CH.1

The tavern flickered with the warm glow of the hearth, shadows dancing on rough wooden walls as the fire crackled and spat. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and the murmur of quiet conversations. In the corner, perched on a sturdy oak stool, an old bard with silvered hair and weathered hands began to pluck a slow, haunting melody from a lute. The room hushed, drawn by the gentle pull of the strings.

With a voice like distant thunder, rolling low and deep, the bard began:

In the void, so vast, so dark, where no light dare dance or spark,

There stirred a force, both fierce and bright, the seed of day, the breath of night.

From this force, a being rose, with thousand arms and eyes that glowed,

Arceus, the First, the One, whose breath became the waking sun.

The lute's notes rang soft, echoing like whispers through the room, as the bard's voice painted the tale.

With plates of power, tenfold strong, Arceus hummed creation's song,

And from that hum, the world was spun, the sky, the stars, the moon, the sun.

Dialga's tick, the clock began, Palkia's hand, the space did span,

Giratina, in shadow's keep, did guard the paths 'twixt life and sleep.

And Mew, so small, yet vast and grand, breathed life across the waiting land,

From mountain tall to ocean deep, where wild things woke from ancient sleep.

The world was born in light and sound, the earth below, the sky around,

And in that world, both fair and wild, humanity, an infant child.

The melody shifted, soft and wistful, as if the very air held its breath, the bard's fingers dancing lightly over the strings.

But the world was harsh, untamed, unknown, where beasts of might and power roamed,

And man, so small, could only flee, from flame and claw, from land and sea.

Till Arceus, with pity's grace, did weave a gift from time and space,

A book of light, a living tome, to bind with beasts, to call them home.

The lute's strings hummed, vibrating with the weight of the story, as the bard's voice grew deeper, richer.

The Grimoire, a book alive, with secrets deep and powers rife,

To those who'd dare, who'd show respect, and honor what the world had kept.

No chains, no balls, no forced command, but bonds of trust, from heart to hand,

With whispered words and runes of old, the Grimoire's pages did unfold.

And through the ink, so dark, so bright, a pact was formed in sacred light,

A bond to bridge the mortal span, 'tween Pokémon and beast and man.

Thus, balance grew, a fragile peace, where man and beast could share, could feast,

But shadows crept, and whispers came, of power sought, of wars aflame.

The melody darkened, a low, brooding chord rumbling through the room like distant thunder.

For some desired, with greedy hands, to rule the beasts, to claim the lands,

And war did break, with fire's roar, as bonds were twisted, hearts were torn.

Yet even in the darkest night, a beacon shone, a guiding light,

For those who kept the ancient way, who honored what the Grimoire gave.

The fire crackled, snapping in time with the strumming of the lute, the bard's voice softening to a gentle, sorrowful tone.

But time, relentless, wears all things, and myths do fade on broken wings,

The Grimoires, once so common, bright, grew scarce and dim, slipped out of sight.

Yet in the hearts of those who seek, the flame of Arceus still speaks,

And in the shadows, old powers lie, waiting for the sun to rise.

The bard's voice dropped to a near whisper, as if sharing a secret with the listening crowd.

So hear this tale, both old and new, of bonds and beasts, of heart and truth,

For as the world turns ever on, the light of Arceus is not gone.

And when the darkness creeps too near, the Grimoires' call you just might hear,

A whisper soft, a flicker bright, that leads you through the deepest night.

The final chord lingered in the air, a soft hum that faded into the crackling of the fire. The bard lowered the lute, eyes gleaming with the echoes of ancient tales, as the tavern slowly filled with the quiet murmur of awed voices, and the world outside seemed just a bit more enchanted, a bit more alive.

===

The night was still, the kind of stillness that presses in on you, wrapping you in a blanket of quiet that feels almost too heavy. I had just finished another long shift at the diner—my feet ached, my mind was numb, and all I wanted was to collapse into bed and forget the world existed. But as I trudged down the empty street, something strange began to happen.

