The Old Chateau appears into view. Cynthia turns to find a void of wind. Cyrus had jumped down before they landed, but thank Arceus space distorts to cushion his fall.

Everyone runs out. They see Cynthia descending on Togekiss with the three Lake Guardians. They see Cyrus marching up on his own two feet.

"I remembered," he says before anyone can react. "Follow me, and I'll wrap up any loose ends I still owe."

TICK. TOCK. Flint's eyeballs dart to the left. Volkner has his head turned away. Flint's eyeballs dart to the front. Cyrus's face is hidden by his hair.

TICK. TOCK. Neither men appear to be breathing.

So Flint stands up. "WOW! I sure am thirsty! Who wants some beer?"

A claw grips his shirt. Flint sees the slightest of trembles in his normally aloof friend's shoulder, and he quickly sits back down.

"I thought you hated me."

Volkner flinches so hard that his elbow bashes into Flint's nose.

Cyrus slowly raises his head. "From primary to high school, you treated me like the rest of them. 'Freak.' 'Creep with no eyebrows.' 'Robot.' I had twenty-six different names."

Flint also adverts his eyes. Just like back then. Volkner is still closed off from the world, and no amount of Flint can bring him home.

Cyrus exhales sharply, his neck cracking as he straightens. "Every week, I had to pull my backpack out of the rubbish pile. Do you know how irksome it became to come up with a new excuse as to why I smelled like shit?"

So many things are going wrong here. Cyrus raised his voice. Volkner cannot be reached. And Flint cannot channel his usual energy to even smile.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," Cyrus snaps, and Flint obediently complies. Veins strain against flushed skin. The former slams his fist down, and large black wings rip from his back without a Honchkrow in sight.

Cyrus sneers a horrible sneer. "What am I? A freak? That monster who lives in the cave off the beach?" Cold fire is burning behind icy eyes. "Do I even bleed red? Am I even human in your eyes?"

All Flint can give is a horrified whimper.

A guttural, inhuman growl rumbles within Cyrus's corded throat. The wings are so real, as they're now bristling and brimming with electricity. Flint has this ominous feeling that if pushed just a little more, Cyrus will electrocute everyone here including himself.

In the present, however, Cyrus simply slams his fists again and slumps back down. Those inhuman appendages vanish into thin air. "That was the first time you looked at me without being forced to," he mutters to the table. "Did your eyebrows fall off?"

That's when Volkner's arm flies out. He grabs Cyrus's chin, tilting it up so clear and cloudy blue skies meet each other once again.

"I see you as clear as day!" Volkner barks. "How long do I look at you until my eyebrows fall off?"

"V-Volks…?"

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Cyrus screeches.

"SHUT UP! YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!"

Volkner dives across the table and pins Cyrus down. After a series of weak punches and kicks, the two proceed to yelling into each other's faces in a battle of psychological warfare. Such scathing remarks can make the most hardened human cry. Then Cyrus begins biting with those vampiric fangs. Volkner wastes no time biting back.

Flint decides to wait this out in kitchen café.

Flint comes back with a Spinda in his arms to see Volkner and Cyrus strewn about the floor. Both are panting heavily, having exhausted their meager reserves of physical strength.

"That robot!" Volkner wheezes. "The one you showed me when we first met during the beach at dusk. How could a doofus like you build such a contraption?!"

"What are you—"

"You took over my napping spot in the library. Every day you would mess around with those cogs and gears and sprockets, and it's distracting as hell! Find some friends, loser!"

Cyrus opens his mouth, only for Volkner to cut in. "I see you walk home every day with that stupid bat and crow. For someone who never speaks in class, you sure are chatty with those Pokemon and your machines! You're so fucking weird and clumsy and… tch!"

Volkner stands, shoves his fists into his pockets, and storms away. Flint can only stare after his best friend's retreating back.

Something flies across the air, to which Cyrus catches. Steel edges frayed by use, aluminum shaft rusted with age, the hex key glimmers in the manor's light. The anger breaks from Cyrus's face. "I… I thought I lost this."

