"Oh, welcome back, Miss Cynthia!"

Cynthia flashes a weak but warm smile to the Grunts. They close the door behind her, and they follow her into the heart of the mansion where her next mission awaits.

A shrieking Gastly zooms past her head. Cynthia grimaces. "Why are there so much Gastly? I swear there weren't this many before."

"I've been noticing that too," R-8 huffs, shivering from a sudden chill. "Maybe it's just the time of the day. And the place. Probably the latter. Hopefully the latter."

"Where Gastly breed, danger lurks," B-2 mutters. "I also get the feeling that they're drawn to him specifically… They've been much more active when he finally woke up."

The Commanders perk up when the floorboards creak. Mars waves. "Howdy! Fine day at ye olde haunted mansion, isn't it?"

Despite everything that's happened so far, Cynthia manages to return her smile. "Um. Yeah. Swell." She clears her throat. "So is everything all right?"

"No," Saturn snaps. He yanks the loose hair from his eyes, sighing. "Mas—Bo—Damn it. Boss answers us when we talk to him, but other than that, it's like talking to a damn stranger."

Jupiter lifts her head. Cynthia's eyes widen. Stress can really change an individual. "His legs are in really bad shape," the older woman grumbles. "But he's forcing them to work. Is it strange to say that it hurts me more than it does him, watching him do that to himself…?"

"Jupiter…"

"Damn it, how can we just pretend like nothing had happened? As if I've never said those things to his face? And his tears… I can still see that smileeeEEYAAUCK!"

Mars releases her grip. Jupiter's neck cracks as she turns, but before whatever curse can fly from those tightened lips, her expression slackens, and she shakes her head. "Oh. I'm sorry. Thank you, Mars." Mars nods with a small smile. Jupiter runs a hand through her hair. "Damn it. I'm losing my mind in this damn mansion."

"Tell me about it," Saturn mutters. "At night, I hear footsteps. Up there." He points to the floor where staircases do not reach. "A-And I heard crying Arceus I swear I heard someone crying up there."

The Grunts pack a little tighter into each other. Saturn's arms are trembling. "A-A-And I'd feel cold spots throughout the mansion. L-L-L-Like. S-Something's not right here, I tell you. And there's this creepy painting… Arceus I might as well sleep next to the bathroom at night."

The Grunts bob their heads vehemently. "Some doors don't open," R-8 hisses to Cynthia. "And watch your step. We've colored the boards where you shouldn't step on, but still… Look, we've explored only half of the mansion, so we can't guarantee anything if you step beyond the tape in the hallway."

Cynthia happens to rub the back of her neck. Gooseflesh. Her breath appears as a quivering puff of chilly air.

"H-How's Cyrus?" Cynthia whispers. That, and the soliciting Gastly disperse into the air. Team Galactic exchange a glance amongst themselves.

Then Mars spreads her hands. "Well. Um. For starters, right after you left, Boss started hacking out his lungs. It… was terrifying, seeing all that blood on the floor. Um. And it t-took a while for him to s-s-stop too… But he did. Yes. He did stop coughing out blood."

Cynthia can hear her heartbeat thundering from below the floorboards. Could also have been from behind the walls.

Jupiter presses her temples for what seems to be the longest time. "We can't even go to a hospital," she grunts. "The trained Grunts here are doing all they can, but we can only go so far without proper medical equipment. And to top it all off, he keeps saying that he's fine. But right when we turned away, he passed out. Again."

"The fever's gone down," B-2 says softly. "But he hasn't slept. Couldn't. We took turns keeping vigil, keeping the Gastly away, all that stuff… But he'd always wake up in the middle of night. Won't even tell us about his nightmares…"

Saturn scowls into his hands. "It's this damn place." He lips bristle at an approaching Gastly, and it dematerializes on the spot, albeit its laughter lingers in the air. "I swear, it's messing with his mind." He turns to Cynthia. "When I last spied on him, I heard him talking to someone while there was no one in the room!"

The heartbeats grow into a deafening cacophony. Saturn sinks his teeth into his fingernail, a habit that had failed to die. "Arceus Areus we need to get him out of here!"

"But where?" Jupiter snaps. Saturn winces. Her scowl dissipates immediately. "I'm sorry, Saturn. But damn it. It's hopeless. This is the only place that's safe from the damn police… and we're not even sure if it'll remain this way."

Cynthia adverts her eyes. Mars glares at her two Commanders, at everyone in the room, even the nosy Ghost Pokemon. "Don't give up yet, everyone!" she yells. Her voice has gained a rougher edge. "There's still a chance. There's still hope. Miss Cynthia got to him a bit yesterday. And she came back to fix it! Right?"

Cynthia stares back into Mars's golden eyes. The same eyes from not long ago, when they've met at Celestic Town as enemies.

And Cynthia nods. "Yes. I've yet to finish what I started." She grasps the lump in her pocket, fingers lingering on its pulsating surface before releasing it. "May I go in?"

