Every second of silence that stretched between Lysandre and his ancestor left a sensation like a needle being inserted into his skin. He could practically hear the sound of a second hand ticking by, pushing another needle down…
It was definitely guilt. Guilt and shame, but in a different sort than that he felt when he thought of what he had done in a more isolated, global sense. Now he had to sit down with somebody who was related to him – distantly, but still related – and see how it affected him. No doubt it did – severely, in a way that Lysandre could not even begin to fathom. AZ must see him as though hes a mirror – and -
Lysandre’s heart dropped. His hand automatically moved to his breast pocket, dipping his fingers into the pocket and gently stroked a finger along the smooth, fire and skin-warmed scale which belonged to his late partner Pokemon. The corner of his lips twitched, but he couldn’t manage a single real expression. No sad smile, no frown, no sorrow nor anger. There was simply too much that he felt about the matter – and no, he did not want to talk about it. He didn’t want to, but he supposed he really did owe it to his ancestor for what he had done.
What they both had done, he supposed. Millennia apart, for different reasons. Reasons they framed as selfless, but were really grief-borne, selfish creations from their own minds. Lysandre could accept that now; that he had been wrong, that he had just given in to a great amount of fear for the future, of a warped perception of what most people were like from his own, isolated experiences. It was a bleakness that he had been unable to escape from – that he should have asked for help from, that he should have tried harder to outrun – but that seemed to, in looking at AZ, go on and on and on without end.
“It wasn’t my choice to keep on living.” Was all he could think to begin with. It was still so fresh that he could not think to choose his words carefully – just give a tumble of words seeking to describe what had been the slowest moving few seconds of his life. “Loire – my Gyrados – he was inside his Pokeball. He shouldn’t have come out – but they have wills of their own. You know. They sense danger sometimes and they just – move. On their own. Do whatever they want, what they think is best – and I guess he knew it was bad. Maybe he always did, maybe he saw it coming – I guess anybody could. But he popped out, and he – tossed himself. The whole building was coming down, you know. But he threw himself into the rubble to try and – save me I guess. I deserved to get crushed, but he wouldn’t let that happen – he was too loyal and – I didn’t get away unscathed, no, there was damage but – he was all curled around me. And I couldn’t do a goddamn thing about it, I couldn’t pull him out, I couldn’t – I don’t deserve to have Pokemon.”
His voice rose while he spoke, words coming in faster tumbles, and not really giving any details. He felt tears come- stinging, too soon, the memory was too fresh – and when he finally reached the ending, Thierry lifted his head and gave a small growl to his owner. The Pyroar flicked his tail in irritation; this was the reason why he had come along, and Lysandre knew that much, so, withholding a sob, he lifted his head slightly and let his hand fall on the Pokemon’s head. “I think Thierry disagrees. I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve this affection.”
Lysandre lets his head fall again, feeling the heat of his fire crawl across his cheeks. Warm and pleasant. He hoped it was doing good for AZ as well, genuinely. Right now, despite the discomfort of them being together in presence, he really wanted him to be physically comfortable. Anything less would feel…wrong. He was trying to make amends – which he could never – but make them in smaller ways. Ways which could be distractedly pleasant. Something that felt a little bit right at least. Not that he would say such.
“…Would you like a blanket. I can spare you one. It’s neither nice nor particularly thick, but it could be something.” He glanced towards his bag; all he had was a rather thin blanket and his sleeping bag – which he would pile together when it was particularly cold. It wasn’t much at all, but he could forgo his own comfort. Especially if it bought him more time to avoid exactly what it was that AZ was going to talk to him about.
When his ancestor had said ‘he had to listen’ it filled him with anxiety, like pouring water into a cup. All of it, building up towards an overflow. What did he have to listen to? He knew he did not listen at first – that was why he was in this mess- that he should have back then…
“Ah. Before you start talking- I’m sorry. I should have listened to you. It probably means little now…but I’ll listen this time.” Lysandre lifts his head once more, trying to seek AZ’s eyes so he would know how serious he is. He will listen. He means it, AZ deserves it.
“It wasn’t my choice to keep on living.”
