#howling voice

[vulgrados-best]

Here is a drawing of myself. I am quite proud of it

[vulgrados-best]

In the history of our world... there was a philosopher in Galar named Anderson Rowe, who... while known for being a good, God fearing man... Actually had beliefs that would be considered blasphemous of the time.

He had believed that the truth of The Darkest Day was not destruction... But love. In his journals he wrote of a story from before Eternatus was a mere skeleton, from before the Darkest Day.

Rowe believed two things about Eternatus:

1.) Eternatus was born not of the sky but the core of the earth; in his mind eternity could only be found at the very center of our planet. It is there that Eternatus was able to become what it was. Rowe described this creature as an unfathomable beautiful thing. It was everything and it was indescribable.

2.) Eternatus was loved. It was loved by every creature on Earth; it was loved by the grass, by the sea, by every pokemon, my every man. Eternatus was loved. But most of all Rowe believed that Eternatus was loved by the Wolves.

In the final pages of his final journal Rowe described the sacrifice of Eternity. Eternatus kept the world going on forever, while it was around, nothing died. Eternatus recognized that it was finally time for the world to have the chance at an ending... so it asked Zacian and Zamazenta to strip it of its flesh, to banish Eternity so that at last the world it loved could move forward.

Rowe believed it was not an enemy to be slain, and there were no heroes saving the day. It was simply a beast on an altar, stripped of its flesh by the teeth of its lovers. The Darkest Day was not the destruction caused by Eternatus. It was the grief felt by the world at the end of Eternatus.

On the last page he wrote:

"From the strips of flesh and the blood that flowed from the great Eternity, a child was born. From the mourning howls of the Two Lovers, steeds were born. The King of Galar arose from Eternity, and its steeds rose from Grief.

Calyrex. The Harvest King. The final gift of Eternity."

[vulgrados-best]

I don't have much to talk of right now. How is everyone doing?

[vulgrados-best]

The champion of paldea, geeta, sent children into area zero, including a few from another region. At least in my world it was made public. She’s good at what she does, politically as the champion, league chairwoman, and head of the academy, but people worry about her putting children at risk. Apparently they were champion ranked so “they could handle it” buuuut. If they hadn’t been able to I shudder to think of the international drama sending two kids from a unovan school into the hole that everyone in paldea grows up knowing not to mess with may cause.

See this would normally be disturbing but I'm realizing it's quite common for children to solve the supernatural on this website.

I've wondered how long til we are thrown headlong into it? What story will we experience? I am no fool. There is signs of the inevitable narrative that will swallow us whole. Psychics and Family Legacies. Missing Persons found at last. Strange whispers.

There is no if. There is only when.

But will I be swept aside by the tide of fate? Doomed to bash my head against the rocks to progress our journey? Or will I go with its current?

It leaves me antsy.

Do I wait for a destined fall or do I jump headlong myself?

Do I take it into my own hands in hopes of making myself relevant enough to the narrative to be allowed a part to play or do I go with what is planned for my life and pray that it is to survive?

Death or action.

And I suppose... At the end of it all... I ask:

Do I listen to what my mother told me?

Or

Do I let doubt consume me?

[vulgrados-best]

For Zacian, how do you feel about Zamazenta?

How I feel about my brother is something I struggle to put into words.

Forgive me if I sound rather annoyingly poetic but how does a Vivillon's wing describe its reflected other half? The pattern is incomplete without it, but how can it exist without the other? I suppose in this metaphor our chosen humans, our heroes who wielded our power, are the body of this Vivillon. The connection between the two wings that then make them whole.

But to extend that metaphor would be to bring in the question of how I feel about my Hero.

So I suppose the more relevant question is simply: How does a sword describe its shield?

Do I talk of my own capacity for violence, and thus of my brother's capacity for protection? Do I talk of the way a sword can be just as much a defense as a shield? Do I talk of the way a shield can harm just as a sword can?

And what if I told you he was not in fact my brother but my sister instead? What if I told you that all of the myths and legends of us stripped us of who we truly were and presented us both as pillars of masculinity and strength? A hope to quell the ideas of would be Joan of Arcs. Of course... they failed. She still happened, and she still burned bright on the pyre. Patron Saint of Kalos they call her.

