Flowers for the Forgotten
"Zinnia's dead."
Getting Rayquaza's attention was normally an impossible task – the green wyrm disdained interaction of any sort, always eager to escape any and all attention when possible. However, as the ruler of the underworld uttered those two words, she saw him immediately turn around, half-snarl visible in his jawline as he stared back at her. Surprise and anger clashed in his expression, as if he were conflicted between asking why Giratina, of all legendaries, started a conversation with him and why he, of all legendaries, should even bother to give her even a minute of his time.
The two lingered in the entrance chamber of the Hall of Origins, the last members remaining after one of the council's regular meetings. Normally, Giratina found no reason at all to stay and mill about with her fellow legendaries – she came last and left first in an effort to spend as little time as possible in the company of others. Rayquaza thought similarly, so eager to return to the Sky Pillar or a place far away from any other form of life that he would prematurely quit meetings at times. Despite her numerous disagreements with not only his philosophies, but also his very existence, she had to admit that he got at that one detail right.
Despite that, though, Giratina stayed today to give the green dragon some pertinent news. Out of the recent souls that passed through her domain, she recognized one far different than the rest – it shone brightly, fiercely, with an aura almost more animal than human. Over the course of her rule over Turnback Cave, she became acquainted with the Draconids, a people renowned for their devotion to the god Rayquaza. She did not care to explore whether he warranted such worship, but regardless once every decade or so another one of their souls came through the abyss. Their utmost reverence for the dragon must have molded their very beings, becoming almost transcendent in existence to stick out so strongly from the others.
But she knew that this was the final one of those she would see. It was no secret to either of them that Zinnia was the last of the fabled Lorekeepers, and despite however little she wanted to do with Rayquaza it was her obligation to at least advise him of what had occurred.
"Excuse me?" he asked, glaring at her with those caustic, chartreuse eyes of his. The gold tiling of the floor below reflected the afternoon sunlight onto his scaled underside, casting an almost holy glow on the dragon. She smiled wryly at the effect, irony of the image all too apparent. "Did you say that Zinnia is dead?"
Whatever threatening effect the dragon desired simply sloughed off of Giratina, complete indifference plain on her black and gold face. Turnback Cave faced her with the nightmarish and grotesque on a daily basis, so some displaced animosity from a colleague proved to be nothing but a mere annoyance. "Do your ears always pop when you fly up here, Rayquaza?" she asked coolly in response. "Or have you always been so hard of hearing?"
"I was asking to confirm what you just said," he snapped back, narrowing his eyes at her. "You have to understand that the last time we talked face to face was..." He crossed his skinny arms, head tilted as he feigned recollection. "Right, never," he concluded, scowl quick to return. "So forgive me if I'm surprised that you, guardian of hell on earth, actually wanted to talk to me."
She somehow prevented herself from rolling her eyes as Rayquaza demonstrated one of his trademark acidic rebuttals, ridiculousness of his display tickling her amusement. "You're one to talk," she said with a snort. "Really, Rayquaza, the social defect, lecturing me on how to approach others. Isn't that ironic."
"The pot calls the kettle black," he responded, long body coiling up as he floated an iota closer to her. She nearly backed up at the movement, raising a wing slightly to tell Rayquaza that coming any closer would result in his imminent evisceration. "But enough of that – you've wasted enough of my time as it is. Is it true," he said without a hint of emotion, "That Zinnia has passed on?"
Giratina only nodded at him, almost wanting to laugh at the euphemism he used. Even Rayquaza, she noticed, avoiding the term "death." Over the years most of the legendary council chose to avoid that word at all for it reminded them of their immortality. For them, death could result only from violence, bloodshed, suffering, a fate unbefitting of legendary status. But even so, she didn't peg Rayquaza as soft enough to use that term based on how cynically he saw the world. His particular use of the phrase, minor as it was, aroused her curiosity.
"I see," she heard him say in acknowledgment. "Zinnia was the last of the Draconid Lorekeepers. She takes with her the legacy of her tribe as well as any pertinent history or details the humans have of my existence. I can't say that I'm dissatisfied with that, considering how dangerous they can be with that sort of knowledge." Without another word the laconic legendary turned away from Giratina, not even bothering to await her response as he floated towards the exit of the Great Hall.
