The tremor faded, leaving a silence so deep Cyrus could hear his own pulse thudding in his ears. He didn't know how long he stayed there on the icy floor of the chamber—seconds? Minutes?—before Ditto nudged him, trying its best to mimic "hey, buddy, we should probably move before the giant stone demigod decides to sneeze again."
"Right… yeah. Good call," Cyrus whispered.
They scrambled out of the chamber the way they'd come. The tunnels still glowed faintly, the ancient glyphs pulsing with new energy like a heartbeat waking up after a long sleep. Cyrus could feel it through his boots, through the air, through the land.
Frostveil Island wasn't quiet anymore.
It was thinking.
By the time he staggered out into daylight, the sky looked exactly the same as before—gray clouds, crisp air—but the world under it… wasn't. The shoreline had shifted. Barely. Subtly. But enough that someone who lived here could feel it in their bones.
And Cyrus did.
"Holy crap…" he breathed.
The entire island was moving. Not fast. Not violently. Just… drifting. A steady, slow migration, less a tectonic lurch and more a deep, ancient correction. Water sloshed up the beach in strange patterns, almost confused by the new pull of gravity.
Offshore, water Pokémon were gathering—Lapras, Dewgong, Walrein, even a few curious Wailmer bobbing like oversized blueberries. They chirped, sang, and circled the shifting landmass as if escorting it, staying perfectly paced.
"It's like we're a parade float," Cyrus muttered. "A very slow, very cold parade float."
Ditto squeaked as if agreeing.
From the cliffs above, a voice shouted, "CYRUS?!"
That was definitely Kellan, one of the family company leads who'd insisted on supervising Cyrus's little "archaeology errand." And he wasn't alone—half a dozen workers, survey crew, and logistics experts were sprinting down the trail after him.
Kellan skidded to a stop beside Cyrus. "The readings went nuts! The whole island is drifting! What did you do?!"
Cyrus held up both hands. "Okay, before anyone panics: I didn't push anything. I didn't press any buttons. There was no 'activate continent mode' lever."
Kellan stared. "Then what caused this?!"
Cyrus hesitated.
How do you explain a god-machine waking up because you didn't want to control it?
"How long until… you know." One of the workers gestured toward the distant horizon where Cyrus's home continent lay as a faint smudge.
"It's moving at under two miles an hour," Cyrus said. "Months, at least. Maybe longer."
A murmur of relief went around.
Kellan rubbed his face. "Alright… okay. That gives us time. We'll need to alert coastal authorities. Figure out ecological impacts. Migration routes. Shipping lanes."
The logistics teams were already breaking into task groups, talking over each other, sketching plans on tablets, mapping altered currents, mobilizing engineering crews.
Everything Cyrus's family business excelled at… suddenly needed to be done at continent-scale.
Someone asked, "Should we try to stop it?"
Cyrus shook his head immediately.
"No. This is… something natural that got frozen in place for centuries. And it's moving safely. Controlled. If we interfere, we could make things worse."
Kellan squinted at him. "You sound… confident."
"I'm not," Cyrus said honestly. "But the one moving us is older than every country on the map. And I don't think it wants to hurt anyone."
Behind him, the island groaned—low, long, almost like a whale song echoing through stone.
And then a thin fissure of rising earth cracked upward along the eastern cape. Not violent—just a quiet change. Like a first step.
Kellan swallowed hard. "Is that normal?"
"As normal as an island slowly walking home," Cyrus said.
Ditto tugged his pant leg, pointing.
Waves parted as a massive Lapras surfaced, singing a long, haunting cry.
More Pokémon were arriving—schools of Spheal, pods of Seel, even a swarm of Mantyke following the shifting currents.
It wasn't chaos.
It was a migration.
An escort.A welcome.
And Cyrus felt the weight of it settle into him, a strange mixture of fear and awe.
This wasn't the dramatic slam of continents colliding.This was the first mile of a journey months long.A quiet, ancient reconnection that needed caretakers as much as observers.
Cyrus exhaled, breath misting.
"Alright," he said. "Let's get organized."
Kellan nodded and barked orders. Teams scattered. Equipment rolled out. Drones launched to scan the new drift pattern.
The island groaned again—steady, rhythmic, like a heartbeat.
Cyrus looked out across the horizon, where land and sky met.
"We're going home," he whispered.
But not fast.Not jarringly.Not dangerously.
Just… inevitably.
The long drift had begun.
And the world would have months to witness it.