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Volo is twelve when his home is wiped from the face of the earth. His literal house, yes, but also everything around it, the entire plateau that had housed Celestica Village now nothing but rubble. Volo is also not around to see it happen, and so the understanding of death lays shallow in his memories- nothing has died, at least not to the part of him that doesn’t understand it. Instead, the overwhelming feeling of disappearance contorts his trauma into something more malleable for a chaotic god to dwell in.
In his memories, it’s late in the evening when the Gastly have already come out of hiding and he should have been in bed hours ago, had he not gotten so absorbed in exploring the nearby cave systems. He knows he’s late for supper, and his stomach growls at the thought as he trudges down the well-trodden path back towards Celestica. Perhaps it’ll be grilled magikarp tonight, he thinks idly. It’s technically not the season for it as most Magikarp haven’t migrated up-stream yet, but his uncle is supposed to return to the village with more supplies from the base of the mountain with his guild, and his imagination conjures up the taste of rosemary magikarp that makes his mouth water in anticipation.
He’s so engrossed in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize where he it until he stumbles into a half-broken wall.
He thinks he must have taken a wrong turn inside the tunnels somewhere - impossible, he memorized the underground by heart - or perhaps a pokemon was playing a cruel trick on him - by jove, those wild beasts were monsters after all. Something, anything that could have led him to unexplored ruins.
But the things that pulls him out of his thoughts and hopes is simple: the silence. Even if he had exited through some unknown tunnel system, Celestica is a large community; there’s no way he wouldn’t be able to hear the bustle of merchants packing up their wares for the night or neighbors chatting excitedly before returning home for dinner. Even across the plateau, closer to the Diamond settlement, the sound of evening prayer would at least be faintly audible on the wind. Instead, there’s nothing. Nothing but the sound of Gastly drifting around the plateau and wind whistling through ruins that shouldn’t be ruins.
Volo thinks he should stop thinking, but his rationalizations get worse. If these aren’t ruins, if they really are...are.......then he should recognize some structures on the outskirts of the village, and he certainly doesn’t. Not the mausoleum at the very edge of Celestica, with its wide marble arch...or the butcher’s shop with ivy running up the columns...or the...his eyes dart between buildings, trying to find anything else to lie about. Instead, they trace the path that his feet instinctively take him down, towards the center of town where he hopes, prays to Arceus that he doesn’t recognize the brightly patterned walls of his family’s home.
His prayers aren’t answered. In the middle of the wreckage of a village torn asunder, not even a friendly residence remains, and Volo swallows back any thoughts that he may have. Purple paint chips from marble walls; there’s no black paint on a familiar roof, but that’s because the building he used to call home no longer has a roof. There’s nothing left but three walls and a foundation, and that’s being generous to the third wall whose upper half leaves much to be desired.
Regardless of the remains, though, Volo remains as confident as he is terrified. This is his home. This is his home and if it’s his home then it’s his family’s home, and if it’s his family’s home then his family must be-
“Dad?” He calls out instinctively before recoiling at his own voice. No answer. “Mom?” The slabs stand silent. He tries to speak out again, but fear stops him. The fear that, regardless of how many times he cries out, nobody will reply.
It’s not a fear anymore, though, but a desolation. He feels sick. This is his home. This is his home.
This was his home.
He turns away. Doesn’t want to go inside. Is afraid of what he’ll find if he does.
“sᴛᴀʏ, ᴄʜɪʟᴅ. ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀᴡᴀɪᴛs ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ.”
He freezes at the voice on the wind, a dark cadence that speaks like a human but doesn’t sound like one. “What do you mean,” he demands of it, spinning around and freezing when he finds nothing - nobody - behind him. He should be more terrified of a bodiless voice than he is, but he’s left all his fear in the hands of the entire village that has disappeared without a trace. He has none left for a spirit of any kind. “Of course there’s something here!”
“ɴᴏᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ.”
He swallows his words, doesn’t want to believe the voice, does anyways. It’s right; there’s nothing inside. It knows- he freezes. How does it know?
He opens his mouth to ask if he’s speaking to-
“ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʀᴄᴇᴜs, ɴᴏʀ ᴀᴍ ɪ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ.”
-his mouth clicks shut. Bile rises in his throat again. He has a question that he doesn’t want to ask, but he does anyways. “...are those the same thing?”
The voice is silent; that much is enough of an answer for Volo. Even if it’s too incredulous to believe, he can’t swallow back the sick this time.
When he’s finished retching into the bushes, the voice has faded- only for a moment though, as he feels it resting in the shadows of his mind. His shadows- had he always had those? He’s not sure, but they certainly exist now, the miniscule but ever-present seeds of doubt that maybe this voice is right. Maybe Arceus did-
He shakes his head, and can almost feel the presence wrap around him more. Even if that’s true, there’s nothing he can do. A vengeful god had - possibly, he tries to convince himself as darkness tinges the corners of his passion - destroyed his village, taken away everything he had loved, there was no way he could...
“ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛ, ᴄʜɪʟᴅ?”
“No.” The voice brings itself once again to the front and center of his attention, and he wipes the corner of his mouth, keeping his head down all the while. It’s true- his entire world has been shaken; there’s no way anybody would be okay in this situation. But at the same time, he knows he has to be. Nobody else was there to make him okay, after all.
“ɪᴛ ɪs ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏ sʜᴏᴡ ᴡᴇᴀᴋɴᴇss.“
A lie certainly, but one that he doesn’t mind, after the voice had given him so much truth...because it was truth. It had to be. There was no other explanation for the destruction he never even noticed. He doesn’t even notice as his feelings crawl deeper into those shadows and he lets that voice take up more space in his thoughts.
“ɪᴛ ɪs ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏ sʜᴏᴡ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ.“
Volo breathes in and finally takes a look at his surroundings for the first time since acknowledging the truth. A slab lays near the steps leading into his home, deep purple in color but emitting a dark aura that conflicts with the holy radiance that Volo has only known. Maybe it’s better that way; Arceus- his white light would only bring pain now.
“ɪ sʜᴀʟʟ sᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ɪᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴ ᴜɴʜᴀʀᴍᴇᴅ. ᴛʜɪs, ɪ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ.“
He picks up the plate, holds it in his hands, and believes.
There’s really nothing else to do.