The air felt thicker, almost like walking through syrup, and the street lights flickered ominously. I stopped, frowning, trying to shake off the growing unease gnawing at the back of my mind. That's when I saw it—a light, faint at first, but growing steadily brighter, hovering in the middle of the road. I blinked, rubbing my eyes, sure I was just tired. But the light didn't go away. Instead, it expanded, taking shape, swirling in colors that seemed too vibrant, too alive, for this world.

Before I could react, the light surged forward, enveloping me completely. I tried to scream, to run, but my body wouldn't obey. The world around me twisted, warping into a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds that had no place in reality. I was being pulled, yanked from everything I knew, as if the very fabric of space was tearing me away from my world.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped. The light faded, the colors ebbed away, and I found myself standing in a place that was…not home. The sky was a shade of blue so intense it felt unreal, the air was crisp and filled with the scent of pine and earth, and the ground beneath my feet was soft, almost springy.

I looked around, heart hammering in my chest. I was in a forest, but unlike any forest I'd ever seen. The trees towered above me, their leaves shimmering with an almost ethereal light, and in the distance, I could hear the faint call of creatures I couldn't recognize. Panic began to creep in—where was I? How did I get here? My thoughts were a jumbled mess, crashing into each other like waves in a storm.

That's when I heard it—a deep, resonant voice, not out loud, but in my mind, like a bell tolling in the distance.

"Cleo."

I froze. Who…or what…was that?

"Cleo," the voice repeated, and this time, I felt a strange calm wash over me, like the voice carried a weight that pressed down on the fear, on the confusion.

Before I could even think to respond, the world around me shimmered again, and a figure appeared—a man, or something like a man. He was tall, impossibly tall, with a presence that felt ancient, powerful, like standing before a mountain. His eyes were bright, gleaming with the same light I'd seen earlier, and his expression was both kind and stern, like a teacher who expected great things but wouldn't hesitate to discipline.

"You have been chosen," he said, his voice resonating with the air around us, making the leaves tremble. "I am the one who oversees the balance, the Judge of Realms, the One Who Brings. You may call me ROB."

"Chosen for what?" My voice was barely more than a whisper, trembling like the leaves above me.

"To begin anew, to embark on a journey that will shape the world of Pangea," he replied, as if that explained everything. "You have been brought here to fulfill a role that only you can play."

"Pangea?" I repeated, trying to process the unfamiliar name.

"A world unlike your own," ROB explained, his gaze sweeping across the forest as if seeing far beyond it. "A world where creatures of great power, of elemental might, roam free. A world that teeters on the brink, needing a catalyst to restore its balance."

"Why me?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it. "I'm nobody special. I work at a diner, I live alone, I don't—"

"You underestimate your potential, Cleo," ROB interrupted, his voice softening. "Every world needs those who come from the outside, those with a perspective unclouded by the conflicts of the realm. You are here because you have the capacity to bring about change, to forge bonds that will tip the scales."

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. "And if I refuse?"

ROB's expression didn't change, but the air around him seemed to grow heavier, more intense. "Refusal is not an option. The path has already been set. Your arrival was foretold, and now, the world of Pangea awaits."

I wanted to argue, to demand answers, but something in his gaze held me back. It wasn't just power—it was inevitability. Like trying to fight the tide.

"What do I have to do?" I asked, my voice steadying as I accepted the reality of the situation.

ROB nodded, as if approving of my resolve. "You will receive a Grimoire, a tome that will bind you to the creatures of this world. Through it, you will forge bonds, not of domination, but of respect and mutual aid. You will travel across Pangea, gathering allies, confronting those who threaten the balance, and ultimately, you will decide the fate of this world."

