[A Gift For You]
[From: THE CHARIOT]
…
Archived Audio Recording, June 2nd, 1987 [Recorded at Sunnyshore City, Sinnoh]
Static. Then a voice. Low, male, hollow.
Yet unrelenting.
“Hello.”
“If you are hearing this, then you have found my gift.”
A shuffle. The speaker leans forward.
“There is only one copy of this gift in the world, but it is merely one of a set.”
“I carry this gift with me everywhere I go, so that I may only lose it in death.”
A pause.
The voice turns curious, yet no less bitter.
“That you are listening to this means one of two things.”
“Either I am dead, and you have taken my possessions.”
“Or I have chosen you to hear this.”
A small huff, almost as if such a thing were ludicrous.
Yet the man retains a broken hope.
“In the case that it is the latter, I ask that you listen to this gift in its entirety.”
“It will not make sense at first, and it may never make sense at all.”
“However, for you to have received this gift means that I have seen myself in you.”
A small pause.
“Know that you receiving this gift, in it of itself, is extraordinary.”
A small sigh.
The man leans back.
“It is up to you what to make of it.”
“Cherish it, or destroy it.”
An intake of breath.
Silence.
Then an exhale.
“It does not matter to me anymore.”
“End recording.”
…
Archived Audio Recording, December 29th, 1979 [Recorded at Spear Pillar, Mt. Coronet, Sinnoh]
“Have you ever wondered why we are here?”
“You mean this mountain?”
“No…”
“I mean our purpose, in life… In death…”
“I mean…”
“I’m not much of a thinker, you know old man?”
“Momma didn’t raise no philosopher.”
“Uhuh, and did ‘Momma’ raise a dullard?”
“No, but she birthed one.”
“Listen, just - who the hell cares?”
“Life is life. Shit happens and we move on, y’know?”
“Hmm.”
“So I’m just supposed to take Her death and - what - move on?”
“Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I hate it when you twist my words.”
“Listen, She is different.”
“She…”
“We were family.”
“yet you don’t act like it.”
“Listen, old man.”
“Just because I’m not obsessed over her doesn’t mean I don’t miss-”
“Quiet!”
The individual - young, yet far older than he should be - immediately stops speaking.
He listens.
A hollow wave of discordant static.
Almost akin to a hollow wave.
…
Far-away sounds of people speaking are heard.
Almost as if it were heard on the radio.
The noise dims.
A low undertone of chimes ring upon the mountain.
“...It is gone now.”
“Fuckin’ Mew above, why did we decide to go to this place?”
“It’s spooky as shit.”
“I need answers.”
“Then why are we standing at the top of Sinnoh?”
“Shouldn’t answers be found, y’know…”
“At home?”
“Home…”
“It can never be home again.”
“If this is about fuckin’ Oak becomin’ Champion-”
“Oak has nothing to do with this.”
“Not specifically.”
“Then, what, are we just going to wander around and burn whatever we fancy?”
“I mean, they’re already calling that shit we did with Moltres the ‘Great Burning of Orre’, so-”
“THERE MUST BE PURPOSE!”
The voice is loud.
Demanding.
Pleading.
“there must be purpose…”
Damned.
Abandoned.
“We… I - there must be something here…”
“...I…I don’t think we’re going to find anythin’, old man.”
“All I’m seeing is broken pillars and broken dreams.”
“no.”
“I refuse.”
“My life, My love, My purpose was taken away from Me.”
“I demand to know why.”
“Not everything’s about you!”
“Just - fuck - you’re not the only one whose-”
The young man’s mouth is covered.
Harshly.
“There’s a presence nearby.”
…
…
“There.”
The man retracts his hands from the younger man.
“Man, fuck you!”
“You can cry all you want, but me? No! I’m never fuckin’ allowed-”
“Takashi.”
“shut your mouth.”
The boy narrows his eyes, and opens his mouth to speak.
The man simply looks at him.
The boy sees the shadow of destruction.
The boy does not speak.
“Look ahead, Takashi.”
“Do you see anything?”
“...”
“I see clouds.”
“Do you see anything along the pillars?”
“...”
“I see nothing.”
“Hmm…”
“...”
“I see you.”
The drone from earlier rises.
The being reveals itself.
“...What? What is that?”
“Unown.”
The drone grows louder.
The drone remains weak.
Dead, or dying.
There wasn’t much of a difference.
Not after so many centuries.
“What are you doing up so high, little one?”
“Do you need me to bring you back to your kin?”
The man’s voice was kind.
Kinder than it had been with the boy.
Yet the Unown did not respond.
Not verbally.
“Let me bring you-”
The man collapsed.
“Fuck - are you alright?!”
Even through the fear and hatred the boy felt for the man.
He still felt love for him, however mangled and twisted it was.
For now.
All the same, the boy scrambled over, and knelt beside the man.
The man opened his eyes.
The Unown was gone.
The man’s eyes stared past the boy, unseeing.
The man stands up.
There is something new in the man, something that makes the boy cower away.
The man stares beyond the cliffside to the clouds above.
“...Is that my purpose?”
The man’s voice is hallowed, hollowed.
“is. that. My. purpose.”
The man seems confused.
Scared.
Wrathful.
Yet all the same, he pleads.
“No… no, that cannot be it!”
“I refuse!”
“There must be more.”
“There must be more.”
“There must be more.”
“Y-you alright, old man?”
The man turns to the boy.
It almost seems as if the man sees him for the first time.
Insignificant.
“...”
“We are leaving.”
“I… This cannot be my purpose.”
“Not… all of it.”
“I must be missing something.”
“I-I’m sure.”
The boy was not sure.
The man turns to leave.
His eyes catch a glimpse of movement.
“you.”
A squeak of surprise.
And fear.
Another man, hiding, for he had seen what he was never meant to see.
“come forth.”
The man cowers.
“NOW!”
Two voices speak as one.
The earth shakes.
As if pulled by an outside force, the man walks forward.
He places his hand around the man’s throat.
“W-wait!”
“We don’t need to fuckin’ kill him!”
“or what, Takashi?”
“We let him go, after what he has seen, after what he has heard?”
“We can… I dunno…”
“Use Amnesia on him!”
“that is a mere temporary solution, one that I cannot rely upon.”
“You don’t need to kill him, you prick!”
“Takashi.”
“will you stand with Me?”
“or against Me?”
“...”
“...I…”
“...”
The boy turns away.
The man dies by his hands.
“it was necessary, Takashi.”
“...Like all death is.”
“...I… I know.”
“good.”
“let Us bury him, Takashi.”
“then…”
“then We will leave.”
“...”
“You’re the boss, old man.”
The boy’s voice is resigned.
In his confusion, the man doesn’t hear it as he normally would.
Instead, four words repeat themselves within the man’s mind, the man’s soul, the man’s lips.
“go forth, and conquer.”
…
Archived Audio Recording, April 21st, 1982 [Recorded at Meteor Falls, Hoenn]
“You’ve been sitting here for quite some time, Aurous.”
The man turns his head at his given name, but says nothing.
The woman - aged in body and youthful in soul - sits next to the man.
A child - just over a year old - wriggles out of her grasp.
“Aye! Eta!”
The man smiles, and allows the small girl to begin climbing onto him.
The woman huffs a sigh.
“You’re too young to be so wary, my friend.”
The man hums, idly batting away the child’s foot from his mouth.
“Perhaps…”
“It isn’t like we’re given any choice, though.”
The woman nods with a thoughtful glimmer in her crimson eyes.
“And that’s the heart of the matter, isn’t it?”
The man does not respond.
His silence is answer enough.
“It won’t serve to lose hope, Aurous.”
“It’s the one thing that only you can take away.”
“It’s not…”
The man heaves in a sigh.
“It’s not hope that I lack…”
“It’s…”
“Purpose?”
The man huffs a bitter laugh.
“Of course…”
They sit in silence.
The child, now nestled within the man’s gentle hands, babbles out a new word.
“Purpa?”
The man snorts, ruffling the little girl’s hair.
He receives a squawk in protest, though he pays no mind to it.
Eventually, the woman speaks once more in a vaguely nostalgic tone.
“You know, it’s almost poetic…”
The woman trails off.
“...What’s poetic?”
The woman turns to him, casting a distinctly melancholic glance to the girl nestled in his arms.
“I was in her place once… Naught but a child born in time to witness our destruction.”
The man remains silent, in respect for the fallen.
“I was only four years old, barely more than a hatchling…”
“I suppose it’s fitting that it is the earliest memory I can recall.”
The man frowns, lightly rocking the child in his arms to sleep.
“How so?”
The woman looked back to him, though her eyes were faraway.
He couldn’t fault her too much for that.
His eyes were much the same in recent times.
“I was meditating upon this rock.”
The woman huffed.
