The hall was alive with a hum that seeped into Aaron's bones. Pale lavender light glowed from veins in the marble floor, swirling outward from the center like living circuits. Psychic energy pulsed in the air—gentle yet suffocating, like an invisible tide pressing against his skin.
Aaron adjusted his ridiculous ceremonial robe. It was deep indigo, embroidered with silver spirals and crowned with a stiff collar that scratched the back of his neck every time he turned his head. Whoever designed it had clearly never battled a day in their life.
In front of him, the Royce family's Psychic Emblem floated atop a silver pedestal. A perfect sphere of crystal, its core pulsed with a slow, steady heartbeat of violet light. The Emblem had been passed down through generations, a mark of the family's elite power. Today, it waited for him.
To his right, his father stood tall, arms crossed behind his back, an unblinking gaze fixed on Aaron. Adrian Royce radiated the quiet, crushing authority of a man who had never once lost control of a battle—or his emotions.
To his left, his mother Selene adjusted her sleek violet blazer, her sharp eyes scanning the ceremony chamber like a tactical readout. If Adrian was the psychic hammer, Selene was the scalpel—precise, efficient, unflinching.
And directly behind the Emblem, perched cross-legged in midair, was Grandpa Max.
Maximilian Royce—the legendary Psychic Champion, the man who had tamed beasts of thought and mind across the Arclight Region—currently hovering three feet above the ground, munching on a bag of Honey Puffs.
"Bit tense, aren't we?" Max said, crunching loudly. "Relax, kid. It's just your destiny."
Aaron fought the urge to laugh. His father's brow twitched slightly, as if suppressing a psychic migraine.
From the corners of the hall, Royce family attendants stood in silence, heads bowed beneath their hooded robes. The entire chamber was built to feel like a temple—pillars of amethyst crystal, hovering lights, ancient murals of Psychic Pokémon etched in silver relief.
But all Aaron could think about was how itchy his robe was.
A deep hum filled the air as the Emblem rose higher, casting its glow over him. A voice echoed through the chamber—not spoken, but projected telepathically by Adrian himself, crisp and formal.
"Aaron Royce. Firstborn of the Royce Line. Do you stand before us ready to claim your legacy as Psychic Heir, to carry our bloodline's power and pride into the next generation?"
Aaron felt the familiar psychic weight settle over his mind, a presence as large and ancient as the hall itself.
He straightened his back. Took a slow breath.
His gaze drifted from the glowing Emblem to his grandfather's amused grin, to his mother's expectant nod, and finally to his father's impassive stare.
He could feel it—every ounce of family tradition pressing down on his shoulders like iron chains. The Royce family. Champions of Psychic mastery. Unbroken for generations.
He smiled.
A little too wide.
And for a heartbeat, the room froze.
Aaron's voice broke the silence like a thrown Poké Ball shattering glass.
"I'm not taking it."
The hum of psychic energy faltered, like a machine choking on its own power. The glowing Emblem froze midair, its pulse stuttering in confusion.
Adrian Royce's eyes narrowed a fraction of a millimeter. For most men, that would be shouting.
Selene lowered her hand from her temple, where she'd been gently resting her chin, and let out the softest exhale—half sigh, half disappointed chuckle.
Only Grandpa Max moved. Slowly, delicately, he set his bag of Honey Puffs aside.
"Go on, kid," Max said, his grin wide enough to split mountains. "Say it again, nice and loud. I don't think your ancestors in the astral plane heard you the first time."
Aaron took a step forward. His ceremonial robes dragged against the marble floor, making him look briefly like a toddler tripping over curtains. He tugged them aside with one hand.
"I said I'm not claiming the Psychic Emblem. I'm not gonna be the next Royce Psychic Champion. I'll make my own path."
Silence.
The kind of silence where the walls themselves seemed to lean in, listening.
He could feel the ancient portraits of past Royce family heads staring down at him from the upper galleries—generations of perfect Psychic Masters, carved into stone and ego.
Adrian Royce spoke softly, but his words struck like Confusion.
"You would abandon your lineage? For what? A childish fantasy?"
Aaron smiled, sharp and boyish. "For fun."
A flicker of something crossed Adrian's face. Disappointment? Pity? Or was it... respect? Aaron couldn't tell.
Selene adjusted her glasses. "You could be the strongest Psychic Trainer alive. Why dilute that?"
"Because being the strongest Psychic Trainer alive sounds boring," Aaron said, shrugging. "I want to be the most unpredictable Trainer alive."
A sound echoed through the hall.
Laughter.
Grandpa Max's laughter. Loud, rolling, belly-deep laughter that shattered the tension like glass.
"HA! Oh, Arceus, finally. I've been waiting decades for someone to shake this dusty tomb up."
Max clapped his hands, and with a sharp flash of psychic light, a strange object materialized above his palm.
A spinning, metallic device shaped like a cross between a Poké Ball and a roulette wheel. Its outer ring shimmered with elemental symbols. Tiny lights blinked and spun in rapid circles.
"The Gacha Gear," Max said, tossing it underhand to Aaron. "Lost tech from the old world. One spin, one random pull. Could be a Wurmple, could be a Rayquaza. Spin the wheel, kid."