As he spoke, a book began to materialize in front of me, hovering just within reach. It was large, its cover a deep, burnished bronze, with intricate symbols etched deeply into the metal, glowing faintly with a golden hue. The surface was cool to the touch, yet it pulsed with a warmth that seemed to emanate from within, as if the very essence of ancient power was contained within its pages. My hand moved on its own, reaching out, fingertips brushing against the cold, solid surface, and I could feel a connection, something stirring deep within me, waiting to be awakened.

"The Grimoire will guide you," ROB continued, his voice fading into the background as my focus locked onto the book. "But remember, Cleo, the bonds you forge will define your journey. This world is wild, full of challenges, but also full of wonder. Embrace it, and you will find your place."

I wrapped my fingers around the Grimoire, feeling a pulse of energy shoot through me, like a connection had been made, something ancient and powerful.

"Good luck, Cleo," ROB's voice echoed, growing distant, as the world around me began to shift once more. "The world of Pangea is now your home."

And just like that, the forest vanished, and I was somewhere else—somewhere new, somewhere I had no choice but to face whatever came next.

===

Somewhere in Pangea.

The Pangean sky was heavy with the promise of rain, gray clouds swirling like restless spirits above the sprawling estate of the Hiryū Clan. The clan was one of the oldest and most revered, known for its mastery of Dragon and Flying-type Pokémon and its deep connection to the ancient Grimoires. Nestled among the emerald hills, the estate was a fortress of tradition and power, where the clan's bloodline was everything, and the strength of one's bond with their Pokémon determined their fate.

In the heart of the estate, the grand hall buzzed with hushed voices, the air thick with tension. The clan elders, wizened and severe, sat in their places of honor, their expressions grim. Servants moved silently along the walls, their heads bowed, as if the very air weighed too heavily upon them. All eyes were fixed on a single point—the ornate bed draped in silken sheets, where the clan's young master, Ryuji, lay motionless.

Ryuji, the pride of the Hiryū Clan, had been in a deep, inexplicable coma for days. The healers had come and gone, their faces growing darker with each visit, unable to rouse him from his slumber. Whispers of curses and dark omens spread through the clan like wildfire. The young master had been the hope of the clan, destined to undergo his bonding ceremony with a Grimoire that very week, an event that was to secure his place as the future leader of the clan. His bond with his first Dragon-type Pokémon was supposed to be a historic moment, symbolizing the continuation of the Hiryū Clan's legendary mastery over the skies and the powerful dragons that ruled them. But now, he was slipping away, leaving the clan vulnerable and leaderless.

The eldest of the clan, Elder Hiroshi, stood at the foot of the bed, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, his face a mask of stern resolve. He had watched over his grandson with growing despair, knowing that the loss of the young master could plunge the clan into chaos. The other elders murmured amongst themselves, debating the next course of action, but no one dared to suggest what everyone feared: that the young master would not wake, and with his death, the unbonded Grimoire would remain dormant, a symbol of a promise unfulfilled.

Suddenly, the silence in the room was shattered by a gasp—a small sound, but in the stillness, it was as loud as a thunderclap. All heads turned toward the bed, where Ryuji's fingers twitched, then his eyelids fluttered. A collective breath was held as his eyes slowly opened, revealing pupils that were clear, sharp, and filled with a bewilderment that sent a shiver through the room.

Elder Hiroshi stepped forward, his voice low and trembling with both hope and authority. "Ryuji…?"

The young master blinked, his eyes darting around the room, taking in the unfamiliar faces, the lavish surroundings. This was not the street he had been walking on moments ago. This was not the world he knew. He felt the weight of his body, stronger, taller than it should be, and the flood of foreign memories that surged through his mind like a river breaking its banks.

I am… not Ryuji, Cleo thought, the realization crashing down like a hammer. But the words didn't leave his lips. Instead, he nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond, feeling the weight of expectation from the gazes fixed upon him.

The elders exchanged glances, confusion and suspicion swirling in their eyes. Ryuji had been comatose for days, hovering between life and death. But now, he was awake, and something about him was different—his posture, his gaze, the way he looked at them as if seeing them for the first time. There was no recognition in his eyes, no warmth, no familiarity.

