Pokemon Rusted Shield/Sword

From The Bottom

Seven years ago...

He was but ten year olds when they never came home. His parents, which on the news were announced dead, but he would not believe it and went into the Slumbering Weald to find them, refusing to accept the truth...

That child, age ten, never returned, and despite the search party lead by an up and coming trainer with a Charmeleon named Leon, was never found and announced dead as well...

Today two trainers, Hop and Victor, 15 year old boys, are endorsed by Leon to take on the gyms.

The same day their journey begins that lost child starts one of his own...

Grant, age 17, ran through the tall grass, his body battered and beaten, covered in brusises, for he had survived in the Wild Area of Galar off of what he could find and scavenge, no Pokémon or camping equipment, only a knife from the Boy Scouts he was in all those years ago and his wits.

Today was a bad day for him, his left arm was sliced open, bleeding with a severe gash after he was attacked by a wild Zigzagoon. He braced himself against a tree, his long black hair draped over his pale blue eyes which held an almost feral mindset of survival, as spending seven years running from dangerous Pokémon that would kill him for a meal had left him mentally damaged and emotionally stunted. He understood two things.

1: He had to become strong enough to survive.

2: He could not work his way into society unless he had a way to make money.

However he misunderstood one thing that would come back to bite him time and again on his journey.

3: To never accept help or pity and rely on one's self alone no matter what.

He had dealt with many injuries like this before, and at the river bank of Lake Outrage, harvested some herbs, crushing them into a fine powder and mixing them with the water to make a paste that he used as an ointment on his wound, a survival technique he learned in scouts all those years ago to disinfect wounds.

He sighed sitting at the bank and thought aloud, "Curse it all! A tiny Zigzagoon can spell the end of me and Arceus forbid I run into a Snorlax or Onix! I'm gonna die in this place! If I just had a Pokémon..."

He sighed and checked his pockets, finding some berries and a root, he started a fire using some stalks of tall grass and striking his knife against a stone to make sparks and roast the food on a wooden stick he found nearby, as he cooked it, he let his guard down, almost not caring is something snuck up on him and ate him, weary from his survival in this place when...

He put out the fire, letting the meal cool as he looked up at the skies in fear, recalling that day...

He didn't like to think of that incident and turned his attention to a chirping, a Rookiedee, who had taken an interest in the meal he had prepared. At first, knife drawn, he was ready to scare it away, or, if that didn't work, flee before it pecked his eyes out, but he saw himself in it. It was clearly the runt of the litter, probably from a nest with many eggs, and the weakest, frail and malnourished. He saw himself in it in a weird way. Without a parent or anyone else, just scrapping by by stealing from things far more powerful than either of them, and in a moment of compassion, he gently reached out to the bird as it nibbled an Oran Berry at the edge of the stick, pecking it timidly.

The bird fliched at first when it felt a hand scratching behind its neck, but it felt comforted by the human that had allowed it to eat and had extended his hand in friendship.

Sometimes a Pokémon will choose its trainer rather than the other way around.

The Rookiedee cried out, startling Grant who staggered back, ready for a fight, only to have the bird land on his shoulder and chirp happily.