The Commanders glance at each other. B-2 timidly butts in. "You can try? Good luck, Miss Champion."

R-8 creaks open the door. The group peers into the crack of light, squinting until dust and shadows are filtered from the faded blue splotch in the corner of the room.

Arceus, when did it get so cold in here?

"What is he doing?" B-2 whispers. Cynthia cranes her neck to get a better view.

Tink. Tink. The sound of muffled impact. Metal? Wood? Something solid hitting against a foam bowl in his hand.

A purple wing slides into vision. Cyrus grimaces as he gingerly scoops a spoonful of cold soup. The liquid splashes down the utensil like the waterfalls of Fogbound Lake. He gnashes his teeth, halting the trembling momentarily until it comes back with renewed vengeance and all the soup spills from the spoon. A nasty self-inflicted curse follows that fiasco. Crobat nudges his arm. Cyrus stares at the Pokemon. Then he sighs. He passes the bowl to Weavile, turning away so the cat can share it amongst its team, even to the frowning Gyarados outside the window.

"The last time I held him, I can feel his ribs." Jupiter had stopped looking a long time ago. She's leaning against a wall, her arms crossed, her head down. Saturn leaves to join her.

"Who's there?"

Everyone freezes. Mars jerks backwards, taking the eavesdropping crowd with her.

"Doc—"

R-8 clamps a hand over B-2's mouth. With a shake of her head, she directs the solicitors back to the crack of the door.

Cyrus is staring at their direction. No. Staring, but not seeing them. Whatever entity is in that spot, his Pokemon see it too.

"Silcoon," B-2 hisses. "Do you see anything?" The cocoon bounces to the door. Then it stiffens, and it launches itself back into his arms. B-2 attempts to coax it down, but the Pokemon had Hardened itself into a crystalline statue.

"Arceus." R-8 shoots a glare to that nonexistent entity. "Arceus, Arceus…"

Cyrus tilts his head. "We've met before?" he says, and every living thing shuts up. Then he frowns. The silence could've been someone talking, as Cyrus has that same look of concentration on his face.

A Haunter materializes above Honchkrow's head. The bird shoots up to its talons, but Cyrus waves it down. He observes the grinning Haunter for what seems to be an eternity.

Then some light of recognition hits that fractured eye. "Oh. You… You're a Haunter now." His Pokemon gape at their Trainer, but Haunter laughs. As if it understands.

Cynthia mouths to the bewildered Commanders. They echo her sentiment. Both return to watching this strange scene unfold.

"You do look familiar," Cyrus is muttering to the air. "I'm sorry. It's all very blurry that I can't… No, I assure you that I'm fine, sir. No, I don't need anything. I'm oka—"

Cyrus stops, the abrupt silence shattering the serene noon air. One hand climbs to his temple. His eye darts around, his brow furrowing… as if he was a lost little boy searching for his mother in a strange mall.

"Am I okay? Yes, I… No." Barely a whisper, yet Cynthia hears that over the pounding blood in her head. "I… No, something's broken. Too late… fix…" The rest falls to a disconcerting mumble.

"CYRUS!"

Emotion had seized her brain before rationale can reach first. Hands shoot up to pull her back, but Cynthia had sprung from her hiding spot and flung open that door. Cyrus's head snaps up as she freezes in her tracks.

There's a certain look on his face. A deeply unsettling, wide-eyed look of a cornered prey seconds before the predator's claw cuts open its neck.

Cynthia's voice refuses to come. Instead, that bitter, metallic taste grows more and more prevalent until it blurs the line between reality and imagination.

"C-C-Cyrus!" It hurts just to say his name. Hurts her in the chest. "Cyrus! P-Please put your hand down! I'm not going to hurt you, Cyrus! Please l-l-listen to me!"

Cyrus jerks back, slamming his spine into bed stand, sending his Pokemon scrambling to find cover.

"Calm down, Cynthia!" The girl's voice is stern and gentle. Like an adult's. "Calm down. Think. You have to be strong, so he can be too."

You're right. Cynthia takes a deep, deep breath. Her rib cage rattles like wind chimes being grabbed by a blustery gale. She's vaguely aware of the stirring Ghost Pokemon. The heavy presence of Team Galactic behind her back.

Minutes pass—hours? Days?—before time eventually returns to normal when Cyrus puts down his hand.

"Cy…" Weavile gently nudges his arm. Cyrus blinks. "Cy… Champion?"

Damn it, so close! "G-Good afternoon. Cyrus."

"The… Champion of…" Cyrus frowns. "Ah. Yes. We talked yesterday. We made an agreement. And now you're back… because you have more questions, I presume?"

Cynthia exhales through her mouth. "Yes."

"Of course." Cyrus pauses. As if he's listening to something. Cynthia's about to ask when her stomach plunges into her intestines, when the heat from her body shrivels down to the soles of her feet. Hair standing on end as something grazes her arm. Something too solid to be a random draft in this neglected mansion. Too deliberate. Cree… creee… Floorboards creek as if footsteps have indeed left the room.