Those words shot through AZ’s body like a bullet. Something in his stomach dropped, though the only outer reaction from AZ was a twitch at his lips as his frown deepened. He knew this question would be touchy for Lysandre, and he regretted having asked the question on his mind so quickly. Still, he probably wouldn’t have been able to keep his curiosity at bay for long. Maybe it wouldn’t have even mattered in the long run.
The torrent of words that came out of Lysandre’s mouth showed just how unprepared he was for AZ’s question. Each word stumbled upon another as he paused and restarted a few times. Clearly, the experience was still raw for him. Self-hatred was reflected in his descendant’s words. AZ only sat there, giving himself a moment to take in what Lysandre had said. So that was what had happened... it was nothing short of extraordinary dedication from his Pokemon that had saved him. What love, what bond had Lysandre and Gyarados felt?
Gyarados died for its love of Lysandre, because of Lysandre. Floette would have done the very same for AZ if she had to, no matter what. And Pyroar loved Lysandre, too. Even through everything, it was loyal to its partner.
AZ watched Lysandre carefully. There was such pain in his expression. He looked away, staring at his well-worn boots and his wrinkled hands. He and Lysandre were so alike. The similarities were nothing short of frightening. People never changed, did they? Generations upon generations upon generations separated them; family, but just barely so, and yet nothing changed. Was it their family curse to cause nothing but sorrow for themselves and for others?
The only difference now was that the weapon was gone. But they’d inevitably find another way to hurt others. And AZ would be there again to watch it all. It would never end. There would be no reprieve from the misery.
Though perhaps that was a pessimistic view of the world. AZ tried not to be so negative, but it was hard sometimes.
Lysandre spoke again, this time offering AZ a blanket. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I have a blanket with me. Thank you.”
“Before you start talking- I’m sorry. I should have listened to you. It probably means little now… but I’ll listen this time.”
AZ didn’t immediately respond. Lysandre was much more aware of himself now, of his actions. He had obviously realized his mistake some time before then. Too little, too late, as always. Even so, it was something. How long had it taken AZ to come to terms with what he’d done? And now, he had to impart something of substance on Lysandre. AZ had all the time and experience in the world. His wisdom could be invaluable, though he was unsure if Lysandre would ever have the time to turns things around in the way he likely wanted to.
“I was about your age when the war began. Maybe a little older. My brother took everything from me. He was all I had left aside from Floette. The thought that my own brother would betray me was... it was... heartbreaking. I loved him, and I’d have done anything for him... and I was so angry. He was willing to tear our empire apart over petty disputes. He was willing to tear what was left of our family apart for his own greedy desires. I was never a particularly happy man, but... this hurt me in ways I could never describe.
“So, when he had his men take Floette away, it ruined me. I searched for years to find her, but I could never do it. And the only reason I knew she had died is because he sent her body back to me. I... I lost it. The blinding rage, my loss of faith in humanity, it was a perfect storm for me to destroy everything. The machine I built, I knew that whatever happened, there would be a great cost. And you must know what happened then... I’ve told you the story, haven’t I?
“What I’ve done has haunted me since that day. That guilt you feel now? It never goes away. But it gets easier eventually. It’ll be your only friend, sometimes. The only reminder that you’re still human. But you’ll wish that you had never been born. Not even that you could change everything, but that you didn’t exist at all. Though perhaps that is my feeling alone.
“You should consider yourself lucky that you didn’t hurt anyone but yourself. You have more of a chance than I do. What I’ve done can never be undone. But you... if you change your ways now, perhaps one day... you can find what I never could. I don’t hate you, Lysandre, but I hate what you remind me of. I hate that you remind me of myself. I don’t know if you realize that or not, but it’s the truth. I believe I’m lucky in the way that I can at least help you. I want to help you. But I have one more question for you. I hope that’s all right.”
AZ paused. For the first time, he looked directly into Lysandre’s eyes. “Why are you sorry for what you’ve done?”
A deceptively easy question. The easy answer was that it was morally wrong. Of course it was. But why did Lysandre feel sorry for the suffering he nearly caused the world? What had changed from that day when he activated the weapon to now? Was it his own misery? Was it loss? But AZ was certain that no matter what Lysandre said, it would tell him exactly what he needed to know about him.
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