After the Sky

Chapter Fifty

After the Sky

Gray returned to Sandgem less than eight hours after thousands of Unown had filled the sky over Oreburgh, which meant the ranch had not changed nearly as much as the rest of Sinnoh seemed determined to.

That was the first thing he noticed when the League transport rolled to a stop near the lab just after dawn. The ranch looked almost offensively normal. Mist lay low over the eastern paddocks, silvering the fences and softening the far tree line until the whole property seemed quieter than it really was. Damp grass bent under the weight of the morning, and somewhere near the pond one of the Gyarados surfaced with enough force to send a pair of Wingull complaining toward the fence line. Farther away, an elderly Kangaskhan stood beneath a tree with one hand resting against the trunk and regarded the sunrise as though nothing particularly interesting had happened anywhere in the world.

Gray appreciated the insult.

He stepped down from the transport carefully and paused long enough to make sure the ground intended to remain where it was. His head still hurt. Not the way it had in Cresselia’s chamber, where the pain had felt psychic, invasive, and far too large for the limits of his skull, but enough that sudden movement tilted the world slightly and bright morning light felt unnecessarily personal. He waited for the brief sway to pass before moving aside for Bastiodon, who descended the reinforced ramp behind him with slow, heavy steps.

Bastiodon took one look at Gray and immediately moved close enough that Gray could not step sideways without colliding with armor.

“I can walk,” Gray said.

Bastiodon lowered his head and answered with a quiet rumble that vibrated through the damp morning air.

“I have been medically cleared to walk.”

The rumble continued.

Gray sighed and adjusted the strap of the small bag someone at the hospital had insisted he carry instead of anything heavier. “Fine. I have been medically permitted to walk under supervision, with warnings about dizziness, nausea, worsening headache, unusual confusion, and several other symptoms that make having a brain sound like a poorly engineered decision.”

That version seemed to satisfy Bastiodon more than the first. The old Pokémon stayed close anyway, broad enough to turn himself into a moving wall between Gray and any direction he might conceivably fall.

The back door of the laboratory opened before they reached the path.

Lyra stepped outside carrying a mug in one hand and a tablet in the other. She had clearly been awake for a while; her hair was tied back, her clothes were neat, and the tablet already displayed several windows Gray was not allowed to ask about if he wanted to avoid being told to rest. Her expression changed as soon as she got a proper look at him.

She took in the bandage at his temple, the bruising near his jaw, the stiffness in his shoulders, and the fact that Bastiodon had apparently appointed himself a mobile guardrail.

“You look terrible.”

Gray nodded once. “Apparently that is the standard greeting this morning.”

“Roark said you looked worse last night.”

“Roark is emotionally compromised.”

Lyra raised an eyebrow. “By what?”

“Everything.”

She held out the mug.

Gray took it automatically, expecting coffee, and looked down to find water.

He stared at her. “No.”

“You’re dehydrated.”

“I wanted coffee.”

“You have a concussion.”

“That does not remove caffeine from the world.”

“No, but it removes caffeine from your hand for the next few hours.”

Gray looked toward Bastiodon as though expecting support.

Bastiodon nudged the mug toward him with his nose.

Gray stared at him for a second, then drank. “This place has become authoritarian.”

“It has been eight hours.”

“Long eight hours.”

Lyra fell into step beside him as they started toward the house, keeping her pace slow enough that Gray did not have to think about matching it. She did not fuss over him or try to take his bag, which Gray appreciated more than he intended to say aloud. Bastiodon remained on his other side, close enough that the three of them occupied most of the path.

“Tessa wants you resting,” Lyra said. “Blissey wants you horizontal. Marcus wants what’s left of your helmet because the damage offended him on a professional level. Elias has been answering messages since around five-thirty, and Mira told me very specifically that you’re not supposed to stare at raw data for more than ten minutes at a time.”

Gray frowned. “Why does everyone have opinions?”

Lyra glanced at him. “Because you came home concussed from a classified subterranean Legendary incident after half of Sinnoh watched several thousand Unown appear over Oreburgh.”

“When you phrase it like that, it sounds dramatic.”

