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once upon a time—not that long ago to some, and centuries ago to others—arceus mused on the concept of taking up a human vessel and descending down to the hisui region to live amongst those there for a lifespan. it decided in favor of the idea, after decades of deliberation, and chose a child still within a womb to be born as a vessel.
when the vessel was born, it was born into a body that would, in the future, misalign with its sense of self. arceus knew this as a commonplace phenomena amongst humans, and saw it as a non-issue in itself. the issue came with the fact that the vessel would feel anything separate from arceus in the future at all. something failed. perhaps gods were not as infallible as arceus would prefer, or perhaps what it was trying to achieve wasn’t what it truly wanted; regardless, the vessel was deemed unsuitable and arceus left it to grow up on its own.
the vessel was born with a devotion it could not possibly understand, and an aching emptiness it could understand even less. these things only grew claws and dug in deeper as the vessel grew older, festering, corrupting. humans were not meant for divinity. the vessel, imperfect as it was, was not meant for it either. (and yet.)
but perhaps that is not the place to start. let’s see…
once upon a time, there was a man with an unchecked passion for legends and myths named volo, and nobody quite understood what he wanted.
when volo finds the odd stone on the ground, cracked and strange, he doesn’t think much of it. he does pick it up (because he’s eleven and any weird-looking rock is the best treasure a kid could ask for) and when he does it’s warm and heavy in his palm. it resonates with something in him he’s never been able to place, a flash of purple fire snaking out of the crack and down his wrist, but it’s gone when he blinks.
“weird…”
volo doesn’t realize what it’s changed in him until he wanders outside at night, young enough to not care much about the concept of danger or dying in the middle of the woods to pokémon. (he’s never really been scared of pokémon, anyway. not like his parents are.) there’s a purple wisp, new and bright, flickering a ways away from the tents. he chases it down, reaches out to hold it.
the fire doesn’t hurt. it’s hot, licking at his hands playfully, but it doesn’t hurt. he cups it for a long moment—until the odd cracked stone he’s hung in a pouch around his neck begins to hum quietly. the fire hums too, and then it explodes into a burst of purple lights, tiny as embers and circling around him with a joyous rush of air.
and then… they settle in his chest. they settle in the keystone, too, but he can feel the wisp like it’s tangible. he knows, suddenly, it’s not the only one. they’re beautiful. he wants to find them all.
before he discovers the ancient resort, though, he only finds a few. madame cogita is the one to tell him what the keystone is, when he asks, eyebrows raised in the slightest show of surprise. “it’ll summon a pokémon,” she explains, “which is composed of exactly one-hundred and eight wisps. they’re all scattered across the region- are you sure you want to hold onto it?”
“yes.” volo clings to the keystone like he’s afraid she’s going to take it from him. “i want to meet the pokémon! it’ll be my best friend. it doesn’t matter where i have to go!”
cogita nods, surprise turning to amusement. “you’ll have to keep it safe in the meantime, then.”
“of course,” he says, wonderingly, like there’s no world in which he can conceive the idea of taking poor care of it. his devotion has always been aimed at something he doesn’t remember but he can redirect it, now, at least in part. “i’ll come right back with it once i have it!”
“i’m looking forward to it,” she replies, half-fond. “just don’t slack off on merchant training too much, will you?”
volo makes no such promises. (this becomes a trend.)
togepi and riolu come as a pair.
volo meets them when he’s fifteen, carrying out his first solo trip across parts of the region to deliver ginkgo guild goods to the diamond and pearl settlements in the icelands and the mirelands. he’s halfway down a relatively untrodden path when the alpha roserade ambushes him, and his hands fumble with the emergency smoke bomb badly enough to disable it.
ah, i’m going to die here, he thinks, the fear not fully setting in even after all these years. he looks up at the roserade, refusing to close his eyes—if this is the thing that kills him, he wants to look it in the eyes as it does.
so he misses the first glimpse of the pair that’ll soon become his best friends and partners. they make themself obvious soon enough, throwing themselves at the roserade with a ferocity and confidence that’s entirely unearned by two tiny little guys with not very much firepower.
it gives volo an opportunity, though, and he doesn’t hesitate to pick the two up and run, vowing to come back to the cart he’s leaving behind when it’s safe. (all the valuables are on his back, anyway.) looking back, he thinks it’s probably a miracle that togepi and riolu didn’t maul him for his sudden grasp, but in life or death beggars can’t be choosers.
they bump their heads against ultra balls themselves, no throwing on volo’s part. they grow up together. they find wisps together, and then spiritomb joins them, a veritable trio of solemn-looking little bastards. volo adores them.
the emptiness still claws at him, but he ignores it . volo wonders how anyone could be scared of pokémon when they’re all so delightful, fascinating. those are his friends.
it’s an easy thing to evolve them, in the end. their connection is stronger than any challenge. but—
once upon a time, there was a vessel meant to be for arceus. it was a failure and tossed aside, and when it found out about the existence of the god it was meant to be, the devotion and the emptiness the god left behind twisted into obsession.
or; once upon a time an abandoned vessel learned of his maker for the first time, and it consumed him.
or; once upon a time there was a man named volo and he had a strange smile and a strange way of business and a tendency to wander and passion for history and nobody understood.
or; the dream forms when he’s eighteen and he knows cogita regrets informing him the minute his expression shifts but volo couldn’t care less.
arceus will complete him.
the vessel knows this because the idea of meeting it resonates within him so strongly it hurts. it resonates with the emptiness, the devotion, every feeling he’s had that he never could place to memories or experiences or humanity. (the part of him that has always existed and always felt is wary. the part of him that loves and loves and loves and doesn’t want to let go and seeks out myths and is so achingly curious, achingly human, rejects the dream and the divinity in equal measure. the vessel does not listen to these parts.)
giratina does not complete him; he doesn’t expect it to, but it does click. they are each others’ means to an end. togekiss and lucario and spiritomb refuse to come out of their pokeballs when he’s on the path to his dream, but that’s alright. they join him on the roof of arceus’ temple, flanking him on either side as he stares out towards the horizon and raises his arms. the silky white fabric adorned with gold shifts with the motions, fabric folds like waves in an ocean.
“it’ll all be worth it, my friends,” he promises. they won’t be around to see what’s worth it, but the vessel is empty and has always been empty and there is no room when god fills the room like a flood. “the world will be remade in my image! arceus will bow down to me! ”
at the beginning of the hopeful end of the world, the vessel is alone.
(volo is not. the mask he puts on, summoning it from the depths of his heart, cracks when he looks down to his pokemon and sees their solemn expressions turned on him, unmistakable concern and fear reflecting back at him. his dream is going to be accomplished, but… there is still time to cherish the few connections he has.
he kneels and gathers the three of them into his arms, closing his eyes, back to the horizon. fabric has never felt so suffocating before.)
at the beginning of the hopeful end of the world, the true story begins.