“Not a fun activity for a four year old; I often wonder what the Elders were thinking.”
She shook her head.
“Then, one moment I was alone, and the next, there was a young woman sitting next to me.”
The man raised an eyebrow.
“I’m failing to see the poeticism.”
The old woman reached out to slap him.
Hard enough to make it felt.
Soft enough to keep the child from waking.
“I was getting to that.”
“Where was I? Oh, yes.”
“She must not have been much older - if at all - than you were at your calling.”
The woman’s lips turned up into a sad smile.
“She had the kindest face… Eyes a soft pink, with a touch of emerald…”
“Yet, she was wary…”
“...”
“Why was that?”
The old woman remained silent for a few moments, idly watching the child in the man’s arms before asking.
“How much do you know of the 3rd Draconid War?”
The man stiffened, turning away as he narrowed his eyes.
“Not any more than you’ve already told me…”
“Hmm…”
The woman examined a rock in her hand before deciding to toss it over the cliffside.
“The war began a year later.”
“...You were five.”
“I was.”
The two remained in silence for several moments.
The man’s eyes stared across the sea lining the horizon, flashes of ash and fire playing in his mind.
The woman sneaked a glance at the man, and frowned as his eyes remained blank, void.
“I’ve come to wonder…”
The man’s eyes snapped back to hers.
And, for but a moment, the grey of his irises darkened a shade.
“Whether it is worse to be a child, watching a great war from the side…”
“Or to be a teenager, fighting within the frontlines themselves…”
The man’s eye twitched.
It was only due to the child in his arms that he kept his response to a mere growl.
“Don’t give me your pity.”
“Sympathy and pity are two similar, but ultimately different, things.”
“You would do well to recognise and accept the former.”
The man stews in deep-rooted anguish.
His suffering is silent, but no less great.
Still, both due to lingering respect for his elder, and care for the child he held, the man locked away his rage.
“...How old were you when the war ended?”
“Nine… Or perhaps I was ten.”
“It is… difficult to say exactly when the war ended.”
The man bowed his head, but offered no words of condolence.
The woman accepted this and moved on.
She knew he was locking his emotions, though he felt them strongly still.
The man, perhaps understanding that the woman had more to say yet, asked.
“What became of the woman?”
“She was banished.”
The man jolted, thankfully only causing the child in his arms to grumble.
“Stripped of her titles and name.”
“She became Taboo…”
The man, beginning to understand whom she was referring to, asked.
“Why?”
The woman raised an eyebrow, though her smile was bitter.
“She destroyed us.”
The woman said no more, though her lips remained parted in a thoughtful grimace.
Eventually, the man asked, in a small amount of lingering frustration.
“Why did you tell me this?”
The woman considered.
She considered for quite some time.
Eventually, she looked the man in the eyes, and she saw the woman’s face.
She of Rain and Fire.
“I told you this, because she saved us.”
The man frowned.
He did not understand.
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you just say she destroyed you?”
“Ah.”
The woman smiled, as if the wisdom she held was boundless.
It wasn’t quite so, but it might as well have been.
“But it was in that very destruction that we were saved.”
“I’m lost.”
If nothing else, the man was blunt with his words.
The woman smiled indulgently at him, and decided to be blunt as well.
“We were killing ourselves.”
The man shudders, and the child almost wakes.
Almost…
A phantom sensation of falling skies breezes by the man.
Then it is gone…
“Even long before the war, we were on the path to oblivion.”
“All it took was a single spark - a single soul - for us to begin spiralling to our end.”
The man frowns in thought.
“How did her destroying you end up saving you?”
The woman hums, before murmuring.
“You were born a child of Johto, so you have heard the legends of the Rainbow-Winged Bird, yes?”
The man blinked, before responding.
“Yes…”
“Then consider… the Tale of Rebirthing Flame.”
“There was the Plague, and there was the Fire.”
“One offered decay and a slow, painful death…”
“The other offered death too…”
“But from death, came life.”
The man frowns severely, idly petting the child’s hair.
“...What does it mean?”
The woman smiled softly.
“It means, child, that we were caught in a Plague of our own making.”
“And rather than allowing us to rot away, the woman cast us unto the Fire…”
“And from death, from destruction, came our salvation…”
“...”
“...I see.”
And the man truly did see.
The veil shimmered.
The woman turned away, and in a low voice, spoke.
“You stand at a precipice, Aurous.”
“It is up to you to choose the Plague, or the Fire.”
And the man understood what she truly said beneath her words.
He had been Chosen…
And had tried to take his own life.
He had nearly lost his way…
“Whether in Destruction or Creation…”
The woman turned to him, noticing the whisper.
“What did you say?”
The man turned to the woman, debating within himself to reveal the words.
The words from the voice in his head.
The voice of that which chose him.
The voice of that which enraged him.
“I…”
He hesitated…
But he recalled the old woman’s tale of the destroyer.
And he could connect the dots.
“I… I hear a voice, Elder Aster…”
“It… says things…”
The woman - the Elder of her clan - extended a hand.
“Share them with me, if you wish.”
The man sighed…
And placed his trust in another…
For the first time in five years.
For the last time in many yet.
“Whether in Destruction or Creation…”
“Your Fate will Meet Its End…”
He halted, for but a moment…
But he finished with naught but a whisper.
“Go Forth, My Chariot…”
“Go Forth…”
“And Conquer…”
There came silence to the cliffside.
Suddenly, the child began to cry out.
The man and woman both tried to calm the child, eventually getting her to sleep once more with a lullaby shared with the man by whom he once loved.
The woman smiled as she took the child from the man’s arms.
“Hush now, child…”
Her smile turned sad.
“It seems that little Zinnia couldn’t take it, hearing such Words of Power…”
The man frowned.
With the child gone from his grasp, the shadows clinging to him warped his face into something vaguer…
Perhaps not horrifying yet…
But one day, it would be.
“Words of Power?”
The woman smiled, though it was no longer happy.
It was terribly sad.
It was terribly wary.
It was terribly beautiful.
“Of course… Such a title is rather powerful, is it not?”
Before the man could speak, Elder Aster proclaimed him to be.
“You are Aurous Draconid, He of the Flaming Chariot, Chosen of the Creator…”
The man buckled, and fell upon his knees.
A weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
And a new one had been added around his neck.
“So it shall be, Elder…”
The woman no longer smiled as she gazed upon the man before her.
For her will was no longer hers, but rather the vessel of something GREATER.
“RISE, MY CHARIOT.”
Blood-red eyes bore upon the man.
And the man rose, cowering in fear, in anguish, in resignation.
in defiance.
“RISE, MY CHARIOT.”
“RISE, ANDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD-”
…
Archived Audio Recording, September 3rd, 1984 [Recorded at Icirrus Wetlands, Unova]
“Now watch closely, little whisperer. This is how you lure a Zorua out of its illusion.”
The man taps a stick on the ground, getting the attention of both the baby strapped to his chest and that of a small Rufflet.
The baby babbles, and the small bird chirps as it hops towards the stick.
“First, you zigzag the stick like this.”
The man’s lips twitch as both the baby’s eyes and the bird’s eyes follow the stick as it drags across the ground.
The Rufflet’s eyes dilate as it trails closer to it.
“Then… You whack them on the head!”
Before the Rufflet could react, the stick shot up and sharply tapped them on the head, causing the creature to sneeze as it fell backwards, once more bearing the black and red fur of a baby Zorua.
The human baby babbles in delight.
“Yes, I imagine this’ll be quite useful… If you remember it.”
The man sighs, shifting the child’s weight to be more centred on his chest.
The man looks up, glaring at the sun hidden between tall trees and vines.
“You play a cruel game…”
Nothing responds, but any gathering rage in the man is dispelled as the baby coos.
The man ruffles the child’s green hair.
“Nothing, Jha Tiotaka. It’s just…”
The man sighs.
“...Circumstances have not been kind to us.”
“⡦⢈⢢⡥⡖⡕⢆⢓⢘⡰⡇⣁⢠⣅⣴⣇⢯⣽⣖”
The man stops, and bites his tongue to stifle a curse.
He didn’t need the child taking after that, after all.
God above, he was a fool to ever think he was ready to raise a child.
Not that it came to fruition.
“I imagine this is some sort of test.”
The Darmanitan walking besides them throws him a mildly disgruntled look.
“Imagine… A seemingly absentee father and an impoverished mother with a child.”
“The mother is sickly, but don’t worry! The people of the town are oh so kind. ”
“They provide for the child… For a time, that is.”
“Because one day they find the mother passed in her sleep.”
“And the child is gone… And so they go back to living their lives.”
“It wasn’t their baby, after all, was it?”
The man’s eyes flash as he holds back a snarl.
He is careful, for the baby is now asleep.
“Where have I heard that story before?”
Silence meets him in answer.
