CHAPTER 7

Date: April 13th, 110 P.A. / 2114 C.E.

A month of so after her presentation, Arei stood outside the Temple, out on the summon grounds, a stone area at the crease of the cliff that stood against the western sea, the waves crashing against its face. She knelt, continuing to swirl the pale chalk clutched in her hand against the slate surface, in the elaborate design she had been memorizing in the past week, marking holy symbols of the long dead language at its edges. She crouched now at the section of the cast circle that was that was to the east, her then mauve robes a pool of silken fabric about her, slightly transparent. Turning back towards the center, she saw her god waiting patiently for her to finish the patterns—many of which she'd studied during the nights by candlelight. He had warned her that by doing so, she would wreck her eyes, but she paid him little heed. After all, if she went blind, she was certain that he could heal her. To add to that, she desired to learn as much as possible as fast as she was capable of.

Her curiosity had quickly become a much joked about thing by Byron. To him, it seemed that she savored new information like the morsel of a fine feast, and still hungered for more like a glutton.

He was probably right.

Though, she would admit, not all that she had learned had been all that interesting. Take the scrolls some of the priests had deemed to give her—of lost mechanics and technology. While useful, the knowledge was boring to her mind. Myths on the other hand…she could easily spend hours reading them. Yet while those too were suggested to be learned, they continue to say learning of old sciences were required. As if the terms were still understood, and anyone knew what the test was referring to! Truth be told, she would far rather toss those writing in the flames if they were not so valued.

At any rate, this was her first official ceremony—the time had come to summon the rain. Though the country had a dry season most of the year, the winter and spring gave way to rain—at least, usually. None, a few months into the wet season, and still no storm had come, pregnant with rain to be released onto the arid lands. It was one of the simplest of the ritual she was to learn, the ceremonial rites easy enough to impress into her brain by her god. And luckily, this was one that required no purification bathing; and while cleansing later did sound enjoyable, going through all the trouble with the herb mixtures and her Handmaidens scrubbing her, when she was perfectly capable, seemed a hassle she'd prefer to avoid. After all, she could bathe herself just fine!

Putting that thought aside, she took her place in the circle before God Abaddon, going to her knees, her arms held up in front of her, palms up, head bowed. She glanced up once to see him turn away, towards the edge of the cliff, facing the sea. Arei then closed her eyes, taking a deep, full breath, he began to murmur the chant of words he had practiced with her the night before—teaching them until she could rattle them off without a thought. As she did so, the air around them grew bright, glowing from the marks, through her eyelids. She heard a rumbling high above them, like a grand percussion without a beat. She felt the temperature drop sharply, the humidity rising in the same moment. Then, a cold droplet of water, fat and slick, hit her palm…she opened her eyes, and gazed up towards the heavens.

From horizon to horizon, a heavy rainstorm blotted out the skies, the dark clouds alight with random flashes of electric bolts, weighted down with WATER. All at once, rain began to pour down swiftly on the newborn wind, washing away the white powder she had scrawled out onto the solid surface. Her God still had his arms outstretched to the clouds above, and as the last of the chalk was rinsed away, he opened his eyes, staring back towards her. She'd risen—his gaze caught her still. Just looking, no emotion flickering in his gaze. His arms dropped, and he turned towards her, observing how her wet robes clung to her skin.

"Are you cold, Arei?" he asked quietly, privately, only to her.

The question caught her off guard. He rarely asked things about herself. "I'm fine," she replied, a bit confused at his interest.

He said nothing, turning away. Gazing out at the iron grey sky, the water crashing against the shore. She could hear shouts of joy and laughter from the back garden outside of the Temple, where they were observed by some of the servants and the townspeople. They felt the rain a blessing of a divine, which, essentially, it was. After a moment of silence, he spoke once again.

"We would not want you to become ill, Priestess Arei. Let us go inside," he stated tonelessly, passing his second by with a few steps.

"…No."

Her own voice surprised her, and the emotions within the single, defiant word. The desire to remain right there; the reluctance to go back in, even if it was chilly now. She knew the reason, of course, and of how childish it would surely seem to him. Yet, she did not care….

"…What?" His voice had gained an edge to it, of displeasure.

Her expression was tranquil as she turned her face towards him. "…It is not what you think, my lord."

"Oh really? How would you know what is in my mind, High Priestess?"

Arei took notice of how he had suddenly become formal…and sighed, "It's…it's just that…I've never felt the rain before, God Abaddon. Is it wrong of me to want to feel it, to experience it?"

His eyes softened, just a bit, as he understood. "No…of course not. We shall stay out here a few more moments, if that is what you desire."

The girl woman smiled, thanking him, and tipped her head back, holding out her arms. Feeling the liquid splash against her neck and face, running down and through her arms and hair….

She felt….

So happy….

The innocent, blissful joy of the smile that spread on her face caught Abaddon off guard. It struck him them that she was quite new, quite raw and fresh to this world. Oh yes, she was growing, certainly—he had caught her cursing only the other day at being burned by a hot teakettle that had been brought up for their refreshments. The use of such colorful language had made the seraph stare, and Arei to flush in response to it. She had not wanted to earn his displeasure, distaste, but sought his care, his affection. In a way, he could comprehend this, for what creature did not long to belong, to have companions. However, it was not likely he would be such to her. He was her superior, her guardian to an extent, nothing more. He would not give into her wishes. If she wanted a friend, she could turn to fellow humans, though such a risky thing for one in her position. They might be respectful acquaintances, but nothing more intimate than that.

After all, why should he allow her to get close, when all others had failed? What made her so special as to receive such treatment?

There was no specific reason. No answer. Just a hint of a feeling of familiarity, so easily quashed…he ignored it, shoved it aside. It was nothing. Turning to her, seeing her hair had grown stringy with wet, drops trailing down her limbs and neck and face, still, he wondered….

Why? Why did he allow her to stay out here, in the rain?

He at least had no personal reason to remain out here, in the cold, damp place.

And yet….

Her arms fell to her sides, and she opened her eyes, their red-violet hue reflecting the silvery sky above them. She turned to him. "All right…I'm ready to go in now."

As they walked back towards their Temple, off of the sacred grounds, she met his cloudy gaze. "Thank you, Abaddon, for allowing me to stay out here. I know you did not wish to."

The god gazed firmly ahead of himself as she finished her statement. With annoyance, he noticed that she had dropped his title, as though she assumed that due to his allowance, for a moment they were suddenly closer. But even as he felt that, some other, long buried part of him…was glad. Even if it wasn't his real name, a part of him was glad that her thanks was personal.

But then, he thought of his true name. The name he had lost and forsaken with the shifting times. Mewtwo. It had been so long since anyone had called him that. And even though it represented a time in his life where he knew only suffering, that told of what he truly was…some small, tiny shred of him, missed it.

For it was a blink. To a past in which he had been an innocent child, with the company of a little girl and other strange pokémon who had never judged him, but accepted him. Smiled with him. Dreamed with him.

Yet reality returned as he gazed up the world and his priestess. Never again would anyone, any human, call him by that name. Perhaps that even was best. For did it not bring up too many painful memories? Of loss and abuse? Of a life without meaning. No, like the thousands of lives lost in the storm, it was extinguished.

To all of them, he was not Mewtwo, but Abaddon.

And that was how it would remain.