"So… Cyrus was indeed dead, but he's alive again because of 'circumstances.' A Pokemon told you that he was 'chosen' to wield a magical rock, but it's useless now because he lost his memory."

"Pretty much."

Detective Looker's grin is so wide that his teeth takes up 90% of his face. "Heh… Hehehaha! Arceus, why did they assign me to Sinnoh?!"

Cynthia casts a dismissive hand. "We have Cyrus now, and that's what matters. Charon must not know of his existence."

"I don't think Charon is the biggest threat right now," moans the detective. "Just yesterday we had to evacuate Jubilife when residents started reporting troubling signs. Don't get me wrong, it's great that Cyrus is okay, but time is not on our side. What happens if he remembers when it's too late?"

"Not going to happen," Cynthia states firmly. "We'll make sure he remembers before time stand still."

The detective absorbs those words by slumping back into the wall. He heaves a great sigh. "I'd take a nap if this isn't a haunted house… Thank Arceus I haven't see a g… a-a g-g-g… GHOOOOOST!"

Gazes connect. Cynthia gasps. "Cy—"

"Am I intruding a private meeting? My apologies." Cyrus bows. "Incidentally, would you care for some tea?"

Looker pries himself from the safety of Jupiter's back. "Oh...! It's just Cyrus… Stop being so damn creepy!"

"I apologize. I knocked, but the door wasn't unlocked… Would you care for a glass of Pecha smoothie?"

"Master Cyrus, you're not supposed to be here!" Saturn snaps.

"Go away!" Mars cries. "We're almost done!"

Everyone is glaring at him. Cyrus drops his gaze. "A-All right. Excuse me."

Rotom perks up at the sound of wheels. "Soooozt? Did they like the-zzt- juice? Shake it this way, shake it that way, right?"

Cyrus gives a faint smile. "I owe Spinda for teaching me its rather… unorthodox techniques." He holds up an untouched cup. "To you, Rotom." Tasteless, despite the aromatic nodes of the Pecha Berry. "This one, to the Old Chateau. To the Ghost in the bathtub, may his spirit find solace."

"Cyruzzt, why are you drinking your own creations that you worked so hard to make, zzt?"

"I don't want them to ingest what they believe are poisoned drinks, Rotom." Cyrus brushes past the Pokemon before it can react. He dumps the tray into the sink, scrubbing with vigorous intensity so the pounding water will drown out this horrible constriction in his chest.

Pacing up and down the corridor does nothing but wear out the carpet.

Someone is singing outside. Small Pokemon are frolicking about the budding flower garden, bathing under the warmth of a benevolent morning sun. Clouds drift aimlessly by, unrestrained, untethered.

Cyrus returns his gaze to the grinning Rotom. An Electric/Ghost Type… How do you maintain your levitation? By sending opposing electrical charges from your poles?

Electrical… charges… Cyrus brightens. "Rotom, I need your help."

"Yeah, zzt! What is it?"

Cyrus's smile curls at his ears. "Please use Charge. Harness all the power you can."

"Pzzt, eazzy peazzy! Okay, what now?!"

"This next part requires utmost concentration. You mustn't falter—"

"Spit it out already, zzt!"

Cyrus spreads his hands, clearing a direct path to his unprotected heart. "Rotom, Discharge."

Rotom's mirth dies in a heartbeat. "Wha… No! That is a BAAAAD idea—"

"Rotom, now."

"NO! I'll kill you!"

"Stop hesitating and DO as you're told! I COMMAND you to strike me with Discharge! Do it, so everyone can be happy and the world can be saved!"

But the Pokemon answers his plea by tossing its concentrated energy out the window. BOOM!

"All that power could've been put to better use," Cyrus hisses, ice clinging to every word. "Your heart is weak and incomplete. Your indecisiveness costed the world precious seconds! Tch, I knew I should've just done it myself…"

An electrified blade slices his cheek. "How are you so STUPID, zzt? Why does Rotom's friend-zzt- want Rotom to kill him, zzt? Rotom's friend left Rotom alone, zztKTZZZT! Waited for you, zzt… never came back, zzt… STUPID CYRUZTT!"

Cyrus's stomach churns so violently to the point of throwing up. "I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Rotom. P-Please don't cry…"

"AHH STUPID CYRUZZT! HATE YOU, IDIOT!" Rotom nicks him with a metal pipe before flying away.

