When Time Stands Still

by SoupTea

Cynthia wakes up with no recollection of how she got here, or why the man that is her enemy would rescue her. As a new danger threatens the world, Cynthia must retrace her steps and ultimately piece together the story before her time really does stand still.

32. 32: The Old Chateau

"There she is!"

Cynthia had barely lifted a foot when the Grunts swarm in like a horde of Combee to honey. "W-What's going on?" she yelps.

"Stand down, everyone! Give her some space!"

"B-2, what's happening?"

R-8 shoves her face into the wide-eyed Champion's own. "So is it true?" she whispers with a sort of grudging awe. "You two used to be… you know…" She wiggles her pinkie.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Heads turn to the stairway. Saturn grits his teeth. "Watch your tongue, R-8!" he snaps.

"S-Saturn…"

Mars gently interjects. "W-What he meant was, um…"

"It was a silly childhood thing," Jupiter says from the balcony. She twists a strand of curly hair around her fingernail. "He's still a boy, after all. It's normal to have a one-sided admiration."

Cynthia looks away, cheeks flushed. Jupiter sucks in a low breath. "I was right, wasn't I? He always did have a soft spot for you, Cynthia. If I even said one bad thing about you, he'd counter with two compliments about 'prowess' and 'inner strength' and all that mushy fluff."

R-8 tests the mood before speaking. "So what happened?"

Cynthia purses her lips. "We grew up," she mutters, golden curtain cast across her face. Her hands palm the White Moonstone. "Time stopped for us a long time ago…"

Then she lifts her head. "But I'm here to fix that. I made a mistake, and it's only natural that I make amends. As the Champion of Sinnoh, it's my duty to protect the people that I… I'll protect everyone, I swear it on my title."

"That's so brave," R-8 sighs. B-2 happens to turn—to catch Saturn's scoff and his rolling eyes.

Mars has been considering something in her head. "You know…" She instinctively wrings the hem of her sleeves. "Isn't it scary? If things had gone just a bit differently, who knows what could've happened?"

"If you would've stayed with him, then what would've happened to us?" B-2 hears those unspoken words.

The walls absorb that thought. Cynthia's shoulders are stiff. R-8 has her pensive face. B-2's absently scratching his hip just to make noise.

"Excuse me, miss Cynthia," says the Grunt with a fanatical fascination with rocks. Dude had six million Poke set aside from his rock collection. "Your White Moonstone… may I see it again?"

"Oh. Sure."

"Fascinating…" The rookie geologist taps the engraved inscription. "White Moonstone. Red Sunstone. To think that its counterpart was in Cyrus's possession all this time…" He lifts an eyebrow. "What was that glow all about, I wonder?"

Cynthia holds her treasure up to the soft sunlight. "I'm not sure, but I know that we're making progress. The sooner we solve this mystery; the sooner we'll uncover the truth behind the planet's paralysis."

"Are you going back to Foggy Forest?" Mars mutters.

"No. We have to proceed with caution, now that the world's mobilizing against…" She tries again. "And I'm certain that Dialga's forces saw that glow, whatever it was. And besides, Cyrus says to hold off on that until he comes up with a concrete plan."

"That's our doc." B-2 nudges his fellow Grunt with his ass. She slaps him (on the cheeks on his face), but it's all in good faith.

Cynthia giggles. B-2 grins. "Oh," she says. "How's Cyrus? Is he sleeping?"

Jupiter juts her chin to the hallway behind her. "Hah! As if. No, he's in his room… well, it's technically the office now. He's flying through all those notebooks that you got for him, Cynthia. He didn't even notice me until I got in front of his face."

B-2 can imagine his young boss, hunched over papers, that feather pen scrawling furiously across blank pages as if he's sentencing lives to death while eating potato chips. It could've been another day at Headquarters—with the Grunts goofing about, Saturn playing videogames on his office computer… Cyrus's surprise inspection that usually ended in harsh berating and everyone scrambling to actually do their jobs.

Evil eyes bear on his spine. B-2 cringes, only to realize that the subject of that ire is addressed to the person in front of him.

"If I hadn't met him…"

What?

"What?" Cynthia grunts. Saturn's lips twist, but he merely shakes his head.

"If you hadn't abandoned him, then I wouldn't even be here in the first place. He's my…" Saturn drops his voice to a barely audible whisper, but B-2 happens to hear it. "He means everything to me. And you know what, Champion of Sinnoh? Maybe you actually did something right. Maybe it was better that things unfolded the way that they did."

---

R-8 is showcasing her newly befriended Gastly when the roof begins to shake. No. Not the roof. The balcony. A dull thump. A strangled gasp. The indistinct shrieking of the Ghosts.

Jupiter sprints from the kitchen, flying across the two flights of stairs with a single leap. Her face blanches at the sight. "Cyrus!" she snaps. B-2 gestures everyone up the stairs. "Cyrus, I leave you alone for one second, and… What the hell are you doing?!"

Cyrus's lips move, but he's too preoccupied with keeping consciousness to maintain a steady voice. He's holding onto the wall for dear life, his nails sinking into the chipping paint.

"Boss!" Saturn and Mars rush forward. "Boss, you need to rest!"

"Enough… resting." Cyrus scowls. His usual intimidation is hampered by his current state, but there's that cold, stubborn determination in those eyes. "Let… me help too…."

"NO!"

Cyrus jerks his head to the side, cringing at the sudden rise in voice. "Let me pass, Sa—" Then blue eyes descend upon rich earth. "Champion… Cynthia…" He offers a stiff nod that throws his balance completely off. Jupiter catches him before he hurts himself. Again. She snaps her fingers. Tangrowth looms over the two of them, its vine-like hands outreached as if it's preparing for a magic show.

Cyrus squints at the Pokemon. Tangrowth gives a timid smile. Then his eyes widen. "No…" he gasps. "No, you wouldn't dare—"

"Tangrowth, Sleep Powder."

"Commander Ju-!"

Consciousness slips from his grip like a runaway balloon. Luckily, he lands into Jupiter's waiting bosom. "You should be ashamed of yourself," she hisses to the accompanying Pokemon. Weavile whimpers. Honchkrow grabs at its fedora, and Crobat hides behind its wings.

"His legs…" R-8 mutters.

A doctor Grunt rifles through the papers of her clipboard. "The… the injuries sustained from that lightning strike was by no means small… BUT!" Everyone perks up. "But he's showing significant improvement. He's a fighter, this ki—our boss. It's a miracle that he's still…" She clears her throat. "But whether he walks again is still up in the air."

Those words trail off into a heavy silence.

Then Jupiter clicks her teeth. "I'll take care of this idiot." She tests his forehead. "You lot, look after the mansion."

"Yes, ma'am."

When the oldest Galactic Commander leaves, Saturn sags back to the wall. Mars attempts to console him, but he's clearly too upset to appreciate her.

R-8 whirls back to the somber group. "Hey, let's catch Cynthia up on our Adventure Log."

Cynthia blinks. "Adventure Log...?"

B-2 nods. "You know of the Seven Wonders of Sinnoh, don't you? We've also been launching our own investigation into the Wonders of the Old Chateau."

Cynthia leans in, her eyes shining like a little child's. B-2 smirks and ushers the circle to link a bit tighter. Mars is staring at them, but she can't leave Saturn alone, so B-2 uses his best non-library voice so everyone can hear him.

"They say…" No, gotta use my best scary story persona. "They say that with every haunted household is a sealed room… and behind that wall… is something that should never see the light of day, lest we be risking a terrible, terrible calamity…"

"A curse," Cynthia correctly summarizes.

A stream of clouds passes through the skies, sucking the pools of sunlight into its bleak horizon. Some Grunts are shivering. B-2 feels his cheeks clenching as well.

R-8's new Gastly friend giggles when she holds up two fingers. "There's also… the mysterious third floor. It's too slippery to climb up from the outside… but as you all know, there's a third story… but there's no staircase leading to such a floor…"

The roof creaks. R-8 points excitedly to the sound. "At night, some have reported footsteps…but it doesn't follow the regular rhythm of walking. We've theorized that it could be one of two things, maybe both: someone is dancing up there, or they want us out of their home."

In the extremes of his vision, B-2 sees a pale-faced Saturn with his fingernails jammed up his teeth. No doubt he's listening, that scaredy-Glameow.

"And those strange pictures," huffs another Grunt. "We've covered most of them up, but… I swear, they come to life at night."

The picture above the gargoyle statue had been indeed covered up by tarp. That statue had been refurbished to sport a Galactic beanie and red lipstick.

R-8 claps her hands, starling a few Grunts. "Oh yes, and there's that case with a mysterious notebook in one of the rooms…"

"Yes," picks up a Grunt with a Clefairy held tightly in his arms. "I've passed by that room a few times, and…" He swallows—hard. "And sometimes the notebook would be open. Sometimes it's closed… as if someone had been reading it…."

Saturn's thumping heart can be heard from the nearest wall.

"Aside from whatever's down there in the basement, that brings me to another curious discovery." It's still fresh in B-2's mind, horrifyingly enough. "In one of these rooms is an old TV—the big, bulky kind. It's clearly broken, but when I passed through one day—you know, doin' my rounds and such—it was on. But it was showing static. So I thought to myself, 'Oh! Silly Grunts! They were just messing around, Mwahahaha!'"

"But no one owned up to it," R-8 murmurs.

B-2 nods slowly, his face unusually grim. "So I did a stupid and returned to check it out. The static… was just static, but I swore that I saw something move in the screen. When I got closer…

"It was a face. Not a human face, but something was looking at me, and I saw teeth. I decided that my life was much more important than science so I scrammed before that thing could possess my ass."