She looked at him.

Gray thought about the night sky full of eyes, Cresselia vanishing from the chamber, Darkrai disappearing after her, and the sensation of hitting stone hard enough that the world stopped making sense.

“Fine,” he said. “It was dramatic.”

The ranch remained busy around them, which helped more than Gray expected.

Tessa was already near the south paddock checking one of the older Kangaskhan, crouched beside the Pokémon while two younger individuals watched from behind the fence. Marcus stood beside the equipment shed with a tool case open at his feet, working on something near a drainage sensor. Elias crossed between the lab and storage building carrying a stack of sample crates, looked toward Gray long enough to confirm he appeared alive, and then kept moving.

Nobody rushed over.

Nobody dropped whatever they were doing simply because he had returned.

Gray liked that.

The ranch had not spent the night frozen in place waiting for him to come back. People had work. Pokémon needed feeding. Habitat systems needed checking. Older partners still woke stiff. Fences still failed. Pumps clogged. Samples still needed labeling. The world had continued without asking whether Professor Linden was available to supervise it.

That was healthy.

Mildly insulting, but healthy.

Tessa looked up from the paddock and called across the distance, “Don’t lift anything.”

Gray stopped on the path. “I wasn’t.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“I was walking.”

“You walk toward problems.”

Gray turned toward Lyra. “She’s gotten worse.”

Lyra took a drink from her coffee. “She’s been here the whole time.”

That was true.

Gray had been gone less than a day.

The thought sat strangely.

Less than a day ago, Cresselia had still been beneath the mountain. Darkrai had still been throwing itself against rings of Unown. Gray had still been waking inside a dream where his parents were alive and dinner was waiting on the table. The sky over Oreburgh had still been empty.

Now morning mist rested over Sandgem, Tessa was arguing with an elderly Kangaskhan about something near its hip, and Donphan was trying to push a wheelbarrow sideways through a gate.

Gray watched him for several seconds.

The wheelbarrow struck the post.

Donphan stopped.

He backed up, studied the problem with the solemn concentration of a Pokémon apparently reconsidering his entire engineering approach, then pushed harder.

The wheelbarrow struck the post again.

Gray narrowed his eyes. “What is he doing?”

Lyra followed his gaze. “Marcus moved that yesterday.”

“That explains nothing.”

“Donphan apparently preferred where it used to be.”

“So he’s returning it.”

“Apparently.”

Donphan backed away farther this time.

Gray’s expression changed. “Oh, no.”

Donphan charged.

The wheelbarrow passed through the gate.

The gate did not survive the experience nearly as well.

One hinge bent outward with a metallic crack, the lower latch tore loose, and Donphan continued across the grass with the wheelbarrow in front of him as though the entire maneuver had gone exactly according to plan.

Gray stared at the damaged gate.

A few yards away, Marcus slowly put down the tool he had been holding and turned toward the destruction with the exhausted stillness of a man who had apparently dealt with this exact category of problem before.

Lyra drank from her coffee. “Still feeling the urge to start morning rounds?”

Gray watched Donphan trundle triumphantly toward wherever he had decided the wheelbarrow belonged, then looked back at Marcus.

“No.”

Lyra nodded. “Excellent.”

For once, Gray did not argue.

Blissey met Gray inside the house with the focused severity of a Pokémon who had clearly spent the entire trip home thinking about everything she intended to inspect.

Gray barely made it across the threshold before she stepped in front of him, put both hands on his face, and turned his head toward the nearest light. She checked the bandage at his temple, examined his eyes, then pressed cautiously around the bruised area behind his ear with the concentration of someone who did not care that actual doctors had already performed the same examination several times.

Gray winced. “Ow.”

Blissey paused, watched his face, and then resumed with slightly less pressure.

“That was feedback, not permission to continue.”

Blissey continued anyway.

Lyra set Gray’s bag near the couch and glanced toward it. “Your discharge papers are in there.”

Gray looked toward the bag.

Blissey followed his gaze, then pointed toward the couch instead.

“No.”

She pointed again.

“I just spent hours in a medical facility.”

Blissey folded her arms.

