The Pantheon

Rota Kingdom

When Misty left Cerulean City, it wasn’t some big cinematic blowout.

No yelling match in the foyer. No doors slamming so hard they knocked pictures off the walls. No dramatic declarations about “finally being free.”

Nah.

She just… packed her bag.

Quietly.

One hoodie, two pairs of jeans, all the potions she could cram into a travel pouch. Her PokéNav. Her old goggles. A battered but well-loved fishing rod. The essentials. She laced up her sneakers—tight, double-knotted. And walked right out the front gate of the Cerulean Gym.

No fanfare.

No goodbyes.

Her sisters were too busy posing for their next “Sensation Sisters Spectacle” calendar shoot anyway—sequins, sparklers, synchronized flips in shallow pools. They probably didn’t even notice her crossing the lobby.

Which was fine.

She didn’t leave for them.

She left a note, though. Taped it to the fridge with one of Lily’s glittery heart magnets. Right next to the last slice of Lum Berry cake—the one they always promised to “save for her” but mysteriously never did.

The note read:

“Gone training. Don’t call unless the Gym’s on fire. –Misty.”

And that was that.

She didn’t take the Gym’s official Pokémon. Not Seel. Not Dewgong. Not even that smug little Luvdisc Daisy always made wear a pearl collar. Those weren’t her Pokémon. They were props. Mascots. Dressed-up cheerleaders in the background of her sisters’ water ballet routines.

No.

Misty brought her team.

Staryu, Starmie, and Goldeen.

As she passed the Gym’s gates, she didn’t pause.

Didn’t look back.

Didn’t give the Sensational Sisters the satisfaction of seeing her leave.

She wasn’t running away.

She was walking toward something.

Something she didn’t even have the words for yet—but she could feel it. Like the pull of a strong current beneath calm water.

The first partner Misty added?

A walking, quacking, migrainous mess.

She found him face-down in a clump of a playground in a small town in the middle of nowhere, just outside a sketchy little rest stop with one vending machine, a crooked PokéMart sign, and a bathroom that definitely didn’t pass inspection.

She hadn’t been looking for a new Pokémon that day. She was just tired, sunburned, and annoyed that Staryu had splashed her on purpose for the third time that morning.

Then she heard it.

A muffled groan. Kind of nasal. Kind of tragic.

“Psy… aiyaaa…”

She peeked over, and there he was.

A Psyduck.

Lying on his belly, face scrunched in a pained wince, both stubby hands clutching his forehead like it was trying to crawl off his skull. He looked like someone who had just walked into a bass-boosted Psychic-type rave and deeply regretted every life choice that led him there.