Shadows of the Past

 Viridian City was a sensory overload for Ethan. Sure, it had the usual city stuff – honking cars, bright lights, people yelling at pigeons – but here, those pigeons were Pidgeys, and the yelling was probably directed at a thieving Meowth. It was like stepping into a living Pokémon game, which, well, kind of freaked him out at first.

Ethan wasn't exactly from here. He had these weird, fuzzy memories of another life, a world without fire-breathing Charizards or grumpy Bulbasaur starters. But his dreams here were vivid, filled with epic Pokémon battles and legendary creatures that sent chills down his spine (good chills, mostly). It was like his brain was downloading a whole new operating system – one with super-powered animals and way more grass.

At first, he thought it was just a weird side effect of, well, whatever happened that brought him here. But the dreams kept coming, clearer each night. He started recognizing places – Viridian Forest, Pewter Gym, even freaking Professor Oak's lab – places he'd only ever seen in pixelated form back in his old life.

Then it hit him like a Hyper Beam. This wasn't just any world; this was the Pokémon world, the one he'd spent countless hours exploring with a trusty Game Boy in his hand. Now, it was real, and a thrill – mixed with a healthy dose of fear – shot through him. He knew the dangers lurking in tall grass, the tough trainers guarding gyms, and the legendary Pokémon whispered about in hushed tones.

But with this awesome knowledge came a bummer of a burden. His mom, Jenny, wasn't exactly a respected police officer here. In his fragmented memories, she was a single parent, struggling to make ends meet in a cramped Viridian apartment. Shame, a thick, suffocating fog, seemed to hang over them both, thanks to something he couldn't quite grasp.

The weight of this foreknowledge pressed down on him. He couldn't change the past, but maybe, just maybe, he could change their future. He wouldn't be some rich trainer with a fancy starter Pokémon from Professor Oak. Resources would be tight, and every decision would be crucial.

Unlike the spoiled rich kids of Viridian, Ethan wouldn't have the luxury of catching a whole team. Professor Oak wouldn't be his sugar daddy, and sponsors wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot Tentacruel – all thanks to the whole "disgraced mom" thing. He'd have to be smart, make every Pokeball count.

"Mom," Ethan began, his voice barely above a whisper, as they sat down for their meager dinner of rice and mystery meat stew. His mother, Jenny, a woman whose once bright eyes were now dulled by worry, looked up from her plate.

"What is it, Ethan?" she asked, a faint spark of concern flickering in her gaze.

Ethan found himself struggling for words. He couldn't just blurt out, "Hey, so I think I'm from another world and I know everything about Pokémon!" No, he had to be subtle, gather information first. 

"Do you remember… anything about your job with the police?" he finally managed.

Jenny's smile faltered. "Not much, honey," she said, her voice strained. "It's a blur. But why do you ask?"

"Just curious," Ethan mumbled, feeling a pang of guilt. He knew there was more to the story, but his mother wasn't one to readily share her pain.

Life in Viridian City was a constant hustle. Jenny, despite her once distinguished career, could only find work as a cleaner at the Pokémon Center. It wasn't glamorous, but it paid the bills, barely. Ethan, on the other hand, spent his days running errands for the local Poke Mart, lugging heavy bags of Pokeballs and potions for trainers who wouldn't even spare him a glance.

Every night, after their meager supper, Ethan would sneak out to Viridian Forest's edge, careful not to be caught by any patrolling Officer Jennies (except his mom, of course). Here, the Pokémon world he knew from his dreams collided with harsh reality. He'd watch Pidgey's squabbling over berries, witness the territorial squawks of Spearow, and observe the graceful movements of Butterfree flitting between the trees. He wouldn't dare throw a Pokeball – they were far too precious to waste – but he carefully observed each Pokémon's behaviour, storing the knowledge in his ever-growing mental library.

One evening, as the first stars began to twinkle in the twilight sky, Ethan spotted a sight that made his heart skip a beat. A lone Growlithe, its fur matted and its tail drooping, limped out of the undergrowth. Its brown eyes, filled with a mix of fear and pain, met Ethan's gaze.