Aaron caught it instinctively. It vibrated in his hand, warm and faintly humming with power.
Adrian's expression darkened slightly. "Father. That device is unstable."
Max just winked. "So's the kid."
Aaron turned the Gacha Gear over in his hands. The urge to press the glowing central button was irresistible.
"Just one spin?" he asked, glancing at Max.
"Hit it," Grandpa said, floating a little higher in the air. "Let's see what chaos you unleash first."
Aaron grinned and jabbed the button.
The room filled with a whirling hum as the device spun, lights flashing in rapid succession—Electric, Water, Psychic, Fire, Normal, Bug, Dragon, Fairy... faster and faster until it was a blur of color.
Then, with a sharp chime— PING!
A bright beam of light shot out and slammed into the floor with a small explosion of smoke and glitter.
When the smoke cleared, two Pokémon stood side by side.
Two shiny Ralts.
Twin shimmering figures, their bodies reflecting a pale, star-lit blue instead of the normal green. They blinked up at Aaron in perfect unison, heads tilted with innocent curiosity.
The room froze.
Aaron stared. Grandpa Max clapped a hand over his mouth in mock astonishment.
Aaron cracked a slow, mischievous grin.
"Well... guess I really am a Psychic Prince, huh?"
Grandpa Max howled with laughter. Adrian slowly closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Selene... actually smiled. Just a little.
The two shiny Ralts stared up at Aaron, their crystalline-blue helmets glimmering in the overhead light like twin moons.
One tilted its head left.
The other mirrored it right.
Aaron crouched down, grinning wide. "So, what do we call you two? Chaos and Mayhem? Peanut and Butter?"
The Ralts on the left made a small, melodic hum, as if unimpressed. The one on the right clapped its little arms excitedly.
"Well, at least one of you has taste," Aaron said, reaching out. The duo stepped forward in perfect sync, and as his palm hovered near them, a warm psychic connection slid into place. Not overpowering. Not commanding. Just... gentle curiosity.
Behind him, Adrian Royce finally broke the silence, his voice like steel wrapped in velvet.
"So. The Gacha answers with Psychic types."
Max floated lazily backward, hands behind his head. "Kinda poetic, huh? Even when the universe spins the wheel, our boy still rolls Psychic."
"But shiny twins," Selene murmured, stepping closer, her eyes analyzing them like rare gems under glass. "The odds are astronomical."
"About one in several million, give or take," Max said, popping another Honey Puff in his mouth. "Told you the gacha was unstable."
Aaron rose, brushing dust from his robes. "So. What now? Do I take the Psychic Emblem anyway, since fate clearly has jokes?"
Adrian stepped forward. The Emblem hovered silently between them, still glowing faintly. For a long moment, father and son locked eyes.
Then Adrian raised one hand—and the Emblem slowly lowered itself back onto the pedestal. Its light faded.
"You've chosen your path," Adrian said, voice even. "But you will still bear the Royce name. And you will still carry this."
From his coat, Adrian withdrew a sleek, silver badge. A stylized eye with seven points radiating outward—the Royce Family Crest, worn only by those recognized as full Trainers of the family.
He held it out.
Aaron hesitated... then took it.
It felt lighter than expected. Maybe because he wasn't carrying his ancestors' expectations anymore—just their love.
Adrian nodded once, sharp and final. "Make your own name. But never forget the one you were born with."
Aaron smirked, tucking the crest into his pocket. "Deal."
Grandpa Max clapped his hands together, psychic power shaking the walls slightly. "Welp! Destiny resolved. Who's hungry for pancakes?"
Selene rolled her eyes. "He's leaving today, Max."
Aaron blinked. "Wait, today-today?"
Selene handed him a small, sleek case—an all-purpose travel kit: Poké Balls, TMs, credits, and a thick notebook labeled 'Battle Thoughts'.
"Arceus University doesn't wait for slow starters," she said. "And you, dear son, are going to be late if you don't get moving."
The twin Ralts toddled toward his heels, looking ready for anything.
Aaron turned toward the massive double doors at the end of the hall. They swung open with a psychic hum, revealing a long marble staircase descending toward the sprawling Royce estate grounds.
For the first time in his life, the path forward didn't feel carved in stone.
He grinned.
"Let's go cause some trouble."
The twins followed, light footsteps echoing in the grand hall.
Behind him, Grandpa Max's voice called out, cheerful and sharp:
"Make 'em cry, kid!"
The air outside the Royce estate was crisp, laced with the faint hum of lingering psychic wards. As the enormous mansion doors drifted closed behind him, Aaron adjusted the strap of his travel bag and took his first real breath as a Trainer free of the family hall.
He knelt down, eyeing the two shiny Ralts who stood blinking in the sunlight. Their blue heads glinted in the morning light, curious and alert.
"Alright, partners," Aaron said, resting his elbows on his knees, "you're not just 'hey you' and 'other you.' You need names."
The Ralts on the left crossed its tiny arms and gave a low hum of disapproval.
The one on the right spun in a happy little circle.