"You dropped it when we told you fuck off," grunts Volkner from the corner. "It's a very versatile tool, given that it's secondhand. In fact, it's that hex key that joined the final leg of the solar panel walkways together… Remember? You were working on those blueprints in class."

Cyrus's brows furrow. Flint gently squeezes the Spinda for luck, and he offers a small smile. "Volks sat on the opposite side of the classroom, but he'd always wake up to watch you write in your journal… n-not in a weird way of course."

"You dropped your stuff one day," Volkner huffs. "Those ideas of yours… I've never seen anything like it." He produces a leather journal. "These are my designs. Once you're branded as a genius, there's no motivation to keep improving. There's no one to challenge you to strive for greatness… sorry, Flint."

"It's okay."

Volkner turns back to Cyrus. "You know why I can't stand you? Whenever I see you, I see myself. I see a stupid child who talks to machines. I see an unwanted gear in a well-oiled machine. I see my future if I hadn't escaped from that dark and lonely place."

The Gym Leader swings an arm over his best friend. "This idiot was the light that broke the darkness. He's stupid and goofy—"

"Hey, I have feelings too, you know."

"—but he saved me from myself." One has to strain now to hear Volkner's words. "Now I'm the poster boy of the prestigious Sunyshore City… Heh. With all that power, I could've saved you too, but… I didn't."

Cyrus is frowning, but it's a placement expression as more turbulent thoughts clash in his heart. He lifts his gaze to the two solemn men before dropping it to the hex key in his palm. Then he turns away.

"Cyrus," says Flint. "A decade later, and I finally know your name… your real name. We grew up together, went to the same schools, graduated in the same class… but I only ever properly talked to you when you invited us into the Old Chateau.

"Man, and that's when I realized I fucked up for not wanting to get to know you sooner. You're so witty at everything! Like, your dark humor compliments so well with Volk's twisted jokes! I've never seen Volks that excited during a Pokemon battle! A-And when you made us juice… that was the first time I ever heard you laugh."

Flint clenches his fists. "Your laugh made my day, Cyrus. I should've… I should've protected that smile when I still had the chance. I was a fucking idiot, and I followed along with those jerks to make your life miserable…"

Then he drops to his knees. "I'm sorry, Cyrus! I-I know an apology won't make up for everything we did, but…" He perks up. "You can do what Buck does! Hit me with all your pent-up frustration and anger!"

Cyrus glares down with undisguised scorn. Flint can feel the weight of his ire pressing down on his shoulders.

After an eternity of deafening silence, Cyrus sighs. "Get up. I'll get something for your knees."

Flint gasps. "Cy! S-So does that mean you'll forgive—"

And Cyrus swings back with a vicious uppercut. Flint's instincts take over, and he rams his elbow against the former's ribs.

"HOLY SHIT!" he yelps. "Dude, are you…"

"Eheh… ugh…" Cyrus has to use the wall to stand, but when he looks up, there's a faint smirk on his face. "Never in my life did I expect an apology from the likes of you… Ow…" Flint rushes to steady him. "I came in and tossed your friendship into chaos. But… when you two went out of your way to make me crutches, I… I felt genuinely happy."

There are tears in Flint's eyes. A smirking Volkner extends a hand, and Cyrus accepts.

"I don't mind starting over," Volkner says with a gentle laugh. He exaggerates a yawn and props an arm against Cyrus's shoulder. "You know… you bite like a fucking vampire. It's like you're part Pokemon or something…"

A tearful Flint grabs the two friends into a bro hug. "I… I haven't been this happy since Buck's milk teeth fell out!"

"Need I remind you that my shirt is not a napkin?" Cyrus mutters, but his frown is tender. "Do you want a smoothie?"

Volkner laughs from the bottom of his heart. "Make that two, Cy. We need to properly celebrate the Sunyshore Trio's grand reunion."

B-2 and R-8 exchange fervent glances. That broken clock has traveled both backwards and forwards until someone finally speaks up.

"Well?" Cyrus says. "Out with it."

No one makes eye contact. Cyrus plucks the speech—the catalyst that ended it all—and begins reading. "'My intention to create a new world will never change, but that world isn't for the likes of Team Galactic. I seek an entirely new world for myself. If not, it would never be the complete and perfect world.'"