The dragon stared at his back quizzically as he left her standing alone. Even with her very limited experience with the dragon, she could observe how oddly his body contorted, raising her suspicions considering how nonchalantly he just received her news. He looked genuinely uncomfortable as he extended his body out for flight, body uncoiling in a twisted, clumsy fashion.
As if he knew a pair of burgundy eyes tracked his every movement, Rayquaza shot her a distant look. It frustrated Giratina to no end that she could not scrutinize his expression – she knew not if he simply feigned the indifference that plastered his face, or if he genuinely did not care about what she had just told him. As she continued to ponder, a slight wind traveled through the hall as he exited the great marble doors of the Hall of Origin. Second later he became only a thin shadow against the dying afternoon light filtering into the hall as he jetted far away.
As Giratina too began walking towards the exit, she found herself suddenly interested in the green dragon's machinations. Regardless of whether he actually cared or not, his behavior deviated far from his normally apathetic, lonesome demeanor. Did the great Rayquaza, whose only known weakness was a red, fair-feathered dragon, mourn the loss of a single human? She groaned to herself at the very thought, remembering that discussion she had with Arceus so long ago – the legendaries, under no circumstances, could ever become attached to mortal beings. Her patented expertise on loss and suffering made the consequences of such a mistake more than apparent.
Either way, Giratina refused to believe that the green dragon's antics deserved any more of her attention. What concern of it was hers what he did or how he reacted to that news? She shut down whatever curious thoughts prickled her mind and shelved the day's occurrence as nothing more but an anomaly, instead redirecting her thoughts towards the work to be done back at Turnback Cave.
The trees surrounding Sendoff Spring seemed to bow before Rayquaza's very might as he descended from the black, starry sky, the dragon's entrance cloaked in the darkness of night. As he hovered slightly over the lake, he winced at the how the sound radiated from his landing, faint howl gusting through the forest. Not far from the water's edge sat the entrance to Turnback Cave, that dim, shadowy cavern where Giratina herself lived.
As he opened his claws, nearly cramped shut from the hours-long flight, his expression brightened when he saw that the white lilies he carried so tightly managed to survive the travel. Summoning the wherewithal to actually ask Shaymin to produce them proved to be a challenge – Rayquaza was tough, strong, case-hardened, powerful, far above asking for some damn fragile flowers. He didn't know if he had the fortitude to replace them if something went awry.
However, he needed them for tonight, for this very special occasion. Because of that he didn't mind the temporary embarrassment associated with his request too much, despite the grassy hedgehog's quizzical expression or lilting tones when he first talked to her. "For Latias?" Shaymin had asked jokingly, causing him to summon a glare so intense he saw the flower behind her ear visibly wilt.
He glanced around carefully, eyes searching for any sudden movement or, rather, Giratina. The bitch governed her territory with an iron fist, and certainly would not take kindly to his intrusion. Rayquaza needed to drop these flowers somewhere before she learned of his presence. The last thing he wanted was a conflict over his intentions.
But where to lay them? As he gazed around the forest, it dawned upon him that there existed no shrine or grave for him to leave the flowers. The stupidity of it all suddenly hit him as he just floated there, face starting to burn from embarrassment. What the hell was he expecting when he got here? A giant graveyard? Thousands and thousands of tombstones as far as the eye could see? It dawned upon him far too late that Sendoff Spring was a forest, not a cemetery.
His options were few. Of course, Rayquaza considered actually entering the cave but quickly knew that he'd rather enter Turnback dead than alive. The persistent howling and groaning within produced an atmosphere inhospitable to even the bravest of legendaries, and even if that didn't pose a problem it ignored the fact that Giratina also lurked deep within, sulking away, destroying souls or whatever that godforsaken legendary did in her free time. If that particularly abrasive dragon figured out what he was up to, she would haunt him for the rest of eternity about how he appeared at her doorstep oh so weak, so lost, so pitiful with those damn flowers in his clutches. Who knew Rayquaza could possess such compassion, he imagined in Giratina's voice, and he shivered at how accurately he reproduced her vindictive tone.
However, the slight swishing sound behind him and the cold wave of air passing around him were not products of his imagination. A chill ran down his back as he dared not turn back, quickly realizing just who had just formed right behind him.
He heard the inhalation of the ghost behind him, and as the words came out her voice sounded all too real, far more credible than anything he could conjure in his head.
"We have a visitor, it seems."
chapter 1 of 2