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“Once upon a time, not so long ago…” the fire crackled softly, cherry-red coals collapsing in on themselves and setting sparks to dance, warm light light spilling out from the worn-brick fireplace pushing weakly against the cabin’s inky shadows. It pooled around the rocking chair’s legs, casting aglow the blanket’s frayed edges and the small mattress’s fluffy side… it fled across the wood-plank floor warped by long years of winter’s cold, gleaming off- red claws, and soft gray fur… “there was a zoroark.”
“He was a mean zoroark. When it came time to play with all the others he turned his back and stalked away into the dark, saying ‘I am too busy. Play with yourselves.’ You see, he had a secret. He wasn’t like the other zorua and zoroark, who were content to live and run and sneakily blend in with the humans. There was something he wanted, and he made it his goal to have it no matter what.” Two dark eyes stared up at the zoroark, sleepy orbs reflecting the licking flames from where they lay nestled into the plush fireside bed.
The zoroark in the chair leaned forward, tracing a claw down the zorua’s face so gently, caringly- smiling as she pressed lightly into the touch. “First he went to the wise dragons.” He pulled back, just a fraction of an inch- and in that space spilled illusions , of truth and ideals soaring across star-dusted skies, enrapturing her gaze in a well of wonder. “‘You are lying,’ said the dragon of truth. ‘Your arguments are not true.’ So he went to the second of the dragons, who spoke unto him ‘your ideas are unideal. Your will impure.’”
Zorua shifted slightly, struggling to stay awake in the cozy warmth as the story’s words washed calmingly over her. She didn’t understand, not really … but that was fine. “He went home after that. The other zorua said to him ‘that’s enough! The wise dragons shared their wisdom; you don’t need to keep going.’ He didn’t listen to them though- for his mind was made up and he was too set in his ways.” She was still young… but she’d grow up, and be all the better for hearing it.
“A long time passed, and the zoroark did not give up. If he couldn’t get the wise dragons to help him, he thought, then why not ask one of the zorua? ‘Help me, please’ he said. ‘No,’ said the zorua, but the zoroark was too set in his ways, and he made the zorua help him.” The illusions crept darker, teeth-white flickers praying at the edge of a gray-dark fleeing color, the gentle firelight banished beyond the edge of story.
“‘Stop!’ Said the other zoroark and zorua, but the zoroark did not stop. His heart was filled with bitterness and his mind with malice, because he didn’t want to stop. ‘Stop,’ said the zorua who’d helped him, but he ignored them, focused only on his goal even when it had long since become an evil goal. ‘Stop,’ said the others, one last time…” a fleeting flicker of muddied snow and trampled machinery, of a memory so profound shared to him a long, long time ago. “But he did not stop, not until he died.”
The fire crackled as the illusion died, shadows unwound from his grasp as the hearth’s light lit the room cozily once again. Zorua looked up at him, eyes wide in childish confusion. “What happened to him then, Dad?”
The zoroark chuckled, gently brushing his daughter’s fur as he tugged the blanket over her. “Well, some say that if you go to the chasm where he fell, even now you can hear his howls in the wind, and if you’re particularly naughty you might see him- a white and red furred corpse, shambling along with an eye out for naughty kids!” His paws snapped out at the last word, and Zorua squealed with laughter at the tickles. “The moral of the story is that sometimes you have to take a step back and really look at things with an open mind. Not every goal is worth pursuing to the bitter end.”
“...dad? When is…” Zorua yawned, ruddy paws kneading at the edge of her mattress as she stretched languidly and shifted into a more comfortable position. “When is mom coming over? I wanna hear her stories… are…”
“Tomorrow, kit. Your older brother needed her help.” He waited for a response, but only the even cadence of her breath and the fire’s dying sparks remained, and he couldn’t help but smile softly at the adorable sight. “Sweet dreams, Zorua. Sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
The shadows unfolded even before he leaned back in his chair, a second zoroark stepping out of the empty blackness, illusions twice again subtler than he could ever hope to have noticed. “Really Goh? That story?”
He shrugged just a little defensively. “Hey! It’s a good story, okay?”
Delia stalked forward, perfectly silent as she knelt down beside Zorua’s bed- gaze fixed on the sleeping kit. “You know how I feel about that.”
“And you know that it needs to be preserved. Ghetsis’s sin is something to be remembered , not forgotten out of some- misplaced modesty, or shame. Legendaries know where I would have ended up if you didn’t shove some sense into me.” The silence between them was uncomfortable for a moment, until Goh sighed, glancing away. “Fine. I’ll stop teasing her with the hisuian zoroark legend.” A smug smirk crawled across Delia’s muzzle, and Goh got the feeling that was what she’d wanted all along. “Thanks for helping. She can be a right handful when Mew isn’t here.”
Delia’s eyes twinkled with withheld mirth as she snickered softly. “Little rapscallion when her mother isn't around, is it? Always running around and getting into trouble? Does that remind you of a certain pair of boys, always eager to stumble into every problem along the way, and then some?”
“Stop it with that.” He snickered softly himself, though. “You’re making me feel old.” It had been a while… but, gaze gently settling on his daughter soundlessly asleep, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He stood, sparing one last glance before he walked away from the fire’s warmth- into the chill darkness. Though he might not be able to see her- in the blanketing darkness, so gently pressing as he pulled the sheets over himself, he knew she was there. Watching, kindly, as she had all those years ago… he closed his eyes. “Goodnight.”
And there was nothing more beautiful then than nothing at all.