Elder Hiroshi approached the bed, his voice softening. "Grandson, you have returned to us. Do you… remember what happened?"

Cleo's mind raced. He could feel the fragments of Ryuji's memories mingling with his own, a jigsaw puzzle of another life. But the pieces didn't fit, and the more he tried to piece them together, the more he felt his own identity slipping. He took a deep breath, trying to focus, to ground himself.

"I… I was lost," Cleo managed, his voice rough, a reflection of the young master's own, but with a trace of his true self. "But I've found my way back."

The elders murmured again, some nodding, others narrowing their eyes. Elder Hiroshi, however, seemed relieved, a weary smile touching his lips. "The heavens have favored us," he said, turning to the others. "Our young master has returned. We must give thanks."

Cleo pushed himself up, feeling the strength in his limbs, the unfamiliar power that came with this new body. He was Ryuji now, at least to everyone else. He had no choice but to play the part, to navigate this new life, this new world. But the bond that should have been there—the bond with the Grimoire—was absent, leaving him feeling exposed, incomplete.

A sudden rustling sound drew his attention to the foot of the bed, where an ornately bound book lay. The Grimoire, untouched, unawakened, waiting for the ceremony that had not yet come to pass. Cleo felt a pang of anxiety—this was a critical part of the young master's life, something that would soon be expected of him. And he had no idea how to proceed.

He glanced out of the window, where in the distance, powerful dragons soared through the sky, their scales shimmering in the dim light, accompanied by their Flying-type kin. This was a land where the heavens were ruled by these majestic creatures, and the Hiryū Clan was their master. Yet, here he was, unbonded, and without the connection that was supposed to define his place in this world.

The tension in the room began to ease, but Cleo could still feel the weight of the elders' scrutiny. He was in a world he didn't know, in a body that wasn't his, with a destiny he didn't understand. But one thing was clear—this was real, as real as the weight of the Grimoire that now rested beside him, a reminder of the expectations that loomed over him.

"You must rest," Elder Hiroshi said, placing a hand on Cleo's shoulder. "You've been through an ordeal. We will speak more in the morning."

Cleo nodded, grateful for the reprieve. He needed time to think, to process everything that had happened, everything that was happening. As the elders began to file out of the room, he lay back down, staring up at the ornately carved ceiling.

The storm of thoughts in his mind was relentless. He was Cleo, but he was also Ryuji now. And in this world, that meant something far more than he could comprehend. The unbonded Grimoire was a symbol of his new reality, a key to a future he was not yet prepared for.

As he drifted into a restless sleep, Cleo couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning—that the path ahead was filled with dangers and mysteries he could not yet see. But one thing was certain: he was no longer a mere observer in his own life. He was a player, and the game had just begun.

The first rays of dawn filtered through the ornate latticework of the windows, casting delicate patterns of light and shadow across the room. Cleo—no, Ryuji—lay still on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind a chaotic whirl of thoughts and memories. The weight of the unfamiliar body he now inhabited pressed down on him, heavy and strange, yet somehow familiar in a way that defied explanation.

He could feel the remnants of Ryuji's life swimming in his mind, like fragments of a shattered mirror, each piece reflecting a different aspect of the young master's existence. There were memories of training, of learning the ways of the Hiryū Clan, of revering the powerful dragons that soared through the skies. He remembered the pride in his father's eyes, the stern guidance of Elder Hiroshi, and the pressure—the overwhelming pressure—to succeed, to bond with the Grimoire and secure his place as the next leader of the clan.

But these memories were not his own. They clashed violently with the life he had known, a life on Earth, in a world where Pokémon existed only in games, where Grimoires were the stuff of fantasy novels. Cleo was an ordinary guy, living an ordinary life, and now… now he was Ryuji, in a world that felt both alien and achingly familiar.