The audience is pressed tightly upon themselves, huddled like pools of sardines. Above the rooftop, the clouds march onward, plunging the mansion in shadow. Driftloon pass through the walls and out the other side.

"What happened next?" Cynthia whispers.

B-2 looks at her a bit before continuing. "When I came back, the TV was off. I poked around—because you know, I was dying to… okay, okay, stop booing—and I saw that the outlet had been damaged a long, long time ago. There was no physical way that the TV was working it hasn't been plugged in for quite some time."

A silence. Phantasmal eyes press down on the terror-struck group of blue and that lone splotch of gold. BAM! A door slams from somewhere in the mansion, sending everyone into a panic until a human voice—definitely human—rings down the hallway.

"Cyrus, I turn my back for one second, and you're on the damn floor again?!"

B-2 exchanges a glance with R-8. A brief scuffle ensures. Indistinct voices, but one of them is clearly not happy, that much is for certain.

"That's it. Crobat, Supersonic. Shut up, Cyrus, I'm not talking to you! It's for his own good, Crobat! Supersonic, now!"

Then it's silent once again.

"Oh yeah, and Cyrus can see ghosts," B-2 adds helpfully.

The clouds finally dissipate, returning stolen sunlight to the manor once more. Broken rainbows dance across faded walls. Jupiter walks out with a hand on her face, her hair a wild, unruly mess.

"What's happening down there?" she grunts.

"We're telling ghost stories," R-8 says, unsure of whether to smile or not.

Mars look up to the older woman. "How's Master Cyrus, Jupiter?"

Jupiter makes a face. "Sleeping. It took three Sleep Powders and a Supersonic to hold him down." She sighs into her palm. "You know, sometimes I do wonder if he's even human at all…"

She waves that aside. "Since Cynthia's here, why don't you all explore the mansion? See if you can unearth the truth behind the Wonders… if there is any." A faint smirk tugs at her lips. "And it's not like we're going anywhere soon…"

B-2 bobs his ass. "That is a booty-licious idea, Commander Jupiter!" Some colleagues smack him. "We're basically squatting here anyway. Might as well explore this thing inside out!"

"Let's see…" He does a quick headcount. "I saw we split up. Cover more ground this way, and we're all in earshot if anyone needs help. Remember to use the buddy system, everyone!"

"Let's go check out that TV," R-8 tells him.

Mars bounces to her toes. "Ooh, ooh! Let me in, let me in!"

"Um…"

B-2 turns to the timid Champion. "You can join us if you want," he says gently. "The more the merrier." That look on her face seals the deal, and he can't help but chuckle.

Mars pokes at the grim young man on her left. "You too, Saturn. Join our ghost hunt. Go with Cynthia."

"WHAT?!" His neck snaps up with incredible speed. Ouch. "That is the worst idea you could've ever—"

"Then I guess you don't give a damn about Dad then!"

The color drains from his face. Double ouch. "W-What?! N-No! I-I mean… I-I-I… FINE!" he roars, and Mars brightens immediately.

"Great!" she yells. "I'm going with the Grunts! To check out third floor! You two! Check! OUT THE NOTEBOOK!"

"WHY ARE YOU YELLING IN MY FACE?!"

B-2 releases his ears. "Let's go, everyone!" He herds the group to their assigned missions. Saturn's fuming in the background, but his protests are quickly drowned out by stomping boots and needless, mindless chatter.

---

Then it's just them. Saturn tugs at his hair, prepares his breath, and slowly cranes his neck to face his assigned traveler partner.

Cynthia gives him a timid smile. "H-Hello. Saturn."

"Let's just get this over with." He brushes past the custom-tailored fur coat. "The Old Notebook's down there."

They enter the ground hallway. Don't look up, don't look up… He successfully passes the grotesque painting without looking up.

I did it, Master Cyrus! But out loud, he offers a faint "You go first."

Something crumples under his foot. It's a very crisp crunch. HOLY ARCEUS—Saturn blacks out for approximately three seconds—he counted. And fortunately, only he knows of this scandal.

"It's a note," Cynthia says.

"I-I know that!" Saturn gingerly scoops up the piece of papers with his fingernails. He slowly turns it around, and the biggest sigh of the century leaves his throat once he realizes that it wasn't dripping with red ink… nor does it say 'Do not look' in the back.

"What does it say?" Cynthia presses.

Saturn scowls, but he squints at the faded sheet of paper. Aside from his footprint and the obvious age that had degraded the fibers, he manages to make out a curious message.

"Som… hing so pecu…r shou… make off… ith the mot…"

HOLY ARCEUS. Saturn almost hurls that sheet into Cynthia's face. Almost. He has some decency, at least.

"Something about a motor," Cynthia mutters, a finger tapping her chin. "But what is this 'something peculiar?'"

"D-Does it matter?" Why is it so damn cold in here?! Am I the only one that feels this?! "L-Let's g-go!"

The door is closed. It's a wooden door just like the rest, but this one is scrawled with darkened crayon(?), the color flaking off to the floor. A type of flower… grass. Balloons. A dancing figure under a circle with lines coming out of it…

"Okay, it's locked." Saturn pats himself on the back. "No one's home. Let's go—"

Cynthia grabs the doorknob, much to Saturn's dismay. A wall of dust collapses on his head. She waves the musty air aside and proceeds into the small guestroom. Saturn calms his thrashing heart—It'sforMasterCyrusit'sforBossit'sforDad—and enters.

A closet. A desk. Typical furnishings. Cynthia checks the closets. Nothing. The bed is still made and luckily, there's no imprint of a body or anything on its dusty sheets. "It was a beautiful flower." Saturn follows her gaze to the murky flower vase on the desk. A crumbled brown thing, shriveled to the husk. Blackened petals that once held color and life.

A twinge of sadness enters the safety of his heart.

Saturn barely turns when the Old Notebook slams shut. His legs move on their own.

"Saturn, don't run away!"

"I'M NOT!" He cries from behind the wall. "D-Didn't you see t-that?!" How is she so unfazed?! Is she even human?! "T-The N-Notebook!"

"It's just the wind, Saturn."

"T-There's no wind if the windows are locked!" Cynthia frowns. Saturn shakes his head. "What are you doing?" he hisses. "Don't open it!"

"The mystery won't solve itself, Saturn." Cynthia sweeps the feathers off the cover. She's excited, much to his exasperation. Oh Arceus, if she dies… Saturn drags himself across that threshold of safety.

Huh. There's nothing special about the Old Notebook, aside from the face that it's obviously old. It's just something that you can get from any major retailer selling office supplies.

Cynthia opens the book. When Saturn regains consciousness, the woman is still standing there. In one piece. Not bleeding or missing a limb or anything.

"Look at this, Saturn." Cynthia shows him the pages. It's still legible. Whoever wrote this must've been conserving paper. Cynthia flips through said yellowed pages. "It's… it's a diary, Saturn. Look. The date… it's been about two decades ago…"

Saturn glances over his shoulder. "Great. It's relatively new. We got what we came for. Let's go."

But Cynthia is staring at the penmanship. One can see the gears cranking in her head. "Wait a minute," she mumbles. "This is…"

"What?"

Cynthia taps the Old Notebook. "Don't you want to read it, Saturn? It could be someone who knows the in-and-outs of the Old Chateau."

"No!" Saturn steps closer. "No!" He crosses his arms, waiting.

Cynthia's lips tug. "Okay. The first entry, dated the summer of two decades ago, is where the story begins…"

---

I was recommended this notebook as a thought experiment. These second-order observations would serve me well in the long run, regardless of there being no benefits to such a task… However, the prospect of presenting a finished notebook excited me, thus spurring me to continue my task…

My life is uninteresting. Why should I record such normalcy? What I ate, what I wore… Information like this are useless down the line.

However, I wish to recount a series of curious events that happened to me during a stay at Eterna City. It was summertime, a season of symposium conferences and contract negotiations. Would it not be more efficient if I had remained behind? I had left my friends, as I couldn't risk… Three months would be over before I knew it.

During the times when I wasn't needed, I took advantage of exploring Eterna City. "History Living," "The town that ties the past to now," as locals called it. I see now, why this notebook was necessary: there's just so much to see, much to note…

For instance, an enthusiastic elderly man offered me a kit to traverse underground. It was difficult to utilize: how was I to dig a hole on public property? Nevertheless, I promised him that I would find use for it eventually…

Another man offered me a bicycle—an older model, but nonetheless sturdy. I lacked the proper means of affording the luxury item. In addition, they would not be pleased to see it in my possession…

---

A week had given me ample time to familiarize myself with this city. A majority of my time was passed in the archives, in the condominiums where I listened to recounts of lore, the latter never ceasing to fill me with wonder. Much of Eterna City legend, according to the locals, revolved around the statue in the center of the city. However, there were varied accounts in which Pokemon was actually depicted. Perhaps it was an amalgamation of two separate Pokemon instead, a distortion of myth recording… Nevertheless, the locals all agreed upon the faded inscription: "The Birth of P… The Creation of D…" having certain associations with Space and Time themselves.

Truly fascinating. I felt as if I was on the verge of an archaeological discovery!

