- Vagabond - Male Reader x Pokémon

Chapter 2: Lost

[Somewhere]

Darkness. An overwhelming, all-consuming black. A void with no discernible beginning or end, stretching infinitely in every direction. There was no light, no colour, no texture, just shadows upon shadows, layered endlessly into the ether. It was nothingness, pure and unyielding.

The air, or lack thereof, was stagnant.

No sound or sensation, no heat, no cold.

It was as though the very concept of experience had been erased.

The space felt hollow, a vacuum devoid of everything but itself.

Not even the faintest echo of life reached this abyss.

At first, it might have seemed akin to the fleeting moments between falling asleep and waking up. That hazy void of unconsciousness when dreams fail to form, leaving only a sense of time slipping away unnoticed. But this was no fleeting sensation. The stillness stretched endlessly, unbroken and eternal. And yet, oddly, it was not a place of discomfort or fear.

There was no pain, no joy, no anxiety, just existence, stripped of all else.

It was like floating at the bottom of a boundless ocean, suspended in gentle currents.

Or perhaps like drifting aimlessly through the vast reaches of outer space.

Yet there was no suffocating need for air, no crushing pressure, only an unshakeable weightlessness, a calm disconnection from everything.

For a while, it was easy to dismiss the void as temporary.

Surely, any moment now, this strange sensation would fade, replaced by the familiar comforts of reality, a soft bed, a warm room, perhaps the scent of fresh linens. Maybe a dresser adorned with photographs or trophies, something personal, something meaningful.

But that comforting image never materialized. Instead, it lingered as an idea, an abstraction.

It felt familiar, yet alien.

Was that truly his bedroom?

His home?

The more he thought about it, the more certain he became. no, that wasn't right.

But then, what was right?

The questions began as a quiet murmur in his mind before surging forward like an unstoppable tide.

What did my bedroom look like?

What did my house look like?

Each question drew a blank.

Where am I from?

Do I have a family? Friends?

The questions spiralled, each one clawing at the edges of his awareness.

He struggled to pull fragments of memory from the void, but each grasp yielded only more emptiness.

Then, the most terrifying question of all surfaced. Who am I?

That thought hung in the air, or whatever passed for it here.

After what felt like an eternity, a single answer came to him.

"My name is..."

"[Y/N]."

The certainty of it was both a comfort and a torment. It was the one thing he knew for certain. His name was [Y/N]. The syllables echoed in his mind, clear and true, as though they had always been there, waiting for him to find them. But beyond that? Nothing. No last name. No context.