Morning came slow and gray. The world outside the Odyssey's windows was white and blinding, the ice fields glittering beneath a haze of frozen mist. The ship's hull groaned softly, shifting against the ice that had thickened overnight.
Cyrus sat at the worktable in his cabin, a steaming mug beside his tablet. His hair was still damp from a quick shower, his eyes sharp despite the dark circles beneath them. Meltan sat next to the tablet, occasionally tapping it with its hex-nut head, fascinated by the scrolling data.
Lines of frequency readings pulsed across the screen — faint, rhythmic, and almost melodic. The signal he'd recorded yesterday repeated at precise intervals, forming a pattern too deliberate to be natural.
"Alright," he murmured, fingers moving across the display. "Temperature variance, pulse frequency, electromagnetic spike intervals…" He stopped, frowning. "These aren't random. They're… coordinated."
A familiar tone chimed — incoming holo-call.
Cyrus exhaled and tapped the interface. The holographic screen shimmered to life, projecting the warm glow of the King Company lab. His parents appeared, both dressed in the muted gray-blue of field researchers, the faint hum of their equipment audible in the background.
"Cyrus," his mother greeted, her voice soft but edged with concern. "You look like you haven't slept much."
He smiled faintly. "You'd be right. But it was worth it. I found something — or maybe it found me."
That earned a look from his father, equal parts intrigue and caution. "You've been on the northern coast, yes? What kind of readings?"
Cyrus adjusted the holo-display, transmitting his scans. "Multiple energy signatures under the glacial shelf. Two, maybe more. Distinct frequencies, overlapping harmonic waves. I've never seen anything like it. The ice itself… it's vibrating in sync."
His father leaned in, scanning the data. "This pattern...look here. Those intervals, they're ancient. Similar to the ruins at Regitomb, the old Sinnoh site. But… this isn't Regice's signature. It's something new."
His mother folded her hands, eyes flicking toward her son. "You said two sources?"
He nodded. "One feels… fluid, flowing. Like water shaped into structure. The other is rigid, heavy, like metal layered with frost. I think they're connected. Working together — or guarding something deeper."
His father's expression softened, but his voice stayed measured. "You've found the Regi constructs. Or at least, their descendants. Regice, Registeel, Regigigas, all myths that described the shaping of lands. If two new ones exist...ice and water, they could potential be remnants of that same origin line."
"Or precursors," his mother added quietly. "If the legends are true, Regigigas moved the continents. The others prepared the world before it. What if these two shaped the polar regions , or protected them?"
Cyrus leaned back in his chair, eyes thoughtful. "Then something's waking them. Kyogre's movement, maybe. Or the seismic shifts we've been tracking. It's like the island's reacting to being seen again."
A pause stretched across the connection. His father broke it gently. "And how do you plan to approach it?"
"Carefully," Cyrus said after a beat. "I'll follow the signal deeper inland. If the readings stay consistent, it should lead straight to the source. But I'm not going there to interfere. I just want to understand what's happening."
His mother smiled softly, proud, though worry shadowed her eyes. "That's what makes you who you are. But remember, ancient systems don't think the way we do. Be ready for the island to protect itself."
He nodded. "I will."
The holo-call flickered slightly, a faint distortion in the signal, static breaking across his parents' images. Meltan chirped, its body humming in response to the interference.
"Looks like the magnetic field's getting stronger again," his father said, voice crackling slightly. "You might be closer to a Regi core than we thought. Record everything. And if readings spike beyond threshold..."
"I'll pull back," Cyrus finished for him. "Promise."
His mother's voice softened as the screen flickered. "We love you, Cyrus. Stay safe."
"Love you too," he murmured.
The call ended. The cabin fell silent, the ship creaking faintly as if exhaling. Cyrus stared at the frozen window, where faint blue light from the glaciers refracted across the glass.
He turned back to his equipment, running one last diagnostic. The signal pulsed again — rhythmic, steady, alive.
Cyrus smiled faintly, murmuring under his breath: "Alright, Regi… let's see what you want me to find."
Outside, beneath miles of ice, the same pulse echoed back.
Cyrus stood on the forward deck, breath ghosting the air, tablet balanced in gloved hands. "Magnetic resonance stable… but the frequency spike hasn't dropped since last night." His voice came out quiet, muffled by the scarf Ditto had turned itself into.
Tyrunt trotted along the rail, leaving tiny claw prints across the frost. Meltan buzzed just overhead, its single eye glowing as it helped scan the ice field.
The readings were strange — not chaotic, but layered, like something deep below was trying to communicate in overlapping tones.