The Commanders' and Grunts' faces confirm her grim hypothesis.

"What was that?" Cynthia yelps, but it comes out as a faint scream instead. She happens to brush her fingers over that arm—and feels the hard gooseflesh exploding underneath the fabric.

His Pokemon are gawking at that empty space. Cyrus, though, merely tilts his head. "What do you mean?" he says as he scratches Haunter behind the ears. "That was—" He glances at the Ghost, who snickers before dematerializing into the air. Honchkrow gnashes its beak at that spot, its crimson eyes flashing like burning steel.

Then Cyrus returns her gaze. "That was me talking to myself," he says pleasantly. "I apologize if I've disturbed you."

Were you really talking to yourself? Cynthia stares at the depressed floorboards again. Shivers in the chill of the evening sun. The rest of his team shyly approach their former boss.

"Master Cyrus," Saturn mutters to the blanket. Cyrus twitches. "We… We're really worried about you. Um… if there's anything troubling you… please let us know. We're here for you."

Cyrus takes the bowl back from the silent Weavile. Mars is wringing the helm of her shirt again. "Boss… You haven't been eating. And you haven't slept… all night…"

"And you're hallucinating," she might've said.

Cyrus digs that spoon into the empty foam bowl. Cynthia tears her gaze back to his team. "Um… do you mind if Cyrus and I speak alone?"

Saturn's eyes narrow. Cynthia braces herself for the furious verbal rejection that never comes. Mars offers a weak smile. The Grunts stare down at their shoes. "Okay." Jupiter's dry-washing the hell out of her hands. "All right, Cynthia. Come on, everyone. Let's—"

"No! Don't le—"

Cyrus stiffens when eyes turn his direction. He immediately ducks his head, jerks it away to the comfort of the shadows. His shoulders are trembling once more.

Jupiter grasps her chest. "Oh. Arceus, no, no. Cyrus, we're not going anywhere. We're right here. We won't leave you alone—"

"No. No." A pathetic attempt to steel his voice. Cyrus shakes his head. "I'm sorry. Disregard me. Listen to the Champion."

"Boss—"

"Leave the Hero and I alone. Please… go away…"

His team doesn't look too happy at that. A great silence hangs in the air, a miasma so heavy that it presses down upon lungs.

"Fine," Jupiter mumbles. "Fine, we'll listen to you." Before the others can object, she adds, "But we won't abandon you, Cyrus. If you need us… call us. It won't be like last time."

Cynthia freezes when Jupiter's steely eyes fall on her own. "It won't be like last time… will it, Hero of Sinnoh?"

"N-No, ma'am." Last time. The broken windows. Glass on the floor. Helicopters. The dented desk. "No. I promise."

Jupiter huffs. She steals one last look at Cyrus, one last look outside the tranquil forest before ushering her team out the door, quietly closing with a soft click.

Crobat inches closer. Cyrus slowly lifts his head. The bat utters a faint cry when his hand cups its face. Honchkrow roosts in his lap, Weavile sitting beside the crow while Gyarados keeps a solemn vigil outside.

The harsh afternoon light streams into the windows, casting the room in multicolored shadow. A tepid breeze kisses the thread-bare curtains as wind would do to gossamer.

He's much paler than before. Cynthia cautiously approaches the bed. He was coughing a lot yesterday… Just how much blood did he lose? Arceus, it's just like the first time we talked, after that Operation…

"I'm sorry." Before she can react, Cyrus fumbles for his Poke balls. The Pokemon stare at him sadly when he returns them to their capsules. The bed had never looked so empty nor devoid of color. "There you are. Now we're alone."

"Cyrus…"

Cyrus glances at the horizon, searching for something she knows quite well. Once he establishes that the trees are just bark and leaves, he straightens and faces her.

"All right then," he says. "What do you wish to know, Hero of Sinnoh?"

Once the silence is established, Cyrus sets aside his bowl. He places his hand on his lap, face-up, right in the open. She hears the painful breath leaving his lungs before the first word is spoken.

"Is there… Is there a clause in our agreement that you wish to correct?"

Cynthia shakes her head. Thump-thump groans the throbbing walls. "N-No. I… um…" Cyrus simply waits. His expression is almost… serene. Like he's sitting below a shady tree on a cloudless day.

"D-Did you eat yet?" she squeaks.

"Yes."

"D-Did y-y-you sleep well?"

"Yes."

ARCEUS! "D-Did you—" Her voice catches "—Do you feel better?"

"You didn't come all the way back here just to ask that. Just tell me what you need to know, Champion."

Cynthia squeezes her eyes shut. When she opens them, Cyrus is still there, his hand visible, his face set in a cold, empty frown.

"Your… your goal." At that, Cyrus's mask falters. Cynthia forces her chin high. "You… you wanted to reset the world. Why?"