He sat up slowly, trying to piece together the events that had led him here. It was like trying to hold water in his hands—every time he thought he had a grasp on the situation, the details slipped through his fingers.

"Transmigrated," he whispered to himself, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. It was a concept he had read about in those light novels he sometimes indulged in, where characters were transported to another world, another body. But this… this wasn't just a story. It was real.

Cleo—Ryuji—shook his head, trying to focus. The memories of this world were fragmented, like an old film reel with missing scenes. He remembered fragments of a life steeped in tradition and duty, of a clan that revered Dragon and Flying-type Pokémon, of a looming ceremony that would bond him to a Grimoire, a mystical book of power that would define his future. Yet, those memories felt disconnected, as if they belonged to someone else entirely—a ghost of a life he had somehow stepped into.

But there was something more. The existence of the Grimoire, the power it held, was beyond anything he had ever known. This wasn't just a world of Pokémon; it was something deeper, something richer. The Grimoires, those living tomes, were key to the bonds between humans and Pokémon in this world, much more profound than the Poké Balls and Trainers he was familiar with. They were vessels of ancient magic, of power that connected the very soul of a person to the essence of a Pokémon, a bond forged in mutual respect and understanding.

Why am I here? The question echoed in his mind, unanswered. He had no clear purpose, no grand destiny that he was aware of, only the fragments of Ryuji's life and the knowledge that he now had to navigate this strange new reality.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the coolness of the stone floor biting at his bare feet. Outside, the sounds of the estate waking up reached his ears—servants preparing for the day, the distant roars of dragons greeting the morning sun, and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. This was Ryuji's world, not Cleo's, yet he was the one who had to live it now.

First things first, he thought, pushing himself to stand. He needed to gather as much information as he could, to understand the world he had been thrust into, and to figure out how to proceed. The Grimoire, still resting on the table beside the bed, caught his eye. Its burnished bronze cover, etched with deep, intricate runes, seemed to pulse with an energy that called to him, a reminder of the ceremony he was supposed to undergo.

He approached the Grimoire cautiously, as if it might spring to life at any moment. Hesitating, he reached out a hand, fingertips brushing the cool surface of the cover. A tingle of power shot through him, a connection that was not yet formed but hinted at the potential waiting to be unlocked. This book, this ancient artifact, was the key to everything.

But as he stood there, memories of Ryuji's training flickered through his mind—days spent learning the intricate rituals, the importance of respect and trust, the consequences of failure. The bond with the Grimoire was not something to be taken lightly. It was sacred, a rite of passage that marked the transition from youth to adulthood in the Hiryū Clan. And it was a bond that Ryuji—now Cleo—had yet to form.

What would they expect from me? he wondered. The elders had been watching him closely, their eyes filled with suspicion and hope. They expected the young master to return to them, to fulfill his destiny. But he wasn't the young master they knew. He was Cleo, a stranger in borrowed skin, trying to piece together a life that wasn't his.

The door to the room slid open with a soft hiss, and Cleo turned to see a young servant bowing respectfully at the threshold. "Young Master Ryuji," the servant said, her voice trembling slightly, "the elders have requested your presence in the main hall. They… they wish to discuss your awakening."

Cleo nodded, swallowing the knot of anxiety that formed in his throat. He didn't know what he was going to say, how he was going to explain the changes they might sense in him. But he had no choice. He had to play the part, at least until he understood more about this world, about why he had been brought here.

"Tell them I'll be there shortly," he replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. The servant bowed again and left, leaving Cleo alone with his thoughts.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the challenges ahead. He was no longer Cleo, the ordinary man from Earth. He was Ryuji, heir to the Hiryū Clan, master of dragons and the skies. And whatever had brought him to this world, whatever purpose lay hidden in the depths of his new life, he would face it head-on.

With one last glance at the Grimoire, he turned and made his way to the door, ready to step into the role he had been thrust into, ready to face the elders and the destiny that awaited him.