Red is cold. So cold.

There is no color here. His skin has faded from a healthy peach to a deathly pale. His bright red clothing has faded too; everything here fades to shades of gray over time. The only splash of chroma he finds are six red balls, strapped to his belt.

But those too will fade over time.

There is no life here, either. Red lets his Pokémon out, faded once-red boots sinking into snow. They worry for him, Red realizes. Charizard tries in vain to light a fire, and when that fails, all six Pokémon huddle around him, snuggling close to preserve body warmth. It's futile, Red thinks. All his body warmth must be gone by now. Red is dead to the world.

He's not truly dead, though. There is still the occasional searing pain that punctuates the numbness, reminding him that yes, he is frozen, but has not frozen to death yet.

But that doesn't matter.

Red will be dead soon enough.

There was a life he lived before this, Red recalls. Flashes of memory come back to him; he was younger then. Catching Pokémon was a game to him. There was a rival, too, with brown, spiky hair, with intense green eyes – but Red can't recall his name.

Red only remembers one thing clearly.

Once he was Champion. It was not enough. And so he came here.

Is Red still the Champion?

Red is not sure. He will never know, either. A few weeks ago he used to train nonstop, but now Red feels as if it does not matter anymore.

The cold reminds him of that every day.

Red does not care for himself, but he still cares for his Pokémon.

He keeps them in their Pokéballs now, so they won't have to bear the cold. He does no such thing for himself, though; he still spends every waking moment standing on the cliff, as the blizzard buffets him this way and that and the wind cuts through the thin fabric of his short sleeved shirt and freezes his already frozen skin.

There is no food left. Red has fed it all to his Pokémon, but now he can't keep them alive, either. So today he implores them to fly away on Charizard, one at a time, to the base of the mountain so they can receive food and treatment at a Pokécenter. They refuse, of course; loyalty to him has always been their fatal flaw. They do not deserve to die, but they will readily die with him.

Red knows this. He has always known it. Once, he shared that flaw as well, but it has been wiped out along with all his other emotion. He is uncaring and unchanging, and he will pass on before spring arrives. This he knows; he has read enough fairy tales in his younger days to know that people like him never survive long.

Espeon disagrees. Twining her tail around her leg, she projects words to him telepathically. "That is not true. If you were selfish, you would not have tried to send us to safety. You still have unwavering loyalty to us. That is the bond between Trainer and Pokémon."

Espeon can see deep into his heart, Red knows. But somehow, even knowing she speaks the truth, he cannot thaw his frozen heart to believe her.

The endless gray is fading into black now.

Red's eyes are closing. He is falling into a deep slumber, he thinks. His Pokémon are only blurs now, but now they nudge him frantically. Red does not know this, but his Pokémon know that if he loses consciousness now, this slumber is one he will never awaken from.

Red does not need to know, though, because in his heart he has already accepted death.

Red's time in this world has passed. The world will move on. His legacy will fade, too.

Everything will fade over time.

Red closes his eyes, and does not move again.

A young boy, younger than Red, now climbs the mountain. He gasps as his hands slip off the icy rocks he uses as handholds, but still he presses on. If Champion Red can do it, so can he.

Finally, there is nowhere else to climb, and the boy realizes he has reached the top of the mountain. The blizzard is strongest here. The boy's luminous golden eyes scan the snow expectantly, searching for a glimpse of red to signify Champion Red is still here.

There is nothing.

The boy's eyes are still wide and expectant, for he cannot, will not believe that he has made this journey, traveled this far, worked this hard for nothing.

And suddenly, there is a flash of yellow. A Pikachu stands before him, brown eyes wizened and sad. The boy does not heed this, however, and begins to take out a Pokéball. The Pikachu shakes its head almost imperceptibly; it will not battle today.

The yellow rodent makes its way slowly through the thick snow, and after a moment the boy decides to follow. The Pikachu stops, brushing away a bit of snow to reveal black feathers and a maroon jacket.

The boy kneels down, and with a twinge of horror realizes that the black feathers are hair, the red jacket is frozen and the pearly white between them is skin. This is a body.

"Red," the boy whispers.

If Red is dead, then that means it is time for a new Champion to guard the mountain. Somehow, the boy feels it is his duty to do so; after all, if he had battled Red and won, he would have taken Red's place as Champion.

A pink paw rests on the boy's hand, and the boy looks up into the sad eyes of an Espeon. "Do you see what has happened to Red?"

The boy nods.

"I will not allow you to share his fate." The Espeon's gaze grows intense and insistent. "You have a life to live. Red's time in this world is over, but yours is not."

The boy is hesitant, and Espeon can feel it in him; the unwavering desire to create a legacy the way Red has, to live and die the way Red did. This boy hero-worships Red, but he should not.

There were other admirable things about Red, such as his kindness and loyalty. But this boy cannot display those traits at the summit of a dead mountain.

The boy looks Espeon straight in the eye, and Espeon knows he will heed her words. "Okay."

He takes one last look at Red and heads back down the mountain.