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(God died today.)
The paper-thin walls of the tent couldn’t hold it in, the way his body shook in forfeiture; he is a ticking time bomb set to three years and twenty-seven days ago.
He is dampened, but still pulsing, utterly resigned to this grief in a place no one can see him. For once, for the first time in weeks, he’s alone . He hates it. He loves it.
(Juliana has been amazing to him. Nemona and Penny have tried, too. )
The bite of the cold air outside nearly consumes him, but even it seems to spit him out; seems to reject him. He stands, just barely, breath as shaky as his legs. The boy begs himself not to scream; not to explode.
The campfire is out by now (god died today), and good, because he’s burning up inside. Arven knows better than to skid into it, to lean into the unruly fury inside and truly combust. He looks upward instead.
Professor Jacq said stars fizzle out and die years before we even notice from earth.
Of the thousands that must be visible tonight (the clearest night he’s seen in years), how many are still burning on? Some stars seem to swim in his vision. A firm blink doesn’t pause it. Neither does wiping his eyes. Making sense of any of this is futile.
(God died today.)
His gaze falls to the treeline, and he wonders for a moment if he’s gotten any better at climbing since last year.
Then to the blobs of deep emerald leaves, and to an odd speck of ivory that dotted it. He wonders if climbing high enough could get him face to face with whatever thing, man or ‘mon, was a good enough scapegoat for him to reasonably curse out.
Then to the tree trunks. He wonders if he’s thinking the wrong direction, but no way he’s touching the Crater again to find out.
And it falls a bit more, and more- the vague, merciful lights of nighttime are still fucking with him. Something’s still swimming in his vision.
It pierces through the nighttime haze, burning a hole straight through his brain. Like it needed another.
(Was he lured to his death, or did it jump out straight at him?)
The air would get far too stale and far too cold if he stood here much longer. Arven had something to prove, after all- he just didn’t know it yet.
(God died today.)
In spite of his dorm, and the lighthouse, and the childhood bedroom that got sold off a decade ago- all those places he’d ever tried to call home- none welcomed him more than thick brush and the rustling of trees.
And that stupid speck of light, hovering just past a woven layer of evergreen pine needles.
Clutching the pokeball in his pocket while solemnly swearing he wouldn’t, couldn’t, use it as a crutch, Arven slowly steps toward the lure. What was this gonna be, some superfluously divine wish-maker to turn back time and give his childhood back?
About that, a voice mocks (it’s his own).
An oddly onion-shaped thing, the Celebi leapt straight out of memories of flashlight-bound storybooks and into this poetically absurd moment. Crystal blue eyes illuminate every speck of dust and pollen floating around them.
“You. You’re…”
“ Ce? ”
An exaggerated exhale turns into a chuckle somewhere on its way up. No fucking way. Now. Here. Him.
“You’re that Myth pokemon. That’s you. You’re that.” (He can never tell Nemona.)
It blinks in probably-reply. More certainly, much more pertinently, the creature
held out its hand.
(God died today, didn’t he?)
Despite any and all pure expectation, the opportunity makes the boy’s innards twist and turn in on themselves, trying their best to escape if their shell wouldn’t do it himself.
Arven may not have the best grades around, but he knows his snot about Pokemon legends (which he’ll never confess to Dr Raifort). All that searching for a cure gave him quite a few faulty leads. Admittedly, scrounging the world for a Celebi was on the table- if nothing else, his inner 8-year-old would get some satisfaction from finally finding one… until he realized a flight to Jhoto meant leaving behind Mabosstiff and begging, borrowing, or stealing way too much money for a plane ticket. (And here it is, in the middle of Paldea, because Juliana can’t be the only one to find crazy mythical creatures on a given Wednesday.)
Instead of satisfied, he’s sick. Nauseous, probably from all the saltwater and mucus in his system. Arven looks at the poor thing, his own eyes downturned at the outer corners- sad, not angry (and certainly not happy), at the offer it was proposing.
He should be leaping for joy, into its arms and into the past. Why, after all, would he not want to embrace his father again, or memorize his mother’s long-gone face?
Isn’t this what he wanted?
