The moment the ship docked, Cyrus felt something he hadn't felt in months:
Solid ground.
No slow drifting.No ancient heartbeat buried under the earth.Just home — unmoving, familiar, and warm.
Charcadet hopped off first, stretching its arms like it had been trapped in a foreign climate for too long. Tyrunt galloped down the ramp, nearly bowling over a cargo worker. Gengar floated behind Cyrus like a smug shadow, Meltan clinging to his backpack zipper, and Ditto resting on his shoulder in its default blue blob shape, humming like a sleepy engine.
His parents waited at the end of the pier.
His mom saw him first.
"Cyrus!"
She hugged him so tightly he swore his spine compressed. His dad followed, a quieter smile but with eyes that said everything — worry, relief, and a hundred questions.
"You look… tired," his mom said, brushing his hair aside. "Like good tired. But tired."
"Thanks?" Cyrus replied, unsure if that was a compliment.
His dad clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get home. You can debrief after dinner."
But Cyrus shook his head. "Dad… Mom… we need to go straight to the office. There's a lot. And I don't want to wait."
Both parents exchanged that look — the one that meant something big happened and we need to not freak out until we understand it.
They headed for the company headquarters.
Now in their homes debrief room used mainly for small cooperate meetings, Cyrus sat at the long table, his team spread out around him like emotional support Pokémon. His parents took the seats across from him, tablets ready, but within minutes neither of them touched their screens.
Because Cyrus spoke.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Deeply.
He told them everything.
The Glalie.The Froslass.The chambers of trial.The ancient runes.The buried history.
His mother's hands covered her mouth more than once.
Then he described the chamber of Frostveil — the colossal Regigigas, the Crest of Kings carved on the wall, and the ancient telepathic voice that recognized him.
His father froze.
Not shocked.
More like… hit by a wave of memories he didn't realize mattered.
"Dad?" Cyrus asked quietly. "You knew something. Tell me."
His father leaned back, rubbing his temples. "I… I didn't know it went that far back. Your great-grandfather — he mentioned stories. Carvings. That our family line once advised or… served something ancient. I thought it was legend. A metaphor."
"It wasn't," Cyrus said softly.
His mother whispered, "Cyrus, Regigigas… spoke to you?"
He nodded. "It called me 'Heir of King.' And it wouldn't move — really move — until I understood what it wanted. Not control. Not a command. Permission."
"Permission for what?" his dad asked.
"For the land to reconnect."
The room went still.
Cyrus continued, explaining the slow drift, the land bridges that would take months to rise, the ecosystem-influenced movement, the idea that Regigigas wasn't forcing anything — just guiding a natural change so it wouldn't be catastrophic.
His parents listened, hands tightening together.
When he finally finished, he let his notebook fall shut.
"I think… our family was involved thousands of years ago," Cyrus said quietly. "Not rulers. Not commanders. Just people who helped the Regis act responsibly. Like… intermediaries."
His father exhaled shakily. "That's… more than I ever thought our legacy was."
His mother's voice softened. "Cyrus, we sent you to observe an island. You came back with the origin story of our bloodline."
Cyrus tried to laugh, but it came out tired, fragile. "Yeah. Surprise."
His dad stood and walked around the table, resting a hand on Cyrus's shoulder. "I'm proud of you. Not because of the legacy. But because you didn't try to use it. You just… listened."
Cyrus's throat tightened.
His mom wiped her eyes. "Okay. Enough emotional vulnerability for the moment. We need to talk about next steps."
Cyrus groaned. "I just got home. Please don't say I have to go right back out there."
His dad hesitated in a way that made Cyrus immediately suspicious.
"…son," his dad said gently, "we do have another assignment."
Cyrus slumped. "Of course you do."
His mother tapped the screen of her tablet, flipping to a map. A mountain peak glowed red on the display.
"Bloodmoon Mountain," she said.
Cyrus blinked. "…Wait. That Bloodmoon Mountain? The one that—"
"Yes," his father cut in. "And before you say anything: no team this time. The terrain isn't safe for group expeditions."
"What?" Cyrus shot up. "I'm supposed to go alone?!"
"We don't want you alone," his mom said. "We want you with someone you trust. Someone you choose."
Cyrus's mind went blank for a moment.
Then completely full.
Kina.
He could almost hear her snorting laugh already. "You went to a moving island without me? Rude."
He swallowed. "I… I know who I'd ask."
His parents nodded, relieved.
His mother smiled. "Good. Call them when you're ready. We need to move on this soon."
Cyrus pulled out his holo-device before he could second-guess himself.
His father chuckled. "Now?"
"No time like the present," Cyrus muttered, heart thudding as he scrolled to her contact.
He hesitated.
Just a second.
Then tapped.
The line rang.
Once.
Twice.
Click.
"Hello?" Kina's voice came through, crisp, curious, and completely unaware her life was about to get very complicated.
Cyrus exhaled.
"Hey, Kina… it's me."