POV: Cynthia/ LOCATION: Hearthome City

After that bombshell of a press conference, we regroup at Fantina's residence. "We" because I can no longer be in the same room as someone who can't even wipe his own drool.

In the kitchen, Fantina sets a chilled glass of wine beside Jupiter, who doesn't even notice it. Instead, she continues staring out the window.

"Jane," Fantina coos, her voice gentle and maternal. "Take a bath. I warmed the water for you."

No response. Not even a grunt.

Time and time again, this keeps happening. People are here—their bodies are—but their minds are somewhere else.

I hate it.

Fantina steers me to the living room, setting me down on a floral loveseat.

"Tea?" she says. "Champagne? Bordeaux?"

I am in no mood to stomach anything.

A patient smile on her heart-shaped face, Fantina takes the seat opposite of me. Without makeup, she's like a different person. Without her stage accent, she's much more… real.

"Saturn hasn't left his bed," she says lightly, absently twirling a lock of wavy violet hair. "Mars hasn't returned from her 'stroll.' It's better to let her cool off than attempt to comfort her."

"You talk like you've known them for a long time."

Her smile is held up by facial muscles. "It's a long story for another visit. They were this small when they first stepped into Hearthome. Shame they had to arrive during the gang takeover…

"Anyhow, it's not often the Champion of Sinnoh visits my humble abode. Pardon my intrusion, but shouldn't you be at the League? Our people need a leader during these uncertain times."

"Lead?" I echo. "How can I lead if Lucian's in the hospital? He can't even feed himself!"

"I'm sure he'll recover—"

"When, Fantina?! Or Melissa, or whatever your name is! He just sits here and stares at the wall! Doesn't even notice when nurses change his sheets! You have no idea how infuriating it is!"

"I don't," she murmurs. "But my little sister does. After all, she did lose someone very precious to her."

Reality sinks in again. Oh. Cyrus. He's gone. Forever.

"He was so young," Fantina mumbles, her gaze faraway. "Yet so grown-up. You should've seen him, running after her when she forgot her lunch."

She lapses into a silence weighed by bittersweet memories. Something clatters in the kitchen. A fist striking wood, copious amounts of alcohol being wholeheartedly chugged.

Then Jupiter staggers into the room. Fantina quickly sweeps her into a tight embrace.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers. "His loss was so sudden. We'll bring him flowers—"

But Jupiter merely grins. "What are you talking about? This is the best day of my life! Finally, I'm liberated!"

With a big kiss on Fantina's cheek, Jupiter waltzes to the door.

"Jane? Where are you going?"

"It's clubbing time, big sis!"

Then she's gone.

Beside me, Fantina sighs. "Give her five minutes, and she'll pass out in the yard. Why can't we just sit down and discuss our feelings like a normal family? Do you need me to be your therapist, Cynthia?"

"I don't know what to do next."

"What do you think you should do?"

Hm. Oh! There's something I can do that will solve all my problems!"

"Where are you going?" Fantina huffs.

"To master Draco Meteor! I'm bringing Charon down once and for all!"

At the plains of an unnamed meadow, my Garchomp lifts its head to the rusty breeze.

"We have to get this right," I say. "It has to be perfect."

To monitor Garchomp's progress, I climb up the ledge overlooking the plateau. From here, I can gauge the meteors' directions. Adjust their trajectory if necessary.

All right. "Garchomp, Draco—"

A chill snakes through my spine, entering from one pore and exiting out the other.

Weird. Anyway.

"Garchomp, Dra—"

That coldness reappears, this time as an icy punch to the gut. While I double over, gasping from shortness of breath, Garchomp peers at me worriedly.

"I'm okay!" I shout back. "One more time! Draco Me—"

A hand grips my arm. Maroon sleeve. Maroon suit. Wavy violet hair brushing against his shoulders.

Him.

"Lucian?!" I blurt. "B-But… I thought you were in the hospital!"