Memories flickered in Ethan's mind – memories of ferocious Arcanines, loyal companions, and a particular fire-type starter he knew all too well. This Growlithe, though injured and alone, held the potential for greatness.

This wouldn't be a cakewalk through Pokémon Gyms. It would be a fight for survival, a battle against poverty and the whispers that followed his mom around. Armed with his Pokémon knowledge and a burning desire to carve his own path, Ethan knew his journey wouldn't be easy. But with the memories of his past life guiding him and a loyal companion by his side, he was ready to face the challenges that awaited him in the world of Pokémon.

Seven years old. That's when things got real for Ethan, not when he popped out of some screaming machine at the hospital, but under the rustling leaves of Viridian Forest. He'd snuck past his mom like a Meowth past a bowl of cream, drawn by a weird feeling in his gut that tugged him deeper than usual. The usual symphony of Pidgey chirps and Bellsprout groans died down, replaced by an eerie silence that made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

Then he saw it. A lone Growlithe, its fur looking like it hadn't seen a brush since forever, limped out of the bushes, whimpering like a scared Ekans. Its brown eyes were cloudy with pain, but there was a spark in there that mirrored the nervous flutter in Ethan's stomach. This wasn't the cool, fire-breathing Growlithe from his dreams – this was a beat-up pup in bad shape, kind of like Ethan felt most days.

Fear prickled at Ethan; he knew Growlithes could pack a mean Apollo attack. But something about the way this one looked, all defeated and stuff, made him stay put. He crouched low, voice softer than a sleeping Bulbasaur.

"Hey there, fella," he mumbled, slowly reaching out a hand. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt ya."

The Growlithe flinched, a low growl rumbling in its throat like a Cubone digging under his bed. Ethan froze, the forest suddenly feeling a whole lot bigger. Minutes crawled by, each one longer than a Snorlax nap. The Growlithe kept him locked in its suspicious stare, its ragged breaths shallow and quick.

Then, finally, hesitantly, it nudged Ethan's hand with its wet nose. Relief flooded him like a refreshing waterfall. It wasn't exactly a high five, but it wasn't a bite, either. It was a shaky truce, a maybe-we-can-be-friends kind of thing.

Ethan ended up spending the next hour just hanging out with the Growlithe, talking in a soothing voice and trying to calm it down. Slowly, the tension seeped out of the Pokémon, who even let Ethan take a peek at the source of its troubles – a nasty gash on its back leg.

Ethan knew what he had to do. Sneaking back home, he raided the bathroom like a hungry Rattata, snagging a roll of gauze and a bottle of disinfectant from his mom's hidden stash (because let's face it, everyone has secrets). Back in the forest, he carefully cleaned Growlithe's wound, earning a soft whimper for his efforts. As he wrapped the leg in gauze, a silent promise bloomed in his chest. He wouldn't ditch this Pokémon, not after it didn't chomp him into bits.

The next few days were all about quick visits to the forest after dark. Ethan would sneak out scraps of food from their already-meager meals and keep cleaning Growlithe's leg. The Pokémon, initially wary as a Paras hiding in tall grass, gradually warmed up to him. It started greeting him with a happy tail wag and scarfing down his offerings with grateful little grumbles.

Ethan decided to call him Apollo, a name that felt right considering the hidden fire he saw in the little guy. He'd tell Apollo all about his dreams of becoming a Pokémon Master, whispering about epic battles and legendary Pokémon under the cloak of night. Apollo, in turn, would listen patiently, its head resting on Ethan's lap as they watched the stars twinkle to life.

Weeks turned into months. The gash on Apollo's leg healed completely, leaving a faint scar as a reminder of their first meeting. Their bond grew stronger with each passing day. Ethan learned how Apollo stalked its prey, how it used its amazing nose to find the best hiding spots. He could practically read Apollo's mood, understanding what a twitch of an ear or a narrowed eye meant. In return, Apollo seemed to get Ethan's anxieties and frustrations, offering a comforting lick or a reassuring nudge whenever he felt down.

