"Some legacies are born in love. Others are forged in lies."
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Narrated by Auron Ketchum
They told me my mother died in childbirth.
Lies.
They told me my father abandoned us for duty.
Lies.
They told me I was born from love. Maybe that part was true—maybe. But love means nothing when truth is buried beneath a coffin of secrets.
For seventeen years, I believed in ghosts. My mother's laughter in the hallway. My father's name whispered like a curse. I grew up with a legacy carved into my blood, a name too heavy for my shoulders.
Ketchum.
It meant nothing to me—until I read her journal.
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One Month Ago – The Hidden Room Beneath the Silver Tree
The wind howled as I pulled open the trapdoor beneath the shrine. Dust choked the air. There was a cot, a desk, old battle gear—Ash's old gear.
A locked box sat in the center. I cracked it open with my aura, fingers trembling. Inside, beneath photos and an old Pokédex… was her journal.
Cynthia's.
Her final entries weren't about battles or legends. They were about fear. Paranoia. The feeling of being watched. Being hunted.
> "Ash won't believe me, but the Kalos incident wasn't political. It was coordinated. There's something older than Team Rocket pulling the strings… and they want Auron."
I turned the page. Her last entry bled into the margin.
> "If this reaches you, Auron… know this: Your father didn't abandon us. He went to war to keep you safe. I lied to protect you. They said if he returned, they'd kill you. So I told him not to. I made him promise to never come back."
> "I loved him more than life itself. Forgive me."
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Now – The Flames Return
I remember screaming. The silver tree shuddered as my aura ignited for the first time in full bloom—wild, electric, thunder and flame.
They lied. All of them. The League. The elders. The ones who raised me.
They said my mother died peacefully. I saw the autopsy. Poison in her system. A fabricated hemorrhage.
They killed her.
And they blamed him.
And where was Ash? The man who once split mountains with his will?
Hiding? Dead? Or worse… changed?
No.
I felt him awaken. Two nights ago, the moon cracked red—and something ancient stirred.
He's alive. And if he won't come back to bury the past… I will drag him into it.
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Later That Night – The Burned Farmhouse
I stood before the ashes of our old home. I scattered the last pages of her journal into the fire.
Behind me, an old man stepped forward. He wore a white coat. Oak. The last relic of the old world.
> "Auron. You don't have to walk this path."
> "You all chose this path for me. I'm just the fire you lit."
> "You're not your father."
I stared into the flame.
> "No. I'm what he left behind."
And for the first time, I didn't cry.
I burned.
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