Gray frowned at her. “This is my house.”

The arms remained folded.

He turned toward Lyra. “You have administrative authority.”

“Not here.”

“You have authority everywhere else.”

Lyra sat in the nearest chair and took another drink from her coffee. “I’m not arguing with Blissey about whether you should lie down after hitting a cavern wall.”

Gray looked toward Bastiodon in search of support and found none there either. The old Pokémon had settled close to the doorway and was watching with the quiet approval of someone who considered the matter resolved.

Gray sighed and sat on the couch.

Blissey immediately pulled a blanket over his legs even though the room was comfortably warm.

“I’m not cold.”

She tucked the blanket around him anyway.

“I am thirty-two.”

Blissey patted his shoulder.

Gray stared at her for several seconds, then let his head rest back against the couch with the expression of a man who understood he had lost.

That was when Chatot arrived.

The Pokémon came fluttering in from the hallway, circled once over the room, and landed on the back of the couch directly behind Gray’s head. He leaned down beside Gray’s ear, studied the bandage with great interest, and shouted, “FUCKED!”

Gray closed his eyes.

Lyra immediately started laughing.

Chatot puffed up with satisfaction and examined the bruising from another angle. “VERY FUCKED!”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“FUCKED!”

“I heard you the first time.”

Chatot clicked his beak and strutted along the back cushion, apparently pleased that his medical assessment had been confirmed by the patient himself.

Gray had just started wondering which member of staff had taught him the intensifier when Chatot turned toward the dark television across the room and announced, “THOUSANDS OF EYES!”

Gray went completely still.

The change in the room was immediate.

Lyra’s laughter faded almost as quickly as it had started.

Chatot whistled softly.

Gray turned his head toward him. “Where did you hear that?”

Chatot bounced once on the couch and repeated, “THOUSANDS OF EYES!”

Gray looked toward the television.

Tessa had apparently been watching the news earlier.

Of course.

That explained it.

The tightness in his shoulders eased slightly, and for a second he nearly laughed at himself for allowing any other interpretation to form.

Then Chatot said, “WATCHING!”

Gray stared at him.

Lyra bit the inside of her cheek.

“Don’t,” Gray said.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You are about to laugh.”

“I am absolutely not.”

Chatot leaned closer to Gray until his beak was only inches from his ear. “WATCHING!”

Gray pointed at him. “I am selling you.”

Chatot answered immediately. “BULLSHIT!”

That ended Lyra’s attempt at restraint.

Her laughter filled the room.

Gray tried not to join her and failed, which proved medically unwise almost at once. The headache sharpened behind his eyes, and he caught one temple with his hand while the room tilted unpleasantly for half a second.

Blissey appeared beside him so quickly that Gray suspected she had never actually gone anywhere.

“I’m fine,” he said before she could start another examination. “Laughing just hurts.”

Blissey looked deeply unimpressed.

Gray settled farther into the couch, the blanket still tucked around his legs and Bastiodon’s steady presence visible near the doorway. Morning light had begun to fill the windows properly now, soft and pale through the lingering mist outside, and the house smelled faintly of coffee, clean laundry, and whatever Tessa had left warming in the kitchen.

For all the noise, it was comfortable.

Familiar.

Safe.

Gray let himself sink into that for a moment.

“That is objectively unfair,” he muttered. “Humor should not be contraindicated.”

Chatot strutted along the back cushion again, feathers puffed proudly.

“VERY FUCKED!”

Gray looked toward the ceiling.

“Wonderful.”

The first serious update arrived less than an hour later.

Lyra read it aloud because Gray’s discharge instructions included reduced screen exposure, and because everyone in the house had apparently agreed that trusting him with a tablet was roughly equivalent to leaving food unattended near a hungry Munchlax.

She sat in the chair across from the couch with one leg tucked beneath her, tablet balanced against her knee and coffee cooling on the table beside her. Gray had been given toast, water, and strict instructions from Blissey not to turn breakfast into an excuse to get up. Bastiodon remained within sight of the doorway, while Chatot had finally gone quiet somewhere in the hall after exhausting himself shouting about eyes.