A feeling of mischief got the better of me one day. While on my usual rounds, I dared to venture beyond the gates. Eterna Forest had held my interest ever since I stepped foot into the city. There was something extremely intriguing about its maze of trees… I felt as if a great secret slept just beyond my reach…

If I could describe with words, it would similar to stepping into another world. Spirited away, to put it bluntly. The forest's Pokemon seemed to find me interesting, as they followed me for the longest time. They consisted of a walking bud, bagworms, caterpillars, cocoons, bees, butterflies… a trove of wonderful new Pokemon that I had the honor to witness. I followed them as a foolhardy child would, never looking back once as I entered the jaws of the forest…

With the sweet scent of honey in the air, colors blurred to a vast expanse of the truest green. The canopy was thick enough to only allow sunlight to touch the ground… Time was lost; I was certain of that. The question came to how much time was lost. Following the sun proved futile, as the skies were darkening at a much faster rate than the appointed sunset for summer…

I was late, and the consequences for that…

In an effort to return to the parent road, I took an accidental detour to a path of wild roses on my right and white tulips on my left. Flowers must mean civilization, as I had erroneously thought. There was now thunder, accompanied with the scent of precipitation. I managed to seek refuge below a porch before the first raindrops fell.

There was a mansion in the heart of Eterna Forest. Moreover, it held the appearance of being abandoned decades, even centuries ago. The door opened before I even raised my hand. The storm held priority over suspicion. It was unusually chilly, for summer weather. The sun was nowhere to be spotted.

After weighing my options, I decided, with heavy heart, to venture into the mansion. It was dry inside, but it was still very cold. My best chance of preserving body heat was to press onward before fatigue overwhelmed me…

There was a candle on the floor, lit by unseen hands. My curiosity and natural desire for warmth got the best of me, and I neared that source of light.

There appeared to be a chemical trace in the air. Potassium chloride? Copper chloride? A certain reaction must be responsible for that oddly-colored hue of the flames, as how else would flames burn such a vivid color? I've heard that airborne particles often lingered in older buildings. There was a chance that there was lead in the walls, yet there was no discerning smell.

I was suddenly overwhelmed with an overpowering lethargy. It was an unprecedented exhaustion that oozed into every fiber of my being… The fire was warm, and as of that moment, it pushed the storm out of importance. Quite peculiarly, the fire burned brighter the more I stared into it, until I finally fell into the arms of unconsciousness.

---

"That's it?"

Cynthia blinks. Saturn is biting his lips. "That's it?" he echoes. "Why'd you stop?"

"That flame…" She's shaking her head. "That wasn't a flame at all. It was a Pokemon…"

Saturn frowns. "A Ponyta?"

"No." Her voice is grave. "When I would stay over in Unova, I recall reading about a Candle Pokemon that sucks the life energy from its victims…" She stares into the page, as if expecting the letters to come to life. "But how is…"

"S-So? Pokemon are weird." In fact, we have a Pokemon that looks exactly like a bonsai tree. Saturn barks out a forced laugh. "T-The poor chump had it coming. Stupid idiot fell asleep in a stupid haunted mansion!"

Cynthia has an odd look on her face. She looks down at her heels, her lips set in a tight line.

"What?" Saturn huffs.

"Who do you think wrote this, Saturn?"

He crosses his arms. "Does it matter?" A pause. "Probably someone who got lost in the woods. Not our problem."

"Saturn, what if a kid wrote this?"

What? "No, that's impossible." He gives it some thought. "Although, stories of children disappearing into the woods aren't uncommon, but…" All the saliva had evaporated from his mouth. "B-But… I… Fine, if it was a kid who wrote this, then what is it doing, all the way up here?"

We haven't found a skeleton ye—Saturn slaps himself before that thought can bubble to consciousness. Cynthia flips to a new page. He glances behind his shoulder one more time.

"Only one way to find out," she says.

---

When consciousness returned, I realized that I had been asleep on the floor. The storm had not been resolved yet, only growing worse during my slumber.

The candle was gone, yet it was no longer needed. It was bright now. I could see the mansion, but it wasn't the same household that I had wandered into just… hours? Minutes ago? There were velvet carpets, plush and crisp as if recently steam-cleaned, chandeliers, candelabras, glimmering in the interior golden light...

Not a square of the building was dark nor falling apart.

I ran back to the entrance. I swore that there was a door there before. Something was very wrong here… Either that, or I was seeing things that weren't there to begin with.

I was all alone in this unfamiliar place. Even if I did escape, no one would believe this sheer lunacy uttered from an attention-starved child. Clutching my notebook, I headed into the chandelier-lit corridor. There were paintings, most notably those of an auspicious young lady and her family. The artist had incredible control with oil pastels, as there could've been real people behind those screens.

Then I came across a giant room with towering windows. On the long table were plates and numerous utensils. The grandfather clock, looming high and ominous in the center of the room, pointed to around midnight. With heavy heart, I could only expect the consequences that came from my misbehavior…

While I was lost in my musing, I failed to hear footsteps behind me. A tall man had appeared, dressed in a vest and dinner jacket. Would it be improper to say that he was a character who stepped straight from the pages of a novel?

"Good evening, young master." This man had a calm, refined air to him. I looked around, expecting the guest, but there was no one in sight. "Young master." He was talking to me, strangely enough. I had no desire to be rude, so I apologized for the mistaken identity. The man seemed to find my plea intriguing, yet he bowed. To me.

"My name is Mori," said he. His eyes were… black. Eyes like the painted portraits. "May I take your sweater, sir? What an improper butler I am, letting our guests shiver like this…" He relieved me of my damp sweater. Perhaps it's from the morbid curiosity, perhaps my want of avoiding responsibility for my disrespect, but I let him escort me to the empty dinner table. He insisted on pulling the chair out for me.

A cook appeared as soon as I touched the fork. He brought dishes: colorful, vibrant dishes… juicy dishes that were just within arms' reach. I apologized for my stomach, but Mister Mori assured me that it was no offense at all. He was waiting for me to sit, but that would be improper, since the adults haven't arrived yet, much less finished their food. Mister Mori seemed surprised at that statement.

Speaking of adults, they arrived, though I failed to hear such a door opening. I saw a man in a suit, an insignia pinned to his lapels. I saw a woman with a boa draped over her evening dress. A man with a straw hat, a woman with a frilly apron…

"So this is our guest?" said the man who sat at the head of the table. He laughed—a rich, powerful voice. "I hope this feast satiates your travels, boy."

The lobster was too precious to mar. The fish whose bones were picked clean, rested on a bed of aromatic rice and basil leaves. Largely unfamiliar dishes they were, and the more that realization settled in, the more I felt guilty for even being here at all.

Then the Mistress came. A girl of similar age took the seat next to mine, next to the head of the household. Her eyes were noticeably black, doll-like, I daresay, but I remembered them being quite blue in the paintings. There was a certain regality to her, despite her age.

"We have the same eyes." She had an accent that I cannot pinpoint. With each lift of her head, her curls bounce, and she grew even more radiant under the light. "I am Elise."

My stomach won't shut up. Fortunately, the man in the suit called everyone's attention before I could embarrass them. "Here, here," he announced. "Today we invite yet another wonderful guest to our humble chateau. Let us feast to celebrate this occasion!"

To my fright, everyone was speaking to me. I hid myself, but the adults were insistent to see my face. "This one is so thin," the maid said. "He's younger than the last one," said the gardener. "How long do you think this one will…"

A hand grabbed my wrist before I could excuse myself. There was something unsettling about Elise's expression.

"Please eat," Mister Mori said. The portions were too large, and the colors hurt my eyes. Yet, I had no intention of being rude. I consumed a grape. It was the juiciest, sweetest thing that I had ever eaten.

"We're going to be friends," Elise told me. She was hurting my wrist. "You and I will be best friends forever."

---

"AAAAAH!"

Cynthia bolts out of the room with Saturn scrambling after her tailcoat.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Saturn screeches to the mess of Grunts gathering around a portion of destroyed wall. Legs are exposed from under the rabble—HOLY ARCEUS—but they twitch and retreat back to reveal a groaning Mars.

"Mars!" Saturn rushes to help her. "Mars, are you hurt?"

"Other than that spectacular fall, I'm absolutely peachy," she grumbles, shaking her head. Then she shrugs. "Oh dilly dally, shilly shally better than getting stabbed by a katana." She leaps to her feet, neverminding the incredulous stares in her direction. "A song got stuck in my head."

Cynthia gasps. "Mars. Look." She's pointing to the wall that Mars had demolished (on accident?). Saturn follows her finger.

There is a fricking door behind the wall.

"We found it!" Mars exclaims, high-fiving the Grunts. She fistbumps Cynthia and pinches Saturn on the arm.

"B-But Mars!" Saturn moans, but the Grunts are already flanking that door. With a sharp command from Mars, they kick it down and rush into the sealed room.

DAMN IT Y'ALL CRAZY HERE!

When he can see again, Saturn accesses his surroundings. PINK is the first thing that comes to mind. Pink walls, pink furniture… lace, satin, gossamer curtains standing in the still breeze. A plush bed with cotton partitions. A marble table with glass teacups spilling with spiderwebs.

"This room is too pink for my tastes." Mars makes a face. "Red is much better…"

"This is a child's room," Doctor Grunt mutters, casting a precursory glace about the furniture. "I'd say… twelve or thirteen. She's discovering herself, as well as her personal styles and tastes."

Cynthia flings open the closet. Why does she keep doing that?! "Look." Indeed, there lies poofy dresses with lace, colorful cardigans… and even a red kimono with printed cherry blossoms. Fashion that died a long, long time ago.

"Okay, I think we're done," Saturn hisses. "Let's go!"

"Hey everyone, look at this!"

"EEP! Mars, don't touch that!"

Mars is pointing to a small box. A simple yet elegant wooden object.

"Don't even think of it, Mars!" Saturn slaps her hand away. She pouts. "What happens if you open it, huh? You might release some sort of curse to the world! O-Or worse, there's still traces of hallucinogenic gas—"

Cynthia picks up that box. "There's no keyhole," she states.