The Woobat flying by his side, perhaps misinterpreting his rambling, chirps out in affirmation.
The man sighs.
“Listen, Arceus, you’ve dragged me through the mud long enough… You didn’t need to pull this child into this.”
“At least I was three when it happened…”
“This little guy isn’t even a year old.”
“⣗⢯⢯⢲⠪⡖⠾⠓⢹”
“...”
“You know, I’m coming to hate that word…”
“Destiny.”
“All the atrocities in the world could be justified by fate.”
“They are no less atrocious because of it.”
The man continues to walk forward, becoming silent for several minutes.
The sun crests the sky and settles just above the horizon.
Suddenly, the man chuckles.
It is a harrowed sound.
“Her death was preordained, wasn’t it?”
“You needed Me, and She stood in Your way.”
The man stops laughing.
His eyes are dark.
A phantom flood flashes through his eyes.
A waterlogged body, hauntingly beautiful with hands cradling a mutilated hole through her stomach.
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Two dead in a single body.
“It doesn’t matter to you, does it?”
The man’s voice is broken.
He walks forward, but remains directionless.
“As long as it all fits in Your Plan , it doesn’t matter whose blood is spilt.”
The man looks down at the baby strapped on his chest.
Red creeps into the darkness of his eyes.
“This child is just another pawn in your game… Perhaps even something like a knight, or a bishop.”
“You made me come all this way to save him, after all…”
The man’s hand drifts to a machete strapped on his leg.
The Darmanitan begins to growl.
“What’s stopping me from killing him, if his life is so vital to your plan-”
The man snaps back, shaking his head in horror.
He tastes ash and dew in his mouth.
His hands shake as he stares at them.
He sees the blood of a child, unborn.
He sees the hands of a monster.
And all around the man, trees rustle and shake.
The man stares at his hands.
The hands of a man who was willing to kill a child out of spite.
And in his mind, he heard the echoes of laughter.
“...Why are you laughing?”
His Creator - his only companion (tormentor) left - doesn’t answer, yet he feels something peculiar that only deepens his dread.
It felt as if it was asking, ‘You think you’re the first?’
And the man didn’t respond.
He couldn’t.
For all he could see was her face watching him without any eyes.
She judged him, and found him wanting.
The man turns his eyes away from the spectre, only to find the child’s green eyes upon him.
The child reaches up for his fingers, entirely ignorant to the danger the man posed.
The man himself was not so ignorant.
“You don’t know who I am, little whisperer.”
The man allows his fingers to be grasped, smiling sadly at the child.
“And if I have my way, you never will.”
The man turns his head up to gaze at the tower piercing the horizon.
Their journey was almost done.
Against his better judgement, the man almost wished it wasn’t.
“She would’ve loved you.”
The baby babbles against his finger.
The man gives a bittersweet smile.
“I suppose she loved every child we came across, but you would’ve stolen her heart.”
The man turns back to the tower overlooking the wetlands.
Its cold, black stone spiralled to the clouds in an imposing obelisk.
“This is no place for a child to grow up.”
“But then again, it’s not as if I have a choice.”
The man stops once he’s near the tower, near enough to see the shadows of dragons flying around it.
He almost thinks that leaving the child there would doom the baby to being prey for Hydreigon, but the pokemon trailing him have become protective of the child.
And even if their strength fails in protecting him, the Creator’s Will ordains the child to live.
And so the man deposits the child down onto the mossy floor, nodding once to the Darmanitan as it stood guard over the child.
As the Woobat and Zorua lean against the baby, he turns his green eyes to the man, and begins to hiccup.
This is the end.
“Hush,” The man whispers crouching down to the child, “It’s time to sleep, little whisperer.”
Even with as young as the child is, he is surprisingly resistant to the man’s psychic suggestion.
Still, it felt no more laborious than a breath for the man.
He was Chosen for a reason, after all.
Finally, after minutes of gazing in longing at the child, the man steps back into a clearing nearby.
It was time to gain the Dragon Lord’s attention.
The man closes his eyes, ignoring the drying tear tracks on his face, and begins to pull.
The man bites his lip, drawing blood as ripples of blue static trail out of his chest and up his arms, snaking together at his hands and condensing at the fingertips.
And with one last breath - one that tasted of copper - the man’s eyes shoot open, and he claps his hands together, pointing up to the sky as arcs of azure lighting leave his fingers and pierces the clouds above him.
And in that moment - that moment of clarity, of understanding, of vision - the man’s eyes became as dark as the void, heralding within them twin, crimson suns.
…
Archived Audio Recording, April 7th, 1985 [Recorded at Uncharted Territory, Guyana Archipelago]
[DATA CORRUPTED]
…
Archived Audio Recording, November 1st, 1987 [Recorded at Mount Moon, Kanto]
“It didn’t have to end this way.”
The man’s voice cracks.
There is both lingering grief and lingering rage in his words.
“You didn’t have to betray me.”
The man shakes.
Adrenaline still runs in his system, even hours after the battle.
Or perhaps it was guilt.
It was hard to tell anymore.
“She never would’ve wanted this.”
His voice breaks.
“Oh, God…”
The man falls on his knees.
Before him is a stone, settled above a newly buried pit.
An Umbreon - limping lightly with dried blood along its legs - nudges his side.
Twin beasts of fire and stone growl in low tones.
A faery stands behind them, watching on with distant eyes.
The man gasps for breath, but no tears come.
He no longer has tears to shed.
“Why?”
The man’s voice is hollow.
Disbelieving.
“Why did you leave?”
The man’s voice is rising in anger.
“Why did you return, only to stab me in the back!”
The mountain quakes around him.
The man doesn’t notice - doesn’t care - for he is weary.
He is exhausted.
“I don’t understand.”
“Of all of you…”
“You were the last person I expected…”
“What changed?”
Silence meets his question.
The man is beginning to find that silence is the only thing left in his wake.
The man closes his eyes.
“You could’ve been great, Takashi.”
“You could’ve been…”
The man stands.
His eyes grow cold.
“Rest well, Takashi.”
“Say hello to her for me, if you see her…”
The man turns around, marching down the mountain with his pokemon behind him.
“I’ll remember you, Takashi.”
“Even if no-one else will.”
…
Archived Code_Crystal Audio Recording, December 21st, 1987 [Recorded at Ula’Ula Island, Alola Archipelago]
“What are you doing up so late, my little moonlight?”
Distant crashes of waves. Silence aside from the creaking of old wood. A small cry is heard, asking for something. Asking for someone.
“Here-”
A pokéball opens.
“-Say hello.”
Slight popping sounds. A small child babbles. The pokémon chirps in low tones, loving tones, sad tones.
Silence.
“Figures.”
Silence. A small hum and a pop. A question without words.
“It’s done.”
An intake of breath. Another series of pops. A chuckle from the speaker. His voice of gravel, of death.
“They’re avenged.”
“...”
“You may grieve.”
Waves.
A hiccup.
The child sniffles.
She blinks away tears.
“It’s okay to cry, my little moonlight.”
“We all do.”
Another hiccup.
The tears flow.
She remains silent.
As does the speaker.
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...Do you feel better?”
A sniff, then a chirp.
An eerie mimicry of the pokémon.
The pokémon chirps in response.
It’s sad.
More so than before.
“Revenge… It tastes bitter, does it not?”
Silence, then a single pop.
Affirmation.
The speaker chuckles to himself.
“For one so young, you are remarkably intelligent.”
A chirp and a pop in response, then a happy giggle.
“She would’ve loved you.”
Silence. Waves crashing. A rumble, then a boom.
Rain begins to fall.
The speaker hums.
“I suppose that’s one way to extinguish the fires.”
A small babble. Inquisitive. A question.
“I burned them down. I’ve never believed in Arceus' judgement, so I made my own."
A delighted giggle.
“Oh, you just love that, don’t you?”
“...”
“You shouldn’t.”
The young girl. The toddler. She goes silent.
“She wouldn’t want you to be like me.”
“You’re innocent.”
“I never was.”
The girl remains silent. She reaches out and grasps one of his hands with her tiny fingers. She babbles a series of questions only he can understand.
“...I’m sorry.”
“I’m going to drop you off at the orphanage tomorrow.”
“I’m not fit to care for a child.”
“That would’ve been her job.”
Another rumble of thunder. The wood of the shack groans. The little girl coos. She goes silent. Concentrating, before babbling.
“Unc.”
“Uncle.”
A wheezing laugh. Tears fall onto the wood. Shaky tanned hands pet the girl’s hair as she succumbs to sleep.
The man is still laughing softly.
The man is still crying softly.
A chirp is heard. The pokémon flinches back as the shack begins to ripple in waves of darkness.
“You play a cruel game…”
“I suppose, in that way… you and I are alike.”
“You know what you are…”
“I know what I am.”