Lyra scrolled through Mira’s message. “Lower-cavern data still look improved. Four more Cyndaquil have opened their eyes for longer than ten seconds, and two stayed awake for nearly a minute.”

Gray stopped halfway through a bite of toast. “How are they behaving?”

“Weak. Disoriented. No aggression.” Lyra glanced up from the tablet. “The awake Quilava are staying close to them. League veterinary staff are still observing remotely and haven’t attempted direct handling.”

“Good. Heatran?”

“Calm.”

Gray nodded slowly. “Which probably means everyone else is terrified quietly.”

“Likely.”

He set the toast down, immediately earning a look from Blissey across the room. “Any feeding yet?”

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“Not yet. Swallowing reflexes are being assessed individually before anyone offers fluids or food. Nobody wants to aspirate an ancient Cyndaquil because they got excited.”

“Good.”

Lyra looked at him over the top edge of the tablet.

Gray caught himself. “Right. They know what they’re doing.”

“Yes.”

That should not have been difficult to remember. Gray had hired competent staff precisely because he could not and should not personally supervise every habitat, sample, breeding decision, veterinary concern, and field sensor attached to the ranch and its expanding research network.

Knowing that intellectually did not stop him from wanting every detail.

Lyra scrolled farther. “The Charmander that showed voluntary movement last night has done it again. Several Tepig shifted position independently. Abnormal dream cycling remains substantially reduced across the monitored population.”

Gray’s attention sharpened despite the ache behind his eyes. “Metabolic rates?”

“Still rising slowly. Nothing dangerous so far.”

“Respiration?”

“Stable.”

“Any synchronized spikes?”

“No.”

He leaned back into the couch and tried to let that be enough.

It almost worked.

Lyra continued reading. “The nursery eggs are showing more measurable developmental activity.”

Gray sat forward so quickly Blissey crossed the room and pushed one hand against his shoulder until he was back against the cushions.

He continued from there. “How many?”

“Seventeen with clear changes.”

“Seventeen?”

“Yes.”

“Movement?”

“Possible in three. Nothing visible through the shells yet, and no cracking.”

Gray exhaled slowly. “Good.”

Lyra smiled faintly. “You keep saying that.”

“Because if thirty-seven ancient eggs hatch in the same hour, Tessa will leave the region.”

“She said she’d quit for twenty minutes.”

Gray smiled despite himself. “That sounds more accurate.”

“Tessa also wants expanded nursery supplies staged before anyone decides increased activity means hatching is imminent.”

“She’s right.”

“I know.”

Gray let his head rest carefully against the back of the couch.

Less than eight hours.

That mattered.

Nothing about the sleepers had resolved cleanly overnight. A thousand years of altered physiology had not vanished because Cresselia teleported away. The bodies below were changing gradually. Some Pokémon woke only briefly. Most remained asleep. The eggs had resumed measurable biological activity, but they had not abruptly become ready to hatch.

Gray preferred it that way.

Miracles that respected physiology were easier to trust.

Lyra reached the final section of Mira’s update and slowed slightly. “No confirmed sightings of Cresselia or Darkrai.”

Gray relaxed enough that she noticed.

“You’re happy about that.”

“Yes.”

“Even Cresselia?”

“Especially Cresselia.”

Lyra lowered the tablet a little.

Gray looked toward the window before answering. Morning had brightened beyond the glass, burning the last of the mist away from the nearest paddock. Somewhere outside, a metal gate clanged, followed by Marcus saying something that sounded deeply tired.

“She spent roughly a thousand years trapped in a condition we still don’t understand,” Gray said. “Surrounded by Unown and radiating enough dream energy to affect an entire underground ecosystem. If she got out and immediately chose somewhere nobody can find her, I’m not particularly interested in sending people after her.”

“And Darkrai?”

Gray thought about the injured Legendary disappearing through its own Dark Void without looking back at any of the humans who had helped.

“Darkrai knew what was happening long before we did. It spent the entire time trying to reach her while everyone around it—Heatran, ancient humans, modern researchers, most mythology—treated it like the obvious villain.” He paused. “I think it’s earned at least one day without a search party.”