"Stop…"

"'Why? Because all you minions are uniformly useless and incomplete.'" Cyrus ends that speech by calmly folding his hands. "Did you record that?"

"Stop!" Jupiter barks, spittle flying from her mouth. "Y-You… wipe that smug smirk off your face!"

Cyrus snickers. "I apologize. I should've smiled to drive that point home." His smile is horrifying: his lips curled to his ears, his teeth gleaming like fangs in the waning afternoon light. "Is Charon aware that I've been revived? Is that why he sent his team to silence me once and for all?"

"Do not associate me with that bastard!"

"Then why did you come back to this bastard, Miss Jane? What can I possibly provide for you that Charon can't?"

"Answers," snaps Mars. Ignoring the bewildered gawks, she slaps the dusty box on the table. "You wrote this for me for my 15th birthday. Why didn't you give it to me?"

Cyrus twitches. Mars dumps out the rest of the dusty contents. "My sweet 16th, 17th, 18th… Saturn's, Jupiter's, the Grunts… Why did you hide all this from us?" No reply. She wedges her pocket knife into the crevice of the table. "Well? Answer me!"

"I don't see how any of this matters," Cyrus mutters.

"This is important to me, Cyrus! This is what I want to hear, not Charon, not Time Gear, not this saving the world crap!"

Mars continues to glare down at a blank-faced Cyrus, who points to the side. Saturn yelps. A sparkling black remote clatters to the floor, which Cyrus deftly picks up and presents to a flabbergasted Mars.

"Make me," he says flatly. "Jostle the joystick. Force the confession from this pathological liar."

Saturn yanks the remote away. Cyrus covers his knees and braces himself… only for Saturn to dash the remote into the wall.

BOOM! The explosion of metal lingers into eternity.

"I asked you once, but I'll ask you again," Jupiter says softly. "What are we to you, Cyrus? Are we just faceless subordinates bound in a corporate contract? Or are we more than that?"

Out of the extremities of vision, B-2 and R-8 are blocking the door.

Jupiter steps closer. And closer. "You were about to explain yourself when I cut you off. Well, we have all the time in the world now."

This was what he wanted: time to explain. Time to justify his actions. They were waiting for his side of the story.

So why is his throat constricting again like it did that night?

"I really did plan to betray you," Cyrus explains to his hands. "I wrote that speech concurrently with Galactic's opening speech. Bonds, like all illusions, would fade over time until death banishes them forever… that's what I believed.

"I knew you would leave me eventually. Once my mask is stripped away, you will see me for the pathetic, hapless fool that I am. Don't you want to quit while you're still ahead?"

His hand climbs to his heaving chest. "But then… something happened to me. I don't know why, but just the thought of letting you go, it… scared me. 'Selfish bastard,' I told myself… but it filled me with a fear so painful I could feel it in my heart."

A dark house devoid of warmth and light. A house with so many walls, both inside and out. A place where silence is the loudest sound.

Cyrus inhales deeply, allowing sweet oxygen to rush into his raw throat. "I've never had anyone get mad at me for working too hard. I've never built an object of sentiment for anyone… I've never tried to cook for anyone except myself."

He brushes the hair from his eyes. "I was nothing until you three came into my life. Everyone in Galactic pushed me to be all I could become… I never thought I would ever become someone others looked up to.

"That's why I would rather dissolve our bonds I get too comfortable. Like I've said, it would spare everyone the unnecessary heartache."

Silence responds to his confession. Cyrus takes the birthday cards into his grasp, his fingers tracing the faded ink lines. He remembers it like it was yesterday: him hunched over his desk in his office churning out this sudden burst of emotion onto paper. Running out the door, hearing those birthday songs… and abruptly sprinting back to toss those sentimental trinkets away.

Cyrus straightens so he can match his former Commanders and Grunts in the eyes. "Make this as you will, but I think of all of you as my family. During Galactic… even before that. The emotions roiling inside me… Happiness, gratitude, regret…" He lowers his head. "I didn't realize how fortunate I was before I lost everyone."

He's aware that he's the center of galaxy. The lump in his throat is hardening. His heart is this close to exploding.