A crack. Thunder. The man cradles the child to his chest, petting her hair.
His tears stop falling.
His eyes are as dark as the void.
“Perhaps if I never saw past the veil…”
“Saw what laid beyond the void…”
“...”
“Perhaps I would forget.”
A small chirp. The pokémon nuzzles against the man. Calming him.
“But we both know I never will, don’t you?”
“Even in my death, The Chariot will live on.”
Waves crash. Soft breaths from the child mixes with the ambient noise of the rain.
The thunder has stopped.
“I don’t care how long I have to wait.”
“We both know that I’m a patient man.”
“But know this.”
“I will not rest until your head is under my heel.”
One final flash.
The wrath of Arceus cracks the sky.
Yet the girl sleeps.
She, who has walked through the valley of the shadow of death, and lived.
She sleeps.
The man laughs.
He sees something that no-one else sees.
“Hmm… I suppose you would, wouldn’t you?”
“But that doesn’t matter…”
“...”
“Perhaps, in time, we’ll speak again.”
“But for now, I would rather keep a few secrets from the old man…”
“Code Crystal: 1 Hour.”
…
Archived Audio Recording, November 13th, 1988 [Recorded at Goldenrod City, Johto]
“You look… Far better than I expected, given a decade has passed since we last met.”
“What can I say?”
“My mother was a miracle worker.”
The man sounds tired - always tired - but carries a mask of bravado.
The other man sounds slightly older, yet curious.
The other man hums.
“You know, that death of yours was rather well done.”
“Very… convincing.”
“It’s a gift.”
“Also, don’t lie to me, old man. You wouldn’t have found a way to contact me if you truly thought I was gone.”
The other man huffs, sounding amused.
The man’s voice had not been amused.
“Well… There have been rumours…”
“Ah… I almost forgot.”
“You’re an incurable gossip.”
“Actually, some of what I’ve heard has come from… an academic friend.”
The other man seems pleased with his wording.
The man is not so impressed.
“What did you hear?”
“Oh, a lot of things, actually.”
“Reports of some sort of ghost or vigilante plaguing Unova for while.”
“Tales of a demon bringing armageddon to a lab near Guyana.”
“Reports of a gang in Alola burning to the ground inexplicably.”
“An awful lot of these rumours involve arson, and I do believe we both remember that incident in ‘66-”
“Don’t.”
The other man freezes for a moment, but not for long.
“My apologies.”
“I suppose bringing up such a memory was in… poor taste.”
“You knew exactly what you were doing.”
They both remain silent for several moments.
The other man hums.
“Perhaps.”
“All the same… you’ve been busy.”
“I never liked being idle, as I’m sure you recall.”
“Yes, you were always a rambunctious little bastard.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve lived this long.”
“I only just turned thirty, old man.”
“There’s still plenty time for me to die young.”
The other man huffs an amused chuckle.
“Trust me, old friend.”
“You’re not young. Not in spirit.”
“...”
“I suppose not.”
The two men sit in silence for several moments.
Somehow, the silence is almost comfortable.
“Why here?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you want to meet here?”
The other man hums as he looks out the window towards the city ahead.
There is construction going on in the industrial district, and with it comes opportunity.
“Well… You haven’t been the only one who’s been busy.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve begun research on a phenomena that may change everything we know about reality.”
“A… universal source of energy naturally occurring in pokemon evolution and abilities.”
“I’ve… begun crafting an initiative to research such energy, and how it may manifest in certain forms, along with potential breakthroughs in areas previously thought impossible.”
“I call it… Source Energy.”
“How… original.”
The man does not seem impressed.
The other man, too, does not seem impressed at the man’s response.
“This is massive! This could be an unlimited energy supply, getting rid of the need for oil or electricity!”
“This could change the world!”
“Yeah…”
“I don’t care.”
“Of course you wouldn’t.”
“You cling far too much on your childish nihilism to actually make a difference in the world.”
“Oh really?”
The man’s eyes darken.
“I know all about making a difference in the world.”
“It’s a never-ending war.”
“And like all war, both sides lose.”
The other man remains silent for a moment.
Then he smiles.
“I suppose we’ll have to go our separate ways, then.”
“I suppose we will.”
“Yes…”
“Should you change your mind, however…”
“I know where to find you.”
“Yes… yes…”
“And in that case…”
“What shall I call you, since you no longer seem to answer to your old name?”
“...”
“You shall call me…”
“The Chariot.”
…
Archived Code_Crystal Audio Recording, February 2nd, 1991 (Recorded at Melemele Island, Alola Archipelago]
“It’s good to see you, my little moonlight.”
“I’m happy to see you too, Uncle!”
Light taps of rain batter against the wooden roof of the shack.
Despite the smell, there is a warmth that could only be found within.
“You know I can sense you two out there.”
“It’s raining, and I would rather not smell damp teenagers, thank you.”
A grumble and a sharp laugh.
“Told you he could see us.”
“Tch… It was worth a shot.”
Two boys follow the small girl into the shack.
Their words are lower, changing, though they are young enough that their voices still crack.
One found this humorous. The other not so much.
“Huh. You both have gotten taller.”
They both excuse an air of utter smugness.
“Granted, everyone looks tall compared to moonlight, here.”
“Hey!”
The girl’s voice is small.
A child’s voice.
“Oh, please.”
“Being small isn’t anything to complain about. It helps a lot with hiding.”
“Huh, guess so…”
“She’s practically invisible when we’re playin’ hide and seek.”
The child preens at the two teenager’s words.
“Heh, I suppose she would be…”
The man is silent for a few moments.
“Well, looking at the rain, it seems like we’ll be here for a little while.”
“Do you all want to hear a story?”
“Oh, yes! Your stories are always the best, Uncle!”
“Damn… Was hopin’ to see Ares again.”
“Me too. That beast is an absolute kahuna, I’m tellin’ you.”
“First off, mind your language for the little one.”
“Secondly, knowing you boys, you’d both ask Ares to use as big of a Blast Burn as he could.”
“Well… yeah.”
“You wouldn’t?”
The man snorts.
“Fair enough. Though, I prefer to ask him when we’re in battles rather than the beach.”
“So… 9 months ago was a one time thing?”
“I never said Ares wouldn’t do so.”
“Just not right now.”
“Dam - Darn…”
“At least you caught yourself.”
“Indeed.”
“Now… What’s one that I haven’t told you?”
“You could tell them about Zeus!”
“Zeus?”
“I’ll hold off on that for the moment.”
“Oh! Oh! What about the Scorched Desert!”
“Huh, that actually sounds kinda cool.”
“You would like that name, wouldn’t you?”
“You know, I told you that story when you were three.”
“How you remember such things is beyond me, my little moonlight.”
“I remember all your stories!”
“...”
“Okay.”
“In that case, I suppose I’ll have to go with something new.”
“Actually, I think Scorched Desert sounds-”
“-Like something I can tell you at another time.”
“Hah! You got told.”
“...Shut up.”
The man allowed the two boys to bicker for a moment.
The small girl leaned forward eagerly at the prospect of another story.
She loved her Uncle’s stories.
“What about… The Bird of Rainbow Wings.”
“Oh! That one sounds exciting!”
“Sounds boring to me, honestly.”
“...Eh, we have nothing else to do.”
“Indeed.”
“Now…”
“As with everything, the beginning of this story lies in creation.”
“There lived an embodiment of absolute order amidst a sea of primordial chaos.”
“And from this, It cast Its Will, and shaped the world.”
“From Its shadow, avatars of Its Will took shape, and claimed dominion over key aspects of our reality.”
“From the skies, the Dragon God split the earth into land and sea.”
“From the land and sea, opposing titans rose to challenge one another for domination.”
“From the heavens, keepers of space, time, and distortion tied the earth down in chains.”
“From the pits, the embodiment of truth and ideals rose up to lay claim to man.”
“From the light and dark, twin beings of life and death roamed the earth.”
“From the reaches beyond, the sun and moon touched the earth with their glory.”
“And from the mountaintop to the depths, twin birds flew to cast wrath and rebirth to the world.”
“Their radiance cast a light so great that their shadows glowed bright.”
“One day, a wicked storm of fire, ice, and lightning raged in the seas.”
“Seeing this, the Bird of the Depths saw fit to lay eggs, and gave birth to triplets.”
“The Winged Children of the Elements rose to the skies, and cast dominion over the elements.”
“Their power grew so great that they rebelled, and battled against their parent for dominion over the storm.”
“The Bird of the Depths grew wrathful, and cast its children out in its rage.”
“Upon seeing this, the Bird of the Mountain grew sad, and flew ever higher into the skies.”
“For many aeons, the Bird of the Mountain flew, and it had witnessed many things.”
“It flew above when pokémon first sprouted from the ground and the sea.”