Lyra considered him for a moment. “That sounds almost protective.”

“I reserve the right to become protective of terrifying mythological Pokémon when the evidence changes.”

“You also owe it an apology.”

Gray sighed. “Yes.”

“For what, exactly?”

“General professional skepticism. Historical misclassification. Calling it ‘nightmare asshole’ once.”

Lyra blinked. “When did you call it that?”

“Before meeting it.”

“That seems difficult to deliver in person.”

“I’ll draft a formal letter.”

Lyra’s mouth curved. “Dear Darkrai.”

“Already bad.”

She laughed quietly.

Gray picked up the toast again and took another bite.

By late morning, Gray discovered that being medically prohibited from working did not prevent work from arriving at his house.

Elias brought the first stack personally, all of it printed, because, in his words, giving Gray a tablet would only make Lyra blame him for whatever happened next. Gray accepted the pages with approval and settled them carefully across the blanket covering his legs.

“You’re learning.”

Elias adjusted the stack so the pages stayed in order. “I enjoy employment.”

The requests were exactly what Gray would have expected if he had possessed enough energy to think about them in advance. Sinnoh Scientific Monthly wanted clarification on whether the Oreburgh event was connected to Gray’s protected subterranean research. Jubilife Daily wanted an interview. Sinnoh Tonight wanted another interview. Several out-of-region networks wanted interviews despite having never shown any previous interest in Gray beyond occasional fossil coverage. One academic journal requested a rapid communication on mass Unown behavior even though Gray had not yet slept properly since the event, and a university in Kanto wanted what it described as an “urgent interdisciplinary roundtable on symbolic cognition.”

Gray stared at that one for several seconds. “What does that mean?”

Elias looked down at the request, then back at Gray. “I assume several people would like to hear themselves talk.”

“Decline.”

“Already did.”

Gray looked up.

Elias looked almost offended that Gray had doubted him.

“Promoted emotionally.”

“I heard that already.”

From across the room, Lyra said, “You’re welcome.”

Elias ignored both of them and handed Gray one final document. “This one actually needs your approval.”

Gray recognized the League formatting before he reached the second line.

Public statement.

He read it slowly, partly because his headache punished him if he moved his eyes too quickly across the page and partly because League communications had a talent for making straightforward events feel strangely distant.

The public version confirmed that Professor Gray Linden had been present in Oreburgh “in connection with ongoing protected ecological research” and had sustained minor injuries during the incident. Cynthia and Roark were named as having assisted local and League response efforts. The Unown event remained under investigation, and the League would provide further information when appropriate.

That was it.

No Heatran.

No Darkrai.

No Cresselia.

No sleeping Fire-types.

No ancient nursery.

No explanation for why Gray and Cynthia had looked in public footage as though they had been dragged through an underground disaster, largely because that was exactly what had happened.

Gray went back to the first paragraph and read it again. “This makes it sound like I found a weird Zubat.”

Lyra, sitting near the window with her own paperwork, did not look up. “That is more or less the point.”

“It feels dishonest.”

“It is technically true.”

“It omits everything that matters.”

“Yes.”

Gray looked toward Elias. “The public is going to hate this.”

“Probably.”

“BattleNet will definitely hate it.”

“Definitely.”

Gray rested the statement against one knee and considered what the alternative would actually require.

A useful public explanation would mean telling people that Heatran lived beneath Oreburgh. It would mean explaining that Darkrai had apparently spent centuries carrying the blame for a nightmare catastrophe it may have been trying to stop. It would mean revealing that Cresselia had been trapped underground amid hundreds of sleeping Fire-types and a network of Unown powerful enough to affect an entire subterranean ecosystem. It would mean admitting that several protected habitats, including living fossil populations, remained physically accessible through routes the League desperately did not want curious trainers attempting to locate.

By the time he reached the end of that thought, the vague statement felt less evasive and more like the only responsible option available.

Gray handed the paper back to Elias. “Weird Zubat is fine.”

Elias took it without reacting.

Gray pointed at him. “Do not actually write weird Zubat.”

“I had not intended to.”

“Good.”

