"You… Oh, you don’t remember me?"
Still nervous, the man lowered his hand and moved to press it against the soft downy feathers on his chest and shoulders, clearing his throat a little before speaking up. “I’m Yveltal. I’ve been asleep in my cocoon for a very long time, so maybe that’s why I’m familiar to you.”
He laughed to himself a bit, looking at the other. Was that seriously Yveltal? He looked like a timid child who’s afraid of his own shadow. “Is that so?” He asked, his lips curling up into a smirk. “You look more like a scaredy cat, you know?”
Mordread’s breaths seemed to intensify, shaking, his serial glance trained on the dragon before him. He didn’t know what to say. He legitimately, sincerely, did not. And it was stupid to come to apologize after so much time had passed, it really was, and he didn’t intend to gain moisture to the bad blood that stirred between them. He just wished- he hoped he could repair things. Even if it was of little significance.
"Giratina," He stuttered, his face growing hot. He felt his optics grow more dense, salty, as droplets formed in the small welt under his orbs. This must have sounded so awkward, so indignified, especially now that he seemed to be tearing up.
Yet through the sorrow, Mordread trotted forward. Was it aimlessly that could be used to describe that gait? He was clueless of how Giratina had felt, no wonder, and he didn’t know what reaction awaited him. “Giratina. It’s been so long.” Mordread’s voice cracked under the need to choke back tears, and for the first time in a while, droplets spilled down his face and onto the floor.
Even though he heard his name being called twice, Giratina did not bother to react. Yes, his father was crying, but he somewhat didn’t really care. Why should he, after all? Forgotten and forsaken, that’s how he felt these past thousand of eons, alone and lonely in a dark world. And yet here he was, staring at Arceus that was crying his soul out.
He didn’t feel guilty at that, not at all, more likely, Giratina was pleased to see it even though he did not show it. After all, should he, his father, not feel the same tears that covered his face back in the past? And all this banishment, a punishment so rough, so hateful, just because of a damn mistake he committed back in the past. It was no wonder, though, while his brothers were perfectly allowed to fail at certain tasks, it seemed Giratina was not, and if he did, he was severely punished for that.
And even if his father was crying right in front of him, Giratina’s expression remained unchanging. Dead and silent as always.