“It flew above when the legends raged for domination.”
“It flew above when man first walked the earth.”
“It flew above when the earth first shook from the terrors of war.”
“It flew above when man first became friends with pokémon.”
“It flew above when what once was hate blossomed into love.”
“And in that time, as it flew in the sky, it grew to cherish man and pokémon.”
“But the Bird of the Depths still raged after aeons, and the Bird of the Mountain was wary of betrayal.”
“One day, as it flew above man, a wicked storm grew from the seas, and tore into the coast.”
“It watched in anguish as those it had grown to love from afar perished from the depth’s wrath.”
“Seeing the end of the storm, the Bird of the Mountain decided to reveal itself, and to heal those who had died.”
“And on the day that the storm had ended, man both alive and dead witnessed the gift of the first rainbow.”
“And from that day hence, the Bird of the Mountain flies over us, and loves us still.”
“And when the Bird of the Depths awakes in rage, the Bird of the Mountain always graces us with a rainbow after the storm recedes.”
“...The end.”
“...Huh.”
“Oh, I liked that story, Uncle!”
“It is a rather nice story, isn’t it?”
There’s a moment of silence as the girl rocks back and forth in contentment.
One of the boys lean forward, a curious glint in his eye.
“There’s more to it, isn’t there?”
“Perhaps…”
The girl gasps.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Yeah, why didn’t you tell us?”
“You’re young.”
“A happy fairytale like this won’t harm you.”
“Besides, if all you care about is hearing an edgy story, then all you have to do is go to the young adult section in the library. Plenty of material there.”
“Y’know, I can understand that with the little tyke.”
“Hey!”
“But you don’t seem much older than us.”
“Nu-uh! Uncle is a wise old man who just looks young! Right, Uncle?”
“That’s right, my little moonlight.”
“I am secretly an 82-year old man who is a veteran of both the Proxy Wars and the Great War. I have trotted the globe and have received wisdom from the legends themselves…”
“One of which was to reverse my age to look younger.”
“Yes, you are absolutely correct, my little moonlight.”
“...You’re teasing me.”
“I am.”
The man spoke in a deadpan tone through all of that.
One of the boys snorts.
“Alright, then. Keep your secrets.”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...So are we just gonna sit here and look stupid, or…?”
The man turns his head outside.
“The rain is letting up some…”
The man sighs to himself.
“Why not? You can play with Ares.”
“Yay!”
“Yeah!”
“Fucking finally!”
The boy who swore suddenly fell on his face.
Violently.
“Mind your language, Guzma.”
The boy grumbled to himself.
He may or may not have whispered obscenities under his breath.
He fell again.
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
“...No.”
“Good.”
“Move along then, I’ll be out in a moment.”
The boy sulks for a moment, but follows the other two to the beach.
The man waits for a moment, then sighs.
“It’s times like this that I wish you were here.”
One of the pokeballs on the man’s belt rattles.
Reassuring.
“...Nevermind.”
The man stepped forward, only to pause for a moment.
Afterwards, he spoke four words.
“Code Crystal: 1 Hour.”
…
Audio Recording, December 31st, 1991 [Recorded at Draconid Village, Meteor Falls]
“Ay-Kin Laei en Tiotete Vaave de Raa-Ka-Aasa.”
“Ayahsa a Ayahsa!”
The chant echoes throughout the caves.
The Clansmen stomp on the ground in ritual.
The whole cavern quakes.
A newborn’s cry silences the crowd.
The Clan’s Elder lifts him in the air.
“Pyeh en Tiotete Sola de Mesf, Ahs, a Elv.”
“Ayahsa a Ayahsa!”
The voices are jubilant.
After all, before them was the first child borne of the Clan in over a decade.
“Myara de Raamesa, Ay Siere Ahs-Zhin, Tetekin!”
“Ayahsa a Ayahsa!”
The Clan roars in triumph.
“Ayahsa a Ayahsa!”
The Clan roars in desperation.
“Ayahsa a Ayahsa!”
The Clan roars, for one day soon, it may never roar again.
“A-Ahsa A-Ahsa!”
The voice of the young girl sounds unwaveringly confident.
The man holding her hand smiles indulgently.
“Ayahsa, little spitfire. You’re missing the ‘yah’.”
The man’s voice turns cheeky.
“But hey, at least you’ve got the spirit.”
The girl pouts, tugging on the man’s hand as she begins to circle him with small legs.
“Don’t tease me, ya old turd.”
The man huffs a laugh, unheard in the din of chants.
“My my, I come back after three years and now you’re a little pottymouth.”
“Oh, what will I ever say to Aster?”
The girl gasps, stopping in her attempts to snake the man’s arm around himself to stare at him with pleading eyes.
“Won’t- You won’t tell her a thing.”
The man just raises an eyebrow at her.
“And who are you to tell me what to do, you little turd?”
The girl gasps.
The girl giggles, before stopping herself.
“Hey, no fair!”
“How come you can say it but I can’t?”
The man adopts a faux-snobbish tone.
“I believe in the sanctity of the term: turnabout is fair play.”
The little girl scrunches up her nose.
“I don’t like your funny words, magic man.”
“Too bad, then.”
“Cause that’s all you’ll get.”
The child glares at him with vibrant red eyes.
She hits the man’s stomach, doing exactly zero damage to him.
“You’re mean, Uncle.”
The man nods solemnly.
“Yes I am.”
The girl eyes him for a few moments before crossing her arms.
She tries to nod solemnly as well, but her mop of hair only makes her look silly.
She would have cherished her.
“I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding.”
The man nods back, hiding a smile.
“And so am I.”
The girl turns back to face the now-dispersing crowd before becoming bored.
She turns back and begins to shake the man’s leg as annoyingly as she can.
“Have you caught a dragon yet?”
“No.”
“What! We are dragon people!”
“Need I remind you I’m adopted?”
“Adopted, schmompted! Dragons are cool!”
“All pokemon are cool.”
“But dragons are cooler - no wait - they’re hotter , like fire!”
“Phrasing. And I do have fire pokemon.”
“But Ares isn’t a dragon!”
“There’s Poseidon?”
“That’s…”
The girl trails off.
“Which one is Poseidon?”
“Gyarados.”
“Well, they’re not really a dragon…”
“They are recessively.”
“Who cares! You need to get a real dragon!”
“Like yours?”
“Yeah! Like mine!”
“Wait, not mine! Bagon is my dragon!”
The man chuckles.
The girl squawks as he ruffles her hair.
“Trust me, stealing that little troublemaker is the last thing I want to do.”
The girl sniffs imperiously.
Quite frankly, it just makes her look even more like an adorable brat.
Still, the man can’t help but be fond of her.
“Well… He’s my troublemaker.”
“Yes, though I wonder…”
“Is he more thickheaded, or are you?”
“Hey!”
The girl claws at him.
Given that her head only reaches his lower abdomen, all he has to do is push her back by the head.
This only makes her resort to charging instead.
“I see Zinnia is giving you trouble.”
The man turns up to see Aster hobbling forward, smiling whilst holding a sleeping baby in her arms.
The girl - Zinnia - meeps and tries - and fails - to not look guilty.
The man raises an amused eyebrow.
“This little spitfire is trouble, Aster. I can only hope this new one doesn’t take after her.”
Zinnia hisses like a feral Meowth at his side.
Aster chuckles.
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about, Aurous.”
“She takes after you.”
The man sighs, giving a brittle smile.
“For her sake, I hope not.”
Zinnia takes this as an opportunity to pipe in.
“Yeah! He’s mean, Aster!”
Aster clucks her tongue, somehow looking as if she wished to chide both the girl and the man before her.
She settles on the latter.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Aurous.”
“You are a wise and strong member of the Clan.”
The man frowns severely, looking away.
Sensing his sorrow, Zinnia takes his hand.
“I… appreciate the sentiment.”
“But I am merely Ahs-Raakino.”
The Elder of the Clan scoffs.
“Ahs-Raakino is still Raakino.”
“You are family, Aurous. Borne or not.”
The man’s face becomes neutral.
“If you say so.”
Aster scowls at him.
“I do.”
Zinnia - bless her heart - blurts out.
“I want to see the baby!”
Aster turns to smile at the girl before craning her head to ask the man.
“Could you hold little Ahzin? I cannot bend down for Zinnia.”
The man - Aurous - hesitantly takes the child into his arms.
He’s small.
“Here.”
Aurous kneels down to Zinnia’s height.
“Meet Ahzin.”
Zinnia peers long and hard at the baby, scrunching her brow as she did so.
“...It’s smaller than I’d thought it’d be.”
Aster sighs, massaging her brow.
Aurous laughs.
“Well, to me, you look absolutely tiny, little spitfire.”
Zinnia responds to this in the one way she knows how.
She bites his leg.
Aster sighs again.
