[journey] killer in the mirror

Hēixié positioned herself between Ruìsāng and the Gardevoir, her body language a delicate balance of readiness and restraint. She lay down, her posture embodying a silent vow to leap into action if necessary. Yet, she chose to observe, her trust in Ruìsāng's judgement anchoring her actions.

The Ralts shared something with Ruìsāng, speaking of life that persisted within the shadows that enveloped him. As Ruìsāng absorbed these words, a gentle smile graced his lips, his thoughts immediately alighting upon vivid images of loved ones— golden eyes shining with warmth, a smile that lit up the darkest corners of his world. These were the beacons that had guided him through his darkest times, the anchors that had kept him tethered to life.

Pondering the following message, Ruìsāng voiced a concern, “Can darkness afflict it with sickness?” The notion seemed alien to him; never had he encountered such a thing. Shaking his head to dispel the thought, he sought to clarify his position. “I’I’m not— Do I really seem like I’d hurt her? Please just— I think she needs medical care. Let me help,” he pleaded.

Behind him, the Dragapult, a silent witness to the unfolding scene, ventured a cautious glance towards the Gardevoir, its expression tinged with melancholy.

“Please, stop,” Ruìsāng's voice barely rose above a whisper, his plea soft for the Ralts that strained to reach him. Desperation laced his every word, a raw, aching need to help, to fix, to save, but shackled by the harsh reality of his limitations. He stood there, torn by his desire to intervene and the ghosts of his own past that whispered caution. The memory of being ripped away from home, by hands that promised salvation yet delivered him into a nightmare, haunted him. He couldn't—wouldn't—become the very monster that still prowled the shadows of his sleep.

The Gardevoir spoke of an ailment not born from darkness, offering a sliver of hope that perhaps Ruìsāng wasn't the harbinger of despair he feared to be. “I believe medical care, not just life and light, is what's needed,” he countered, his voice a gentle murmur against the doubt screaming within him.

As the Ralts drew nearer once more, Ruìsāng's resolve wavered. He caught and cradled it, a fragile hope in his arms, feeling to see whether it had a fever. Memories of being taken, of hands that claimed to protect, surged forward. He couldn't—wouldn't—take her away without the Gardevoir’s permission. The Ralts spoke again — stating there was light beside him and Ruìsāng smiled softly. “I know. He’s all I could ask for,” he admitted, a knowing smile on his lips. There was light in his heart, because he had someone who could be that to him.

Facing the Gardevoir once more, Ruìsāng's resolve hardened. This tiny, frail life in his arms needed medicine and care. He stepped forward, a silent vow in his heart, past the Vulpix. “Life and light alone are not enough. She needs more than what you or I — or this tree — can offer,” he implored, his voice steady, his heart heavy. “I've done things I wish I could erase, made choices that have darkened my soul. But I wouldn’t hurt her. I’m not— I’m not a monster.”

Maybe he ought to finally believe that.

For too long, Ruìsāng had cast himself in the role of the villain, a soul marred and tainted, unworthy of the light for fear of extinguishing it with the abyss that seemed to reside within him. Yet now, he was utterly exhausted by this narrative. Exhausted of feeling as though all the battles he'd weathered, all the demons he'd faced down to emerge on the other side, meant nothing. He'd laid everything on the line, time and again, for the sake of others— only to be judged eternally by the shadows that clung to him, by the consequences of decisions made in moments of desperation.

How dare they.

“Do I know nothing of saving a Pokémon?” His voice droppedas he gestured towards the Vulpix at his side. “I snatched her from the inferno she was forced into. When she repaid me with her teeth, did I abandon her? No,” he said, his words a testament to his resolve. Hēixié had been a storm in those first days, yet not once had Ruìsāng regretted extending his hand in salvation.

“You can't even begin to fathom the lengths I've gone to to keep those I love safe.” Demon. Devil. Life had never offered him the courtesy of guardianship, yet he had always stood in its stead for others.

“So, let me help her. If it's light she yearns for, then know this— the light inside the hearts of those I keep close outdoes any radiance a tree could offer.”

Ruìsāng felt the Gardevoir's presence tentatively reaching out towards him. Instinctively, he tensed. Yet, in that breath of time, he chose vulnerability. Eyes closed, he allowed the Gardevoir access to the hidden chambers of his thoughts, where fears roamed free and unchallenged. If she sought to glimpse into his soul, he would not bar the door.

When Ruìsāng's eyes fluttered open, meeting the Gardevoir's gaze, something unspoken passed between them— understanding. The weight that lifted from his shoulders was palpable. Perhaps, he dared to think, he might begin to accept the possibility of redemption, to see himself as the Gardevoir did: not as a vessel of darkness, but as one harbouring a flicker of light, desperate for air to breathe, to grow. Maybe, he wasn't beyond salvation.

The Gardevoir spoke of the tender light within him, a beacon of potential that required care and protection. Ruìsāng understood all too well. His desires were simple, rooted not in ambition but in the innate need to protect, to preserve the light in a world too often shrouded in darkness.

Gazing down at the Ralts, his resolve solidified into a quiet promise. “I will keep her safe. You will not regret this,” he assured the Gardevoir. “Thank you,” he offered.