victory_road | Event: The Reveal Glass

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Event: The Reveal Glass

Across the Pokémon world, characters may have spotted a falling star last night. Or at least, one would think that's what it was: a naturally occurring phenomenon, rather than a legendary artifact. Specifically, the Reveal Glass fell to earth during a fight among a group of legendaries started by the return of a long-lost family member. But it's probably best to leave them to handle all that themselves, while your characters deal with other consequences.

The Reveal Glass shattered upon impact, and the shards scattered throughout Kanto, Johto, and the Sevii Islands… And made their way into the hearts of your characters. But bleeding isn't the concern here. Instead, the impact will hit when a character first looks into any reflective service. An eerie feeling hits them as they're transported to the Mirror Dimension.

While this realm can be many different things for different characters, one thing is always true: It is a place of honesty, where true selves are revealed. Those struck by a shard will find themselves facing truths they are no longer able to hide, and now must accept. Fortunately enough, even those who haven't been struck will be able to enter the Mirror Dimension during this event via a reflective surface to offer help. By the end of the 29th, things will return to normal. Characters will be back in the usual Pokémon world and their hearts will be rid of the shards, but time is strange in the Mirror Dimension, and the experience may feel like it goes on far longer than a day. Or, maybe that's just the emotional exhaustion.

The Reveal Glass plot is here. You can swing by the event info post for additional details and FAQ, and play out your characters’ enforced therapy on this post. As with most VR events, this plot is entirely optional and your characters don't need to take part at all.

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"I don't need to. I'm fine."

But he hesitates. He pauses. Just long enough for the luggage to notice. His hesitation making things start to creak, slowly opening. Shiro's head whips around, as folders and x-rays begin to ooze out of a crate covered in medical symbols. Eyes glow in the dark cracks of suitcases. The box Shiro holds starts to drip photos - a man in a mask. A young man making fingerguns with another in a headband. Two people in glasses who could be identical. A teen holding a Voltorb over his head. And more. So many more.

He pulls away. Moving to set the box aside and reach for another. Everything withdraws. The room returns to normal.

"Shiro." This time she moves in front of him to take his shoulders, eyes pleading. "Do you remember what I was like when I was first leading our team? When we were outrunning Zarkon and you forced me to rest?"

Constantly pushing herself to her limits physically and emotionally, ready to sacrifice whatever needed to be sacrificed to keep Voltron on the playing field of this war, not giving herself a moment to rest or grieve or everything would break down and she'd be useless.

"I think... you are in my position now. I wanted to give you--... no. I was afraid that if I confronted you about it, I would make you feel worse, or you would push me away. But now I am begging you. Please stop pushing everything down. You don't have to do this, and it's hurting you so much more more than it's helping us."

Of course he remembers. He almost says as much.

You don't have to do this she says. And so much of him wants, desperately, to believe what she tells him. But he knows. He knows what's going to happen if he stops moving now. There's too much. Too much to sort, too much to let wash over anyone. If he stops keeping it back...

"I have to."

Someone has to. If he doesn't, then it washes over them, it drags them down. But she believes in him too much. She has too much faith in him. A hesitation. A pause.

"I have to."

In that pause, the luggage - the crates, boxes, trunks, backpacks, suitcases - seem to boil with motion. Their contents jerking and writhing their way free. Voices start to gibber nonsense in the background, some familiar, some so faint and warped they barely sound like anyone you'd remember at all. They whisper, they shout, some declarations of love, some laughter - some warm, welcome, some making knives slither over bone.

Shadows swarm from the darkest corners, yellow eyes and sharp, gleaming implements too bright in the suddenly cloying room. Photos, blue flowers, star maps, all begin to rain from open trunks, little tornadoes of memories roaring to life. Cables, IV lines, ropes - begin to skitter along the floor, snakelike. Even the overhead lighting flickers, as a deep ocean creature would, the air heavy with ozone.

It is an attack on every sense, on sight, on hearing, scent. Even bared skin feels a mix of sensation. Of prickling electricity, warm metal and the sharp cold grip of the stars.

"I have to," Shiro says again, his voice so faint it sounds as if it, and the man speaking, is lightyears away. "I ... can't. Not do this."

Maybe he was right. The riot of sensations is overwhelming, and for a few seconds she shuts her eyes and grits her teeth in pain... but she wouldn't have lasted seconds on a battlefield if she couldn't handle a sensory overload. Focus. Breathe. Shiro needs you. You cannot go down.