My eyes don't deceive me. Lucian is right here, his touch as corporeal as a living, breathing human's! Minus his missing glasses, he's in one piece. As he was before our raid at Neo Galactic HQ.

But… something is off. By now, Lucian would've launched into a million-year tirade about my carelessness. Instead, he just stares at me. Letting the suspense cook under pressure.

Then his neck snaps up. Before I can react, a stray meteor impales the ledge where he stood. Fire. Blindingly hot light…

And he's on the ground. Blood pooling around his body, white fragments scattered around his skull.

"NOOO!"

Right away, Garchomp is by my side.

"D-Did you see that?" I croak. "Lucian! H-He—"

He's not there. Where he fell, the grass is unbroken. No hint of red, not even a scar from where the meteors landed.

Instead of being horrified at that macabre vision, I get angry. Is this the universe's idea of punishing me for something I didn't do? It was Charon's fault!

So I channel my resolve as the Champion of Sinnoh and point to the heavens.

"Garchomp! Draco Meteor!"

My command rings across the plains of my mind. In my peripherals, Garchomp is ready, fangs bared, waiting for me to vocalize my intent.

But I can't.

Because Lucian is right in front of me, my tongue clenched in his melting hands. Fear courses through my veins, and I immediately shove him away. Again he falls over the ledge, splattering into an even more broken mess than last time.

Again. Splat.

And again. Splat.

He keeps dying by my doing.

When I next regain some sense of reality, Garchomp is tugging me out of the rock I had unknowingly dived behind. My heart is quaking so much that I feel the veins loosening hold over it. In my mouth is an overwhelmingly bitter taste that threatens to surge right out of my eyeballs.

Then I glimpse my Poke balls. Red like blood and white like chipped bone fragments.

"AAAAH!"

W-What the hell is going on?! I'm losing it! Stay strong, Cynthia, you're the damn C-Champion of Sinnoh—

"Does a Champion hurt her own people?"

"GO AWAY!"

"Does a Champion favor only those who agree with her? Has the duties of a Champion been distorted by an illusory throne?"

Lucian looks so sad. I stuff my knuckles into my ears, but still his raspy voice echoes in my thrashing heartbeat.

"Leave me alone!" I scream.

"I still had time, Cynthia. Why did you rob that from me?"

I push that horrible nightmare off the cliff. Staggering back on all fours, my thoughts circle around one goal: Destroy. Destroy that specter before it makes you go mad. Burn this foul-tasting guilt before it corrupts you.

Then a shadow falls over me.

Him.

He saw everything, didn't he? Now he approaches me at my weakest moment.

"It's time," Looker says.

I barely choke back a sob. If I do what's right… will Lucian finally rest in peace?

Being on the other end of the podium is nerve-wracking. Stage lights glare down on you, compressing your breath into puffs of trepidation. The cameras are honed, broadcasting your slightest mistake for the entire world beyond the screen.

Like last time, Looker dons his black suit.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," he says. "Go ahead, Champion Cynthia."

On the podium is a script. In the audience are familiar face. Fantina, who I've spoken to just recently, has her arms crossed.

As I lunge for the water, in walks two people: Flint first, then Volkner. Late as usual. Why didn't they just stay home?

Looker's steely gaze burns into my back. Swallowing down the barbs in my throat, I manage to squeeze some words out.

"I-I… A-As you know, I've had the honor of being the youngest Champion in Sinnoh's history…"

Pens are scribbling furiously. Cameras are clicking. The print on the paper is floating, meshing, flushing down the drain.

NO! I can't do this! All these years, all that hard work, rendered insignificant with just a few words?!

"This is stupid!" I slap the script aside. "End of the conference! Go home!"

The press explodes into clamour. Ignoring Looker's smoldering glare, I storm off the podium—and come face-to-face with Lucian's phantom.

This time, his head is bleeding. Blood pours down his ears, his nose, every open conduit. He grabs me— and I flinch so violently that I knock several reporters off their chairs.

"You're not real!" I screech.