Elias placed the approved statement back on top of the stack and stood. Gray watched him go, then looked toward the remaining interview requests spread across the blanket and decided that medical leave might have one redeeming feature after all.

Tessa came inside around noon carrying a clipboard in one hand and a small plastic container in the other.

Gray noticed the container first. “What’s that?”

“Food.”

“I already ate.”

“For Blissey.”

Blissey appeared from the hallway almost immediately, which answered several questions Gray had not yet asked.

He looked from one of them to the other. “You coordinated this.”

Tessa handed the container over without apology. “Routine supplement.”

Blissey opened it, inspected the contents, and looked pleased.

Gray leaned back into the couch. “Everyone has a schedule except me.”

“You have one.”

“What is it?”

“Rest, food, medication, sleep.”

Gray stared at her. “That isn’t a schedule. That is imprisonment with snacks.”

Tessa considered the description for a second, then nodded. “Yes.”

Gray looked toward the window instead. “How’s the ranch?”

“Fine.”

“That was suspiciously fast.”

“You asked generally.”

He stared at her until she almost smiled and finally gave him the version he actually wanted.

“The older Kangaskhan’s appetite is normal. Marowak’s hip is stiff but unchanged. Venusaur spent most of the morning in the sun. Donphan broke the gate.”

“I saw.”

“Marcus fixed it.”

Gray frowned. “Already?”

“He has hands.”

“I also have hands.”

“You have a concussion.”

Apparently everyone had agreed to use the same argument until he died.

Tessa continued before he could complain. “The Gyarados are normal. Pond chemistry is normal.”

She glanced down at the clipboard.

“The Magikarp situation is not.”

Gray’s attention sharpened immediately. “What happened?”

Tessa read from the page. “There are thirty-three.”

Gray stared at her.

Across the room, Lyra slowly lowered her tablet.

Bastiodon lifted his head from the floor.

Gray spoke with great care. “No.”

Tessa looked up. “There are thirty-three Magikarp.”

“There were thirty-one.”

“Yes.”

“There have been thirty-one since the last incident.”

“Yes.”

Gray pointed toward the window as though the pond itself had personally violated policy. “I did not acquire two Magikarp.”

“I did not say you did.”

“I want that formally recorded.”

Tessa looked down and made a small mark on the clipboard.

Gray narrowed his eyes. “What did you write?”

“Professor denies acquiring additional Magikarp.”

“That makes it sound like I did.”

“It is factually accurate.”

Lyra had started laughing quietly.

Gray ignored her. “Maybe somebody miscounted.”

Tessa shook her head. “I counted twice. Marcus counted once because he thought I was joking. Elias checked the feeding log. Thirty-three.”

Gray sat in silence for several seconds, trying to decide whether he was more annoyed by the number or by the fact that everyone else had apparently verified it before involving him.

Then the obvious question arrived.

“Which ones are new?”

Tessa looked almost apologetic. “We don’t know.”

Gray blinked. “You don’t know which two fish appeared.”

“They are Magikarp, Gray.”

“They have individual markings.”

“Yes, and several of them object strongly to being inspected long enough to compare them.”

“Number Seventeen?”

“Still an asshole.”

“Good.”

Tessa nodded. “Number Seventeen attacked the feeding scoop this morning, then tried to bite Marcus’s boot.”

Gray felt an unreasonable amount of relief. “At least there is stability.”

Lyra covered her face with one hand.

Gray turned back toward the window.

Thirty-three.

He had not purchased them.

Nobody on staff had purchased them.

No breeder had transferred them.

The pond was fenced, monitored, and connected to no natural waterway that could casually produce two adult Magikarp.

Gray looked back at Tessa. “Could Gyarados be bringing them?”

She stared at him.

Gray heard the question again in his own head.

“Fine. Bad theory.”

“Very.”

“Bird Pokémon?”

“Carrying Magikarp into the pond?”

“Also bad.”

“Extremely.”

Gray rubbed at his temple. “Why are there thirty-three?”

Tessa shrugged. “No idea.”

Gray smiled despite himself. “Excellent.”