"AACCCK, DO YOU WISH TO DIE?!"

"It's all in the name of science, Saturn." Mars casts a dismissive wave. She takes the box and is now peering it from all angles. "Wait! Listen! There's something inside!"

"Mars, you'll break it." Cynthia takes back the box. "How are you supposed to open this? Wait. You're right, there is something inside." The Grunts suggest prying open the lid. But it's clamped shut. "There's a small opening… maybe the crank fell out a long time ago…"

"You know," Saturn huffs. "Locked boxes must be locked for a reason."

"Hey look, there's an inscription on the bottom!"

Damn it. Saturn smacks his palm against his fac. Don't you Champions ever listen to what other people say?! Nevertheless, his ears are open.

"In memory of the dancing girl." Cynthia squints at the faded letters. "To Elise. From…" The rest if smudged.

Wait. W-What?

"Elise," Cynthia echoes. She holds up the Old Notebook. "That's the name in the diary."

Saturn's heart plummets to his stomach. Mars stops shaking the box. "Who?"

"The Old Notebook." Cynthia clears her throat. "It mentioned a girl named Elise. She used to live here."

"Does she have black hair and blue eyes?"

Saturn frowns. "Y-Yes, but how…"

The Doctor Grunt turns away from the portrait of Elise on the wall. It's mounted high up the center of the room like a watchful sentinel.

Those eyes are unmistakably blue.

"Holy Arceus." Saturn crumbles on the floor. "Arceus above, I've been a good boy. All I wanted was—" Mars pinches him in the cheek. He wakes up. "T-Thank you, Mars."

"Sure thing." Then Mars turns her attention to the Old Notebook. "You found it. What does it say?"

"A lot." Cynthia taps the book. "It's relatively new… about two decades ago. But judging from the dust… I'd say that this room was sealed off more than a century ago."

Oh no. Ohnononono…

Mars holds up the mysterious box. "This one's also dated. Yup, about two decades ago." Her eyes glint with an unnerving light. "Hey, maybe it's all connected! See if there's anything about opening this box!"

"You have a valid point, Mars." Cynthia smirks. "And I know that the Old Notebook is only the beginning…"

Eyes gather around the woman with the diary. "We can read more outside," Saturn mutters, but no one ever listens to him. He shields his eyes from that disturbing portrait—Holy Arceus, it's the same one in the Notebook—and wedges himself between Mars and the Doctor Grunt.

"Let's see…" Cynthia locates her page. "Ah. The next entry…"

---

I was escorted to a guestroom after dinner. Mister Mori insisted on holding my hand. He offered to make my bed, strangely enough. I made it myself to avoid inconvenience him.

The storm hadn't shown signs of letting up. The room had a strong floral scent. The only thing not covered in silk was the mahogany desk. Other than the empty flower vase, the desk and its content were bare.

Out of sheer coincidence, I discovered a piece of paper under the desk when I happened to hit my knee. A rather grotesque drawing was scribbled on it. Along with a message written in red ink.

"What are you doing?"

Elise stared down at me with those deep black eyes. I kept my head down until she gave me permission to look up. "You're not sleeping?" No, I told her. I wished to return to Eterna Forest. Her expression soured at that sentiment. She stood defiantly in the doorway, and no amount of pleading could deter her whims.

"You'll be happier here," she insisted. While I appreciated her offer, I needed to go back. "Why? No, you don't! Your parents can just find a new child!"

That wasn't the problem, but I have yet to fulfill the purpose of this notebook. Someone was waiting for me. I can't let him down.

"Fine." That abrupt change of heart was suspicious, to say the least. "Fine. Tomorrow I'll let you go. But tonight, you can't go anywhere because of the storm… right?"

She asked for my name. I told her. "You're just what I'm looking for," she said. "You can bring back the light, if you'd only stayed."

When she left, I tested the door. As expected, it was locked from the other side.

---

It poured on and on. I kept a vigilant watch throughout the early morning, yet the weather never changed. Trees have toppled beyond my window. The ground was flooded to an amount that reached my calves if I was standing outside.

When I heard the clock chime, I tested the door again. It was unlocked, much to my extreme relief. Filled with a renewed sense of purpose, I dashed down the corridor as fast as my legs could carry me.

The clock still showed midnight. Once more, it was just a wall. No door. I contemplated the windows, but it was too high, and I couldn't risk dirtying these clothes.

Mister Mori saw me. He asked if I wanted dinner. I told him that I wanted to go back. Please, I needed to return. "Did you even sleep last night?" His tone incited great pain within my chest. These hallucinations have gotten out of hand! Appetite had left me, even as he offered me an expensive glass of heated milk. When his back was turned, I ran away.

Elise was waiting for me, as if she had been expecting it. "It's still raining," she sang. "Let us play House!"

"House" was a game that involved role-playing as parents. Elise scolded me with each mistake that I amounted. I was a horrible father, she told me. I couldn't keep a grip on anything. The "children"—her stuffed Pokemon plushes—would run away from home at my child-rearing.

She moved on to the next activity: pouring air from a kettle and drinking imaginary tea. Elise scolded me at every possible chance. "Clumsy, clumsy, clumsy! You're wasting tea! Can't you do anything right?" My heartfelt apologies couldn't satisfy her.

Elise took me to her father. "He's useless," she told him. "Like the others." The mirth from dinnertime had all but vanished. The members of the household were glaring at me, the uninvited guest. Just like…

"Mori, please escort the boy out. He is no longer welcomed here."

The butler did just that. His pace was slower, I noticed, and he still insisted on holding my hand. Before I left, he offered me a napkin, then closed the door.

The sun was shining through the dry canopy. The Pokemon from before had waited for me, seeing as they rushed forward upon sight. It was only later that I realized how time had stood still while I was in that mansion. There was no storm either, according the owner of the bicycle shop. There had been no storms for a week.

---

"Elise wanted friends," Mars whispers, glancing to the portrait of the young lady.

She reminds me of that other girl. The Berlitz one. Saturn nibbles on his fingernails. The dust is settling into his throat. But the princess has those idiots with her.

"So that was her ploy," summarizes Doctor Grunt. "Lonely Elise lured unsuspecting wanderers into the Old Chateau. This one was let go because he failed to live up to her expectations."

Cynthia gives the Grunt an unfocused look. She's frowning. Saturn speaks. "It could've all been a hallucination. Or a stunt pulled by an attention-craving child."

"Is it really?" she whispers. Saturn scowls. What the hell's wrong with Cynthia lately?

"Only one way to fine out." Mars claps her hands. "What's next, what's next?"

Cynthia closes the Old Notebook. "We need to check up on R-8 and B-2. It's been a while since we've heard from them."

With one last glance around the pink room, Cynthia departs. Mars and the team follow. Saturn's about to leave when something slides across his vision.

A flower petal. A red petal. When he turns back, there's a bouquet of red and white flowers in Elise's hands, the blossoms still vibrant as if it was recently picked.

---

"Let me know if it hurts, Cyrus."

He nods, keeping still as Jupiter unravels his bandages. One trip… two trips around his head. Jupiter's heart thunders when she sets down the gauze.

"Cyrus, close one eye for me," Jupiter says, "How many fingers am I holding?"

"Three."

"Okay. Now the other one."

"Two."

"What color is the sky, Cyrus?"

"I can see perfectly fine, Jupiter." Cyrus rubs his eyes. She's not convinced, but he seems to be functionally decently, at least.

Jupiter stops him before he can undo his cast. "Your arm is still healing, Cyrus. You landed on it pretty badly."

"No, it's fine now."

"Cyrus."

"I'm sorry." He keeps his clouded gaze to his legs. And there's nothing she can say about that, and he knows it. A Driftloon drifts into the room. He pats its head. The Ghost smiles before dematerializing into the air once again.

"How do you feel, Cyrus?" Jupiter grunts.

"I'm fine." No, you're not. I just blasted you with four Sleep Powders. Your Honchkrow had to use Confuse Ray while Weavile's holding you down with Gyarados's Scary Face.

"Okay," she says. Cyrus stares down at his Poke balls. His Pokemon peer back up from behind capsule walls.

The sunlight catches in his hair. It's definitely white, Jupiter realizes with sinking heart. But… the good thing is, he's talking to me now.

"What is the commotion outside?" Cyrus says softly.

"They're hunting for ghosts." Jupiter smirks. "They'll be okay. You just sit here and rest."

Cyrus frowns. "But that's all I've been doing, Jupiter." He attempts to get up, only to slump back to the wall. "All I've been doing is resting! I need—"

Jupiter juts her chin to the mound of notebooks at his side. "You've been working nonstop on the current project." She takes one, mindlessly leafing through its contents. "Do you remember everything you've ever written?"

Cyrus tilts his head, as if that's an obvious question. "Yes. It's important that I remain on top of everything. The authorities might have confiscated my notes, but there's still much I have yet to add." He twirls his favorite feather pen. "These are my revised notes, you can say."

Always a step ahead, huh? A Haunter streams past Jupiter's ear. The Ghost hovers before Cyrus, who scratches it behind the ears, and it grins.

"The Ghosts here like you a lot," she remarks.

"Oh no," he says quickly. "They find humans to be curious creatures."

"Right," Jupiter hums as Haunter laughs at his expense. "Because you're an interesting creature." Cyrus doesn't know how to react to that, so he just frowns.

A sweet scent of honey wafts into the room.

"Cyrus?"

"Yes, Jupiter."

"Um…" She licks her lips. "How… many visitors?"

Cyrus blinks. His eyes are narrowed. "Quite a handful," he mutters, absently twisting his blanket.