One evening, as they sat by their secret hideout – a fallen log draped with a ratty old shirt Ethan "borrowed" from his room – an idea popped into Ethan's head. He remembered the single Pokeball his mom kept hidden away, a relic from a past she never talked about. He knew he wouldn't use it on Apollo unless the Pokémon totally agreed, so he did something unexpected.

He held out the Pokeball, its red and white surface catching the moonlight. Apollo tilted its head, curious. With a deep breath, Ethan pressed the button. The Pokeball burst open, bathing the clearing in a red glow. He wasn't sure what would happen. Maybe Apollo would freak, or worse, try to roast him.

Moonlight dappled the forest floor, making Ethan squint. Here, tucked away in their secret spot with the rustling leaves for company, the whole "catching a Pokémon" thing felt kinda weird. He fiddled with the Pokeball in his hand, feeling like a goof offering a friendship bracelet to a stray Meowth.

"So," Ethan mumbled, kicking at a clump of dirt with his worn-out sneaker, "this is a Pokeball, see? Kinda like a… super cool friendship thing. We understand each other better, fight together, stuff like that."

Apollo, a handsome Growlithe with fur the colour of a penny after a good polish, tilted his head, ears perked like miniature radars. The Pokeball sat awkwardly in the ferns, a bright red and white spot amongst the green. Here, it was just them – Ethan, a scrawny seven-year-old with dreams bigger than a Snorlax, and Apollo, his loyal pal they'd found in the forest.

Ethan remembered seeing pictures of fiery monsters in his head – Arcanines, the ultimate form of a Growlithe. But here, whispers about Arcanines were like ghost stories, legendary Pokémon people only talked about in hushed tones. And Fire Stones, those things from his old life that supposedly made Growlithes evolve? Yeah, they were real, but nobody knew what they actually did. Maybe they sparked some hidden power, but nobody knew if that meant turning into a giant fire dog or something.

Apollo whined softly, a questioning rumble escaping his throat. He nudged the Pokeball with his snout, brown eyes full of confusion. Was this a toy? A leash? Was Ethan trying to be his boss or something?

A grin cracked Ethan's face. Maybe he was overthinking it all. "Look," he said, lowering himself to Apollo's level, "if you ever feel like this whole Pokeball thing isn't working, just tap it three times, alright? Like a super 'get out of here' card. We can still be friends, promise."

Apollo considered this; his gaze unwavering. He nudged the Pokeball again, this time with a playful shove. Then, with a happy yelp, he snatched the Pokeball in his mouth and tossed it in the air like a fetch toy. Relief washed over Ethan, the tension dissolving faster than a forgotten ice cream cone on a hot day. This wasn't about catching Apollo; it was about choosing each other. Team forever!

The next few months were a blur of fun. The Pokeball became their regular hangout buddy, chilling near their log whenever they met. Sometimes, Apollo would tap it playfully, sending it rolling across the forest floor. And every time, Ethan would pick it up with a grin, a reminder of their awesome bond.

Their training sessions got more serious, like actual training and not just messing around. Ethan practiced dodging Apollo's playful Flamethrower attacks, the heat barely singeing his clothes. Apollo, in turn, learned to be a super sniffer, finding hidden berries and leading Ethan to secret clearings filled with cool Pokémon.

One night, under a sky glittering with more stars than a Clefairy convention, Ethan shared a secret – a story about a faraway place called Johto, where a legendary silver wolf lived. He whispered about a "Rainbow Stone," a mythical item rumoured to evolve Pokémon under super special circumstances.

Apollo's eyes gleamed with curiosity. Was Ethan just spinning another crazy tale? Or maybe there was a tiny bit of truth in this story about evolving beyond Arcanine, a legend passed down through generations of Pokémon in hushed tones? The answer, like the evolution itself, remained a mystery, a challenge waiting to be discovered.

No matter what happened with evolution, one thing was for sure – their bond grew stronger every day. Ethan and Apollo weren't just a trainer and their Pokémon; they were best buds, partners in crime, ready to explore this amazing world together. Their journey had just begun, and the Pokeball, once a symbol of an uncertain future, now sat comfortably by their side, a symbol of their unwavering trust in each other.