Two days of rest came and went.
The King Family Mansion rose from the hills like it always had—old-world stone reinforced with clean modern lines, glass panels catching the late morning light without reflecting it too harshly. Research wings branched off behind the main structure like restrained afterthoughts, purposeful but unobtrusive.
No glowing flora.No leaning shadows.No pressure in the air.
Just gravity behaving itself.
The transport doors opened, and Cyrus felt it immediately—the difference between a place that had survived something and a place that had prepared for it.
He stepped inside slowly, still sore, still wrapped, still tired in a way that sleep didn't fix. Ditto stayed close, reshaping into a familiar blue jacket that smelled faintly like home detergent and ozone. Gengar drifted ahead, shadow gliding across polished stone floors, pausing at intersections like it was checking old instincts against new quiet.
The mansion acknowledged them without fanfare.
Lights adjusted. Climate stabilized. Security systems relaxed their posture.
K-01's voice chimed from somewhere overhead, deliberately quieter than usual.
"WELCOME HOME, CYRUS. YOUR HEART RATE HAS DROPPED SEVEN PERCENT SINCE ENTRY."
"Good," Cyrus muttered. "Tell my body to take notes."
They didn't go to the medical wing.
Not yet.
Joseph led them instead into the archive room....the heart of the mansion. Tall shelves lined the walls, artifacts sealed behind layered glass, holographic displays dormant for once. The room smelled like old paper and warm circuitry.
Truth lived here.
Maren sealed the doors behind them.
This was not a casual conversation.
Joseph didn't sit. Neither did Cyrus.
"Start from the correction," Joseph said.
Cyrus leaned against the table, careful with his shoulder. "Darkrai wasn't trying to destroy the city. Not directly. His presence amplifies existing emotional states. Fear made him stronger. Panic sharpened him."
Maren nodded. "And Cresselia?"
"Weakened by interference. Chains. Forced dormancy." Cyrus's jaw tightened. "The cult accelerated imbalance, but they didn't invent it."
Joseph's eyes narrowed. "Meaning."
"Meaning Divide City wasn't a fluke," Cyrus said. "It was a stress fracture."
Silence followed that.
Maren moved to a console, bringing up layered maps, tectonic, dreamwave, migratory, mythic. One region pulsed faintly in cold blue.
Frostveil.
Cyrus's gaze snapped to it. "That soon?"
Maren inclined her head. "Based on drift patterns and mythic resonance… approximately six months."
Joseph added, "That's when Frostveil's influence reaches continental threshold."
"Not landfall," Cyrus said.
"No," Maren replied. "Attachment."
Cyrus exhaled slowly. "So Divide City was a warning shot."
"Yes."
"Great."
Joseph folded his arms. "There's more."
Cyrus looked between them. "Of course there is."
Maren's voice softened, but only slightly. "We met with city heads while you were recovering. Representatives from multiple regions. Including League intermediaries."
Cyrus stiffened. "And?"
"They're being pressured," Joseph said. "Heavily. Not to disclose the full scope of what's happening."
Cyrus frowned. "Why?"
"That," Maren said, "is unclear."
"Fear management?" Cyrus guessed.
Joseph shook his head. "Control."
Cyrus straightened despite the pain. "Control of what?"
"Information," Maren said. "Narrative. Authority."
Cyrus stared at the Frostveil projection. "What's the benefit of hiding this?"
Joseph didn't answer immediately.
Then: "Stability, as they define it. If the public doesn't know mythic-scale shifts are occurring, there's less panic. Less demand for accountability."
"And less pressure on the League," Cyrus said.
"Yes."
Cyrus laughed once, sharp and humorless. "So the solution is pretending nothing's happening while continents start drifting like tectonic plates made of legends."
Maren didn't disagree.
Cyrus rubbed a hand down his face. "So how do we counter it?"
Joseph met his gaze squarely. "We don't...directly."
Cyrus blinked. "That's not an answer."
"It is," Joseph said calmly. "The League doesn't respond to researchers. Or city councils. Or even corporations."
Maren finished the thought. "They respond to Champions."
Cyrus's eyes narrowed. "There isn't one on this continent."
"No," Joseph said. "Only Gym Leaders. No Elite Four presence either."
"And that matters because…"
"Because Champions have political weight," Maren said. "Even one. Especially one recognized by the League. They get a seat at the table. They get veto power over suppression."
Cyrus went very still.
"So you're saying," he said slowly, "that the only way to force transparency is to have someone powerful enough that the League can't ignore them."
Joseph nodded. "Yes."
"And the nearest Elite Four are off-continent," Cyrus continued. "Meaning they won't prioritize what happens here."
"Correct."
Cyrus's mouth twitched. "Of course."
He turned away from the table, pacing despite the ache in his ribs.
"So the League gets to decide when the truth is convenient," he said. "Cities get told to keep quiet. People get put at risk because transparency is 'destabilizing.'"
Joseph watched him carefully. "Cyrus..."
"No," Cyrus snapped, then stopped himself. He inhaled. "No. I'm tired of this."
Maren studied him. "Of what?"
"Of everything being hidden," Cyrus said. "For absolutely no reason other than someone deciding they know better."
He looked back at Frostveil's projection.
"At Divide City," he continued, quieter now, "people survived because they were informed. Because they adapted. Because they were treated like participants, not liabilities."
Joseph said nothing.
Cyrus met his parents' eyes, one after the other.
"If the League won't act without pressure," he said, "then maybe it's time they felt some."
The room was very quiet.
Gengar's shadow shifted, attentive.
Ditto tightened slightly around Cyrus's shoulders.
Maren spoke first. "You're not a Champion."
"Not yet," Cyrus replied.
Joseph didn't smiled, he knew his son's personality.
So he didn't shut it down.
Outside, the mansion stood steady against the hills.
Inside, something had just shifted....quietly, decisively.