Lyra looked over. “You’re enjoying this.”

“It’s a mystery I can solve without going three hundred meters underground.”

Tessa stood. “You’re not solving it today.”

Gray’s smile disappeared. “Cruel.”

“The ranch is fine,” Tessa said, and this time the humor in her voice softened. “Really.”

Gray understood what she meant without needing her to spell it out.

You do not need to get up.

You do not need to personally inspect every paddock.

You do not need to prove the place still works by walking all twenty-seven acres.

He nodded. “Okay.”

Tessa left with the clipboard, and Blissey disappeared after her with the supplement container.

Gray watched the door close.

Then he looked toward Lyra.

“Thirty-three.”

“Yes.”

“I reject the premise.”

“You used that one on television.”

Gray settled deeper into the couch. “It remains applicable.”

At 12:43, Chatot learned the phrase “NO COMMENT.”

Gray discovered this when a reporter appeared outside the ranch’s outer gate.

Lyra noticed first. She was standing near the front window with her tablet when movement beyond the fence caught her attention, and after a second she leaned slightly closer to the glass.

“Reporter.”

Gray remained on the couch with the blanket still over his legs. “Already?”

Lyra looked back at him. “You were visibly standing under thousands of Unown with the Champion last night.”

“That does not answer why they are here.”

“It explains it extremely well.”

Outside, the reporter called something toward the house from beyond the gate. The windows muffled the words enough that Gray could not make them out.

Chatot apparently had no such difficulty.

The bird launched himself from the back of a chair, flew to the windowsill, puffed his chest until he looked nearly spherical, and shouted through the glass, “NO COMMENT!”

Gray turned his head.

Lyra stared at Chatot.

Outside, the reporter tried again.

Chatot leaned forward with renewed purpose. “NO COMMENT! FUCK OFF!”

Gray looked slowly toward him. “That second part was not approved.”

Chatot slapped both wings against the sill and shouted again, louder this time. “FUCK OFF!”

The reporter stopped calling.

For several seconds, the room went quiet except for Chatot’s pleased little clicking noises.

Then Lyra started laughing.

Gray looked at the bird, who remained stationed at the window like the least professional communications officer in Sinnoh. “Useful.”

Chatot immediately replied, “NO COMMENT!”

Gray nodded. “You can stay.”

“BULLSHIT!”

Gray considered the performance again. “Mixed.”

The first scattered Unown reports began arriving shortly after one.

Lyra initially withheld them because most were still unverified, and because Gray had been home for less than six hours and had already made two separate attempts to turn concussion recovery into a research meeting. Her strategy might have worked if Mira had not called.

Lyra looked at the ringing phone, then at Gray. “You could decline.”

“Mira could be calling about something important.”

“She literally texted me first saying it was not urgent.”

Gray answered anyway and put the call on speaker. “Mira.”

Her voice came through immediately. “Before Lyra kills me, this is not urgent, and you are not allowed to turn it into a project.”

Gray glanced across the room at Lyra. “She has corrupted the staff.”

“I was already like this,” Mira said.

“Fine. What happened?”

“Scattered Unown sightings. Across Sinnoh.”

Gray’s hand moved automatically toward the tablet on the side table.

Lyra got there first and lifted it neatly out of reach.

He looked at her with genuine betrayal.

Mira continued as though she could see the exchange. “Nothing coordinated that we can establish. Small groups are appearing at old ruins, caves, shrines, random fields, and a few places that appear completely meaningless so far. Some reports are probably false, and a lot are definitely duplicates.”

Gray settled back reluctantly. “How many confirmed locations?”

“Twenty-six so far.”

That was enough to hold his attention without immediately meaning anything. “Any aggression?”

“None.”

“Any apparent words or deliberate symbol formations?”

“No.”

“Large gatherings?”

“Not really. Largest confirmed cluster outside Oreburgh is forty-three.”

Gray remembered the BattleNet thread. “The Celestic-area ruin?”

“Yes.”

He rubbed his thumb along the edge of the blanket. “Any pattern you actually trust?”

Mira hesitated for just long enough to answer the question more honestly than a quick response would have.

“Not one I trust.”