Zamazenta, quiet soul of the Southern Woods, made to be the Brother, the Prince, the Protector. I too was once considered a Prince, but they have made me Princess. And if not a Princess then I must be the Witch. The one who does not conform into what I am made to be. They once made us into King and Queen, forced my sister to be my brother and made us Gods.

Perhaps I took up that blade not just to defend the right to our country but to fend off all who would try to force my sister into who she is not. A sword taken up out of love. Love for the land. Love for my sister.

In texts they name me eldest, but I reject that notion. Fundamentally, Zamazenta must be the eldest... for what is an older sibling if not a shield? The one who takes the brunt of the mistakes and mishaps of their parents.

Equally, what is a younger sibling if not a knife? The knife in your side, the knife you take out of the hands of a child before they stick it in the toaster, the knife that is pointed at you during an argument over fruit.

Of course, an elder sibling can be a sword. But a younger sibling can never be a shield, it is not the position they were born in to.

I suppose to answer your question: I love him. Very dearly.

[vulgrados-best]

oh so anjo da morte is a creeper okay

Your lack of religious belief and superstitions have rotted your brain I fear if this is all you take away from our tale.

[vulgrados-best]

ur mourning a person whos still alive cuz ur too scared to let urself love them. ig nietzsche was right man is the pkmn that is sick

You wouldn't really get what I mean unless you grew up with him. She's just. She's never really been the same. It's kinda unsettling now actually. When he first got back from vacation he was so scared and out of it and it was like every trace of the Maple I knew was gone.

And now... About 4 years later... It's like he's some. Some.

(Zacian) He is like light reflected through a prism. Is the rainbow light on the wall the same as the white light that shone through the gem?

(Miguel) Do you have a better metaphor?

(Zacian) I suppose in a more horror genre she is some wax construct wearing the face and name of Maple Carmo Arai Dias but she cannot be her. Or perhaps it is the question of what happens when one goes through a "teleporter."

(Miguel) That leads me to the thought of maybe a better comparison is Hal vs Dirk.

(Zacian) That would get into the concept of two Maples.

(Miguel) Yet the teleporter question brings up the same conundrum.

(Zacian) Then let us ask about someone who is the same yet not the same. Who are you when you come out on the other side? Are you a creation of your own psyche in defense of your own mind? Someone who could have survived?

(Asterion) The old argument asks... If you replace every plank of the Ship of Theseus is it still the same ship?

(Zacian) What a miserable existence it must be to be the reflection of something that never existed.

(Miguel) All of this doesn't get to our point.

I would say it's like that comic about a wild Lycanroc seeing a domesticated dogmon for the first time. She used to be a wolf. But now all I see is a garbled reconstruction of her.

[vulgrados-best]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE WAS STARING THROUGH MAPLE'S WINDOW?

Ah yes, Miguel did not elaborate on this.

One night when we were attempting a sleepover with Maple, to gain some degree of normalcy after Maple's injury from Houndoom, and saw him.

Maple was already asleep, but we found ourselves unable to be. The lack of Florges in the gardens was. Starting to scare us. To the point of delusion, but not hallucination, I might add. The nighttime did always make this worse for us.

We could Feel something was there but we reminded ourselves as best as we could that nothing was there, we were simply delusional. But Miguel had the urge to look outside, to calm themself (as if looking into the night has ever truly helped them calm down, but I digress).

We looked outside and we saw the flowers actively wilting. A rolling tide of death and rot. A blackness consuming yellow and blue and pink and purple and-

We backed away from the window. I distinctly remember looking around for Tami, we had taken our eyes off the window for just that moment. What unsettled me the most was that Tami was utterly calm.

When we looked back at the window we saw him. Piercing blue eyes and a gaunt figure. We remember nothing else of what he looked like. All we could feel was complete and utter fear.

I. Do not know how much of that event was our own mind. And how much was reality.

All I know is. We have never been one for major hallucinations.