“You know… there’s something wrong to this. I can’t put a finger on it.”
Those crystal eyes stare into his own, and though the creature didn’t condemn him by any means, its pressure makes Arven snap the string of eye contact anyway. He gazes back the way he came, over his shoulder to the camp their troop haphazardly set up. (Best they could do in the only clearing on this side of the Tagtree Thicket.)
There’s so much he could lean on- so many platitudes about true family he could start preaching. Arven could insist the big, overarching adoration he’s garnered for those idiots (and Juliana) outweighs any other desire.
Something else comes out instead.
“I gotta pass. We… have plans with Penny’s Team Star friends Friday. They’ll kill me if I’m late.”
“Le-le?”
Okay, now the thing is judging him. He’s seen that cock-eyed look on too many passing Tatsugiri to not recognize it. Arven’s face glows scarlet.
“Ugh, fine-” he coughs into his hand, voice still a little groggy from all that teenage angst he was wallowing in just ten minutes ago. “I… guess I just don’t need this.”
(He died today.)
“All that Area Zero stuff wasn’t closure. I know it wasn’t. But I think it’s the best I can deal with. Right now, at least.”
Celebi eyes the ground, as dejected as its exaggerated facial features could really allow. He can almost imagine it, in some comedic gruff voice, going ‘yeah, I shoulda figured, but thought I’d try anyway.’
He responds to the figment of a conversation. “For now, I’m just gonna… enjoy myself, I think? Or try, at least.”
It, too, tries- beckons- one more time. To his own shock, he doesn’t move an inch. Looks like he’s finally frozen in place. (By discontentment or disbelief, he didn't know.)
“Look, I’m not ready. You travel through time all the time, so you know how, uh…” he clumsily stumbles around for the words like a toadscool at midnight. An indescribable significance weighs on his chest, like the next few words could have him smited by a vidalia onion. “How beautiful time is. That’s all I need, but-
“- not in the way you can give me right now.”
Instead of sending him to the maker he was wanting to curse out earlier, the little thing seems to give him mercy; it flutters its wings, putting itself a head above him. Regarding him. (He can NEEEEVER tell Nemona about this.)
He gulps and chokes out a caveat, because this is Celebi , and it came here all just for him, and he’s a nice guy.
“So give me a while to get over myself. Sorry, but if you could just keep me in mind…”
Hope reflects off both their eyes, distant moons that would cross orbits some other day.
“I’d like that. I don’t think I’ll be able to forget this, ya know.”
With nothing more than a giggle, it was gone, light fading with a particular reluctance. And then, only then, he lets himself panic.
(God died that day, and so did his faith.)
"No doubt you saw a Celebi," Dr Raifort stated so matter-of-factly, no air of superiority or facetiousness to her tone (despite his every expectation). "Don't believe the media- there are perhaps thousands of distinct Celebi, but reports only make the mainstream in Jhoto. It's their little jewel." She regards the far-off region with a strange callousness before continuing. "They don't make way to Paldea much- there's barely any forest here. The only recent documented sighting was in Tagtree, actually."
A couple weeks after the chaos and adventure died down, Arven would be lying if he said he didn't expect a vadalia onion to break into his dorm and whisk him away every other night. So, he didn't tell Nemona (or the others, because they didn't question it when they found him asleep by the campfire pit that next morning). There was one person he could at least bounce this off, though. Students could always count on Raifort to gush and gossip over the latest magical premonition or mythical sighting with them during lunch. Especially in the courtyard, where 'no one in particular cared enough about dusty old legends' to eavesdrop.
"I guess I'm just not sure what to think of it..." he grumbled, halfheartedly poking at his sandwich.
"I'll tell you this- the most suspicious part of the story is it not forcing you along."'
He gulped again, because getting smited here was much more likely than it was back at the forest.
"Yeah, I was actually pretty scared it would." (He was? Arven didn't realize that until he said it out loud.) "I told it to just come back later, and that seemed to do the trick."
"Be careful then. You might just owe one to the celestial world, spirit boy."
With nothing more than a giggle, she was gone. And then, only then, he lets himself realize-
(From convalescing day by day, he knew God's death was a weight off his shoulders.)