"Oh. Like who?"

He hesitates. She waits. After a brief silence, he raises his head to match her eyes. "My grandfather came in the other day." His voice is soft and raw. Like a child's. "He wasn't supposed to come back until much later down the road…"

Arceus, his grandfather… Jupiter bites her lips. Still… It's a selfish introspection, but it's terrifying to imagine a life where that rainy day never happened.

"I'm sorry, Cyrus," she whispers. She feels those eyes on her neck. A painful silence. A faint intake of breath.

"Please don't apologize, Jupiter. It's not your fault." Cyrus is talking to his hands. "But… he did ask me about you. About Mars. Saturn. The Grunts… A-About…"

He shuts down after that. But she doesn't push it. She messages her chest, wincing as pain flares up in the area between her ribs. Oh how she wants to hold that hand, to fill his head with empty assurances…

"That… that person from the other day," Jupiter begins. "That was…"

His silence only affirms her question. Jupiter squeezes her eyes. The wings. The chains, the blood… The horror in those eyes when she attempted to reach out…

"Thank you for seeing him," Cyrus murmurs, the one sitting on the bed. The one she can touch. "He… told me that before he left."

Jupiter smiles. It's a shaky smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Of course, Cyrus. Anytime."

Another silence. Someone's shouting downstairs. Screaming, scuffling… she won't be surprised to find the mansion falling apart anytime soon.

Someone knocks on the door. Cyrus sits up. The door opens, and of course, no one is there.

"Hello, sir," says Cyrus with a deep nod. "No, you're not interrupting anything."

"Cyrus?"

"That's the gardener, Jupiter."

"Oh. Of course. Silly me, it's just the damn gardener!"

"Yes, it is." Cyrus tilts his head. "I'm fine, sir." A pause. "Ah. Jupiter, he wishes to talk to you."

"M-Me?"

"Yes." Cyrus sits up a little straighter. Those faded eyes, just like those from an oil painting, bears into the empty spot in the doorway. "Ah. He wishes that I relay a poem for you. Would you be willing to listen?"

Jupiter squints at the kid. "S-Sure…"

"Thank you. Now—" His brows furrow. "'Enticing?' I know what that means, but… Erm. All right, I can try, if that could convey your message more effectively…"

Jupiter isn't sure that she wants to know what the hell has been agreed upon. Thankfully, Cyrus is keeping his shirt on. He clears his throat. Twice, thrice, and begins.

Holy Arceus. Gooseflesh breaks down Jupiter's neck. His deep, velvety voice puts even melted dark chocolate to shame.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's moon?

Thou art more stunning and splendid

Than the gentle winds of June,

And often is the golden bounty dimm'd.

But thy eternal summer shall not fade!

Naught can rob the beauty of what thou'st made!

A simpleminded fool with eyes can see,

How brilliant summer has attributed from thee!"

Jupiter's hand moves before her brain can. When the spots clear from his vision, she sees Cyrus. Clutching at his cheek with a face of pure confusion muddled with a sprinkle of fear.

"I-I'm sorry, Cyrus!" Jupiter yelps. She plows the hair out of her face. "I-I didn't mean to slap you! I swear!"

Cyrus blinks. "I'm sorry." Then he's hiding under the blanket.

"N-No! It's not your fault!" This damn kid… She loosens her collar. "T-That was meant for the gardener… Not… you…"

Cyrus rubs his eyes. "Well, he left when you hit me. Perhaps he forgot something—" He frowns. Jupiter sinks her teeth into her lips. "Ah. He says that he'll be back, Jupiter."

Jupiter stares at him. Cyrus looks at her eagerly. "Yes? You look like you have a question for me."

Yes, I do. How are you a multimillion Poke CEO, Cyrus? Even before your thirtieth birthday? How did you survive by yourself for so long, Cyrus?!

But out loud, she just shakes her head.

---

"R-8!"

The Breakfast Grunt turns. Her face brightens when she sees that face, not that ass.

"B-2!" She waves. "How goes it with your search?"

"Um…" Hehe, about that… "It's off to a good start. How about you?"

R-8 glances back at her group. "We tried to locate the staircase, but there's nothing remotely like it. We checked the floors, but came up rein."

B-2 rubs the back of his neck. "Um… do you want to join my team? We're about to search the TV."

She raises an eyebrow, the beauty mark under her eye crinkling as well. "Sure," she hums. "The more the merrier, right?"

Women are so scary. They're dangerously perceptive, but I guess that's how we're still alive. B-2 leads the new group to that room.

The TV is black. Turned off, strangely enough.

"Go on," whispers a Grunt, kicking at B-2's ass. The latter snaps his jaw, but stands up regardless.

R-8 pokes her face from behind the TV. "Nothing's plugged in," she says.

"I know what I saw!" B-2 snaps. "The TV turned on by itself! It was like—"

"Brzzt. Zzt."

"L-like that?"

"Yeah bra, like that-that-that—"

Statis is running across the screen. B-2 leaps into R-8's arms.

"Zzzt. Zzzzzt!"

"Y-You heard that, right?" B-2 whips his head around the room. They heard it, all right. "It's coming from the TV! Look! The face-!"

A ball of light jumps from the screen. The Grunts scream, diving for cover as the apparition zooms past their heads, leaving crackling air in its wake.

"It passed through the wall!" R-8 cries. "After it!"

"Don't chase after it!" B-2 pulls her back. "It can burn you! It can inhabit your body!"

They lose the light. It's silent once more. The TV is black again. Then R-8's eyes widen. "That's the same light from back then." Everyone gapes at her. "Remember? The one that saved Cyrus. The one that led us here, to the Old Chateau."

B-2 considers this. "Did it follow us?"

"There's only one way to find out." Oh, it's that smile. The last time she smiled like this was the second before the Operation began.

"B-2! R-8!"

Oh! "Mars! Saturn! And Cynthia!"

The groups rejoin. B-2 fills them in.

"So behind that sealed room… is this box?" R-8 nudges at the thing in Mars's hands. It's a simple wooden box. A treasure box? A jewel box?

Mars grins. "And what you found… was the ball of light in the TV? The same one?" The Grunts nod.

"Did you see where it went?" R-8 presses. The other group shakes their heads.

"No, but Saturn and I found this Old Notebook." Cynthia holds up her spoils. "It contains invaluable information about the Old Chateau. I'm sure that it'll mention the TV, if there is a connection to that."

B-2 exchanges a glance with his friend. "Why not," he says, shrugging. "I love reading doomsday logs."

Saturn gravitates a bit closer when Cynthia opens the Notebook. She clears her throat, and continues.

---

The Old Chateau was a different world in daylight. As I stood outside its gates, I saw it for how it was depicted in the books: an old, neglected mansion lost to the streams of time.

I knocked on the door. I waited until someone invited me in. After an appropriate amount of time, I announced my presence and headed into the dark hallway. I heard my footsteps from the second floor. The portraits were smudged beyond recognition, the oil paint flaking off from age. I felt unseen eyes pressing against my back.

A powerful force swept me off my feet. I felt fists raining down my body. I need to talk to Elise! I said. I squeezed my eyes, and when I opened them, I was back in those well-lit halls. It was nighttime again.

"You are not welcomed here," said the father in a deep, guttural growl. I know, but I must speak to Elise, I insisted. His shoe came faster than I expected.

Mister Mori moved to my side with his handkerchief. Elise finally came down the stairs. I never expected her to show mirth upon seeing me, but I still presented her the bouquet.

I apologized for being such a terrible friend. I have failed her, but I still wished to make amends. The flowers, I told her, were picked en route route to the Old Chateau: wild roses and white lilies. I thought of bringing a piece of the outside world to her instead… at least, until she found someone else more qualified.

Imagine my shock when she uttered my name! I turned back, fully expecting a harsh reprimand on her part that never came.

"You came back just to give me this?" Her was voice was muffled, as if coming from the walls. I watched her face transform into a new, unfamiliar emotion. Did I upset her? Quite possibly, as her staring only increased in intensity with each passing second.

She asked me if I would be coming back tomorrow. If I'm needed, then I'm willing to return. She took the bouquet, holding it quite closely to her bosom despite my warnings about the briars.

---

After the symposium, I returned to the Old Chateau, as Elise had wished. The mansion now appeared as it was during my first visit. Mister Mori greeted me warmly and escorted me into the lavish hallways.

It was midnight again, quite curiously.

Elise was waiting with her father. I greeted them both. The young lady took my hand, yet her grip was softer. She led me to the third floor.

I've never seen an attic in my life, let alone such a spacious one. While I marveled at the sheer artifacts in the room, Elise beckoned me to an uncovered mirror.

"What do you see?"

Her, of course. And me. Elise gave me a strange look, but I was confident of what I saw. Despite her current form, I would always see her as Elise.

"How long have you known?"

I showed her the message from the previous guest. I've also confirmed my theory by asking the older residents of Eterna City. Hours in the library, combing through archives revealed a grim, solemn truth about the Old Chateau.

"And yet, you came back." From a large, antique chest, she produced two items: a tutu and a pair of ballerina slippers, both still in prime condition.

She had dreamt of being a dancer. She loved the stage and all its glamour. "But the doctors said that I should give up that dream. Before my seventh birthday, my legs ceased to work. All my life I've known only the bed and the white walls… We all thought that it was the common cold at first. But when I couldn't breathe anymore, they finally sent me home. To the chateau."

I apologized for her misfortune. "The curse might spread," she said. Even if strains of the disease were still in the air, the chance of contracting it was quite low—impossible in fact, I assured her.

She believed me.

I'm a horrible person.