"Yes you can, Shiro. You are stronger than this. And you are not alone. I will stand with you, as you always have for me. Trust me."

The sounds are rising in volume. They're almost deafening - some voices identifiable, some too distorted and long ago to really pick out. He wants to tell her that was never the issue. Never in question. He has always trusted her. Since the moment they met, he has trusted her.

"I do-"

That much, he manages, before the whirlwind of memories, of literal mental baggage, overtakes his words. Before every piece begins so mold and collasece into something greater, something more indomitable. Before too-large hands made of memory and forgotten shadow start to wrap themselves around his shoulders, his legs, his arm. In the flickering purple-yellow-blue-purple light, his eyes are damp.

He trusts her.

But there is a hand at his throat choking down the words - made of ugly, familiar metal.

Shit... shit shit shit... Allura grabs the wrist at Shiro's throat.

"Let him go. Now."

Another clench, literally threatening to crush the metal wrist in her grip, the steely growl in her voice joined by another growl. A growl like the churning of surf, a soft but strong blue light like the sun pouring into the shallows of a shore fighting the chaotic lights of the mindscape.

He makes a strangled sound. One that has little to do with the hand crushing his windpipe - in unison, his own right hand dents inward, ever so slightly. As if the grip she has on the one holding him is reflected on his own body.

Though... with the introduction of the blue light, the purple gets a little stronger. Not the lurid version of his arm, but something more alive.

Maybe she's onto something.

The crunch of the metal NOT under her hand freezes her in her tracks- quiznak, then how is she supposed to free him?!- but then... Black...

"Shiro..." Her hand lets go of his wrist, instead focusing on gently prying the fingers away from his throat. "Do you feel that? We are not alone here. Focus on your self, on your bond with the Black Lion. Let it ground you. Breathe..."

A roar in response, still as faint as thunder on the horizon, but present, the Blue light pulsing in response.

Not alone.

It's true, isn't it? It's been true for so long, despite how much he'd felt like it. How much he'd walked away when things got bad. He's not alone. And that's why he's shut it all down, pushed it all aside - for their sake.

Breathe, she says.

Breathe, echoes the living purple light. The presence so dearly missed, and drawing inspiration from the friend he has in front of him.

His eyes are still wet when he gets them open again. When the hand at his throat now wraps around his shoulders, as if holding him upright instead of throttling him. The other memory hands do the same, keep him standing.

"I don't want to hurt you."

At least he's not saying he's fine.

A faint nod- not airily dismissing the claim- but she gives him a soft smile.

"I trust you. And seeing you carry all this alone hurts me more. Please, brother?"

A soft, low moan from the Blue, a lion's sound of affection.

The air stirs, blowing gently through the space. Where is it, now? Still the baggage room? It's hard to say. The sensory overload has ended, faded into a dull background noise, a vague mist of memory. The wind smells like the first breath of dusk, cool, sweet and caressing.

Shiro, supported by the memory hands, just shakes his head. The motion almost a helpless, hopeless one.

"I don't... know how."

He's not saying no. It's a failing. A failure on his part. But at least he got it out.

"It's all right to not know. We can figure it out together, all of us. Just all of you did for me when we first met."

He shakes his head, but there's no real heart in the gesture. It's token. It's a reflex. Like he doesn't know what else to do with himself.

"I don't - want to hurt any of you with this."

With that wall of sensation. That wall of painful memories.

"We trust you, brother. And you are worth a little pain if it eases your burdens."

All she wants is for him to trust her back.

He doesn't know what to say. How to answer her. He's supposed to be the one protecting them. Keeping them safe. Not letting them hurt.

But...

He holds out a hand to her, hesitating. Not for a lack of trust. Never for a lack of trust.

There. She takes his hand firmly, and pulls the two of them into a tight embrace, not fighting the hands, just... adding her support to them. Lifting Shiro up too.

This is the tightest hug known to man. And bit by bit, the room begins to dissolve. Falling away in heavy, jagged pieces.

Until they're on the porch.

Under the stars.

Allura feels the shift in the atmosphere before she sees it, holding the embrace just a little longer before pulling back and—

Her eyes fly to the top of his head and widen immediately. “Shiro?”

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Event: The Reveal Glass

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