Chapter Text
Bede was never used to the quiet.
It seemed from the moment he was born, ruckus filled the air around him, unending noise piercing his ears. Though overwhelming, it had initially been pleasant as wind chimes; cries of joy and laughter from within the only place he'd truly called home.
It was only when a deafening boom of thunder shook the earth, and his life crumbled around him in one fell swoop, that the sound took a form he soon grow accustomed to. The final nail in the coffin—the flashing stab of lightning—struck as he set one foot in the door of that dreadful establishment.
From an early age, that was how he'd learned to live: with a raging storm surrounding him, enveloping every bit of the world around him. At times, that storm chose instead to wage war within his mind, clanging against his skull and plunging him into a life of isolation and anguish. He'd strike his peers and they'd return it, but the final strike always seemed to come from the orphanage head. Still, despite it all, the children around him appeared to scrape their way to fragments of sunshine; playing and laughing with one another despite the circumstances. Such laughter never rang like wind chimes, more akin to a muted ring of a bell. But everyday he longed for the wind chimes to return, to replace the deafening thunder. And yet, the storm raged on.
His world grew dark as the winter sky: a bleak, dark void of ruthless cold, the chill piercing him. The snowfall did all but vanish, only melting to raindrops as time passed through him, leaving him worn and weathered. Eventually, he'd grown accustomed to this environment as well, continually soaked by the flowing precipitation but no longer flinching at the drops.
Eventually, he clawed himself to a refuge, however small. The only escape from the storm was a frail shelter of wood, a single wall to hide behind and block the hurricane raging on the other side. His sole release took the form of bound pages stroked with ink, painting fantasies of joy and colourful creatures in his mind. Of all the tall tales of magic, royalty, and whimsy, he found the most improbable notion to be, "happily ever after."
Amidst the tempest of torment, a beam of sunshine practically blinded him as it tore through drab gloom. Ironically, the rescuing brightness presented itself to him in the form of a grey-suited man; a man adorned in the hue of the cloudy skies dampening his life all the while bringing light into it. The man gifted him not only a Pokémon—a friend—of his own, but a future. That future entailed a myriad of noise and chaos, from the businesspeople of Rose Tower to the buzzing pupils of the Trainer's school. But through it all, he'd silenced his own noise, kept his head held high, and prevented the dam within him from flooding. For his friend's sake, as his vexing feelings resembled literal noise to her. For the chairman's sake, as the boy couldn't bear to dishearten his only sponsor by misrepresenting him.
As he grew older, he continued chasing that ray of hope and revolving around that sun, that sole source of light. He did all he could to ignore the raindrops pricking his skin and the brewing storm he was slowly becoming. He had no longer resorted to striking his peers, instead opting to jab at them with words before obliterating them in Pokémon battles.
Harsh? He didn't think so.
Necessary? Of course.
Because he was the chairman's chosen, and they weren't. Because he'd be the best, and they wouldn't. Because he could make the Chairman proud like not even the Champion himself could.
He held no regard for the clouds obstructing the rays of sun, as long as a hope to see beyond brief flashes of its rays remained. He simply couldn't reach high enough to catch that glimpse yet. But he'd drench himself in rainfall if it meant experiencing the warmth of the sun one day.
Rainfall accompanying sunshine.
A Giratina's Fair.