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As Volo watches Giratina flee, a new sense of void filled him. The glass is empty. All was for naught before the Almighty’s Chosen One. Everything backfired, and suddenly he can not bring himself to look them in the eye. The battle had been long, exhausting, and through every command and every defeat and victory, the Chosen One’s blank expression hadn’t shifted a twitch.
“Coward,” Volo mutters to nobody in particular, and now he’s walking down the path, past the world’s most recent savior, eyeing only the path ahead of him.
“Wait.”
Of course, he can’t simply ignore the Chosen One. He wonders, for a moment, if they’ll seek revenge despite everything. The idea seems almost welcome in this moment.
“Where are you going?”
“And what does it matter to you, Arceus’ Chosen One? I’m beat. I have nothing left here to do. Arceus refused me his gaze, his answers. Surely I’ll be banished in the aftermath. I can’t imagine you want anything to do with me now. I’m taking my leave. Isn’t it appropriate?” He doesn’t bother to turn to them as they speak. Just looking at them will only make him fully realize his bitterness, Volo knows it. He can’t look at them, not now.
“What do you mean, what does it matter to me? I need... I need to know what’s going through your head right now. What’s going to happen after,” There’s a hitch in their breath now, and Volo can’t help but feel agitated as he turns violently to them, only to glare past them, gazing at nothing.
“I’m going to make him look at me. I will receive the answers I deserve. Whether it takes a year, a decade, a century. This world shouldn’t exist. Not like this. I’m leaving, and I’ll find a way.” When Volo attempts to leave again, he doesn’t expect the vice grip on his wrist, feeling like a chain to link him to his failure, to his regrets. Volo doesn’t want to ruminate on his regrets.
“Don’t go!” And this close, he can’t avoid it. The Chosen One’s face isn’t anywhere close to blank anymore; there’s desperation in their brow, confusion in their dark eyes, pain in the twist of their lips. It doesn’t suit them.
And the agitation hits him full force.
“What do you want from me?!” Volo doesn’t understand what’s happening. Revile, abandonment, hatred, that’s what he expected, no matter the outcome. Not this, whatever this is. “You defeated me! You won! You have your key to Arceus’ grace! What is there left?!”
“How much of it was a lie?! What was the truth?!” It hits him like a charging Mamoswine, this sudden outburst, and it puts shock in his eyes, wide and for once in full view. The Chosen One is looking Volo straight in the face, and suddenly it feels impossible to hide anything like this. They’re too close. But what is there to hide, now?
“... Hey, I know my act was pretty convincing, I’m rather well liked, but surely you realize that none that was real?” There’s sarcasm in Volo’s bitter smile. The grip tightens, somehow. Volo’s false smile morphs back into a scowl. “Let me go.”
“That’s not right. It can’t be. You helped me. You gave me a safe haven, you gave me back my hope, you made it possible for me to save this world you said you want to destroy. The part that doesn’t feel real... is the part where you betrayed me!” The glaring is reciprocal now. The Chosen One’s face has now turned towards what should be anger, but it looks more like determination instead, and it has Volo seething. But behind all this bravado, the hurt is still plainly seen. Volo looks away.
“You mean nothing to me.” He mutters.
“... What?”
“You were my stepping stone. I helped you so you could advance my own goals. You were only a tool. You mean nothing to me now, after everything is said and done.”
The silence spreads from there. The Chosen One isn’t comprehending him, certainly. The grip finally starts to loosen some, still tight but uncertain. “That’s a lie. You said the same thing about your Pokemon, but it’s a bald faced lie. I’m a survey corps member. I know about your Togekiss. Lucario. Roserade. You clearly care about them. We traveled together. We were companions. You’re not inhuman, you have a heart. You’re lying.” Volo’s glare recenters on them.
“Face it, oh, Chosen One!” Volo yells. “Use those smarts of your’s and think about what just happened! What I just did! Everything I’ve done, it was all to face Arceus!”
“If meeting Arceus was all you wanted, then why didn’t we do it together!” They’re heaving breaths now, anxiety settling into their frame. “You already know. Arceus wants me to find it. So why couldn’t we have done it together?!” As if it’d let them. As if this was all about both of them and not just the Chosen One. Volo sees red.
“My life’s work! Wrapped up with a bow and laid into the hands of another that fell through a hole in the sky! This was my journey to make! My purpose! You think I’d hand it all over to you?! But what does it matter now?! Arceus chose you! You have everything I’ve ever wanted, and you think I’d let you have what’s left?! I despise you!”
And that did it. The only sound now is both of their heavy breathing, almost echoing in their surroundings, and now there’s tears pooling in the corner of their eyes. Volo hates it. It’s a vile scene. The Chosen One finally loosens their hold to an almost imperceptible touch on his hand, and they’re shaking their head.
“You mean... so much to me. So I refuse to see it as true. Please. Nothing has to change. Come home.” And the tears are flowing.
That’s what make’s Volo realize, as those last words pierce him and shreds through his anger. He’s aching. His head is pounding. His throat is dry. His heart is plummeting. This is what Volo was afraid of. This is the regret he wished not to contemplate. He had betrayed and hurt the one person in this world who would ever call him a friend with nothing to show for it, but they still wanted him around. The world was cruel, but this almost friend was not, a lone comfort Volo didn’t want to acknowledge. The glass wasn’t completely empty yet. It’s easy to not notice something if you look anywhere but at it. He lost his ambition in the face of failure, but he still had this. Now, in this moment, he has to make a choice.
To savor and hold onto it.
Or to tip it over and leave it behind.