Aaron grinned. "Okay, okay. Lefty... you're Luna. Righty, you're Sol."
Luna gave the faintest approving nod. Sol fell over excitedly.
"Perfect."
He stood, dusting off his robes—already loosening the stiff ceremonial folds to wear like a long, casual coat. His proper Royce uniform now looked half like a battle-ready cape, half like a rebel's shrug.
The path ahead stretched through the Royce Woods, a sprawling psychic-infused forest where the family's Pokémon sometimes trained in the wild. Though tamed long ago, the woods were far from harmless.
Aaron had barely gone fifty paces when the bushes rustled sharply ahead.
A wild Poochyena leapt out, fangs bared, hackles raised. Its yellow eyes locked onto Aaron's twins.
Aaron instinctively stepped forward, heart pounding for half a second before his grin returned.
"Alright, first test. Luna, Sol—you up for this?"
Luna nodded sharply. Sol tripped over his own feet and nodded from the ground.
"Perfect. Luna, use Confusion! Sol, copy her!"
Luna's eyes flashed first, psychic energy swirling in the air like a sudden gust of wind. Sol's power stuttered, smaller but eager. Twin waves of pale blue psychic force crashed toward the Poochyena.
The wild Pokémon yelped as the Confusion hit, staggering sideways—but it wasn't down yet.
It lunged forward, jaws glowing with Bite.
"Dodge left!" Aaron shouted.
Luna slipped sideways with grace. Sol panicked and tripped backward, landing with a yelp.
The Poochyena closed in fast on Sol.
Aaron's fingers flew to the Gacha Gear strapped at his hip. He slammed the button without hesitation.
The wheel spun madly, lights flashing Blue, Yellow, Pink, Green, too fast to see—until it pinged and ejected a small glowing orb into his hand.
Aaron caught it. A standard battle Potion.
"Guess it's not always flashy," he muttered, then threw it with surprising accuracy. The Potion cracked open mid-air, mist spraying over Sol just as the Bite landed.
Sol yelped, but the healing mist softened the blow. He bounced back up, slightly scuffed but smiling proudly.
"Alright, Sol. Your turn. Confusion—full blast!"
This time Sol's eyes flared bright as moonlight. A surge of psychic energy lifted the Poochyena clean off the ground and hurled it into a nearby bush with a startled yelp.
Silence fell.
Leaves drifted to the ground like lazy confetti.
Aaron let out a slow whistle. "Okay. Not bad for Round One."
He knelt between his Ralts twins, ruffling their heads. Luna batted his hand away with quiet dignity. Sol clung to his arm, beaming.
"Looks like we're in business, team."
The woods parted ahead, revealing the faint glimmer of Arceus University's spires far beyond the horizon.
Aaron adjusted his coat, a satisfied smirk curling on his lips.
"Let's break some expectations."
The Royce Woods thinned gradually, tall psychic-bonded trees giving way to fields of golden grass rippling under the midday breeze.
Aaron stretched his arms wide, feeling the sun on his face. After years cooped up behind psychic training barriers and strict family schedules, the open air tasted like rebellion.
Behind him, Luna floated slightly off the ground, arms tucked neatly against her sides. Her psychic aura shimmered faintly, keeping stray dust from touching her immaculate shine.
Beside her, Sol ran ahead in bursts, occasionally tripping over uneven roots, then popping back up with a cheerful squeak and racing forward again.
"Careful, Sol. You're gonna kiss dirt one of these days," Aaron called.
Sol tripped on cue, face-planting into a patch of clover.
Aaron chuckled and offered a hand. Sol grabbed it telekinetically, pulling himself up with a little flip.
"See? Balance. You're getting better already."
Luna rolled her eyes, an elegant, silent scolding that needed no words.
The path sloped downward, and suddenly, there it was—sprawled across the distant hills like a sleeping titan.
Arceus University.
Towers of glass and stone climbed skyward, intertwined with vines of living energy. Massive battle arenas floated on psychic platforms. Dormitory spires curved upward like the horns of a legendary beast.
And at the heart of it all: a colossal statue of Arceus, carved from radiant crystal, its thousand arms stretching out over the campus like a protective web.
Aaron let out a low whistle.
"Well. No pressure, huh?"
He reached down and absentmindedly pressed the Gacha Gear's button, curious what it might throw at him this time.
The wheel spun, colors flashing. After a short whirl— PING!—it spat out a single item.
A worn, slightly scuffed Pair of Running Shoes.
Aaron stared at them.
Luna tilted her head, unimpressed.
Sol clapped excitedly.
"... Not quite a Master Ball, but I'll take it," Aaron said, swapping out his stiff ceremonial boots for the blessedly comfortable sneakers.
He took a few experimental strides. Lighter. Faster.
"Alright, squad. You ready for this? School full of rich snobs, type elitists, and overpowered legacy kids who'll hate my guts for not kissing the Psychic throne?"
Luna gave a slow nod. Sol pumped both fists in the air.
"Perfect," Aaron grinned. "Let's crash the party."
With the university gates gleaming in the distance and the path wide open before them, they set off at a run.
Not toward their legacy.
Toward their chaos.