The golden light of morning stretched across Route 1, illuminating fields of wildflowers and gently swaying grass. It was peaceful, almost idyllic.
Skylar walked quietly along the path, his thoughts focused, his steps steady. Charmander padded beside him, flame on his tail flickering with excitement. Gardevoir glided just behind, always watchful.
"This world feels calm on the surface," Skylar thought. "But under it… I can feel something shifting."
Halfway to Viridian City, the road curved between two hills. It was there that he saw someone waiting.
A figure stood in the center of the path.
Unmoving.
Covered head to toe in a black-gray coat, their hood high, face shadowed.
Skylar slowed. Charmander's flame grew slightly brighter. Gardevoir raised a psychic veil, just in case.
"Hey," Skylar called. "You alright?"
The figure remained still for a beat. Then, in a low, calm voice:
"Skylar Adams. Son of Flint. League-certified. Aura-positive."
Skylar stopped completely.
"What do you want?"
"To see if you are the type of trainer the world needs."
They pulled out a Poké Ball—no insignia, no markings.
"A test. Not for fame. Not for power. For purpose."
A flash of red light—Absol appeared.But not ordinary.
Its fur shimmered in subtle hues of gray, and its eyes glowed faintly blue instead of red. Clean. Precise. Tense.
Skylar signaled Gardevoir with a glance.
"Not a threat—yet," she murmured telepathically.
"Charmander, stay back. Let's see what this is."
The battle began—but it wasn't a battle.
Absol didn't aim to injure. Its attacks were tight, controlled. No wasted energy.Gardevoir responded in kind, trading careful counters rather than overpowering responses.
Skylar realized it quickly.
"He's not testing my skill. He's watching my judgment."
He gave no risky commands. No reckless plays.He led with control. With restraint. With reason.
After several minutes of intense but non-lethal exchange, the figure raised a hand.
"Enough."
Absol stopped instantly and returned to its ball.
"You value balance. Control. You do not act on impulse."
Skylar stepped forward, frowning.
"Who are you?"
The figure finally removed the hood.
Beneath it was a young man, no older than twenty. His eyes were sharp but calm—like a blade sheathed.
"Shadow."
Skylar blinked. "You're with them?"
"We are not enemies of the League. We are its unseen defense."
Skylar's brows furrowed. "What does that mean?"
"We exist to prevent threats before they are born. Rockets. Galactics. Flares. Plasma. We find the seeds of evil—and we burn them out."
"Even if they haven't done anything wrong yet?"
The man didn't answer immediately.
"Most won't. But some will. And even one… can destroy a region."
Skylar's fists clenched. "So what? You judge kids before they've had a chance to choose?"
"We observe. We test. We don't kill. We… prevent."
"That's not balance," Skylar said coldly. "That's fear disguised as order."
The agent tilted his head, quietly impressed.
"Interesting. You passed."
"Passed?"
"We test all high-potential trainers. Not just their ability—but their alignment. You show discipline. Clarity. You will be monitored… but you are not a threat."
With that, he vanished into a burst of smoke-like tech—no teleport. Just disappearance.
Skylar stood alone again.
Gardevoir floated beside him, face unreadable.
"They think they're saving the world."
"But they're already tilting it off balance," Skylar murmured.
Charmander looked up with a confused chirp.
Skylar smiled faintly and knelt to pat his head.
"Don't worry, buddy. We'll stay on our path."
That night, in a cold command center beneath a hidden mountain, the young man stood before a council of voices—projected in hologram and shadow.
"Trainer Skylar Adams: no corruption. Controlled. Cautious. Loyal to the League."
"Acknowledge," said a distorted voice. "Monitor, but do not interfere."
A second voice, older, colder:
"The balance is fragile. But he may be needed, should Shadow itself fall to excess."
No one answered.
But for a brief moment… the room was silent.