Summary:
A story of death and rebirth; the difficult decision to try again.
(or: a fic that is very much about AZ getting PMD-style transmorgrified into a little Yamask...)
TWs: Well naturally this contain discussion and scene (singular) of death... drowning imagery is also included.
Song for this fic: Masakatsu Takagi - Promise
On the roof of a now-empty hotel, AZ sat in his usual chair.
He had said his final words to the brave teens who worked to finish what he could not. That which could not be said, he wrote. Desperation caused his letter to be slanted and his fingers to be stained with ink, but there was so much he had yet to say, and so little time…
For one member of Team MZ who struggled to read, he had awkwardly set up a camcorder. Figuring out how the machine worked was simple enough for him, a man who had created much more complex devices. He only wished he had Taunie’s eye for aesthetics.
All his last minute preparations were finished and done with. Now, he only had to wait.
It was strange, knowing death was mere moments away from creeping upon him.
If it had happened a few years earlier, he would be happy. He knew it would be cruel to her, but once upon a time, he would fantasize about passing in the hours after finally seeing Floette again.
And yet, he lived. For a brief 5 years, he would continue to live. And during that time, he met so many wonderful people.
“It is for the best…” he whispered to himself. “Those children have a bright future ahead of them. They do not need to be worrying about a sickly old man.”
He attempted to gaze skywards, only to discover that even that small motion was now a herculean task.
With what little strength he had left, he faced lumiose’s tower in the distance, where an act of great shame was buried deep within. A responsibility that would have been his own, had he been a thousand years younger.
Please… the thought began to form, and for a moment AZ lost his words; it seemed as if he was drifting further and further away from himself. Please, return in one piece. I am sorry that I have asked you to complete this monumental task, and that I cannot thank you personally for it.
I am sorry that I cannot cook you the meal I had promised.
He lifted his hand towards the darkened sky, despite the weakness that overtook his limbs. The glow of an unsettling pink permeated throughout, but if he squinted with his one good eye, he could see it faintly glowing in the distance. The sun he once loved so much.
He thought of when he saw Floette’s black flower, backed by its light. The endless days spent watching it rise and fall, until he lost track of the years.
He thought of how once, 3000 years ago, he taught his younger brother how best to paint the sun reflecting off an object.
“I suppose… I’ll have to make peace with it. Even this…”
His arm fell slack to his side, in the same moment his eyes shut, a calm cutting through him like a sudden chill.
Even this is more than I deserve.
In the hours after he committed that grave sin, he was still angry. Yet a part of him knew the world would no longer tolerate him; he could never be forgiven. With Floette gone, he had nothing to live for. Desperate, he threw himself in the ocean to drown. He had not yet learned his body was deathless, and no matter what torture he put it through, he would not die.
And so, for what must have been months, his body drifted through the endless ocean. Kelp clung to his body as if he were nothing more than a piece of rotting wood fallen from a ship's bow. Salt burned his throat and his lungs until he reached a point where he could no longer register the pain, drifting in and out of consciousness until a day came where he miraculously washed up on an empty beach.
The sensation he felt now was similar. Painless, his limbs paper-light as he floated through a great abyss.
He did not know if he was sleeping, or awake. Only that occasionally the sound of chatter would float up to him. Familiar voices, the people he’d grown to love…
If he listened for too long, his heart would grow heavy with desire. Or worse than that, he would feel their presence. Taunie’s hand loosely wrapped around his frail wrist, his younger brother and Floette working to braid his messy hair.
How badly he longed for rest. To live as long as he had was unnatural and exhausting. And yet, how badly he longed to hold his dear friends in his arms, to thank them for their hard work. To show Floette an interesting flower he once discovered while traveling across Galar. To listen to his younger brother scolding him, just one more time.
It was strange and terrible. He had denied himself so many things. He was terrified of allowing himself to truly feel, knowing what his emotions were capable of. How pathetic it was, that he could think of his own wants only after he died.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Only that one day or night, his body no longer felt weightless. The stillness was replaced with a gentle breeze. Soft grasses laid beneath him, swaying in the wind.