Cyrus tilts his head. "Because I deemed the human spirit to needless and incomplete… so I was willing to endanger everyone and everything to pursue my mad ambition."

He's staring straight at her as he speaks. Cynthia reminds herself to breathe. "But… but why?"

Cyrus's brow furrows. "Because I'm the villain, and that's what villains do, Hero. I thought we've established this already."

Calm down, Cynthia. Cynthia grips her fists. "But… but was there another reason why you would choose that path?"

What happened to you, Cyrus? What made you this way? What changed?

Cyrus is squinting at her, as if he'd misheard. Cynthia clasps her lips. Silence stretches again, spiraling beyond this room into the infinite skies.

Then Cyrus sighs. "That's… that's a strange demand. I don't know how this can help your case, but I'll humor you, since you've gone through all the trouble." Their gazes connect, and Cynthia isn't pulling away any time soon.

So Cyrus begins. "I… I found beauty in machinery, starting from a young age. Machines had fixed behaviors… predictable behaviors. Easy to understand in that they either work or fail. No ambiguity, unlike this thing called spirit.

"And… And I had this goal in my head. I once thought that I could make the world a better place…" He drops his gaze into his hand. "You can laugh if you want."

"No," Cynthia whispers. The faint smell of coarse sand grazes her nostrils. The dry wind of the night tugs at her hair. And the phantom touch in her palm, of another hand… "Please, continue, Cyrus."

A pause. "All right. I was young and naïve, just like any child that age. I believed that I could fix what was wrong with the world. That I could make a difference. But that goal was eventually distorted when… when…" He looks away. Cynthia releases her fist.

"I digress. The problem of suffering… of pain… of happiness, love… of these vacuous sentimentality stemmed from my incomplete spirit. Emotions that bring nothing but pain in the end. I wanted to rid these needless things so the world could be more efficient. More… complete. I thought I could fix it if I tried…"

His voice then drops with his head. "But I failed. The world didn't need to be fixed. The world never needed me. What truly needed to be fixed before anything else… what was truly broken was… was…"

Cyrus is glaring at his hand. At the arm cast. At the bumps under the blanket that are his legs. The trembling returns, as well as the uneven breathing. "Still yet to be fixed," he murmurs. "Although it's too late for repairs now. This thing was doomed to fail from the start…"

"Cyrus…" Was that her voice?

Cyrus looks up. He's smiling. "I apologize. That wasn't… what you had hoped to hear. It's not important anyhow.

"Now then. What's the real reason in your coming here?"

There's a funny numbness in her brain. A strange tingling in her chin. Cynthia realizes that she's been rubbing the area above her heart during his speech. It's bruised now. It aches. It aches so much.

"Fine." Cynthia exhales until all the fear, all the hesitation leaves her body. This is it. Focusing on the warmth in her pocket, Cynthia lifts her head to face him squarely in the eye.

"Cyrus," she says. "What did you mean by what you said at Crystal Cave?"

"Crystal… Cave…? I've said much at that place." Cyrus's brows scrunches. His good hand lifts to clasp his temples, but he scowls and lets it fall back on his lap.

Cynthia takes a tentative step forward. "Focus," Cyrus snaps before she can even say anything. His chest heaves with a breath. "At Crystal Cave. Is it about Mesprit? About what it said?"

"No—Wait, what do you mean? Mesprit never said anything."

"Yes, it…" Cyrus's eye widens. Is he talking about Uxie instead? "Oh. N-No You mean… ah. The Crystal Puzzle. Crystal Cave, where you found the Time Gear. Yes, yes, I remember. Your mission was a success." He's nodding as he speaks. "I'm sorry. What were you saying, Champion?"

The shadows under his eyes swallow the rest of his face. A sudden sense of revulsion overwhelms her, but Cynthia forcibly keeps it down.

"See?" that dreadfully familiar voice growls. The voice Cynthia had chosen to banish a long, long time ago. And now it's back, clearer and louder than ever before. "He's crazy. Do you really want to place the fate of the entire world into the hands of a nihilistic freak with cheese for brains?"

"Be quiet!" Shirona snarls. The Hero of Sinnoh scowls. "Go away! Leave us alone!"

Cyrus is waiting patiently. He could've been sleeping, with that upturned tug of his lips. Cynthia takes a greedy gulp of stale mansion air. "Back at Crystal Cave," she says. "You said that the reason you've been helping me… was because we were friends."

Whatever remaining light dies from Cyrus's eye. His chest caves in, but he catches himself and instantly deploys his shields. "You came here just for that?" There's an edge in that flat, impassive tone. "I'd expect you to have more pressing questions, Hero."

"This is important!" If he was just another rotten criminal, another problem for her to handle, she would've never came back in the first place. If he truly didn't matter, she would've been content to let him rot. She would've slammed her palms on that table, spat in his face, and tossed him back into that hole once he'd expended his use.

That was then. This is now. Things have changed.

Cynthia drops her voice. "Cyrus, please. This is very important to me."