“Zinnia, get off his leg.”
Zinnia growls.
Aurous just stares at the girl.
He raises his leg.
Zinnia hangs on by her teeth.
He raises a mildly impressed eyebrow.
“...If nothing else, her jaw strength is impressive.”
“That is the wrong takeaway from this, Aurous.”
In a well practised motion, Aster pulls Zinnia’s head away from his leg.
Zinnia struggles.
“You know, girl, you were rather looking forward to seeing Aurous again.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if it would be better for him to stay away, if his presence ignites such fury in you.”
Zinnia stops her struggling to stare at Aster in horror.
“What! No! Don’t take him away!”
Aster stares back unapologetically.
“Then apologise to him.”
“She doesn’t need to-”
Aster silences him with a red-eyed glare.
“Apologise.”
The small girl looks back and forth between the elder and her Uncle.
Eventually, Zinnia huffs, and turns to Aurous with crossed arms.
“I’m sorry I bit your leg.”
She, in fact, looks the exact opposite of sorry.
The man raises an amused eyebrow.
“You expect me to believe that, kid?”
Zinnia hisses, and Aster sighs.
“Zinnia, you should go see if your little dragon friend wants to play.”
Zinnia straightens up, gasping in excitement.
“Oh yeah!”
She rushes over to Aurous, tugging on his leg.
“Let’s go! You haven’t seen Bagon since he was a hatchling!”
The man moves to hand over the baby to Aster.
She stops him with a raised hand, speaking softly to Zinnia.
“I have a few things I wish to speak with Aurous about, dear.”
“He’ll be with you shortly.”
The girl pouts.
“But-”
“You can play with Bagon until then.”
Aster’s voice brooks no argument.
Zinnia’s face scrunches in discontent, and she reluctantly steps away.
“Fine…”
She points to Aurous with all the command of a princess.
She always hates when he calls her that.
“Find me when you’re done.”
The man rolls his eyes.
“As you wish, princess .”
With one last hiss, the girl scampers off.
Aster rubs her head tiredly.
“...She is a handful.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
The man’s tone is lower.
A veil of shadow covers his eyes.
The man sighs in exhaustion.
“She’s a good kid.”
Aster hums, walking forward to take a seat with the man.
“She is…”
She turns to look at the man, her adopted kin.
“You are too.”
The man does not respond.
He idly rocks the baby in his arms.
For one who has sworn off from ever raising a child, the motion comes far too naturally.
“You have grown darker, child.”
The man hums, still not looking at her.
“So I have.”
The woman nods to herself in silence.
Eventually, she speaks.
“I appreciate that you hid it from Zinnia. I imagine such a darkness would be… overwhelming to a child.”
“But not this one?”
The man raises an eyebrow at Aster, leaning to present the baby in his arms.
The woman smiles softly.
“Infants are remarkably resilient creatures, and they have yet to develop a sense of our auras.”
“Zinnia is… blessed with a greater vision of its mysteries.”
The woman hums in melancholy.
“It overwhelms her, and there aren’t many she can turn to for guidance.”
“She has you.”
The woman smiles, thinking of her twilight years with the young girl.
“She does.”
Aster turns to the man.
“But she has you as well.”
The man leans back.
“I’ve never spoken about aura with her.”
“You haven’t…”
“But you listen and play with her.”
“You spend time with her when most others wouldn’t.”
“But I’m not you.”
“No. You aren’t.”
“But you are just as important to this clan as I am.”
The man visibly disagrees.
“I’m hardly even here.”
“I… The Clan… Zinnia would be better off without me.”
The woman hums.
“You give yourself too little credit.”
“Zinnia adores you.”
“She shouldn’t.”
“I’ve done terrible things.”
The baby shifts in his sleep, and the man turns his eyes to him.
Aster remains silent for a moment, before asking.
“Do you still hear the call of the Creator?”
The man stiffens.
It is only because of his trust in the woman that he answers.
“Always.”
The woman nods as if she expected this.
“And the message is the same?”
The man cracks a bitter smile.
“Hasn’t changed once.”
The woman hums, her eyes growing distant.
The man watches in concern.
“...”
“I’m beginning to believe that our time is almost up.”
The man’s heart stutters.
“What… do you mean?”
The woman turns to the man, her eyes glassy.
“The Seevaelde have been plagued with vision.”
“The portents of Daelde have risen.”
“There is coming a great change to the world. Whether it’s for the better, or the worse…”
The Elder trails off.
The man looks down with shadowed eyes to the baby.
“...That’s the reason for his name, isn’t it?”
“Ahs-Zhin: Spirit of the End.”
The woman nods.
Her crimson eyes are dull in wary acceptance.
“He is to be the last of us.”
“One way or another.”
“Whether in Destruction or Creation.”
The woman nods.
They both understand.
The man continues in a whisper.
“I’ve…”
“I’ve chosen for myself a new name.”
The woman turns to him in mild surprise.
And no small amount of sorrow.
“Were you so dissatisfied with your previous name?”
“No!”
The man hastily lowers his voice to a whisper as the baby jerks awake.
He cups the baby’s head, and psychically calms the baby back to sleep.
“No… Aurous…”
“It’s the name of who I was… Not the name of who I am now.”
Aster stares at the man with heavy eyes.
“...You are sure?”
The man gulps, his throat remaining dry.
But he nods all the same.
He has been sure of this for six years now.
“I am.”
Aster nods, eyes locked onto the man’s own.
Her eyes hold both sorrow and grim understanding.
“Prove it.”
The man nods, and hands her the baby.
Within his spirit, something cracks that can never be fixed.
In a ritual, understood only by them, she begins by reciting.
“By the Turn of the Clock.”
“Shall Your Fate be Set.”
The man replies in a rumble.
“By the Turn of the Clock.”
“I Have Found My Destiny.”
“You Stand at a Precipice.”
“Do You Understand what it Entails?”
“From Death Comes Life.”
“From Destruction, Creation.”
The man’s eyes become void.
The woman’s eyes glow a sorrowful red.
“Is this Conviction Worth Your Life?”
The man turns his eyes towards the setting sun behind them.
He glares in defiance, seeing a golden halo bear down upon them.
“I will make it worth something - anything.”
“Even if I have to die for it.”
Aster’s breath hitches.
She wishes for him to turn back.
To keep from damning himself to an impossible goal.
To keep himself from pursuing his own Destruction.
But she cannot.
Not anymore.
“Do not lose yourself, my child.”
“Remember who you are.”
“Ayahsa a Ayahsa…”
The man turns his eyes to her, expectant.
Within the void of his eyes are twin red suns.
“Then… I ask of you…”
“Who are you?”
The man stands.
He stares directly to the setting sun - the eye of the Creator.
That which had chosen him.
That which had damned him.
That which had abandoned him.
That which he would now stand against.
“I am Charedete, the Destroyer.”
The mountainside rumbled.
The man’s eyes blazed in darkness as he roared to the sun in a plume of fire.
And to his side, Aster turned away, covering the child’s ears.
“I AM THE CHARIOT, AND I WILL NOT REST UNTIL YOUR HEAD IS UNDER MY HEEL!”
…
Archived Audio Recording, February 4th, 1995 [Recorded at Goldenrod City, Johto]
“There’s nothing left for me.”
Static. Murmured voices out of reach. Shuffling of papers. A sigh.
“You know what I mean.”
A questioning lilt in the other’s tone. Nothing beyond.
“I’m the strongest. I’ve reached the top. No-one can challenge me.”
Slight compression. The speaker leans forward.
“I travel. I do what you need done. But I’m not truly living.”
The other voice moves further away until it’s nothing but a whisper.
“You know, old man, a part of me does.”
A surprised sound.
“I don’t know why you’re so surprised. You’ve known me since I was a boy; you know how I think better than I do.”
A hum. A solemn whisper.
“...”
“You’re right, old man.”
“But she’s dead.”
More words. Incomprehensible. A barked laugh from the speaker.
“That she was.”
“That she was…”
Silence. Only for a moment. A question.
“There’s been some. None were one my level, obviously. One was pretty good, though.
An intrigued sound, mixed with no small amount of scepticism.
“Her name was Cynthia. She’s about eighteen by my count.”
“She was strong, though. Her Garchomp just evolved and nearly took out Ares, with it being four times resistant to him.”
A quick question. Some concern, but not for the speaker.
“No. It was a friendly match.”
“I was in the area, and I’ve heard about her before.”
“I wanted to see if she lived up to the hype.”
A question. Asking if she did.
“...”
“I don’t know anymore.”
“It doesn’t matter anyways.”
A hum. The other walks around. Another question. The main question.
“Unlikely.”
“From what I’ve seen, she’d likely be interested, but would disagree with our methods.”
A small sigh.
“Yup. A shame too.”
“She would have made the perfect prot é g é .”