Then a hand slices across his face. Cyrus smiles and turns the other cheek so Jupiter can finish the job. But what he doesn't expect is for her to yank him into an embrace. Her trembling heartbeat matches cadence with his own.

"I could've been lying through my teeth," Cyrus whispers.

"But did you?" And Jupiter takes his hesitation as confirmation.

Two smaller bodies also lunge forward. The hard rim of glasses pokes into his shoulder; the sheer volume of buttocks grazes his hip.

"You've changed," R-8 mumbles.

"You've grown up," B-2 mutters.

"I'm so sorry, Cyrus!" Saturn cries. "I… I knew what Charon wanted me to do, but I still did it. I knew I was hurting you, but I just couldn't stop…!"

"I did deserve it," Cyrus hums. "Although it would take a while to hammer the ramifications into my thick skull."

Mars timidly reaches for his hand. Her chin trembles as she squeezes him with all her might. "I'm so sorry, Cyrus… I don't hate you. I don't want to see you die such a sad and lonely death ever again…"

"Never in my life would I expect you to open up," Jupiter mumbles with a tender hand on his forehead. "You shut everyone out while you shoulder your sadness alone. It's my fault too. I should've never allowed Charon to feed my doubts."

Despite everything, Cyrus coughs out a faint smile. "I-It was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Don't… ahem… blame yourselves for the inevitable."

Then he pulls away. "That being said, Galactic is finished. What is broken can never return to how it once was. Thank you for coming back, but… I-I'm still a wanted criminal. I'll just be a stain on your futures."

B-2 frowns. "No, there's still something you can do for us. You need to pay for what you've done."

Jupiter scowls. "What are you—"

R-8 seizes Cyrus by the arm. "You think that admitting to what should've been said a long time ago will suddenly fix everything? You still lied to us, Cyrus."

"Wait!" Saturn yelps. "He's been through enough—"

Cyrus sighs. "You're right. What is my punishment?"

"No!" Mars screams. "Don't hurt—"

The former Grunts pin Cyrus onto the wall. "This is for everyone," R-8 snaps. "Everyone whose lives got turned upside down because of you."

B-2 tightens his grip on Cyrus's collar. Fist connects to cheek. "Your punishment is that we'll always be watching you. We'll always be by your side so you can't do anything stupid ever again. Y-You can close your heart, but we'll keep showering y-you with LOVE until the day you DIE!"

R-8 smacks him. "Don't Jynx it, moron!"

Cyrus watches the duo argue. Then he laughs. He laughs so hard that his knees buckle, and his stomach churns to the point of throwing up.

Jupiter peels him off the floor. "Victoria, why are his eyes bleeding?!"

A warm, bright grin blossoms on Cyrus's bloodstained face. "I g-gladly accept my punishment. A-And it's all right, this happens every time I cry."

"Holy Arceus that's not normal."

Cyrus roars to the point of choking on his bloody tears. He buries his face into Jupiter's bosom and weeps until the sun dips into the horizon. The chip on his scalp prickles: a keepsake of his betrayal… a reminder of what will happen if he does it again.

That moonlit night, Cynthia walks by Cyrus's side, her hands whipping behind her, a slight bounce in her step. A kaleidoscope of thousands of millions of stars waves from the heavens, a breathtaking sight that rivals that of Celestic Town at night.

"Sooooo," she says after a silence. "The whole reverse arm fold thing."

"A habit that failed to die, I suppose," he replies with crinkled eyes. "When I was recruiting for Galactic, I had to appear the part of a confident leader. Hiding my hands hides the shaking, you see. But they said it made me appear more intimidating, so it stuck."

Cynthia scoffs. "You? Unconfident? I don't buy it."

"Really? In the face of public pressure, my voice cracks, and I freeze up…" He makes a gurgling sound in his throat. "But people don't notice because they refuse to look at me."

"Then they're missing out."

Cyrus trips. He gives Cynthia a very weird look, one whose implications fly over her head. "There's nothing around here to trip over," she says. "Is your head still in the clouds?"

"N-No. I just… You are always so confident in your public appearances."