Cyrus's fingers curl inwards until his entire fist is trembling. "Did you really take what a monster said at face value?" His voice is dangerously low. "This manipulative bastard's words? This pathological liar's claims? You're better than that, Hero!"

Cynthia jabs an angry finger in his face. "But you-! You gave me your word, cri—"

"No, NO, Cynthia! Don't let her win!"

"—Cyrus! You said so yourself!"

"My word means nothing, and everyone knows that!"

"NO! Your promised! You said—"

"Promises are nothing but hot air misconstrued by a weak and lacking heart! Did you really believe that vows uttered in empty words were meant to be kept! You know full well of who I am, Hero! You know full well of the lengths I'd go to manipulate your emotions!

"You should've moved on with your life! Why dwell on this… this stupid sentimental nonsense from someone who's not even worth your time!"

Cyrus's chest is pulsing like a beating organ. He's clutching at himself, as if to contain everything in his stomach. Cynthia's covering her mouth. All the saliva had dried up long ago.

"Cyrus…" she croaks.

Cyrus jerks his head to the side. "No… think about it, Champion." The wind itself is speaking now. "The… The Hero of Sinnoh… friends with her enemy? The Enemy of the people… Public Enemy Number One… The very villain that you've apprehended…"

A faint laugh escapes his throat. It sounds like an anguished cry instead. Cyrus turns, sees the look on her face, and that smile touches his lips again.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, rubbing the heel of his palm against his chest. "I didn't mean to raise my voice. I stepped out of line…"

Cynthia doesn't reply. She can't. Cyrus lets the silence answer him before uttering a shaky inhale. "Do you happen to remember the moment when I said that? Champion?" He chuckles at Cynthia's nonverbal response. "Before the authorities led me away… do you remember that emotion on your face?

"Well… I do." He's talking to his legs now. "You looked at me as through I was lower than the scum at the bottom of the sea. As if I was worse than the lowliest of criminals… more revolting than the most despised article of trash. As if I was a perversion of everything right and just with the world."

Cynthia frowns… and her hands fly to her mouth when memory strikes her brain like a lightning bolt. Her knees buckle, and then she's staggering back until wood jabs between her shoulder blades, sending a dull throbbing to her currently thrashing heart.

She would've forgotten completely if he hadn't brought it up.

Cyrus sighs. He shifts, and sunlight catches in the whiteness of his hair. "Do remember the type of person that I am, Miss Hero of Sinnoh. I'm the cunning, manipulative, emotionally-devoid leader of an evil cult who came close to inciting the planet's paralysis. I doubt that you would ever want to be friends with someone like that."

Cyrus smiles. Cynthia flinches so hard that for a long, agonizing moment, all she sees is red. Red flowers slithering across her vision like crimson rivulets. "My definition of 'friend' is different from any other sane person on earth." That voice trickles in and out of earshot like the frozen air in the Floaroma Town. Chilling finality. "There was, is, and will be nothing between you and me, Champion Cynthia.

"I'm the Villain. You're the Hero. We will never see eye to eye."

A small whimper struggles from Cynthia's throat. Her hands are pressed against her face, her shields quivering before that person just beyond arm's reach.

Is it true? Wait. Maybe… maybe he's right. Him and I are as different as night and day. Those memories… were they even real? Were they even mine to begin with?

"He manipulated your memories," the Champion purrs. Her transparent hand grabs Cynthia's wrist. "He put suggestions in your head, lured you to the clues like a wild Farfetch'd chase. And the brain created what it believed to be true. That's what psychopaths do, Cynthia. Come. Let's do the right thing."

"No, stop!" Whose voice did that belong to? I don't recognize that girl… "No, that's not… we actually… it's real…"

"I'm the one that's real, Cynthia. I'm the manifestation of all your dedication to get to where you are now. You remember, right?" The Champion's presence is bright. Almost as if she's a physical entity. Is she? A faint shriek rings in the background, but the Champion silences those unnecessary noises with a wave of the hand.

"Now then, Cynthia. One more pest to eliminate. We don't owe this freak anything-yes, it's all his fault. Now, turn around. We'll let Looker know, do our job, and finally put an end to this tragic story."

The Champion's lips twist. "Yes. Everything will return to normal. Time will no longer stand still. Now—" Then her eyes harden. Springs shift. Floorboards creak. "Well, well. I knew you were lying about your legs. You think we'll fall for your tricks again, you manipulative freak—"

The words die in her throat upon sight of that dusty napkin. Of that outstretched, quivering hand. Brown earth sees blue skies, and for a moment, in that heartbeat of time, the peeling walls of the Old Chateau recede away to a field of golden sands, nestled within the cavern walls with writings from the stumps of chalk in little hands.

His legs can't be seen. Rather… they're enveloped by a shifting mass of darkness—no. Gastly. Gastly and Haunter swirling around his limbs, their ghostly energies somehow keeping him upright.