Lucian's phantom replies by cracking his skull open.

All around me, the reporters are eating this up. Whispering. Pointing to the empty spot where that nightmarish entity occupies.

Finally, I break. "I can't do this anymore! I step down as Champion of Sinnoh!"

Indistinct murmuring rips through the press like a forest fire.

"Too many people have been hurt by my actions," I whimper. "I've let the pretenses of grandeur get to my head… I'm not qualified to lead the region through an inevitable paralysis if I can't even control myself."

Through fallen strands of gold, I see Fantina kicking off the hungry press. Rowan supports my trembling frame, his moustached frown unreadable.

"Question!" wails a reporter. "If Cynthia willingly conceded the throne, then who will lead us now?!"

Looker answers, "We follow the lineage of succession as established by the First Champion: once the current Champion becomes unfit to serve, the title falls on the Elite Four."

At once, heads snap to the back of the room. To my successor.

The color drains from Flint's face.

"You are next in line," Looker says.

"N-No! Dude, you can't… I'm not…"

"You must! Whether or not we get through this crisis depends on the Champion's ability to assure an agitated nation!"

But Flint keeps backing away, shielding himself from the advancing press.

"I have Buck to look after," he mutters. "I'm a big brother, not a leader… Not like…"

And he flees. A stupefied Volkner stares at me. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Gnashes his teeth.

"You ruin everything!" he hisses. "Flint, wait!"

The world is spinning. My head is so heavy that it'll snap off my neck, just like Lucian's did.

"Let's get you out of here," Rowan murmurs.

Wait. There's still something I must do. Something long-overdue.

I lunge for the microphone and yell, "Cyrus's confession was a lie!"

At once, the cacophony quiets like chloroform gas has been dispersed through the vents. For the first time in a long while, Looker's hard façade crumbles for his usual bewildered gaping.

I drop my voice. "I know he did a lot of bad things. But Cyrus did save my life."

"Nonsense."

That comes from the federal prosecutor, who also happened to come. She presents a disarming smile which glints like stone under the lights. "Cynthia, you are very confused. Stockholm Syndrome is—"

A burst of fury possesses me, and I slap my fist against the podium, effectively shutting her up. With a finger jabbed to her shiny badge, I state to the cameras:

"Don't flap your lips like you know anything about him."

Lucian's phantom stopped harassing me after the conclusion of that disastrous press conference.

Within an hour, I've lost a lot. Yet I feel… lighter. When the crown came off, its contents were actually filled with thorns.

Not wanting to answer any questions, I made a beeline for the hospital. Here, it's just me and Lucian. The real Lucian.

I squeeze his hand, bypassing the needle wedged in his veins. So rough. Dry. Cold.

"I did it," I whisper. "I acknowledged my mistakes. Please wake up now."

The machine beeps.

Then Lucian lifts his head. And I almost collapse from pure joy

"Lucian!" I cry. "It's me, Cynthia! Can you hear me?!"

Beep. Beep.

Lucian's fingers twitch. Curl around mine.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Lucian leans forward, stretching the machinery that protrudes from his temples.

Then blood splashes into the tubes, pooling into the plastic interior, leaking out, staining his pajamas a muddy scarlet.

BEEPBEEPBEEP

Seconds later, nurses fly into the room. "Code Blue!" they shout. "Bring the crash cart!"

I am pushed out once the doctors come in. With the doors sealed shut, I have nothing but the shrieking of the machines to announce Lucian's condition.

Someone is also here. Looker. Handcuffs dangling from his belt.

"I hope you have a good defense lined up," is all he says.

At last, the dam comes crashing down. Grief hits hard, manifesting as a wrecking ball to the stomach. Hunched over the trash can, I release all my pent-up emotions in hot, cascading tears.

Anger. Sorrow. Regret.

So much regret.

Cyrus is dead. Lucian is dying. I've lost everything. Without my throne, who is Cynthia?

More importantly, what should I do now?

What can I do?