---

I returned the next day, this time with a Budew in my arms. Our meetings increased in frequency: at first once a week, then two, three times a week.

I brought items from the outside world to showcase the curious lady. She was enthralled by the forest Pokemon, so excited that she introduced me to the Gastly and Haunter that lived alongside her family. She showed me the parade of Driftloon outside the window, suggesting that we should ride them sometime.

One day, I brought a library book. "Hey, that's Father's favorite story," she commented when we read it out loud. "That's where he got my name."

The father called me before I left the mansion. "It's the first time that I've ever seen my daughter smile like that," he said. "How can I ever repay you…?"

---

Elise asked for the purpose of the notebook. She asked if she could contribute illustrations, which I gladly obliged. She was an excellent artist. As we would read fairy tales and record entries, Mister Mori would bring Elise's favorite snacks.

"Was she pretty?" she asked one day while on the rooftop. The moon was bright and round that night. "The princess in your mind. Sometimes, when you look at me, I get the sense that you're seeing someone else instead."

Was I truly that reprehensible?

"It's okay." The skies were clear, but it was still nighttime, yet I noticed how truly blue her eyes were… the distinctive way they would crinkle when she smiled. "It's not your fault. Our worlds should have never touched in the first place."

---

It was announced that the business venue had reached a conclusion. Summer was ending, but I've developed an unhealthy attachment to this city and its secrets.

I made each trip to the Old Chateau more meaningful. Not only did the inhabitants know my name, but they were eager to share their stories for my notebook. The gardener, according to his accounts, regretted not saying farewell to his beloved back at Hearthome City. The cook admitted to having a peanut allergy that was discovered all too late, showed me basic cooking skills that I failed to grasp, unfortunately. The father invited me to his private study, a bunker of sorts, He showed me the treasure that he had amassed as a collector, the stories behind each relic an epic of their own.

While I never wished to play favorites, I found Mister Mori's presence to be one of warmth and benevolence. The butler had served in the last great war… he had lost his grandson when his hometown was bombed by the air raids. "It brings me such joy to see that Miss Elise made a friend like you," he would say.

---

Our encounter was a sudden one. On one particular day, Elise presented me with a box from the basement. "You're so mum about yourself, but I figured that you might enjoy this."

And she was right. Elise seemed pleased when I presented her the finished product. She said that it would be a great addition to her playset, which I disagreed, seeing how her plush Pokemon were made of cotton and wool.

Nevertheless, she invited me to another round of House. Only this time, she showered me with compliments on every little thing that I did. It wasn't necessary, but she insisted that I looked nicer when I smiled.

"You'll be a great father someday," she said while laughing.

Mister Mori noticed the toy robot when he came in with the treats. After Elise explained its story, the butler suggested that I go with him. There was something that might pique my interest. What Mister Mori intended to show me was a television set—the old, bulky contraption that relied heavily on perfect signal to function.

"Something is inside the television," explained Mister Mori. "It was living inside the old lawn mower until it relocated here. I've seen young children like you wandering around our humble home, but would leave upon sight of our guest… Perhaps this Pokemon will suit you well."

The words only left his mouth when a ball of light startlingly emerged from the television screen. It wasn't ball lightning, but in fact a Pokemon, one that hovered in the air, held aloft by a power unseen. As if curious and unafraid of my presence, it floated toward me. Crackling sounds accompanied it, as if from static electricity in the air.

Remarkably, it seemed that the Pokemon was the source of this power!

"It won't hurt you," Elise said when I flinched, certain that my voice would be subject to a shock. And much to my surprise, the Pokemon seemed to favor me with a smile. "I think it likes you."

"I agree," added Mister Mori with conviction.

This Pokemon was simply sensational. The fact that it can turn indivisible was simply the beginning. However, unlike the Gastly and Haunter, what made this Poekmon unique was its ability to enter and operate machinery!

I didn't recall seeing this particular Pokemon from research conferences, nor did the butler and Elise know of its identity. As such, I have decided to name this most wondrous Pokemon 'Rotom.' According to Mister Mori, Rotom emerged from the motor of a lawn mower…

Motor and Rotom… Surely the link was obvious?

---

"Rotom!"

Everyone jumps at B-2's exclamation. He slaps a fist to his ass. "That's it! That must be the Pokemon that was possessing the TV! It was Rotom!"

Cynthia studies the faded sketch. "It wasn't in my Pokedex…" She's muttering to herself. "Does Professor Rowan know that such a Pokemon exists…?"

R-8's eyebrows dip to her nose as she pushes the thoughts in her mind. "So there is a third floor… But how do you access the attic? Did it say?"

Apparently not. "We'll just have to look around some more," Mars says. "If it says so in the journal, then it must have existed!"

Cynthia has that lost look again. She glances down to the hallway, to a destination unknown. "B-2." The Grunt jumps. "You said that there was… a haunted robot in the basement?"

"Hehe, well, there's something in the…" Recognitions slaps him across the cheeks. His fellow Grunts catch his drift. "Of course! There's a generator in the basement."

"A motor," Saturn mutters.

B-2 bobs excitedly on the balls on his heels. "Well, I'll be! Okay, let's go then! To the basement!"

"Good idea," Cynthia says. "You check the basement, B-2. Take whoever you want with you."

"B-But about you, Cynthia?"

"I need to confirm something."

"Saturn and I will go with you!" Mars cries. Saturn scowls, but he's not putting up much of a protest.

B-2 nods. "Okay. R-8, Doc, let's go!"

The group split ways. Cynthia's team runs down the sunlit corridors, turning and running up the stairs. "Something's on your mind," Saturn grunts.

Cynthia halts. She flips through the Old Notebook like she's rifling through a treasure map. "The answer was right in front of us, Mars and Saturn," she huffs. "It was right there this entire time!"

They pass Elise's room. Saturn notices the portrait again.

The bouquet had wilted.

---

Cyrus is hunched over the bed, his back arched like a dome. He was entirely lost in his world, that feather pen scratching out steam.

"Cyrus?" No answer. "Cyrus!"

His back snaps up. "Y-Yes?"

Jupiter sighs. "Cyrus, you're too close to the paper."

"Ah." But now he's squinting, and his writing pace is significantly slower than before. He rubs his eyes, frowning.

"Cyrus?"

"I'm fine, Jupiter. I can see perfectly well."

Really now? "Cyrus, I've been wondering." He sets aside the notebook to give her his undivided attention. She takes a breath. "You're… the only one here who can see and talk to ghosts… you know that, right?"

Cyrus tilts his head. "Perhaps the lightning struck me a tad too hard."

"Cyrus, this is not the time for jokes." He just stares at her. Jupiter frowns. Of course. What I am saying? Cyrus? Jokes?

A pause. "Am… Am I making you uncomfortable, Jupiter?"

"What? N-No, it's just…" Well, it's… not normal, but the ghosts are most definitely there. "I'm just…" She's rubbing her arms again, even though it's not that cold. "I'm here for you, you know that, right? Don't… don't bottle it all up inside yourself…"

Cyrus is silent. He drops his gaze to the blanket, staring at nothing in particular. Jupiter licks her lips until she feels saliva returning to her mouth.

"Was Grandfather right?"

"What?"

Cyrus's eyes widen. "N-No, I was just thinking out loud. I apologize." He closes his eyes, his chest heaving with each long, deep breath. "I see. I… I shall take your words into consideration, Jupiter. Erm. Y-Yes, I'll do that."

"Cyrus, you're not making any sense."

"I know." Cyrus slumps against the wall. He's perfectly still after that, and Jupiter has to check his pulse, to which he assures her that he's fine. Just thinking. There's a lot on his mind, obviously.

Knock. Knock. Jupiter opens it. Something comes in, but it's not a person. Not a soul with feet nor legs. "What the hell?" The wheelchair rolls into the room as if guided by indivisible hands. It stops near his bedside. And waits.

"Who…?" Cyrus glances around the room. "Who did that?"

"Cyrus," Jupiter huffs. "I think the ghosts want to help you."

He scowls. "I don't need that. It's not even mine to begin with." He lurches over the bed just to push it away, but it comes back. Does a 180° turn on its own just to return to his side.

"Cyrus."

"No! I need to practice walking if I want my legs to work again!"

Jupiter goes right up to his face. He freezes. Ah. So that's what it is… "Arceus, Cyrus, didn't you listen to anything that I said?"

"Yes, I did." He's glaring at the wheelchair.

"Cyrus, get in the chair."

"I refuse."

"Cyrus." He winces, but remains stubbornly rooted to the bed. "If you get in the chair, you won't have to be lying around," Jupiter coos like she's bribing a baby to walk with food. Cyrus's mask slips ever so slightly, but with a defiant wave of his hand, the blanket flies back to the wall.

"I can walk by myself," he snaps.

Jupiter shrugs. "Okay. Do it. No Pokemon. No ghosts to help you. Show me you still got your stuff, oh mighty Galactic Leader."

Cyrus's lips twist downwards. He grits his teeth… and thrusts himself on his legs.

THUMP!

Jupiter grimaces. Cyrus isn't moving. That's gotta hurt, kid.

"J…Jupiter…?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

Damn it, victory is bittersweet. "Remember Cyrus, it's the journey that counts, not the destination." She peels him off the floor. Her smirk immediately fades upon seeing the look on his face. "Damn. Um. Let's go get something for that bump first."

---

Rotom and I were perpetual companions. The electricity from its body forbade contact, however, but we cared not. Would my friends welcome Rotom with open arms?

However, my time here was coming to an end. On Summer's eve, I walked through Eterna Forest for the final time. I bid farewell to the Pokemon. Some would refuse to release my sleeve, even after I assured them of the slim chance that we would meet again.