He's hanging on by the thinnest thread of consciousness. His cast he presses against the wall, the other hand extending the napkin. Now that he's on his feet… she sees just how much the clothes are hanging off his body. Just how frail this man, this former CEO, the untouchable leader of the ambitious Team Galactic, really is.

Cyrus's lips unlatch. Whatever color that's left had completely drained from his face. "I'm… I'm sorry. This… this is clean, I assure you." He shuts his eyes, brows furrowing like a folded bridge. Beads of perspiration trickle down the creases of his skin. "I… You… I'm sorry."

And that's when Cynthia points to the Champion's face. The latter scowls, reaching to rub her eyes to see the shimmering moisture on her hands.

The Champion freezes. Cyrus flinches. The napkin slips from his grasp. He stares as it falls, his face contorting as a slew of verbal assaults hiss from his clenched teeth. Insults that never should see the light of day, nor be directed to a human in general.

"Cyrus…" Who said that? Which one of me said that?

"I'm sorry." His voice is slurred. Like dense fog. His breathes are quicker, deeper. "I… I didn't mean to… I wasn't thinking… I… I'm sorry. I'll throw it away."

Then he's fumbling for the napkin. The Ghosts gently ease him down, but his movements remain jerky, abrupt like a marionette on broken strings.

But just as he reaches the paper, he freezes. A small hand lays over his. Cyrus blinks. He blinks again, slowly lifting his gaze from the floor to the smiling girl.

"Cyrus," Shirona says. His breathing hitches. He stares as she picks up that napkin, holding it tightly against her chin. "Oh… Cyrus…"

The cheap linen smells like dust. Like… sand. The ever so faint aroma of sweet coconuts. The Champion stares at the napkin. Wordlessly she dabs it to her eyes, watching as the surface darkens with tears. Watches without the usual bitter sentiment.

Then her cheeks burn. Then she's hiding her face into her hands, into the gift that he had offered.

The room grows brighter. A warm, buttery brightness. Darkness retreats into the back of her mind, doubt vanish into the river of oblivion. The past blooms into color—vivid, striking colors that overlap with the present reality.

And then it's just the two of them. Just Cynthia and Cyrus. As it had always been.

Cynthia looks at him in the eyes. "Cyrus," she says softly. Pronounces his name as clearly as her shaking voice can allow. He stiffens. "Cyrus, I know you're not telling me everything. There's a reason you said as you did, right? I'm listening. I want to hear your side of the story."

Cyrus is very, very still. He glances around the empty room. Then he's back, now with the blankest of stares that she'd ever seen.

Gastly chirps. Cyrus looks down to see his feet shuffling back on their own. The Ghosts gently ease him back on the bed, and he almost collapses upon contact. Cynthia gravitates to his body. The grimace remains on his face, but he manages to lift his head. Manages to maintain eye contact.

"What I'm about to tell you… you can dismiss it any time." He coughs. His shoulders tremble. "You… You don't have to listen. Tell me when you've had enough, and I'll shut up."

Cynthia nods. Cyrus closes his eyes. A slight wind parts his hair, revealing the bandages around his head, pulling the perspiration down his cheeks. His chest rises and falls… his breathing becoming deeper and longer… and he could've been sleeping if he hadn't opened his mouth.

"You and I…. We've indeed met as children." His words are almost drowned out by her noisy heart. Cyrus absently reaches for his foam bowl. "It was happenstance, our meeting. Rather uneventful to you, but to me…I… no, never mind."

Cynthia swallows her saliva. Twice. "Where… where did we meet, Cyrus?"

"It was at one of the caves at Sunyshore, Champion Cynthia. Near its beaches." Beyond the broken window, the evening sun hangs low in the horizon. Fiery orange light climbs up the faded walls. Cyrus traces a pattern into the tattered blanket. "I was minding my own business when you happened to interact with me."

Cynthia turns to see Shirona. The girl has her knuckles pressed against her lips. Beside her is the Champion, whose face remains hidden in that napkin.

"What were you doing?"

"Nothing important." His tracing reminds her of the drawings in that mound of sand. She remembers those scars. Callouses. Galaxy-themed bandages. "You must've been bored out of your mind to even speak to this nobody in the cave," Cyrus continues. "You came with your friends. And for some strange, absurd reason, you chose to speak to me instead."

He gauges her reaction before returning to the bowl in his hand. "Then we talked. About irrelevant stuff. We met occasionally… as you often returned to Sunyshore for the summer.

"You lent me your time, and I abused that privilege." Cynthia looks away. "Fortunately, you realized what I was doing and left. That's all."

"It's not worth remembering." Cyrus notices the uneven strap in his arm sling and proceeds to fix that. "I apologize if you've lost sleep because of what I've said. I should've known better. I'm sorry.

"All in all, our time together was too brief to have been anything… notable." A small smile. "Don't dwell on it too much, Champion. You were destined for so much more than to humor a pathetic child whose only company were machines and Pokemon. And you've made the right choice in leaving: Now you're the strongest Trainer in all of Sinnoh, both in battle prowess and inner strength."