"Rotom! Please let me explain, I…" Cyrus's throat tightens. He glares at his hands, things that failed to keep anyone close. His fingernails sink into his neck, the thing that stops working when he needs it the most.

And Cyrus bashes his forehead against the wall. BAM! BAM! Again and again. Warm liquid trickles down his nose, which he promptly ignores.

Sunlight catches on the glass shards near the window. Each jagged blade fits perfectly in his grasp. He says to his reflection, "Cyrus, you useless, incompetent, stupid, good-for-nothing… Can't you do anything right in your life for once?"

As Cyrus wallows in his turbulent thoughts, an iron clamp grabs his shoulder, bringing him up to match Jupiter's horrified stare.

"Holy Arceus Cyrus," mutters R-8. Upon contact with that gash, her pure white cotton swab turns a soggy, dark red. With a skillfully guided scalpel, she extracts wood chips from under his skin while B-2 watches with a fist in his mouth.

"Apparently, there was a rusty nail in the wall too," she continues grimly. "Geez, Cyrus… You're lucky you didn't get blood poisoning…"

Cyrus stares at ankle bracelet as R-8 disinfects his wound. The frequency of that blinking light matches his heartbeat: a slow, sluggish stroll of "b-dup, b-dup." If he focuses on his breathing, he can correct this irregular melody of his heart.

"Tsk. It's a pretty deep wound… Tell me if it hurts, okay?" Cyrus stays silent as the woman stitches his torn skin together. She's not wrong… it does hurt, but the needle itself isn't inflicting the pain: it's that disgusting empathy in her eyes.

B-2 holds up a first aid kit, something he picked up from the convenience store. Gauze. Waterproof medical wrap. He gives Cyrus the bandage with the constellations. After all is said and done, Cyrus thrusts his head down to his knees. "I'll try my best to remember everything soon. I won't… waste your time anymore."

Jupiter blocks Cyrus's path. He keeps his head down. And the next thing he knows, that ankle monitor is on the ground. Instinct tells him to look up, to thank her for her forgiveness, but Cyrus merely bows again and leaves the room.

Cyrus spots that orange speck behind a red flowering plum tree in the garden. "Rotom, please wait. About earlier, I—"

"Go away, stupid Cyruzzt. Rotom hatezzt you…" Then it spots the wound. "Cyruzzt, what did you do now, zzt?! Did it hurt?!"

"I took a wrong step. Rotom, listen—"

"Stupid, clumsy Cyruzzt!" Cyrus braces himself for another slap, but the Pokemon simply latches itself into his chest. "Don't-zzt-ever put your life on the line like that again, zzt! Promizzt Rotom!"

Cyrus clenches his fist. Flicks his gaze to the side. "I can't…" Rotom growls angrily. "Y-Yes. I promise, Rotom. In return, do not shed tears for me, all right?"

"Y-Yeah, zzt! Rotom promises!" Smiling, Cyrus dabs aside those tears with his fingers. Rotom sinks back into his hold.

Leaves crunch. A curtain of gold approaches him, blocking out his sun.

"Cyrus," Cynthia says. "I need to talk to you alone."

As Cynthia wheels Cyrus down the patches of sun-lit grass, her thoughts begin to unravel. As they pass under the weeping oak, her skull feels like it might explode.

"Cy—"

"Cynthia, wait here." Cyrus is staring intently at… nothing. Just darkness. He parks the wheelchair in front of the hollow log. "It's all right. I won't harm you."

And to Cynthia's chagrin, Cyrus returns with a Phantump in his arms. "Please don't cry anymore… We have no intention of harming your forest." Cynthia takes a deep breath. Presses her hands together in a silent prayer. Phantump is screaming, but Cyrus appears completely calm, as if he's hearing something else.

"Cyrus!" Cynthia bellows. He flinches so hard that the Phantump shatters into dust. "Please tell me it's the painkillers that's making you act creepier than before."

"What do you mean? I heard…" Then his mask smooths. "Ah. You think I'm crazy." She's about to elaborate when he holds up a hand. "My apologies. Just… tell me if I make you uncomfortable. I'll get out of your sight."

You're walking the fine line between life and death, Cyrus. We can't let you cross over to the other side. But out loud, Cynthia keeps her smile nonjudgmental. "Cyrus, about yesterday…"

"If anyone owes anyone an apology for that battle yesterday, it is I." Cyrus gives a deep nod. "I didn't mean to… freeze up like that. I've caused everyone so much trouble… I'm sorry for my behavior. It won't happen again."