He reached out, and his hand brushed against a pink flower. A gracidea…
Someone he knew loved these flowers. She had told him once, if not for Floette, they would be my favourite.
He bore his arms into the ground, forcing himself to at least sit up. She must be here.
He looked wildly around, until in the distant horizon, he saw the figure of a woman. He rose, despite how his legs trembled, and began to walk onwards.
His limbs had long grown too aged for him to run as he once did. His awkward, shambling gait still moved as quickly as it could. He had to see her with his own eyes. It had to be her— it must be her.
When she fully came into view, he froze.
Sitting at an easel, a paintbrush held firmly in her hand, her white dress stained in soft lilacs, in deep blues. Her heavy earrings shimmered with a golden lustre; the same earrings now belonged to his younger brother, though they were aged, and dulled.
For a moment, he was frightened; as if this scene would end if he dared to move another inch.
“Mother…?” He whispered.
He had forgotten a great number of things over the many years he spent alive, but he never forgot her face.
Her earthy-dark skin, the deep wrinkles that lined her face, in great contrast to her youthful eyes.
She smiled at him, and the anxiety building within him melted away.
“Mother!” he repeated. Though his footsteps were slow and clumsy, he managed to make his way to her before he collapsed to his knees. There was so much, so much he’d wanted to say to her. And yet, every word he attempted was caught in his throat. He could do little more than bawl, his fists balled into her paint-stained skirt.
He could feel her hand gently brushing through his long and messy hair. In time, he would calm enough that his sobs became small hiccups, though he kept his head buried in her lap. It had been so long.
“I’ve been looking for you…” she whispered, “My first chance to see my son in centuries, and you decide you'd rather hide.”
“I apologize…”
“Shh, don’t worry about that. I’m just happy to finally see you. Now, would you like to see what I’ve been working on?”
He lifted his head just enough to see her gesture towards the painting that sat on the easel. When she wiped his tear-stained eyes with her apron, he realized it was the same scene as the one he stood in now, soft spring greens dotted with a dreamy purple. She tilted her head slightly, then with her brush, added another flower. AZ’s eyes widened when, in the moments after, a flower of the same tone sprouted in the field itself.
“I’ve been spending these long years honing my skills. Though, I was pretty good back then, too!” she laughed, “Do you remember when you were a child, and you stole away with my paints so you could try to dye your little brother’s hair? You said, Why is it so red? It’s weird!”
AZ pouted, recounting the memory. His mother scolding him between laughs as his step-father attempted to wash the pigment out of Xanthos’ hair. It remained paint-stained for weeks, at least until it grew long enough to trim.
“It’s been ages since we last had a chance to draw together. Would you like to?”
AZ had barely gotten out a yes when she was thrust a sketch pad into his arms, alongside a small piece of charcoal, her eyes glittering all the while.
“I’m sure you have some wonderful things you’d like to show me. Draw them for me, won’t you?”
He nodded. Sitting besides her, he began to draw.
He pressed down with soft charcoal, etching out the same dainty shape of the flowers he saw before him. The single blossom was soon transformed into a vast field, sprawling clouds as far as the eye could see.
He continued. The scene of an ocean, glittering beneath the light of the sun. A strange fruit he tried once in a faraway region, and loved. A child who, seeing his sad expression, offered him their favourite doll.
As he continued to draw, more of his emotions poured into his every line; erratic and energetic, he drew the unforgettable shape of the eternal flower, its carrier with a gentle smile. He drew the children who stood against Lysandre, who he had wished to see one more time before he passed on.
He drew Taunie, when she was young-- she had insisted on trying to cook a meal for him, only to burn half of it. A fond memory. Naveen, when he first came to the hotel; at that point, he still felt uncertain of himself, and it showed in the clothes he wore. Lida, bright and cheerful, showing off the staryu she’d caught soon after she came to the city.
His younger brother, and the way he’d gaze out the window in the early mornings. The jewelry he wore was the very same that belonged to their mother so very long ago.
With the final stroke, the piece of charcoal shattered in his hand. When he looked down at his palm, it had been dyed black.
With each filled page, he would tear out a piece of parchment and begin anew. He found himself surrounded with many pieces of his own memories; the sketchpad had been emptied.