Has it really been three months?

The inhabitants were expecting me, Rotom included. "You don't have to go," Elise insisted. Her reasoning was lofty, yet I faltered at her words. "You're my first friend. I'll be so lonely. Why do you have to go? You're the only one…"

Elise's father offered me a souvenir from his study. I could never take such precious artifacts. And besides, they were safer in the Old Chateau, where they have been for the past century.

I presented Elise her gift. Cherish your dream. Whenever you open this music box, I hope you will remember our time together, if they were precious to you. Thank you for accepting me into your home.

The father had to comfort Elise. Of course. It was my fault for not rehearsing a proper farewell, and now someone was hurt because of me. Flowers would've been better… or better yet, nothing at all…

But Mister Mori didn't think of it that way. "Flowers wilt with time," he said. "But what you've given us will last a lifetime." The butler enveloped me in his arms. "You've grown since we've first met." Grown? But it's been a mere three months…

Rotom remained by my side. Our time together had allowed me to better understand its thoughts, and as of now, Rotom wished to explore the outside world.

The farewell was a lengthy one. I was pressed for time, yet I remained. They wished me the best of luck. Elise, still clutching my music box, left me something that she called a good-luck charm on my cheek.

When will I visit the Old Chateau again? As of the time writing this, it was highly unlikely. I decided to leave this notebook in Mister Mori's capable hands to maintain the privacy of this family and its secrets. The story during these months was indeed a curious adventure, one that I look back with fond memories.

Dear reader, if you happen to find my notebook, may I ask of you a favor? Do not tell anyone of what had transpired within the walls of the Old Chateau. Whether that was a colorful hallucination or an actual phenomenon, I implore you to protect the dignity of this mansion and of Elise and her family.

Summer, 19XX.

---

"Boss is gone!"

Cynthia tears her eyes off the notebook. She runs to the room, and sure enough, the bed is empty. The windows are open, but the space isn't big enough for a grown man to have crawled through.

Saturn is biting into his nails again. "Oh nonono," he groans. "He can't walk far! Did the ghosts abduct him?!"

"Where's Jupiter?" Mars crawls under the bed. "Jupiter! Master Cyrus!"

Cynthia grips the Notebook. "I think I know where they are. Come on!"

Realization passes through Saturn's eyes when they turn the corner. "No! No, Boss can't be in there! He can't—"

"Cyrus can't what, Saturn?"

All freeze at the sound of Jupiter's voice. She faces them, her curly violet hair flaring behind her like a cape washed in pink light.

"Hey there," she says again, smirking. "How was the ghost hunt?"

Saturn closes his jaw. "W-Why are you… What…. Who's…"

Jupiter turns the wheelchair around. "Saturn." Cyrus gives the gaping young man a nod. "Mars. Champion Cynthia. Welcome back."

Cynthia slowly uncovers her mouth. Cyrus calmly returns her gaze, now with both of his eyes. An air of refinement radiates from his being, even if he's just sitting there with a blanket draped over his legs.

"Boss!" Mars chirps, her face breaking into sunshine. "Boss, you're okay!"

Saturn is rubbing his eyes dry. "B-But. How. What…?"

Jupiter shrugs. "Apparently the ghosts were worried about him. They gave us this complimentary wheelchair."

That wheelchair… Cynthia's heart is racing, despite there not being a single Time Gear in sight. She hides the Old Notebook behind her back. "What are you looking at, Cyrus?" She makes her voice as nonchalant as possible.

Cyrus frowns. "The reduplication of the notes are proceeding smoothly, Champion Cynthia. In due time, I'll have a comprehensive report, as well as a plan outlined." His gaze slides to the side. "I happened to see rubble in the hallway, so I came to investigate. That is all."

"It was Mars's fault," Saturn says.

"Nu-uh! Saturn blamed me first!"

"It's both your faults," Jupiter says. They shut up. She snorts. "Actually, it doesn't matter. This place is falling apart anyhow. Way to spot a sealed room, kids."

Cynthia notices how Cyrus's eyes linger on the empty tea set. The rusty doll house tucked in the corner of the room. As Jupiter wheels him around, he's absorbing everything in a deep, pensive silence.

She stops at the portrait. "She was a beautiful little lady…" Jupiter says in a hushed whisper. "The fate that befell this household was a tragic one indeed… But the story today is heavily romanticized, so no one can agree on what truly transpired within these walls."

"Every time I look at it, I get the chills," Mars murmurs. "Elise is just staring at me…"

Saturn frowns. "What are you talking about, Mars? Elise is closing her eyes."

The Old Notebook is burning in her palms. "Elise is holding out the bouquet."

Jupiter casts an exasperated scowl at the group. "Elise? Was that her name? No, she's very clearly winking. Isn't that right, Cyrus?"

Cyrus slowly turns back. Then his eyes fall on the box. "Mars." His voice is low. "Where did you find that?"

"Right there." She points to the shelf containing figures of ballerinas in various poses. "Um… is something wrong, Boss?"

Cynthia takes a tentative step forward. He flinches. "Y-You left your notebook, Cyrus."

"I did? But I haven't left the room in—"

"No. This one." She slides the Old Notebook into his lap. The change of expression is immediate, the glaring crack in his mask. But when she blinks, he's staring down at it with an empty frown.

"This isn't mine, Champion Cynthia," Cyrus states flatly, coldly. He pushes it back to her hands.

"Yes, it is."

"How are you so sure?" Mars mutters. "It could've been anyone's…"

Cynthia snaps her teeth. "No, it's Cyrus's." I can't explain it, but I'm sure of it!

"No," he growls with chilling finality, the blizzard picking up behind his eyes. "It is not mine. Unlike the Time Gear theft, you have no proof that I was the mastermind behind such a childish thing."

Cynthia clicks her tongue, and there goes the bitter taste. "Why are you so difficult, Cyrus? It's not going to hurt you—"

"It. Is. Not. Mine." Cyrus puts heavy emphasis on those words, rocking the wheelchair with his force.

"H-Hey," Saturn whispers. "Elise disappeared from her portrait." But the Champion and Galactic Boss are too busy pushing around the Old Notebook to care.

"Fine!" Cynthia snatches it back, her strength almost making him fall over. "I'll just ask around then! I'll show this to the world, maybe then someone will step up!"

"Y-You'll do no such thing!"

"Who do you think I am, Cyrus?" she barks and turns away.

"Wait! Please!"

Holy Arceus. Cynthia turns back to see Cyrus's outstretched hand. Trembling. The chair is just this much away from tipping over. That look on his face sends a spiked fist to her heart.

"I'm sorry," Cyrus whispers. "Champion Cynthia, please don't…."

"Cyrus…" Her own voice is betraying her. She hands him the Old Notebook with both hands. He takes it like she's offering him a death sentence.

"What more do you want from me?" he mutters to his legs. "We already have a working agreement…"

Cynthia is breathing through her mouth. She's aware of the Commanders' eyes burning into her back. "That… that book was written after I left, wasn't it?"

She can hear a speck of dust touch the floor. A silence, heavy and cumbersome like molasses, oozes down the air. A soft whimper escapes from a slit in the ceiling.

"It's been several summers," Cyrus finally mutters, his hand on the Old Notebook. And he says nothing more to that.

Mars gives him a long, sad look. "So you have been here before, Master Cyrus."

"It was a long time ago, Mars." His fingers brush upon the decaying spine. But he doesn't open it. Instead, he's squinting at the object in Mars's hands. "Mars." She has to strain to hear that. "May I see that?"

Mars silently hands the wooden box to her boss. He stares at it, lost in the turbulent storm that are his thoughts. He rubs the dust off the lid, carefully and slowly as if handling glass.

Cynthia turns, but no one is there. "Cyrus," she says, keeping her head down to match his gaze. He stiffens. "We couldn't open it." Silence. She clears her throat. "Was there a crank?"

"No." His voice is soft, but she hears it clearly over her pounding heart. "No… crank. There's only one way to open this box." He notices the scuff marks and scowls. Oops.

Jupiter has been observing this interaction in silence. "Then how do you open it, Cyrus?" she mutters.

"This opening wasn't made to be meddled with." Those words are aimed at Cynthia specifically. She winces. "You just need to get the wind to blow."

And with a deep, painful inhale, Cyrus blows into the opening. Click. The lid slides open, revealing a silver dancing figure on a pedestal. The faint smell of velvet carpet, of powdered vanities, aromatic candles, touches Cynthia's nose. A scent that existed within the fabric of time.

Cynthia holds the music box up to Mars. She gently winds the small spring.

Ru ri ra… ru ri ra… Somber, melancholy music wafts from the box and into the sealed room. The dancing girl teeters, but she still stands on her feet—a broken but dedicated dance.

"I know this," Jupiter murmurs, face ashen. "That's… that's a romantic tragedy written during the last great war. Hearthome did a whole exhibition on this once."

"It was a waltz." Cyrus closes his eyes, letting himself vulnerable to the music. "A grieving widow wrote the composition upon realization that her lover would never return home." He looks up at his audience. "It was Elise's favorite tune, when she would dance."

"Heehee…"

Saturn gasps. Heads whirl back to the portrait that once contained the enigmatic young lady. There are now fresh flower petals on the floor, directly below the painting. White and red petals quivering in a nonexistent breeze.

Cyrus tilts his head. His eyes slide to the roof. "Jupiter, let's go."

"Huh? Where?"

He raises a brow. "I wish to get everyone acquainted. Come now. Let us head to the third floor."

---

The group gapes as Cyrus runs his hand along the uneven walls like a doctor running the stethoscope across a patient's chest. He's feeling for a heart, somewhere under all the plaster.