But it really wasn't your fault.

Cyrus's soft voice jars her out of those dark memories. "Do you mind if I accompany you for a few minutes more?" There's a certain crinkle in his eyes that tickles her heart.

"Of course."

Time trickles by like frozen streams as Cynthia aimlessly pushes the wheelchair while Cyrus quietly accepts her whims. Every so often she checks on him to make sure he's still alive, only to be blessed with that precious smile.

Cyrus turns back. "Cynthia, I was honored to witness such wonderful battling prowess. Thank you for lending me your time. I'll try hard to remember to repay you." A new emotion creeps into her heart. Doubt. Unease. No, he has to remember if we want to save the world. All the good… and all the bad.

But would it be better if…

"Yo, we've been going around in circles! Don't you have a map of this place?"

"You hotheaded fool, just follow the moss. It'll lead us to civilization."

"There's fucking moss everywhere!"

The two best friends tumble out of the bushes. Flint stubs his toe—hard. "OW! Who the hell puts a wheelchair in the middle of the f.. the f-f… GHOOOOOST!"

Volkner jumps back. He and Flint gawk at the gaping Cynthia, who stares down at the mildly amused "ghost."

"Hello," says Cyrus. "Would you like to rest your weary soles at the Old Chateau?"

Flint nudges Volkner. The latter shoves him out of the chair. Cynthia glances fervently around before turning back to the two friends. "What the hell are you two here? Actually, never mind. You know what happens to big-mouthed Chinglings, right?"

"W-We won't tell anyone!" Flint yelps. "S-Seriously, I can tell them that you used black magic to reanimate his corpse, and they'll still laugh at me!"

Everyone shuts up when Cyrus enters the dining room. Flint dives behind his poker-faced friend. Cynthia pats Cyrus's shoulder, emphasizing the sound of flesh against flesh. "Cyrus! These are my friends! Flint and Volkner!"

"Flint and Volkner…" Cyrus smiles. Volkner twitches, and Flint gasps. "You two look like you've seen a ghost… You have nothing to worry about, I assure you. Our guests won't harm human visitors.

"Incidentally, may I interest you in some Berry tea, smoothie, or juice?" He presents a porcelain tray. "This is freshly made, so it's still cold."

Flint steps forward, but a warning glare from Cynthia stills his steps. "I-I'd love to, Cy. But I think we should be going now. Come on, Volks."

Volkner sniffs a cup. "What's this one? Cynthia, let me go. I just want my damn juice."

"I'll buy you some Fresh Water," Cynthia growls back. She snatches the tray from Cyrus's grasp. "You, don't feed anyone anything! We don't have enough Antidotes…"

But Volkner had somehow broken from her grip and is currently holding an empty glass cup. He's smacking his lips, his eyebrows rising and falling as the liquid slides down his throat. A glass of bloody red tea is shoved into Flint's hands, which the latter reluctantly drinks.

"Holy Lopunny what the hell is this?! The various flavors don't clash… Instead, they blend together into beautiful harmony in this fine drink!"

Volkner grabs Cyrus's shoulders. "If I beat you in a Pokemon battle, you'll tell me all the secrets to your smoothies."

"T-There's no need for that," Cyrus mutters. "I used—"

"Good! You don't know how long I've been waiting for this, Cy. Give me a challenge to remember!"

Everything happened so fast. It was morning, now it's late noon. He was inside the Old Chateau mixing drinks for Cynthia's guests, and now he's out on the lawn, watching Volkner yanking on Flint's afro.

"They have excellent chemistry," he murmurs to himself. "I don't know them personally, but I can tell they've been best friends since childhood." On his right, Cynthia clears her throat. He sighs. "Don't you have to leave soon? You needn't supervise me 24/7."

"Cyrus, what if you hurt—"

"Actually, please stay. You need to keep me in line if I dare to hurt your friends… Rotom, stop." When that Pokemon stops messing around, Cyrus's hair is a fuzzy mess. "Rotom, I wish for you to battle on my side as well. Will you accept my invitation?"

"HECKZZT YEAH! LEMME AT EM, ZZT! I'LL KNOCK THEIR SOCKZZT OFF!"