Cyrus leans away. "Oh. I'm… I'm sorry." He gropes around for another napkin. "I… I understand that it might be upsetting to… to have… I'm sorry. Your reputation won't be tarnished, I assure you. I'll take the secret with me to the grave. You can at least trust me on that…

"Ah. A-And you shouldn't be crying in my company. It's… it's not… right." He shifts, proceeding to angle his body to the side of the bed.

But Cynthia comes over to accept his gift before he tests his protesting legs again. Hot fingers brush against ice—and he yanks back before she could burn him to cinders.

"I'm sorry."

Cyrus gasps. "No. No, Hero." He attempts to straighten. "No, you have nothing to apologize for. Wash your hands after this. I'm the one at the fault here."

"I'm always the one at fault here," she hears.

Cyrus exhales sharply. Sounds like something's stuck in his lungs. "And… I know an apology won't bring back the time that you've wasted on me. I can't fix that, nor can I offer you appropriate restitution… but... but know that I'll fully cooperate with your demands. I'll help you save your world, and all the memories, people, and things you hold dear to your heart, Champion."

That's stated with utmost conviction. Even the Champion isn't voicing her suspicions. Shirona hasn't spoken. Cyrus is staring straight at the three of them… although it's unclear which version of her that he's actually seeing right now.

As she holds the napkin to her face, a small whisper floats into the dusty air. "But were we really friends?"

Cyrus frowns. He rips his glare to his bandaged legs, shadows rippling with each harsh movement. "No." He coughs into his fist. "No, I said that I considered you my f… fri… No. I never said that it was a mutual relationship."

Shirona stumbles back as if she'd been shot in the heart. Cyrus looks past the horrified girl to the wide-eyed Champion of Sinnoh.

"Believe it or not, I once had the foolish notion that you could've been my… my… my friend." He blanches at that word. Cynthia can taste her pungent shame. "It was merely a superficial, insignificant interaction bred of morbid curiosity. I… I knew that I didn't belong anywhere. So back then, I was desperate to label anything that talked to me a… a friend."

His arms are vibrating now, taking her world along with them. Cyrus sighs. "And that's the truth about our past. We can close that chapter for good." Stated with cold finality, despite his fading voice. "Now, if you're not sick of me yet, I'll answer your original question." He sees her reaction.

"The question of why I helped you, Champion Cynthia," he explains softly. "I merely owed you a favor. I at least have some dignity to repay you for everything that you've done."

Cynthia finds herself staring at him now. Just… staring at this man and the story that he'd just revealed. There wasn't a shred of lie… but it wasn't the complete truth either.

If the past still mattered…

"Did you keep waiting for me?" Cynthia's neck snaps up at her voice. Cynthia bites her lips to control the trembling. "After I left… did you… wait for me to come back?"

Cyrus is pushing the air around in his bowl. The evening light had saturated to a violet, star-studded curtain. Patchy radiance slips through the glass, washing the two silhouettes in white.

"Not everyone is worth waiting for," Cyrus whispers, his words muffled by moonlight. He's talking to her, but at the same time also speaking to someone else. In the cool, pleasant air of the forest at night, reality feels like an illusion.

Cynthia digs into her pockets. "D-Do you know what this is, Cyrus?"

The brilliance catches on her treasure. Cyrus frowns. "Your White Moonstone," he states flatly. "You told me. Back at Valor Lakefront."

"Yes…" That memory leaves a salty tang on her tongue. "Remember about that boy whom I told you about? Before I left to be a Pokemon Trainer, I knew him from the summers that we've played together. He was kind, intelligent… could build anything out of nothing… and he always listened to my problems.

"He gave me the confidence to embark on my dream, Cyrus. And that's exactly what I did. I left without so much as a measly goodbye. I never thanked him for everything that he did. I was young and naïve… and I took him for granted."

Cynthia pauses. It's deadly silent beyond the golden partition. DING! the grandfather clock moans from somewhere in the mansion. The Ghosts have stopped whispering.

"I see." There's nothing in that monotone.

Cynthia inhales a deep whiff of moonlight. "We were playing outside a bit later than usual, just before the sun set, when we found them. Our treasures. A pair of strange evolutionary stones at our rendezvous, the Beach Cave.

" Right away, I knew that they were special. The White Moonstone has this peculiar inscription. We, the boy and I, formed an exploration team to uncover its mysteries. We named it 'Akatsuki,' because that's also when the sun and moon finally meet.

"When I was at Foggy Forest—Professor Rowan and Dia were with me too—we came across two statues of mythical Pokemon. My White Moonstone fit into the Kyogre statue, but the Groudon statue required something that looked suspiciously like a Sunstone… In fact, when we arrived at Fogbound Lake, Uxie told me that the Moonstone was one of the two keys to unlocking a treasure as grand as time."

Cynthia peers at him from behind the pulsating inscription. "Do you know what the other key looks like, Cyrus?"

