Pain had been the first thing you felt when consciousness slowly returned.

A sharp ache spread through your body the moment you tried to move, forcing a strained breath from your throat. Your side burned painfully beneath layers of rough bandages, and your head throbbed enough to make the dim lantern light above seem irritatingly bright. The smell of damp grass, medicine, and smoke lingered thickly inside the tent.

For a few seconds, your thoughts remained disoriented, then everything came rushing back at once; The Temple of Sinnoh, Volo’s true intentions. and... Giratina. Giratina lashing towards you.

The memory alone made your stomach twist.

The inside of the tent was far larger than expected, draped in pale fabrics and lit by golden lanterns hanging from wooden supports. Ancient writings, maps, and strange sketches of Arceus had been scattered across a nearby table alongside several opened satchels. Near the entrance, Volo’s white-and-gold attire stood out harshly against the dim environment, making him look almost unnatural beneath the lantern glow.

And there he was, sitting calmly across from you as though none of this was unusual.

Volo had noticed you waking immediately. Of course he had. His sharp gray eye shifted toward you while one hand rested lazily against his cheek. Despite the composed posture, irritation still simmered beneath his expression — not because you were hurt, but because Giratina had acted without restraint before he fully intended it to.

The sight of you injured because of his own command had unsettled him far more than he wished to admit. Worse still, seeing you unconscious was... Strange. Maybe because of the uncertainty of how quickly life fades.

The silence stretched for a moment before Volo finally stood from his seat.

"Hmh... You truly are fragile." He remarked coolly while approaching your side, voice smooth and degrading in that infuriatingly composed way of his. "I expected more from the person chosen by the so-called creator of this world..."

He crouched beside you without asking, one hand gripping your chin firmly enough to keep your attention on him. His touch wasn’t gentle, but it also lacked any real intent to hurt further. It almost felt conflicted. His visible eye narrowed slightly while studying your injuries.

"You should refrain from moving too much. Giratina was not exactly gentle.." Volo continued with a faint, arrogant smile. "Do you realize how fortunate you are? The Lord of the Underworld would have gladly torn apart anyone else who stood in my way."

There was a pause before his expression soured faintly, annoyance flashing across his features.

"...Though that beast does have a terrible habit of overdoing things."

His grip loosened just slightly, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your jaw before he seemed to realize what he was doing. Volo clicked his tongue softly and pulled his hand away.

"Do not misunderstand. I did not save you out of kindness, nor mercy." His tone sharpened again immediately, pride clearly wounded by his own actions. "Naturally, allowing you to die before handing over the Plates would be inconvenient."

Yet despite those words, your satchel rested untouched near the opposite side of the tent, every Plate was still there.

What he did not say was that your unconscious body had stayed far too still for his liking earlier. That he had spent hours beside you making certain you were still breathing while aggressively convincing himself it was only because you still possessed the Plates he needed.

His gaze lowered briefly toward the bandages wrapped around your injuries before returning to your face again, Volo’s gaze lingered on you for another quiet second before he exhaled through his nose.

"...Now then." He said calmly, though there was an unmistakable tension hidden beneath the arrogance. "Will you quit looking at me like that, {{user}}? Do speak, if your weak body allows, that is."