a deal with god

Throughout his younger years, Ruìsāng had implored the heavens with a fervent, desperate intensity. Initially, his pleas were stark and raw: ‘Make my dad disappear,’ he had demanded in a voice choked with rage. This plea soon transformed into a yearning cry, ‘Bring back my mother.’ The latter persisted, albeit with a shifting meaning.

In the sterile, unfamiliar confines of foster care, his soul ached for her physical presence. He longed for the comforting embrace of her arms, to be whisked away to a semblance of home, of normalcy. But upon his return to the remnants of what was once home, his yearning morphed again. Now, he wished for the mother of his rose-tinted memories to reemerge, doubting whether such a warm, nurturing figure had ever truly existed beyond the veil of his childhood naivety.

Over time, the harsh realisation dawned upon Ruìsāng - the Gods were deaf to the prayers of a boy like him. His petitions had been eclectic, ranging from imploring Arceus for a divine intervention to asking Celebi to rewind the wheels of time, to grant him a chance at a life less fractured. He had begged for the smothering rage to be lifted from his heart, to feel the tender touch of love once more. Yet, his prayers echoed back to him, unanswered.

Now, here he stood, inexplicably, in a temple. The reason for his presence eluded even him; perhaps he had finally surrendered to the madness that constantly gnawed at the edges of his mind. His fist, wrapped in bandages, clenched tightly as he stared ahead.

Reshiram.

What a joke.