“I wish I would have met her years ago, but you win some and lose some.”
Silence. Rustling of papers. A murmured question.
“...”
“I’ll deal with her if she becomes an issue.”
“Let her have her fun for now.”
Silence. Movement. The other comes closer. They ask another question-
…
Archived Audio Recording, April 2nd, 1995 [Recorded at Ecruteak City, Johto]
“-don’t care if you thought it was difficult! It doesn’t excuse selling them for three times the price!”
Raised voices.
A man and a woman.
The woman is aged in skin.
The man is aged in spirit.
“Listen, I’d understand to some extent if you picked them from Orre, but the Badlands isn’t that dangerous.”
“Hell, you’ve done it in previous years without any issue. What caused the increase in price?”
A snipped response.
The man growls.
The pokémon by his side chirps worriedly.
“Oh, so just because your usual trail was uprooted by a Diglett War means you have to triple the bloody price tag.”
“Gee, I’m sorry you had to walk an extra kilometre off the beaten path. Perhaps I should give you double pay for the brain damage you’ve given us both.”
The pokémon by his side twitters loudly.
Admonishing.
The man sighs.
“Yes, yes. I know. She’s just the only provider of these flowers within a thousand kilometres. It’s not my fault the market in Pyrite Town burned down.”
The pokémon gives a single chirp.
“Listen to her, Takashi. She’s right.”
“Oh, stuff it, old hag.”
“Reduce the price to fifty percent and I’ll buy it.”
The man and woman haggle.
Eventually, the man purchases the flowers for 70% of the original price.
“Bloody miser.”
The pokémon chirps a laugh-like sound.
Though he hides it in a fake scowl, the sound makes the man happy.
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”
The old woman watches the interaction with a small smile.
She sees the grief the man holds in his heart when he looks at his pokémon.
It bears the face of his love, after all.
“You know, Takashi, for one as travelled as you, I can’t say I understand why you don’ just go up to the Badlands and get the flowers yourself.”
The man is silent for a moment.
“I’d mess it up somehow.”
“I was never the gentle one between us two, and she always loved these flowers.”
The pokémon by his side gives a small chirp.
Joyous, yet melancholic.
The man huffs, only feeling the latter.
“She always liked poetry, and these flowers were - what - poetically sad?”
The man shrugged, lost in a dream with no memories.
“I mean, all I see is a purple flower. What is it called, a hycint?”
The pokémon by his side gives a betrayed cry.
“A hyacinth.”
“Right. That.”
The man turned the bundle of flowers in his hand, lost in thought.
He suddenly snickers.
“She probably would’ve butchered me for calling it what I did. So, I guess that answers your question.”
“Besides, getting them here is better than going to Kalos. Have to show some Johto solidarity, especially with Ecruteak.”
The woman huffed as the man gave a roguish smile.
He was a man of many masks, yet only one true face.
“Well, all the same, Takashi.”
“I’ll still be here next year with your flowers.”
“I’m sure.”
The man left without another word.
He walked by the marketplace, which stood in the shadow of the Tin Tower.
The man couldn’t help but look up at the towering monolith.
It taunted him.
It scorned him.
“They couldn’t even bother identifying her…”
The pokémon by his side chirps consolingly.
The man sighs.
“I know. I buried the guilt long ago.”
“But she at least had family who could’ve retrieved her.”
“I never did.”
The pokémon by his side is silent.
It mourns for something it doesn’t truly understand that it has lost.
“No. No, I’m wrong.”
“She was family.”
“We would’ve-”
Something within the man’s voice breaks.
The masks that the man holds crack, if for but a moment.
Eyes the shade of midnight peer up at the tower, their irises glowing rings of baleful crimson.
“He would’ve been seventeen.”
The man becomes silent.
The pokémon whimpers softly.
A single tear trickles down the man’s cheek.
Before long, it runs dry.
“...Come on.”
“We will mourn.”
“Then… Then we will resume.”
…
Archived Audio Recording, January 17th, 1996 [Recorded at Cipher Lab, Outskirts of Phenac City, Orre]
An alarm was was going off.
Two bodies lay strewn by the man’s feet, skulls crushed and splintered by the beasts surrounding him.
There was yelling on the other side of the door.
Rushed voices.
Barked commands.
Whirring weapons.
The man felt a bitter smile twist on his lips as he palmed the cold, hard metal of the door.
They knew he was here.
And they were afraid.
They should be.
Very.
Very afraid.
“I’d say,” The man’s voice came in a rasp.
The Tyranitar by his side glanced at him.
“This calls for a little bit of Shock and Awe…”
The Typhlosion standing next to him shifts with a thrilled snarl.
The man turns behind him, facing the red-scaled Gyarados behind him, “Wouldn’t you agree, Poseidon?”
The Gyarados - Poseidon - turned it’s eyes - set in triangular slits - to the door, and inhaled.
The man and the other beasts stepped to the side.
Then, with a blast that shook the compound, a torrent of pressurised water drilled through the door and the wall surrounding it.
Seven men instantly fell, dead.
Their skin, bones, and blood torn away by the force of the water.
And with a calm step, The Chariot walked into the compound.
His face contorted in monstrous shadows.
His eyes blazed in molten crimson.
“leave no survivors, friends.”
His voice was calm.
Almost bored.
“kill them all.”
And so…
They did.
Of the 84 Cipher agents stationed at the lab…
13 fell to the billowing infernos wrought by Ares.
16 were crushed by rock and stone, cast away by the might of Dionysus.
15 seized and suffocated on their own bile from Hades’ wrath.
19 passed as their bones broke apart under the waves of Poseidon.
13 foamed at the mouth, trapped in an eternal nightmare by the grace of Athena.
7 were beaten and broken, having fallen to Hepha’s strength.
And one remained breathing, slumped against a bloodied wall as he gasped for breath.
The Chariot walked over to him.
His eyes, blazing mere moments before, were once more set in a cold, bored grey.
The man quivers in the shadow of his destroyer.
His Angel of Death.
The man whispers in horror.
“You’re a monster.”
The Chariot blinks slowly.
And with a kick, he snaps the man’s neck.
“I know.”
There is silence in the compound.
It’s better that way.
The Chariot searches, and finds the parcel he was sent to collect within ten minutes.
A stabilising agent, coveted by the Emperor for one of his experiments.
The Chariot doesn’t care.
The Chariot rarely finds himself caring for anything anymore.
“Ares.”
The Typhlosion - bearing not a single scratch - turns to him in question.
The beast’s gaze - the gaze of all of them - is filled with trust.
With love.
The Chariot finds it harder and harder to reciprocate every day.
“burn it down.”
…
Archived Audio Recording, November 17th, 1996 [Recorded at Goldenrod Lab, Goldenrod City]
“Checkmate, Donovan.”
The voice sounds as if it’s fighting against sounding smug.
In this regard, it fails.
“Huh?”
The other voice sounds younger.
Still an adult, but not by much.
“...I didn’t even see it.”
“You made the wrong move eight turns ago.”
The voice is matter-of-fact, almost clinical in tone.
“You moved your knight when you should have moved your rook.”
There is a pause as the man demonstrates.
“It would have protected your king better from my bishop, even if you ended up losing your knight.”
“But I took your queen…”
“A necessary sacrifice for victory.”
The man’s tone is even.
His grey eyes flicker with a dash of red.
“Do you want to play another round?”
“...”
“I think I’m good.”
The man leans back on his seat at the small table they say by.
“I’ve never been all that good at strategy.”
“You’re right.”
“And if you don’t improve, it will be your downfall.”
The man snorts.
“Gee, thanks.”
“That’ll sure lift my spirits.”
“Do you want me to lie?”
“No, just…”
The man grits his teeth in both reluctance and annoyance.
“Is there anything you’re not good at?”
“Yes.”
The man becomes silent as he lethargically puts away the chess board.
The other man almost growls.
“Like what?”
“...”
“Restraint.”
The other man makes a confused sound.
“I’m being serious, my guy.”
The Chariot looks up with a bored, grey gaze.
“As am I.”
He reaches into his pocket.
“...”
“And how is that a bad thing?”
The Chariot pulls out a deck of tarot cards, bent at the edges from use.
He shuffles the deck.
“You’ve seen me fight. I’ve taught you how to.”
He draws two cards.
The other man snorts.
“Somedays I wonder if it’s made any difference.”
“I can still only barely take down one of your pokemon with my full team.”
The first card drawn is Strength.
The second is The Fool.
“And you have to work to unleash all your strength?”
The Chariot’s tone is genuine.
The other man chuffs, lightly tapping the table.
“Yeah?”
The Chariot hums.
He shuffles the deck.
“For me, it’s the other way around.”
He draws two more cards.
The other man blinks.
“What do you mean?”
The first card drawn is an upside-down Temperance.
