Chapter 11: Grandpa Maren

--1 year later--

Seven-year-old Gladion sat on a bench in their Pokemon ranch, his legs dangling, watching as his sister Gwen chased a very confused Pidgey through the yard - quite literally through it, her ghostly form passing harmlessly through trees and fences.

"Gwen! Stop terrorizing the local Pokemon!" Erza called, her voice tinged with equal parts exasperation and amusement.

Gladion sighed, a sound far too world-weary for his young years. His Machop, sensing his mood, patted his leg comfortingly. The boy smiled down at his Pokemon, grateful for the silent support.

Over the past few weeks, Gladion had noticed subtle changes in the household atmosphere. Hushed conversations between his parents, worried glances exchanged when they thought no one was looking, and most tellingly, the increased frequency of Grandpa Maren's "check-ups" with the family doctor.

Gladion's keen eyes hadn't missed how Grandpa Maren's movements had become stiffer, how he winced when he thought no one was looking, or how he'd take longer breaks during their training sessions.

Yes, training sessions, Grandpa Maren has taken it on himself to teach the kids how to use their respective aura powers and how to control it.

The old war injuries, stories of which had once enthralled Gladion and Gwen, seemed to be catching up with the aging veteran.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite brooding grandson," came a familiar gravelly voice, interrupting Gladion's thoughts.

Gladion looked up to see Grandpa Maren sitting beside him. Despite the twinkle in his eye, Maren's movements were slower than usual, his breathing slightly labored.

"I'm your only grandson, Grandpa," Gladion pointed out, lips twitching into a small smile.

"Ah, but you'd still be my favorite even if I had a hundred," Maren winked. "Now, want to tell your old gramps why you're out here looking like a Gloom on a sunny day?"

Gladion hesitated, then blurted out, "You're sick, aren't you? Really sick. And everyone's trying to hide it, but I can tell."

Maren's bushy eyebrows shot up, then he let out a wheezy chuckle. "Sharp as a Scyther, you are. Can't pull the wool over your eyes, can we?"

He leaned back, studying Gladion with a mixture of pride and curiosity. "You know, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. You're not like other kids your age, Gladion. Heck, you're not like most adults I know."

Gladion tensed, fear flickering across his face. Maren noticed and quickly added, "And that's a marvelous thing, my boy. Marvelous indeed."

The old man's eyes twinkled as he continued, "I've seen how you are with Pokemon. The way you connected with that Machop of yours? Downright miraculous. And your psychic powers? Strongest I've ever seen, and I've been around since Magikarp first learned to splash!"

Gladion relaxed a bit, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Really?"

"Really," Maren confirmed. "You've got a gift, Gladion. And I don't just mean your ability to accidentally launch your breakfast across the room with your mind."

They both chuckled, remembering the incident from last week that had left poor Ben wearing Gladion's oatmeal.

Maren's face grew serious, though the twinkle never left his eye. "That's why I want to ask something of you. A dream of mine, you could say."

Gladion leaned forward, nearly falling off the porch in his eagerness.

"Our family gym," Maren began, "it's been a minor league gym since it was formed. But I've always dreamed of seeing it become a major league gym. It's a tough road, nearly impossible some would say. Like trying to teach a Snorlax to tapdance."

Gladion's eyes widened. "And you think I could do it?"

Maren grinned. "Kid, I think you could teach that Snorlax to riverdance if you set your mind to it. But listen, there's no pressure. Your path is your own to choose. Just promise me you'll follow your dreams, whatever they may be. Become the best trainer you can be, and the rest will follow."

Tears welled up in Gladion's eyes as he nodded solemnly. "I promise, Grandpa."

Maren ruffled Gladion's hair affectionately. "That's my boy. Now, how about we go inside and see if we can convince your mom to make those Poke Puffs you love so much?"

'You might try to hide it boy but there is something special about you. You are intelligent beyond your years but that is expected of a Psychic I guess. I might not have much time left but I would help both you and Little Gweny before I kick the bucket and become a gastly.'

As they stood up, Maren winced, his hand automatically going to his side where an old war wound resided. Gladion pretended not to notice, but his heart clenched with worry.

The next morning, the Vortex household erupted into chaos.

"He's gone!" Erza cried, waving a note in the air. "Dad's gone to Mt. Silver!"

Ben, ever the voice of reason (or at least attempted reason), tried to calm his wife. "Now, dear, I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation for why our elderly, ill father decided to climb a notoriously dangerous mountain..."

His voice trailed off as he realized how ridiculous that sounded.

Gwen, who had been floating through the ceiling, poked her head down. "Is Grandpa playing hide and seek? Can I play too?"

Gladion, meanwhile, stood in the corner, his young face etched with worry. He knew, with a certainty that went beyond his years, that this was no game. Grandpa Maren was up to something, something important.

Days passed, feeling like years to the worried family. Erza alternated between pacing furiously and making increasingly frantic phone calls. Ben tried to keep everyone's spirits up with jokes that grew progressively worse ("Why did grandpa Maren cross Mt. Silver? To get to the other side!").

Gwen, bless her spectral heart, decided the best way to help was to practice her invisibility by popping out at random moments to "surprise" everyone into happiness.

Gladion, for his part, spent most of his time on the porch, eyes fixed on the distant silhouette of Mt. Silver. His Machop stood vigil with him, occasionally offering a supportive flex.

On the fifth day, as storm clouds gathered ominously on the horizon (because of course they did), there was a knock at the door. The family rushed to answer it, hope and fear warring in their hearts.

There, leaning heavily on his faithful Rhydon, stood Grandpa Maren. He looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a particularly grumpy Ursaring, his clothes tattered and his beard even wilder than usual. But his eyes... his eyes shone with the light of triumph.

"Grandpa!" the twins cried in unison. Gwen, in her excitement, accidentally phased through him, causing Maren to shiver dramatically.

"Brr! Nothing like a ghostly granddaughter to wake you up after a long trek!" he chuckled.

Erza and Ben helped Maren to the couch, relief and exasperation battling in their expressions.

"Dad, what were you thinking?" Erza scolded, even as she checked him for injuries. "You could have been hurt! Or worse, you could have run into a wild Jigglypuff and been forced to listen to its singing!"

Maren winced at the thought. "Now, now, no need for such dire scenarios. I had to do something important. Couldn't wait."

"But why, Grandpa?" Gladion asked, his voice small and worried. "Why did you have to go?"

Maren's eyes softened as he looked at his grandson. "Sometimes, my boy, an old man needs to prove to himself that he's still got some fight left in him. And sometimes... sometimes he needs to make sure he's done everything he can for those he loves."

He reached out and squeezed Gladion's hand. "Don't you worry about me. I've got twice the stubbornness of a Tauros. I'm not going anywhere just yet."

"Now let me sleep and tomorrow morning, I will tell you guys about why I went to Mt. Silver." Maren said before disappearing into his bedroom

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