Volkner shuffles forward, fists in his pocket, a lazy smirk scrawled on his face. He lays a firm hand on Cyrus's shoulder, a grip that lingers for much longer than it should. "Don't give me a boring battle, Cy."

As the challengers take their positions, Cynthia joins Flint on the sidelines. "What the hell is Volkner thinking?" she snaps.

Flint messages his ears. "You don't understand him at all, do you? He acts like he doesn't care about anything, but he's actually been really torn up inside. This battle is the only way he can express his—" That's when a blue jacket smacks into Flint's face, effectively shutting him up.

Volkner rolls his shoulders. Cracks his neck. He picks himself up, gives a marginal glance behind his shoulder, and holds up a hand.

"I am going to shock you into submission, Cy."

Cyrus smirks back. "I'm looking forward to that, Volkner." There's something his tone that doesn't sit right with Cynthia, something she can't quite put her finger on.

"Jolteon, put the lights out on Honchkrow! Luxray, show Crobat how much it hertz with Thunder Fang!"

Back at the sidelines, Cynthia rolls her eyes while Flint cracks up. "He still hasn't changed… But Cyrus is at a severe Type-Disadvantage. How will he…"

"Gyarados, take back your reign with Rain Dance."

"Psssh, did you seriously forget your physics homework, Cy? Moisture only makes my Electric Pokemon more electrifying! Electivire, Thunder Punch!

"Eh? What's with your lameass attacks, Cy? Do you really suck this much? I expected better from you!"

Back at the stands, Flint has his arms crossed and eyebrows tangled together. "What is Cyrus doing? I thought he was much better than this!"

"True," Cynthia murmurs. "Unless… it's some sort of unorthodox strategy…"

Volkner rolls his eyes. "You are so boring just like the rest of your Pokemon. Man, I ain't gonna waste my trump card on you! Raichu, finish this with Quick Attack—"

"Gyarados, Earthquake."

After the dust clears, all smugness has evaporated from Volkner's face. Now he's shaking with rage. "You… that rain made the terrain more slippery for Weavile to steal my Shuca Berries that could nullify Ground damage! Then you used Embargo to prevent me from curing my poisoned Pokemon…"

Flint is clapping and hooting. "Cy's spirit is burning hotter than yours, Volks!"

"Shut up, Ronald!" Then to his opponent: "How dare you take me for a fool? Fine then! We're each down to Electric Pokemon anyway, so I'll show you the full power of Sunyshore's Shining, Shocking Star! Electivire! Charge!'

"Zzt zzt Charge all you want, Gramps, but Rotom is gonna send it all back to ya, zzt!"

With a grand slice of his hand, Volkner declares, "Electivire! Discharge all your 20,000… no, 40,000 volts of power!"

Rotom snickers. "Only 40,000? Pleaaazzt. Come at me, Gramps!"

The moisture-rich air feeds into the enlarging ball of blue lightning. Raw heat reacts violently to oxygen, unleashing a hair-raising screech as it barrels across the battlefield. Rotom aims its lightning rod forward. Three seconds until impact… two seconds… one seconds…

"I'm sorry I can't keep my promise to you, Rotom."

"Eh?"

And Cyrus shoves Rotom aside for the 40,000 volts to slam into his chest with the force of a million wrecking balls.

At that moment, Jupiter returns. She sees the scene. She sees Cynthia and Flint scrambling down to the battlefield. She sees Cyrus on the ground, doubled over, his body twitching and thrashing.

But when Cyrus opens his eyes, he's seeing a different scene. Cement walls in all four cardinal directions. A storm raging outside a barred window. Rain burning like acid against his skin as he offers a makeshift lightning rod to the heavens.

BOOM! Then all turns to white.

Cyrus awakens to a curtain of red sunlight brushing against his damp forehead. There are no handcuffs tying him down. No straitjacket, no chains. No iron bars outside the open window.

Rotom shoves itself into his bubble. "LIAR!" it screams. "YOU'RE NOTHING-ZZT-BUT A LIAR!" Cyrus keeps his mask frozen even as tears rain down on his head. "EXPLAIN YOURELF, ZZT!"

When Cyrus says nothing, Rotom bashes him with a wooden plank. "STUPID CYRUZZT! NEVER CARED ABOUT ROTOM'S FEELINGZZT AT ALL! NEVER TRUST A LIAR, ZZT!"

Volkner jumps aside as Rotom flees out of the room. He and Flint carefully approach the bed, making sure to keep their distance.