The next is The Lovers - a spot of blood marring its edge.
“My ability to control myself is tenuous at best, Donovan.”
The Chariot slips The Lovers card into his sleeve, stubbornly keeping his eyes away from it.
“by the time I learned, it was too late.”
“...Ah…”
“I believe I understand.”
The Chariot stares ahead.
He shuffles the deck.
“I doubt it.”
He draws two more cards.
“But perhaps I am wrong.”
“Maybe…”
“For what it’s worth, you have my respect.”
The man’s tone is small, almost shy.
The first card drawn is Judgement.
The second card is an upside-down Hanged Man.
“You have my appreciation, then.”
The Chariot stares at the second card.
“I cannot help but feel it is undeserved.”
“That’s tauros shit, and you know it.”
The man pauses in thought.
“Honestly, if you were leave Team Source, I reckon at least half of us would follow you.”
The Chariot freezes for a moment.
He shuffles the deck.
“You honour me, Donovan.”
He draws two more cards.
“But I’m not the type of man you’d want to follow.”
“You’re better than the others, at least.”
“You actually show your face.”
“You actually walk alongside us instead of sitting in some ivory tower.”
The first card is The World.
The second card is an upside-down Justice.
“you do know that I share the same type of title as the others, yes?”
“Of course I do.”
“You’re the goddamn Chariot!”
“There isn’t a single one of us who doesn’t know you!”
The Chariot nods to himself.
He shuffles the deck.
“what about Team Source’s goal?”
“Who cares about that?”
The man’s voice is becoming more passionate.
He’s drawing a crowd.
“Who cares about creating unlimited energy?”
“It’s not like we’re struggling with it! It’s not like the regions are going to war over it!”
“We all work here, risking our skins for a whole bunch of people who will be just fine when the League eventually comes knocking!”
“When one of them slips up - when the bloody Champion and the others find us out - who will be the first to go?”
The crowd is beginning to murmur.
The man answers the question for them.
“We will be the first to go, dying for people who can’t even be damned to know our names !”
The Chariot draws two last cards.
“and how am I any different?”
The man turns to him, loyalty and fear mixing within his eyes, within the eyes of all those in the crowd.
“Because you’re here with us.”
“You give us purpose.”
The Chariot remains silent for several moments.
His eyes remain grey.
“then let’s hope I am able to live up to your expectations.”
The first card is The Chariot.
The second card is Death.
…
Archived Audio Recording, February 2nd, 1997 [Recorded at Unmarked Location, Johto-Kanto Border]
A crackle of thunder rumbled in the distance.
The winds of a winter storm howled in the night.
A shuffle of boots - old, well cared-for military-grade - taps along an old wood.
An old tune - a slow, almost melancholic, waltz - plays upon a rusted record player.
The man hums along with the tune, missing many notes.
He dances alone.
Thunder strikes once more against the glowing blue snow.
The blizzard heralding an armistice in the man’s never-ending war.
It is cold.
So cold…
So cold that none would think to find a house in the snowing meadow.
It was a house meant for two, with room for more.
Now, only one inhabits it.
One that will soon leave, and resume his war.
But for now…
The man dances, holding hands with a love he had lost long ago.
His fingers graze against empty air.
A crackle of thunder, flashed red in the snowy sky.
Twin suns of bloodied crimson watched on, feeling no joy, nor any shame.
It was part of the plan, after all.
From Death…
Comes Life.
The man dances.
Alone.
The man had accepted this long ago…
Yet in the depths of eyes of void.
Crimson tears sparkle like the sun…
And die off, leaving behind husks of cold, dead grey.
…
Archived Audio Recording, August 26th, 1997 [Recorded at Draconid Village, Meteor Falls]
“Aurous.”
The Chariot turns on his seat to look at Zinnia, glaring down at him with Ahzin’s hand pressed into her own.
The young woman’s eyes - tired and drawn - flicker scarlet.
“I didn’t know you were here.”
The Chariot leans back with a small sigh.
“I wasn’t planning on staying long-”
Zinnia scoffs, her eyes turning angry.
“Of course not! Who am I to assume you’d actually stay here for family!”
The Chariot clenches a fist.
The child at Zinnia side looks up to her with big eyes.
“Zinny is loud!”
Zinnia turns her glare to the child.
“Oh, hush, brat.”
She turned back to the Chariot, eyes once more simmering in barely restrained fury.
The Chariot resigns himself to her explosion.
“Five years! For five years, you’ve been gone!”
“Zinnia-”
“No warning! No letters! One day we wake up and you’re just gone !”
“Zinnia, listen-”
The air crackles.
The hairs on his arm begin to rise.
“No, you listen.”
“You can’t just dip for half a decade and expect me to be fine the moment you returned!”
“You don’t have the right! Not after what you did to Aster. ”
Zinnia’s breath hitches as she stumbles.
Her eyes flicker over the Chariot’s side, where the pale-faced Elder of the Draconid Clan lay on a sickbed, unconscious.
Zinnia’s eyes begin to tear up.
“She- She mourned you.”
Ahzin tugs on her cloak.
“It’s gonna be okay, Zinny.”
Zinnia glares at the man for a few more moments before wiping her face.
She directs as calm a smile as she can to her little cousin.
The Chariot speaks.
“I’m here now.”
Zinnia lets out a growl before she can stop herself.
“And that makes it allllll better, does it?”
“it doesn’t.”
The Chariot’s tone is measured.
Zinnia’s tone is decidedly not.
“Don’t pull that unflappable crap with me, Aurous.”
“You chose to cut yourself away from the Clan, not us.”
“and you are all better for it.”
“You-”
Zinnia gesticulates with her hands as she keeps in various swears and profanities that she does not want to say with a 6-year old present.
“So, what, you’re a plague on all our lives?”
“Did you think, ‘Oh, how tragic’, everytime I called you Uncle ?”
“yes.”
The Chariot’s voice comes out in a rasp.
It does more and more every day.
Zinnia rears back in shock.
She blinks, and her face smooths out, her red eyes simmering to a cool fury.
“...Fine then.”
“So be it, Charedete. ”
“You are family no more.”
Distantly, in a sense that he cannot truly understand, The Chariot feels something snap.
He remains silent, staring into Zinnia’s cold eyes, without regret.
Without remorse.
Ahzin tugs on Zinnia’s cloak, looking worried.
“Zinny is sad.”
Zinnia doesn’t take her eyes off of the Chariot’s as she responds in a murmur.
“It’s what makes me human, Ahzin.”
“Unlike some people.”
The Chariot clenches his fist tighter.
He has to fight against the smile creeping onto his lips.
The snarl.
His eyes glow darker.
Zinnia turns away to speak in low tones to the child.
She is telling the child stories.
They are the same stories that he had once was shared with her.
A cough rings out.
The Chariot turns to see Aster clinging back to consciousness.
Zinnia kneels next to the sickbed, grasping the woman’s hand.
“C’mon, Aster, speak to me.”
Aster heaves in air.
Her eyes are clouded to a near white.
“Three days…”
The elderly woman gasps, and Zinnia’s face begins to break as she grips her hand tighter.
Ahzin whimpers in fear, and Zinnia reaches down with her other hand to comfort him.
“She’s… She’s receiving a vision.”
The Chariot feels his eyebrows rise in surprise.
“We have to let it play out. "
The Chariot remains silent, watching in greater interest the woman who had become bedridden earlier that day.
“Three days… In three days the world will shift.”
“In three days, the veil will split once more.”
The Chariot sucks in a breath.
Aster’s eyes lock onto his, unseeing, yet holding greater vision.
“Charedete… Aurous, are you there?”
The Chariot hesitates for a moment before reaching out for her hand.
Zinnia’s face hardens into a small glare.
“I’m here, Elder.”
Aster’s face cracks, and tears begin to trickle from her eyes.
“My son…”
She grips his hand tighter.
The Chariot’s face does not move.
Zinnia’s arm shakes.
“Promise me…”
“Promise me you won’t let your destiny consume you…”
The Chariot remains silent for several moments.
Eventually, two words pass his lips.
“I promise.”
A lie.
And by the look on her face, Zinnia knows it is one.
She condemns him in silence.
The Chariot condemned himself long before her.
Aster grips his hand one more time before closing her eyes, falling back into unconsciousness.
Zinnia stays there for several minutes, breathing in tandem with Aster’s heartbeat.
Eventually, she opens her eyes.
Aster’s eyes.
“Leave us, Chariot.”
“...Please.”
The Chariot nods in silence, and turns around.
He does not turn back as he walks away from the Clan once more.
Once and for all.
He does not turn back to see the silent tears streaking down Zinnia’s face.
And upon his lips, a singular phrase - a singular purpose - a singular drive - a singular prayer - breathes into the wind.
“go forth, and conquer.”