"Red is the colour of a hero...!"

My people have been telling of this moment for hundreds of years, just as they told of it before. And it is my turn, my burden now, carrying the weight of craters and mountains and stars burning out on my thin shoulders.

I am the final string left between Hoenn and disaster, between existence snuffed out in the span of a mere two seconds. The meteoroid could break the planet entirely, I hear them say, over and over like the too-familiar roaring of a waterfall.

I've always been less inclined to listen to scientists than the truths of my own people, but this feels strong, centred, and terrifying. And I am the only wall between it and this planet, the very world I and my ancestors have sworn to protect.

But there's a sinking feeling inside me, and the whispers in my head grow and I know they're truths—

you're

not

good enough

And I'm not.

I study my crimson eyes in the mirror every day, hating the way they burn and glare with such a frightening, wide-eyed look to it.

Grandma tells me not to be scared, that countless other Lorekeepers have been through this and that it'll be OK, that my red eyes were just fine because red was the colour of a hero.

But I'm bitter, and I'm alone, and I'm not a hero. I'm too empty and broken to be called one, and I'm not good enough to try and pretend that I am. Maybe this is what the Lorekeepers feel when they're faced with such a arduous challenge, the fate of the world tight to their chest— who knows what they went through?

I'd hoped to feel empowered by the countless heroic acts that Lorekeepers have performed, but that inspiration's long been sucked into a desolate, black hole, replaced with a throbbing, aching vacantness.

I'm sure that's how it felt for everyone else in my position, but now I just feel empty and broken and full of fear, because I'm single-handedly shouldering the burden of the entire world, and when I look back on it oh Arceus I'm falling into a bottomless pit of despair.

And it's all because—

i'm not anyone's hero

i cant be the world's hero

but

i'm the one who needs a hero

I start to feel sick. I start to want to destroy myself, turn my entire being inside out and rip out the emotions from where they are attached to your bones because I can't— I can't— my lip is wobbling and oh god oh god you're scared, trembling and in fear of the night.

I'm not supposed to be like this but I think that maybe something went wrong when I was born and they knew about it but they cut the umbilical cord anyway and immediately bestowed— why would I consider this all a gift, for Arceus' sake, something I should be grateful for—

Arceus, they gave me the history of this burning, twisted world and expected me to learn to stand up on my own with all that extra weight, because I know how things will end and I suddenly feel frozen and unable to stop it.

I want to scream— I want to die— and I miss her.

Her face floats to the surface of my memory every time I get like this, I miss Aster and how she used to hold my hand when this happened and I'd shake all over trying to tell her what-- what I had been carrying that made your gait so swaying and unbalanced, but she knew and I couldn't explain it to her anyway.

And now all I can scream is—

aster

aster

I miss the girl, the girl who would had eyes like galaxies and would peer into my telescopic, disgusting eyes and smile in that innocent way only a child could.

I miss the girl who could make the world stop shaking in my vision; the girl who could sooth me on restless nights that everything was going to be just fine.

i miss aster

She's gone now, disappeared beneath one of the ocean's unfortunate rogue waves, and the shining star in my life has blinked out. I remember my screaming as she disappeared below the crashing surface of salty water, my hand reaching out but no it was too late.

I had never felt so alone, so lost— so incapable of doing even the smallest tasks. And this was only the beginning, the beginning of the pain, the suffering and the endless line of emotions that were in store for me.

That night, I'd gone out into the patch of wild aster flowers behind my house, staring resentfully at the splashes of bleeding ruby amidst the long grass, seeming to look at me with a mocking glare.

I'd sliced every single one of them apart with my knife, shredded them until only crumpled bits of blood-tinted petals, and then I'd cried, cried like my brain was been torn apart— as if the ferocity of my hysterical sobs would bring Aster back.

And I'd turned to the first source of warmth I'd known— a wild Whismur who'd plodded her way over to me, her soft cries of "mum" reminding me of Aster, and the next thing I knew my arms were tightly wrapped around the small Pokemon and my sobs had returned.

red is not the colour of a hero

red is the colour of a monster

red is the colour of despair

And then the days crawl by, the date of the meteor's fall inching closer and closer. I'd like to ignore it, like to leave it to the scientists, but if I do history will repeat itself sometime.

So I'd carried out my plan— just as Grandma told me— but I'm not strong enough.

I have to end this— end it soon and with my own power but I am so weak and it just reminds me of how I am the end and she was only the beginning.

Your names even said the same thing so why didn't you go first oh why why why—

I've lost so much in such a short period of time and the only thing that will remain when the meteoroid rips through this planet and pierces your heart like a sacrificial blade is—

emptiness

I've chosen a boy to help, and I lead him through the winding floors of Sky Pillar, feeling Rayquaza's prescence draw closer and closer, explaining the Draconids' lore to him with each spiralling level, bits and pieces falling out like a broken fairytale.

And then I see the creature in front of me as I hold a stolen Key Stone to the air, wishing with all my heart just like I've been told too— and remind myself that this is real and the sleek dragon in front of me is Rayquaza.

But I fail and the Legendary doesn't Mega Evolve like it's supposed to, because it's not strong enough and I'm not strong enough.

And as I see Ruby step up with the Meteorite, and see Rayquaza glow and shift into it's ultimate form, all I can think is—

useless

i needed someone else to be the hero

But as the dragon fulfils its duty, stops Deoxys, something calms inside me— as if my lifelong duty as been fulfilled for me, as if that huge weight has been lifted off my chest.

i need my hero

so

that's what i'll become

And then I leave the new hero with my beloved Whismur and a note, walking off to meet Arceus who promises me my desired closure.

yeah

that's it

i completed my duty

...can i be considered a hero now...?

"..."

"It's over... It's all over..."

"...Granny."

"..."

"...Yes."

maybe

red is the colour of heroes after all

so guys I'm going to be writing lots of one-shots here :3 trying to decide which to use for the watties lmao