"You really are crazy," Volkner mutters with all the seriousness in the world.

"Are you okay?" yells Flint—and cringes from a cold glare. An unnatural animosity had gripped Cyrus's heart: a deep, burning loathing of every fiber of his being directed against these two men. But why?

Flint isn't giving up so easily. "Cyrus, everyone's down there worried out of their minds about you! You almost died a second… I-I mean…"

Cyrus sighs sharply. "Thank you for enlightening me with that battle, Volkner. I hope you and Flint have a safe passage home." With that, he closes his eyes. When Flint realizes that his protests are falling on deaf ears, he trudges dejectedly to the door, a silent Volkner his heels. Some more whispering. Then it's just the wind outside the window keeping Cyrus company.

When day surrenders to night, the door opens again. Cyrus is still on his bed, chest rising and falling with barely audible breaths. Curtains are billowing in the open wind.

Jupiter closes the window. It's quite gusty outside. Perhaps it might rain again.

"Cyrus." His name catches on her throat. Her hand hovers over his cheekbones… and with a bite of the tongue, she forces it down to make contact.

A shock runs up her skin. Those cheekbones are so sharp that they lacerated her palm. Her gaze travels to his snowy hair, hair she remembered as once being blue. Her fingers graze over the silky strands until it brushes upon patches of discolored scalp. Bruises. A faint indentation of a boot, the same one she had worn when she kicked him away from Mars at Crystal Cave.

"Cyrus," Jupiter whispers. Without the machine monitoring his pulse, he would've passed as a corpse. "Why do you treat your right to live as a privilege that must be earned? Why do you treat your existence as a tool to satisfy others? What's wrong with letting you live just because you can?"

Jupiter squeezes his wrist, such a slender and fragile thing. A slight touch already leaves dark tread marks on his skin.

"Maybe… maybe it's better if you don't remember, Cyrus. We could start anew, just the four of us…" Then Jupiter catches herself. "What are you saying, Jane? Now is not the time to be selfish… The fate of the entire world is more important than the happiness of one person…

"I… I did trust you, Cyrus. Maybe I didn't trust you enough. If I did, then maybe you wouldn't…" Words trail off to a breathless wheeze. Jupiter wraps her hands over his, resting her forehead against those strong, bony fingers. "I really meant it when I told you I was proud of you. I am and always will be proud of you…

"And I'm so, so sorry for abandoning you when you needed me the most."

Only after the door finally closes does Cyrus open his eyes.

Thunder rumbles above the ceiling. From his chapel window at the fourth floor, Cyrus has a perfect view as those black clouds weep over Eterna Forest.

It's quiet without Rotom. But I broke my promise. I have not right to face my companion… Besides, I'll be dragged away after all my memories return.

BOOM! Lightning splices the sky. Shadows flee down the hallways, only to be sucked back into the light.

BOOM! BOOM! Doors are locked, rooms swept and mopped. Might as well go back.

BOOOM! There, standing in the middle of the corridor, is that disfigured phantom. It's limping towards the broken balcony in the same grotesque fashion, doomed to repeat its death for all eternity.

That is, when something sinks into the dark spirit's arm. Very, very slowly, its neck cracks back to meet a pair of flaring blue eyes.

The sight of the spirit's face renders Cyrus breathless for just a heartbeat in time. No eyes… just black, hollow sockets caked with blood. Smashed, colorless lips stitched together with thread dangling at its edges. A red chain wound tightly around its bruised neck, the rusty links welded into skin.

BOOM! Instinct tells Cyrus to yank his hand back, to steep it in hot water to rid whatever germs it had touched. But he gnashes his teeth and tightens his grip on the spirit's arm.

"You will not die on my watch," Cyrus snaps. "Not even if you're dammed to repeat your punishment." Nothing reflects in those abysses. Then the phantom's lips twist, and a deep, guttural growl emanates from within its throat.

"You can't do anything to me," Cyrus states flatly. "Your hands and feet are bound in shackles. I can and will subdue you with Honchkrow if you test my patience. Do I make myself clear?"

Then Cyrus notices the clumps of bloody drainage sticking to the phantom's wind-beaten hair, especially in the area around its ears. "You… You cannot hear nor speak but you can see…" He drops his gaze. "None of the Old Chateau's guests have met such a gruesome end… How could someone die such a cruel and painful death…?"