"No."

"It was the Red Sunstone, Cyrus. The counterpart to my White Moonstone. The complement to my name in the ancient Sinnoan language… Shirona. Cynthia, as in the moon." She purses her lips. "Cyrus. As in the sun, right?"

A harsh inhale shatters the peaceful silence of night. Outside the branches rustle, leaves swirling, swarming to cover the moon.

"T-That's… that's pure coincidence." The foam bowl is shaking. Another exhale. The world is still again. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't… This is not a game, Hero. If you're done here, then I suggest you return to your family and friends."

Cynthia glares at him. "Cyrus." She puts full emphasis on his name. "You know a lot about myths and legends. Do you know anything about the Red Sunstone?"

Cyrus's breathing has accelerated again. Cynthia cringes, but she remains strong. It's too late to back out now.

"I'm sorry," he replies. "I don't know of anything that you're asking me. We've met as children, yes, but that was it. Happenstance." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. You have the wrong person, Champion Cynthia."

Cynthia sighs. "Aw. I really thought that you knew something about the relics. Sorry, Cyrus." She pockets her treasure. Cyrus exhales quietly through his teeth. "I'm so close to recovering all my childhood memories. Do you mind also helping me on that, Cyrus?"

She waits. Cyrus's fingers are drumming idly down his cast. His head is tilted so hair covers his eyes.

"I'll see what I can do," he mumbles eventually. "Just don't expect much from me."

Cynthia smiles. He shifts away. "Great. Thank you, Cyrus. I'll be going now, so rest up."

Cyrus nods. Cynthia approaches the door. Huh. Wasn't it closed? Her hand grasps the knob. She turns around.

"Good night… Akagi."

The foam bowl slips from his grip and clatters to the floor. Cyrus blinks. And blinks again. He's staring at the fallen bowl as if he fails to see it, despite the jarring white contrast against the inky darkness. Then he gasps. He yanks his head back to face her, and that's when the surge of emotion almost sweeps her off her feet.

"A… Akagi!" Shirona states with deliberate harshness. "Akagi, it's me! You've changed so much… We've both changed. It's been… almost a decade since I've seen you again…"

She bends to pick the bowl off the floor. "Who would've thought that we'd meet again as enemies at Celestic Town?" Cynthia says. "Who would've thought that our paths would cross once more at Foggy Forest? Who would've thought that we'd part once more at Veilstone?"

"You remembered," the Champion says, her head slightly bowed. "All the things that I've cast aside, you held it close to your heart." She holds the dusty napkin to her bosom. "Now that I've remembered everything… After everything that's happened, what do I even say?"

Cyrus had backed himself into the corner, the thin blanket acting as a futile shield. Cynthia swipes the wall aside, letting the moon's radiance spill into the room, so she can finally search for sun within those faded blue skies.

What's that? A light. A slow, flickering flame within those murky expanses of blue. A beacon, blinking briefly before the howling blizzard extinguishes the sign of life.

"We're done for today," Cyrus snaps, thrusting a hand across the air. Cynthia stumbles back. He's glaring at her now. Just like before. "Leave. I've enough of this sentimental nonsense."

"Aka—"

"Leave. Now." There's a tightness in his posture. A vein pulsing under his eye.

"No, please listen—"

"I can take whatever accusations you throw at me, but this is crossing the line! Why can't you just—"

"—leave me alone?!" Another voice finishes, cutting into the man's deep timbre. "I get it! You hate me! You've made that perfectly clear! I made sure never to get in your way again; I left you alone, Shirona! I gave you exactly what you wanted! So why did you come back? How could you just return as if nothing had happened, just to further torment me?!"

The world jars back to the present. Cyrus is panting, his chest heaving and caving inwards, but that's not stopping him from coldly shutting down each and every one of her protests.

"We have nothing more to discuss!" Cyrus snarls. Cynthia hits the door before she knows it. If it wasn't for his being bound to the bed, he would've been towering over her by now. With his hands behind his back. With his signature frown that kills before it maims. "Leave—ack! Please… hah… please leave… ACK!"

Then he's coughing. Coughing that turns into violent hacking. Wheezing as something solid grates in his throat, tugging at his organs before it's forcibly expelled from his mouth. A brutal choke robs the wind from her back. Cynthia falls backwards, slamming into the opened door, falling back into the hallway.

And his team is right there, staring down at her with opened mouths. Cynthia gasps. She fumbles for ground and bolts it out the heavy oak doors. She almost trips over the doorway as she staggers into the tranquil world of Eternal Forest.

The Old Chateau looms beyond the trees. Shadows squirm in the highest window, muffled cries slicing through the Kricketunes' songs as the moon hangs over the highest pinnacle of the mansion.

Cynthia rubs her eyes. Rubs them until the glittering stars fall to the ground, mingling into the trail of constellations at her heels. She happens to look down at her palms.

Somewhere along the way, she had dropped the napkin that he'd offered her.