Demoman
He/Him
30
March 17
Circhester (Galar)
Heterosexual
Demolitionist/Eco-Terrorist
i used to dream in the dark of palisades park.
TAG WITH @tavish
tavish rose
After everyone had gone to sleep, when the stars dared emerge from the vastness of the night sky, when the Pokemon that fought for the delicious, sweet fruit had all given up for the day and vowed for tomorrow, and when the Moon blessed the fertile earth beneath the Dyna-Tree.
That’s when one man and his four companions emerged from the black of night. He held a book in his arms and a rare hope in his eye. Not filled with the fires of vengeance or justice, but of childlike wonder. How nice it felt. How different it was.
As soon as they all reached the King, the man bowed. So too did Obstagoon, and Sir did the best he could with the lack of knees. Bloke hesitated at first, but shrugged and eventually followed suit with the rest. Sonny closed his eyes and folded in on himself. Together, they all paid their initial respects.
“O wonderful King,” the man said softly, “I ask for forgiveness, for disturbing you at such a late time. On such a beautiful night… it was for the best.”
The League might not know who he is. If they did, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t attack. He could not lose the one thing that kept him from pure home-sickness. The old leather-bound book in his hands, weathered and as old as the being they bowed for. Its cornered bent in on themselves, and the pages were yellow with oxidation.
“But… I knew I must meet you. If not for your sake, then for mine,” he fell to the side and crossed his legs as he set the book in his lap. “If I’m not mistaken, I’ve heard rumors that you wish to hear tales. To regain your power. And as a proud Galarian myself, it would be the utmost honor to help you in whatever way I physically can.”
“Because if the tales of the past are true, and what I’ve heard is true… then you were the one that gave us all we had.”
The rest of the Pokémon unfurled themselves and joined the man on the ground. All but Bloke focused their attention solely on the King and the Storyteller– his gaze fell on the stars that twinkled high above. He had only slight interest in this, as Galar was not his home. But an easy night was never a bad thing.
“So, I thought it best to begin with a simple tale,” the man opened the book and carefully turned the first few pages. Each one handled like a newborn until his finger landed on the very first one in the book. “One to help you remember our home.”
“Once upon a time, there were two kingdoms that bordered one another. To the North, a kingdom that lived in the clouds. The people were happy, hopeful, and without a single worry in their hearts. Every morning, the sun greeted them and began a new wondrous day. Life was simple, peaceful. Perfect, even.”
“But things never changed. They never grew, and the world was a daze. Day in, day out, all they could do was the things set before them in a never-ending cycle. The things they hoped for was always destined for tomorrow, yet it was always a day away.”
“And in the South, a Kingdom of chaos. Nothing was ever guaranteed– nothing but the ground beneath their feet and the sky above their heads. They understood the world, yet that meant little for the problems of the then. They labored against the world, mother nature– existence itself. Every battle a struggle, and with no hopes.”
“Yet they grew. Changed. Little by little, they furthered their knowledge of the land. If they must struggle, they would become one with it. They conquered goal after goal, until their kingdom was just as large as the one in the North. Even if they felt as empty as the halls they inhabited, they had become just as large as their opponents.”
“How they hated one another. Those in the North could never understand their hardships, their reality. Inside their lofty castles were lofty ideals, always dreamed of but never accomplished. And those in the South, how empty their hearts. Even if they became as strong as them, there was no passion behind it. Empty husks with no reason for existence.”
“They waged war, and fought on the battlefield. That idealistic kingdom without a single true accomplishment against the truthful kingdom built with cold, emotionless motion. Neither side ever beat another in a way that mattered. Land was won, then lost the next day. It was long. It was bloody. And nobody won.”
“After ten years, both sides were in ruins. The people were tired. Neither could ever hope to beat the other, and both had to face the reality of the situation. They had to join one another, or both perish to the struggles of the world. Reluctantly, they merged into one whole kingdom.”
“The people of the North finally could put their dreams into reality. Even if slowly, their tomorrow had finally come. And if it didn’t, then that was perfectly fine. It just meant things were different, and that was okay. From the South, passion entered their hearts. They could finally feel purpose for the things they did, and the knowledge they had let them finally see tomorrow. There was now a reason to their motions; a thing to hope for.”
“And they lived happily. Ever. After,” the Man slowly closed the book. Its echo filled the air, and silence soon after. He smiled– a rarity in these last few months. Struggle after struggle, towards a future that always seemed to be in tomorrow. But steeped in the reality, and acceptance that it wasn’t certain.
But to struggle was to hope, and to hope was to struggle. Ideals without Truth were little more than a distant thought, and Truth without ideals was a cold, merciless land of medals with no meaning. Only together could they ever hope to give purpose to life.
Even as the King offered a heartfelt cry to the story, the four would remain silent and simply enjoy the presence of the thing they never knew existed until recently. Bathing in its glorious radiance for as long as they could. For this one night, they could be hopeful. They could be at ease with themselves and the situation.
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