Some sign of life dawns on the spirit's face. It tilts its head one way. Then the other. As if it wants to say something. Then Cyrus has an idea. He shows the spirit his ten fingers… then he rams his knuckles into his skull. "What are you doing, Cyrus? Maybe all that electricity really fried up your useless brain…"

Tmp. Tmp. The spirit taps two fingers against its palm. "I don't have a name anymore," is the signed statement. A trembling hand presses against the faded numbers on its prison uniform. "If you must address me, call me whatever you wish. Surprise me."

As the rainstorm dispels into a gentle shower, Cyrus digs around for a thick blanket which he drapes over the shivering spirit.

When his guest's discomfort eases somewhat, Cyrus signs. "How long have you been here?"

"About the same time you've arrived, Cyrus."

"How…" Ah. Everyone must know me by now, after all the hub bub I've caused…

The spirit raises its head. "You have more questions." As Cyrus chastises himself on his obvious staring, the spirit's mouth tug upwards. "No, I didn't perish in the electric chair as my appearance conveys. My demise was brought on and enacted by my own hands… That's partly the reason why I look like this."

Cyrus's stomach plummets at the thought. So that's why you threw yourself over the railing. But why—no, mind your own business. Don't inflict more pain on others than you already are.

The spirit is watching carefully. "You look troubled. I cannot help your predicament, but I can offer an ear… figuratively speaking of course."

Cyrus snickers despite himself, earning a smirk from his guest. "Thank you for the offer, but I'll manage. Is there anything I can do to help you find solace?"

"It's too late for me, but thank you for the offer." The spirit wraps the blanket tighter around its shaking shoulders, hiding them. It shifts its gaze to the window, to the crescent moon amidst a sea of stars. Then it gnashes its fangs and yanks its head back to the present. "Be careful on overusing white lies, Cyrus. They might be harmless now, but in the long run they will turn everyone you love against you."

That statement sends a surge of anger up Cyrus's throat, constricting it. "Tch. Who do you think you are, lecturing me like a child?"

"Tch. Why is your skull so thick, Cyrus?" The spirit's signing gains an aggressive, exasperated edge. "Do you really wish to live the rest of your life tethered by regrets because of a benign white lie?"

Cyrus responds by spinning his wheelchair around. A sigh from the other side. Springs creaking, chains clanking. The dark spirit gives a deep nod before turning to leave.

That is, until it glances back to see Cyrus tugging its sleeve. Its expression softens. "Worry not, I'll be here if I'm still needed. Please think about what I told you, Cyrus. Don't make the same mistakes as I did."

Silence permeates over Fogbound Lake like a suffocating fog. As the spell of silence grows, the lights become progressively dimmer.

"We'll have to relocate Fogbound Lake's Time Gear," Uxie murmurs. "Ultimately, those two will need all five Gears to restore Temporal Tower… Mesprit, are you listening to me? Come now, are you still mad I took away your 'human companion?'"

That scowl confirms everything. "Not only that, but you prevent me from seeing if he's all right! I know his soul has returned to his body, but why can't I visit him? It's not fair!"

Uxie groans. "I told you six hundred and forty-three times, Mesprit! You of all Pokemon have the strongest adverse effect on that human!"

Mesprit crosses her arms. Flicks some water into the weakening geyser. "You've changed, Uxie. Don't you want him to remember as soon as possible? Why take his feelings into consideration at all?" Uxie marinates in those observations. Then he frowns and decides on just giving his sister the cold shoulder.

"I miss Cyrus," Mesprit sighs. "You shattered his mind in the cruelest of ways possible."

"I broke the mind of the evil spirit, that physical manifestation of the darkness in his heart! Stop making me look like the villain of this story!"

Then it hits Uxie. This uncanny feeling, a feeling that something very, very important had been erroneously overlooked. "Mesprit… you disposed of the evil spirit's remains, right?"

"Huh? I saw it getting ripped apart by your eyes…" Realization dawns on Mesprit's face as a gasp. "Well, I had my eyes closed too, so… I-I will search Crystal Cave again."

Fogbound Lake has gotten colder as well. "I pray I am merely overthinking this. However, there are dire consequences if that evil spirit manages to find its host…"

Mesprit smacks Uxie on the back. "RELAX! It's still too weak to cause trouble… Besides, you told me that Cyrus was in good hands, remember?"