"To be honest, I just bullshit everything and hope that everyone buys my bs. They usually do."

Cyrus frowns. "Cynthia, you have to be careful. Acting on impulse might give the wrong impression."

"You care too much on what other people say."

"And you care too little."

The two sit on a bench under the red flowering plum tree. On impulse, Cynthia touches his hair. Cyrus shudders, but he keeps himself still as her long fingers sift through fluffy blue strands to the silicone protrusion.

He shifts to the side. "Don't look at me like that. It doesn't hurt anymore, I assure you."

"Anymore," she echoes in disbelief.

Cyrus shrugs unconvincingly. He reaches for the Sprayduck can and spends the next hour silently watering his white lilies while ignoring her deepening scowl.

"Thank you, Cynthia."

"Hm? For what?"

Moonlit reflects on glossy paper. Photos. One used to be framed on his desk, depicting a mismatched little family outside the Hearthome City skyline. The other photograph used to be tucked away in secret, that one showing two children and that ugly yellow house.

"Thank you for keeping these safe," Cyrus whispers. She watches as his expression softens, as his mouth tugs upwards, as a tender sigh escapes his parted lips. "The places I've been, the people and Pokemon I've met… all the progress and setbacks I've made have shaped who I am today. It's scary how much time passes in a blink of an eye."

Cyrus grasps the Sunyshore photo to his bosom. "Would Grandfather be proud of me for picking this path?" He waves a hand to the wondrous galaxy. "Incidentally, if you look up at the sky, you see back through time. Remember Polaris, Cynthia? You asked me what that was when you came over for the summer."

The way his eyes light up with childish glee sends her heart into a mysteriously frantic sprint. "Y-Yes." It also got hot out of nowhere. "Your grandpa made us chicken soup. How come when you cook, it's either extremely salty or super bland?"

"Eheh. I'm sorry you had to eat that disaster. No matter how much I try, I can't seem to cook for the life of me."

"Same. Grandma tried to teach me once, but I was never interested. Why didn't you ask your grandpa to teach you?"

Cyrus's big ear twitches. "I was only allowed to come over for the summer," he mutters. "His health was declining."

Cynthia awkwardly crosses her legs. "Oh. What about your parents?"

The Sprayduck watering can crashes to the ground. The forest Pokemon immediately stop singing. A cold gale whips through the trees, drawing dark clouds over the full moon.

Cynthia picks up the Sprayduck. "Cyrus? You okay?"

When Cyrus faces her again, there's a certain darkness behind his eyes. A wall no moonlight can penetrate through. "You said that you went back to Sunyshore, right?" Even his tone is guarded. "Is Grandfather's house still there?"

"Yes… although it's been renovated. New people are living there now."

"Is that so." His lips have lifted, revealing a hint of glinting fangs. "Who?"

Cynthia automatically scoots back. "Uh… the federal prosecutor and her husband. S-Sorry if I'm reopening old wounds…"

Cyrus glares down at the pictures for the longest time. Then he turns them over. "The federal prosecutor is an intelligent and hard-working individual with a 99.5% conviction rate. During our interrogations, there was nothing I could hide from her all-seeing eyes.

"Her husband is a master engineer across multiple disciplines. He is the chair of Sunyshore's Board of Government with the power to shut down a large-scale project with a single whisper."

Cyrus closes his eyes, brows scrunching together. "I was to be brought back to Sunyshore for my conviction. The federal prosecutor had everything she needed to indict me on capital charges. Her husband proposed to construct an inescapable cell to contain me… And if I hadn't escaped that dark and stormy night, tomorrow I would've been strapped inside a straitjacket on my way to the funny farm to spend the rest of my life in a padded cell."

Moonlight breaks through the dark clouds once he trails off. For once, Cynthia is speechless. No wise cracks, no witty comment.

"I'm sorry you had to go through those terrible ordeals," she whispers with a gentle squeeze to his quivering hands. "But you're not alone anymore."

But Cyrus swats her comforting gesture away. "Don't apologize for something that wasn't your fault. If I had just sat still like I was told… Then her record wouldn't be ruined. Then his promises would've held weight." His voice is growing farther away. "I'm twenty-seven, but I still end up disappointing them time and time again."