He attempted to pull away this final page as he did the others… but he could not. No matter how hard he tried, he could not will himself to do that final step, and discard this page alongside the others.
It was only then that he noticed his tears dotting the page.
His mother leaned over him, her eyes scanning over all he’d drawn. Slowly, she picked up one of the drawings he’d made. She smoothed out its crinkled edges, mindful not to touch the charcoal directly.
When she spoke, her voice was soft:
“I thought this might be the case. You weren’t ready to let go. That’s why I was having such a hard time finding you.”
He shook his head. Tears blurred his vision once again.
“I felt the same way, when it was my time. I hated the idea of leaving while you and your brother still hated one another.”
“I am sorry… Xanthos and I have caused you so much grief. It is only now that he and I…” he paused, choking back a sob. “I thought I was fine with this. With… quietly disappearing from that world. I am… I cannot…”
“You don’t need to explain. You’ve always been someone extraordinary. The fact that you could live for 3000 years and claim it's still not enough is proof of that fact.”
"I spent most of those years stagnating. Even now, I do not know if I am truly capable of change. And yet, I think... I would like to try."
AZ stood. When he did, the scenery seemed to change all at once.
Rather than the pristine, untamed fields, he stood in the center of a modern city plaza.
The world was alive with the sounds of chatter, of laughter, of people carrying on their boring and mundane days.
It was not a world where he could easily say I belong, but it was a world he loved all the same, even in all its cruelty.
“Am I… allowed to go back?”
“You’ve never been one to concern yourself with the rules of this world, Azzeddine. When it comes to those you love, you’ll defy fate as many times as it takes.”
“Will you be lonely?”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve got plenty of people to keep me company! Entire generations worth, in fact." She gave his hand a squeeze. AZ could not help but think of how she always felt larger than life when he was a child, and now seemed so small standing beside him. “And if I really need to, I’ll find some way to come visit, you can be sure of that.”
“I would like for you to— to come visit. There is so much more I wanted to show you…” He did not doubt her words; she had always been an extraordinary person, even more so than himself. Ignoring the ache in his back, he leaned down to embrace her. “Thank you, mother. I miss you. And I am sorry I was not a better son.”
“Don’t say such nonsense. I could not have asked for a better child. I love you, my son. I'll always be watching over you. Make sure you treat your brother nicely once you've returned. He's been miserable without you.”
AZ nodded again. He lingered for some time, not quite ready to leave. When he finally pried himself away from their hug, tears shone in her eyes.
“Go, my son. Be brave.” Her voice seemed to become distant as the scenery blurred into something that could no longer be seen. He saw her waving to him, the drawings he created bundled in her arms. “Oh, and one last thing…You may end up in a different form than the one you started in. But don’t worry…”
She vanished from his sight; all that remained was the soft echo of her voice:
“The people you love will recognize you no matter what shape you take.”
When he opened his eyes, the sky was clear again.
“I’m… here.” AZ gasped, “I am here.”
For a moment, he sat quietly; it was disorientating, to be so suddenly thrust back into the world. He only hoped he had made the right choice.
“She encouraged me… she has faith in me… mother…” he whispered, “I am glad I had a chance to talk to you. This time, I will do right by you.”
He wasn’t sure where he expected to be. He had worried for a moment that he would awaken in his own oversized coffin, and wondered how he would escape from such a fate. Luckily, he was outside.
He turned to face his own gravestone, carved by his own hand into the shape of his ancient throne. At its base were a number of fresh flowers (he tried to ignore the ache in his heart at the sight of them). Strangely, his grave loomed over him, despite the fact that he constructed it at least a head shorter than himself.
When he reached to investigate, he quickly recoiled in shock. Rather than the scarred, worn fingers he was used to, he saw a trio of small talons, tipped with a warm orange.
“Ah—” he rushed to cover his mouth before noise could emerge from it. “I’m…?”
He brought his hands to his face. It seemed his long nose remained unchanged, though he lacked his long bangs. It also seemed that he was… small.