"The Grunts were indeed close, Saturn." The man stops at an unassuming slab of wood. He raps the wall. Tmp. Tmp. Tmp. If Cynthia's memory serves her well, it's the famous 3/4 time signature. Commonly used in waltz.

Click. He slides aside the dislodged wood. Then he's grasping at a chain from the wall. "Stand next to me, Saturn. You wouldn't want a concussion."

Then he pulls. Crick. THAMP! Something crashes beside her. When Cynthia opens her eyes, there's a solid staircase opening up to a pitch-black entrance to the attic.

An oddly malevolent feel emanates from the darkness beyond. Cyrus shifts in the wheelchair, his fingers rapping impatiently against his armrest. He's looking at Jupiter with shining eyes.

"I am not carrying you up there," she mutters, and he deflates.

"Hey!"

Heads turn to the approaching sea of blue-green. B-2 skids to a halt, almost causing a human slide for the Grunts behind him.

"You found the secret staircase!" R-8 gasps.

Mars presents her boss like she's showing off a shiny new car. "Master Cyrus found it! You just needed to knock on wood!"

B-2 gasps upon seeing his boss for the first time, alive and well. "Doc!" he gushes. "You're not bedridden anymore!"

Cyrus scoffs. "'Doc?'" He then shakes his head. "I can't be productive otherwise, B-2. I need to pull my weight too… What's in that box?"

"Oh!" B-2 nudges his grinning colleagues. "Well, it was a shocking encounter, but guess what we found in the basement? There was a ro—"

Cynthia pulls him back. He opens his mouth. And closes it when she whispers into his ear.

Cyrus is looking at her direction. "Is there something wrong, Champion Cynthia?"

"No."

"I see. I apologize." Arceus, what the hell is wrong with me today?! But Cyrus is already shifting his focus back to the murky darkness. Then he snaps his fingers. A Drifblim floats into the hallway. The blimp steadies him so he can climb to its streamers, as if he's depositing himself into a swing.

"Amazing." Jupiter rubs her eyes in disbelief. Cyrus clumsily folds the wheelchair and tucks it under an arm.

"Let us go." Driftblim ascends up the stairs. Cynthia exchanges a bewildered glance with his team before running up after him.

---

It's a familiar darkness. The type that simply exists just because it can. His heart eventually falls back to the rhythmic ticking of the gloom: Tick. Tick.

Cyrus closes his eyes. There's the chest. The portraits. The gramophone… The antique sofa… The mirror, still covered…

A sliver of light peeks through the curtains. It's as if the windows are on fire.

Tmp. Tmp.

Footsteps sound behind him. Hushed voices, sometimes none at all, accompanying their owners.

"You can't dance anymore either."

Cyrus sighs. "Apparently not. Though I was a horrible dancer to begin with."

"Boss." Oh. When did Saturn get here? "Boss, who the hell are you talking to?"

A candle sparks to life. Then a hovering lamp. A chandelier enveloping the attic in cold, pale light, revealing smiling faces.

"Welcome back, young master."

Cyrus drops his head. "Please don't call me that, sir… Ah. That was you, wasn't it? You visited me before, but I had trouble accessing my memories…" Driftblim eases him back down the wheelchair. "Thank you… for your consideration."

"Boss, why are you talking to the Haunter?" Mars hisses, her eyes wide and unusually bright. "That's a lot of Haunter…"

Cyrus turns to his flesh-and-blood Commanders. "Mars, can you unwind the music box?"

"Huh? O-Oh… sure, Master Cyrus."

"Oooh, it's Master Cyrus now, huh? Heehee…"

Cyrus leans back in the chair. As the music plays, he speaks. "In a land far, far away, there was a young woman who wished upon a star. She had dreams of the stage, dreams of reveling in a cloud of grandeur…" He feels her getting closer. The good-luck charm on his cheek is tingling. "However, she too, fell prey to the changing world… Fixated on the illusion of true love, she latched on to a wandering foreigner… a brilliant young man that ultimately chose his obligations over his heart."

Cyrus turns to his gaping audience. "Quite a tragic tale, won't you agree? Champion Cynthia?"

Cynthia matches his question in stunned silence. The ballerina is still dancing. The dancing girl is humming along as well, twirling on her shaking legs as she pirouettes towards him.

Jupiter yanks the wheelchair back before Cyrus can react. "Cyrus!" snaps the woman from that rainy day. "That's a Gengar! What the hell are you about to do?"

Cyrus extends his hand. Jupiter stares at it. He waits. When touches connect, a slight chill snakes down his spine, but Cyrus keeps his grip. Jupiter gasps. "Do you see what I see, Jupiter?" he murmurs. Her silence affirms the answer. In fact, the light in her eyes is swaying the other way.

Saturn hesitates, but he takes Jupiter's other hand. Mars follows. Then B-2. R-8. The Grunts…

"She's very pretty," the young mistress hums, a hint of bitterness in her ghostly voice. "I see now why you couldn't let her go."

Cyrus grimaces. "Champion Cynthia." She jolts. He swallows down the vibrations before they manifest upon his body. It's difficult to keep his stomach steady, but he's trying. "I would like you to meet Elise, if you'd permit it, that is."

The Old Notebook is an effective medium for contact. Cyrus breathes through his mouth. Cynthia places her hand on the cover. One wrong move and their fingers will connect and… and he's not sure what'll happen to him after that.

"This is Elise," Cyrus says. The girl courtesies. Everyone with a beating heart had stopped breathing at some point in time. "And that's her father." He bows. "Sir."

"Cyrus." The man casts a glance over the team, pale eyes lingering on Mars and Saturn, the latter in particular. His lips twitch gently upwards.

"And this is Mister Mori." The butler bows.

"Thank you for taking care of Cyrus," the old man tells Jupiter. She bobs her head. But she's not letting go of Cyrus's hand.

"H-Hello," says the gardener. Jupiter puckers her lips in a grimace. "D-Did you like my poem? I composed it while holding your radiance in mind… Ahhh… All the Hearthome women are so lovely—"

While Jupiter's raking her hand across the flustered man's face, Cyrus rolls out introductions. The inhabitants of the Old Chateau seem relieved—excited even—to see new guests. They swarm the bewildered group with open arms and open hearts.

Elise has her hands behind her back. She's looking at him the same way as two decades ago. Only this time, her sentiment seems more pronounced.

"So who are they, Cyrus?" she hums.

"That's—"

"I'm Saturn, and I'm in second-in-command!" The young man marches up the grinning ghost girl. His shoulders are stiff, but he looks at her dead in the holes of her eyes. "E-Elise." He falters at that name. Her grin widens to show glimmering teeth. "I-I'm going to stay by his side, no matter what! I'll protect him!"

A hand pats Cyrus's shoulder. Mister Mori smiles down at the latter.

Elise giggles. "See? I was right, Cyrus."

Cyrus looks up from his sleeves. Cynthia gestures to B-2. He walks forward with the box.

"What…" Cyrus clears his throat. "What is that, B-2?"

"A surprise, doc." B-2's lips are stretched in an idiotic smile. "Open it."

A shock sparks upon connection. Static roars in Cyrus's ears… but oddly enough, it's a familiar sound. A familiar sensation, as if…

"Bzzzt." Then he's teleported back to that dark and stormy night. "Bzzt… rus… bzzt…" Further than that. Candles. A television. A ball of light.

Cyrus glances around the room. "Did someone call me?" No, it seems… It wasn't any of you?

"Bzzt! Cyrus—zzt!"

Air is rushing out faster than the rate of inhalation. The trembling has returned. Am I hallucinating again? No… no, this isn't the same as before. This is… there's only one thing that…

He lifts the lid. It's the toy robot that he made for Elise, once upon a time. And when eyes meet, the robot waves a hand as if in greeting.

"You—bzzt—came back-bzzt!" chirps the Pokemon. "You came back—bzzt—Cyrus, my friend!"

The robot's eyes light up when Cyrus brings it to his chest. The Pokemon is emitting lots of electricity—he can feel it, but it doesn't shock him. At this moment in time, it's just the two of them in this attic, just him and—

"Rotom," Cyrus whispers, the name coursing down his parched throat like sweet rainwater. "T-That was you, wasn't it? Y-You saved us… I-I haven't seen you I thought y-you weren't I… T-They threw you away. I-I-I searched the r-rubbish heap b-b-b-but…"

He babbles on and on until a metallic hand grazes his cheek. Cyrus buries his face into the pulsating robot toy. He's exposing himself to all those accursed things that got him into this mess in the first place… and yet…

Cyrus isn't aware of the Grunts high-fiving themselves. Of Saturn's great sigh, of Mars brightening grin, of Jupiter's fumbling around for a napkin he can use. And Cynthia's covering her mouth, her eyes watery and bright.

Then it hits him. He rubs his eyes, and it's still there. The clarity. Fuzzy edges around his vision, a once common companion, had left. He feels strangely refreshed, as if he had awakened from a much needed 8-hour sleep.

Cyrus had finally reached the other side of the tunnel.

"Bzzt—Cyrus! Bzt, bzt, bzt!" Light from the robot's eyes spill onto his arm cast. Cyrus peers down. What… He frowns. What is that?

"B-2?"

"Yes, Doctor Cyrus?"

Everyone holds their breath when Cyrus looks up. "Why did you draw a male genitalia on my cast, B-2?"

The Grunt gasps. "How'd you know—" Then his expression quickly smooths over. He spreads his hands in an innocent shrug. "That's the Neo Armstrong Cyclone Jet Armstrong Canyon, Cyrus. Aren't you the physicist around here?"