Like rivulets joining into a stream, the picture clicks into place. Cynthia stares at Cyrus, who acknowledges the horrible realization on her face with a melancholy smile.

"They gave me everything I needed to grow into a proper member of society: a roof over my head, a place to sleep, funds to purchase sustenance since they worked late into the night…" He's smiling while his heart is breaking. "And I wasted their time. I failed at my job as their so-o… t-their successor. They raised me right, but why did I turn out wrong?"

Then Cyrus gasps. He jumps up, arms crossed protectively over his chest, sleeves shoved into his mouth. "I-I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me—"

And Cynthia hugs him. There is a difference between living and surviving. They gave him all he needed to survive… yet something very important was lacking: the main component that distinguishes a cold, distant professional relationship between the warm, intimate ties of family.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" she murmurs, her hot breath scalding his flushed ears. "Instead of bottling it all up for so long…"

To that, Cyrus pushes away. "Why are you accusing them of wrongdoing? Mo-o… t-the federal prosecutor and her husband are legendary philanthropists! In fact, outside of their busy work schedules they visit schools and hospitals to emphasize the importance of working hard towards a brighter future!"

Cynthia rolls her eyes. "They should've used their free time to focus on what's right in front of them-"

"I forbid you from disrespecting them like that!"

"O-Okay, okay! Sheesh… I'm just putting in my two cents."

Cyrus growls. But as suddenly as that burst of rage came, it vanishes just as fast, leaving him deflated like a Drifloon. "During Galactic's grand opening, I… I honestly thought they would come. In a way, I did become what they wanted me to be: I was a successful businessman, CEO of a multimillion Poke corporation…" He slumps back into the bench. "Alas, a defective gear has no business trying to return to the perfect machine.

"But." A spark of light rekindles behind his warming eyes. "The most important thing is that they're keeping well. They moved on, and now I can too."

Cynthia hugs him again. "The only expectations you should be living up to is yours," she says, and adds in a heated murmur, "although they're stupidly high." She smiles. "You have a real family now: Mars, Saturn, Jupiter, B-2, R-8, and everyone who loves you for who you are. Mesprit loves you. Your Pokemon love you. I…" Her heart constricts. "I'm your friend. Flint, Volkner, Looker, Rowan, and I will fight for your future.

"Do you trust me?"

"I do."

Cynthia exhales a sigh of relief. "I trust you too… Oh. Cyrus, you, uh… got a little blood on your cheek." She gingerly dabs those bloody tears with a sleeve, then tucks her arm into his. "Let's go back. You get a tad too sentimental when it's past your bedtime."

"Cynthia, before you go."

Cynthia smirks. "You want me to tuck you in?" He looks so warm and comfortable underneath all those heated blankets. The windows are open, allowing proper ventilation into this musty old room.

Cyrus presents the Sunyshore picture in one hand and a black quill pen in the other. She gives him a quizzical look.

"C-Can I… Do you mind if…" A dark red creeps up to his pale complexion. "Erm… MAYIHAVEYOURAUTOGRAPH?!" And Cyrus immediately bashes his skull into the wall. "Arceus, what is the wrong with you? I-I'm sorry. My brain has been broken—"

"You've been meaning to ask me that for a while now, huh?" Cynthia is grinning like an idiot as she scrawls her name with his favorite pen. How the hell does he write with this? "'To my ray of sunshine… be all you can become. XOXO, your bestie Cynthia.'"

A low gurgling noise is emanating from the depths of his throat as Cyrus stares at her halfass message like she'd just given him the gift of life. "Thank you so much! Erm. 'XOXO?'"

"Shhh. Anything for my number one fan." Then she leans in until the tip of her nose touches his. "Cyrus. Do you want to hear a story before you go to sleep?"

"S-Sure…"

"Why is there gullible on the ceiling?"

Cyrus looks up, and Cynthia decks him so hard he flies off the bed. Then she extends a hand, and he accepts it. They laugh quietly in the darkness.

While Cyrus applies ice to his swollen cheek, Cynthia begins her story. "Have you ever visited Kalos? I swear, the people there are so tall and hairy…"