He attempted to move, to find his footing… only to bump into his gravestone. When he fell, an object fell alongside him; a bronze mask. Ah.
He held up this bronze mask, engraved with his own frowning face. An overgrown, thorny vine had wound itself around its forehead, mimicking at once a headband and a lengthy, elaborate braid. A red eternal flower bloomed near the top of this vine, while its rare blue variant sat near the frayed end.
Within the dull metal, he could just barely make out his own reflection.
All in all, he was quite ordinary. His arms resembled small wings, and his right eye remained half-blind, as it always had been, but in all other ways he was barely different from any other Yamask.
As his shock wore off, another feeling came to him in its stead; mild disappointment.
“In truth…” he said to no one in particular, “I always rather liked the idea of being reborn as a Pokemon. I simply would have preferred something a bit more… feral.”
He remembered Floette telling him how, long ago, she was initially only confused when she returned to the living. Wondering how, when her last memories were so vividly of her expending the last of her power, and passing on.
Their circumstances could not be more different, and yet, he felt as if he had a better understanding of her now.
He attempted again to move. His body levitated a short height off the ground. Instinctively, he slotted his bronze mask onto the curved section of his tail; though this form was new to him, the feeling of its absence quickly became unbearable.
After spending so many years towering over others, he had to remind himself to gaze upwards, rather than down.
He saw white clouds, the sky taking on a purple hue as the sun began to set. In that distant view, he witnessed a group of fletchling led by a talonflame soar across, no doubt heading back to their nests for the night.
He lifted a small hand upwards, as he did one before. He thought, how marvelous.
He thought, How I’d love to join them. I’ve always wanted to.
A pause. The realization swept through him like a sudden tide.
I can… I can join them now. Up there, above the clouds…
How long? How long had it been since he first had that wondrous desire? To soar across the sky on his own two wings, enjoying the same freedoms as the many flying-type Pokemon he watched soar across the skies.
It was a promise he’d given to Floette when they were both still children.That on one miraculous day, they would be able to fly together, side-by-side.
Floette was not with him now (a thought that would cause him distress if he lingered upon it for too long. Another time, another day, they would be together again), but he had spent so long denying himself the things he desired. He did not want to dwell, and allow his sudden inhibition to go unused, not when the sky was calling out to him.
He hadn’t realized he’d already begun towards it, his small body propelling itself forward, towards what he had always sought.
For once, his mind was devoid of thought— he did not linger on what he did or did not deserve. All that mattered was the openness above him.
The higher he ascended, the more he saw. The graveyard below was alive in its own way. The ghosts who dwelled within it stirred alongside the darkening sky, some curiously fixated on his grave.
He saw more of the city. Tall buildings and their ivy-covered rooftops, Somewhere, a couple held hands as they made their way to a small sitting area. In a tree above, AZ could just barely make out the shape of a pansear, looking greedily at the basket of fruit the couple carried.
Soon, he was high enough he could not see anything except for the sprawling sky, and the Pokemon that dwelled within it. The clouds grew thicker, coating him in fine mist. He burst through them, laughing all the while.
He rose until he reached that place where the stars glittered their brightest, unbound by the light of the world below. Here, the wondrous clouds grew sparse, as did the number of Pokemon. Even so, a minior, surrounded with a soft blue glow, soared past him. In a few days' time, its shell would certainly grow too heavy to carry it and it would fall to the earth below… a sight practically unseen in Kalos; such an event would surely be a miracle.
A miracle...
He remained for as long as he could, long after his body began to chill from the frigid air; after all, his determination was strong enough even to rouse his soul from slumber. To finally fulfill this dream… it was unbelievable, incredible. Even if it was in this unexpected form, to think he would have this opportunity…
In time, the cold became unbearable. He bid the star-dotted sky an adieu, and began his descent.
When he returned, he situated himself atop of his gravestone. He knew that soon, the reality of his situation would begin to set in; he had truly become something new. Even if he were to go to his hotel, where his friends and family were, would they accept him like this? After he left so suddenly, with so much left unsaid…
…They will. If nothing else, he believed in their kindness.
In time, he would find the courage to seek them out. For now, he would do as he always had done; watch, and wait.