succumb to the limits of reality.

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“Leave.”

Mere children dare trespass at the end of the world’s frontier? Here, the Pokemon have no reserves between life or death. They are a byproduct of their environment: ruthless, harsh, tough beyond measure. A true testament of what it takes to survive Mount Silver.

It’s a Pokemon-eat-Pokemon world.

“We won’t make it.”

“No, I won’t. I want to help.”

Another accompanies him. LILLIAN GLASS, well before her prime. A needy little shit too prone on tagging along despite their disadvantages. It’s this loyalty that will etch her way into his heart and mind, one of the few people Fernando can trust in his entirety. But here, now, they are nothing more than pebbles, unpolished, unrealized.

“You need to leave—!”

“She’s right. You should go.”

“You too! Both of you. Your Pokemon haven’t even evolved yet…”

Their hike is strenuous. Their Pokemon underdeveloped. Between them, they make the textbook right decisions but their Pokemon cannot hope to compete against those who have survives for years.

A wild Dolphan makes mincemeat of their team work. MAGICAL LEAVES bounce off its hide. An AQUA TAIL connects only for the Dolphan to skewer the Marill with its elongated tusks. It’s an uphill fight that pushes the children to their limits.

When it falls, captured by a Pokeball, their team is left in tatters. And that is only the first of many.

Obstinate to a fault, they continue. Fernando’s Ditto, Ditty, is the only one still healthy and their ace in the hole. Being able to copy the strength of the Pokemon here does them well, but it cannot protect all three of them.

“Lili!” Fernando turns back as a wild Graveler turns white hot in front of them. He runs with every ounce of strength he can muster, pushing her behind the rock mere moments before the EXPLOSION sets off.

The blast creates one of the many craters that dot the cliffside. In it, nothing remains, only debris as everything else is tossed to the wind. Fernando too is pushed into a coursing river, swept away by the rapids.

It’s a miracle he doesn’t drown.

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A single thought riddles his mind when he crawls out from the creek’s end. Survive.

His body is battered. Bruises map every collision. Rampant rocks protrude along the river’s course. When he fall unconscious, his buoyancy carries him afloat, subject to the current and the journey it entails.

Every stretch of his hand pushes him forward no matter how little traction he makes. Air is forced inward, coughed out in a mix of water and mucus. It trails down his face in a cascade of tears. The pain is imaginable. Nothing can hurt more than this.

Oh, sweet summer child, how wrong you are.

Mount Silver is fraught with predators.

All that heaving is bound to draw attention. An Ursaring that visits the waterside for a drink comes across him, curious at first, unmoving as it stands at attention.

He notices all too late, frozen in place, hopeful that playing dead will cause the beast to lose interest. It’s all he can wish for.

But wishes don’t come true.

A rumble emanates from the Pokemon’s belly. The grumbling grows the closer it approaches. It matches the pulse of his heartbeat, encapsulated by the throbbing pain he keeps lodged in his throat. He says nothing, afraid he’ll croak.

And then the Ursaring commits, screeching a terrible ROAR before it digs in.

A warmth trickles down his leg as Fernando frantically reaches for a Pokeball. It’s not much but anything will do. Anything to stave off the fear of a gruesome death.








Fury erupts from a set of lungs too small to stomach the acute change in elevation. Each breath comes out labored but Fernando doesn’t have a choice. He heaves with every fiber of his being.

His eyes feel heavy.

So he screams. Anything to keep him conscious. His call goes unanswered, left to wallow in the blood of his enemy.

Scattered around him are the entrails of those involved. The Usaring, felled from a well placed cleft on its skull, lies face up. A bloodied rock rests not too far down the beaten path, displaced by the collapse of the bumbling beast.

Fernando is the same, flung from his head, crumpled on the floor. He can’t feel his legs. He can’t feel much of anything.

The skirmish is not without sacrifice. His own Pokemon have been torn into pieces. Claw marks cut deep. They spill unseen secrets, detailed in a wash of red and spurts of pink shapes. Where his organs begin and theirs ends start to blur. He can’t even feel their warmth.

The white of his bone peeks out from the blanket of warm colors. Dirt sprinkles the perfection seasoning for the Ursaring’s would-be meal. They leave him raw, as nature intended.

He fights against fate; lives to die another day.

Childhood innocence is a shell of his development. Today, it is smashed into pieces. Broken down infinitely small until nothing remains. From it, a cast is made. Whatever he grows into, whatever he becomes, this experience will mold him.

It is the precedence for adulthood.

It is what make him into the man he is.

For now, a half dead boy continues to crawl. Bawling, dying, determinant until the bitter end.

Never give up. Never give in. Not even in the face of certain defeat.