Good.

Gray felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. Unown appearing in scattered locations did not have to mean something immediately. Sinnoh was full of ancient ruins, forgotten shrines, old cave systems, and sites that had accumulated Unown populations for reasons nobody completely understood. Thousands of the Pokémon had just dispersed from Oreburgh by teleportation. Finding some of them near ancient sites afterward was interesting, certainly, but interesting was not the same thing as a message, prophecy, map, convergence, or deliberate grand design.

Sometimes Pokémon went places. Sometimes the explanation came later, after enough observations turned into an actual pattern. Sometimes it never came at all.

Gray looked toward the phone. “Then don’t force one.”

“That was my conclusion.”

“Excellent.”

Mira sounded faintly amused when she continued. “There are already four amateur maps online connecting the sightings with lines.”

“Of course there are.”

“One supposedly forms an arrow.”

Gray closed his eyes. “Toward what?”

“They don’t agree.”

He opened them again. “Even better.”

Lyra smiled into her coffee.

“We’re logging verified reports and leaving interpretation alone for now,” Mira said. “The League asked whether you wanted copies of the current sighting summaries.”

Gray looked toward Lyra.

She was already shaking her head.

Gray sighed. “Tomorrow.”

Lyra stopped shaking her head.

There was a brief silence from the phone before Mira asked, “Really?”

Gray frowned. “What?”

“You said tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not asking me to read all twenty-six reports aloud right now?”

“No.”

Lyra was staring at him now with exaggerated suspicion.

Gray looked offended by both of them. “I have a concussion.”

“You’ve had a concussion all morning,” Lyra said.

“Apparently it’s educational.”

Mira laughed. “Tomorrow, then. I’ll make sure the verified set is cleaned up before you see it.”

“Good.”

The call ended.

Lyra put the tablet back on the table, this time slightly farther away from Gray than it had been before. He noticed and chose, with considerable maturity, not to comment.

Then he settled into the couch again and looked out toward the ranch.

For perhaps fifteen minutes, nobody called. No new Legendary appeared. No ancient Pokémon woke dramatically on a monitor. Nobody arrived at the gate demanding an interview, and Chatot remained quiet somewhere in the house. Outside, the afternoon moved at the ordinary pace of damp grass, distant Pokémon calls, and people doing work that did not require Gray’s involvement.

Nothing happened.

It was wonderful.

The afternoon stayed mostly quiet.

That did not mean Gray did nothing. It meant other people did things around him while he was forced to experience the deeply unnatural sensation of remaining on the couch and allowing them to continue without his involvement.

Marcus repaired the gate Donphan had damaged, then passed the house later carrying the ruined helmet in both hands. He stopped outside the window, held it up at eye level, and gave Gray a look of such visible professional disappointment that Gray cracked the window open.

“It saved my head.”

Marcus turned the helmet slightly and examined the crushed communications housing. “Barely.”

“Still counts.”

“You destroyed six redundant systems.”

“Cresselia helped.”

Marcus looked back down at the helmet and considered that. “That does make me feel slightly better.”

“Can you fix it?”

“No.”

Gray frowned. “Rude.”

“I can rebuild almost everything around the shell.”

“So yes.”

“So no. It will be a new helmet containing several surviving parts from the old one.”

Gray thought about that for a second. “Same helmet.”

Marcus stared through the window at him.

Gray smiled. “Ship of Theseus.”

Marcus reached forward and closed the window from outside.

Gray started laughing and immediately regretted it when the pain behind his eyes sharpened again.

Later, Elias came by with another stack of messages and refused to hand over anything labeled urgent commentary request, which Gray suspected was less about communications policy and more about preventing him from becoming irritated while medically supervised. Tessa spent nearly an hour by the pond comparing Magikarp markings while Number Seventeen repeatedly attacked the floating inspection board with the commitment of a Pokémon who considered data collection a personal insult.

Lyra eventually joined her, mostly out of curiosity.

She came back wet from the knee down.

Gray looked at her trousers. “What happened?”

“Seventeen.”

“Good.”

Lyra stopped. “Why is that good?”

“He remains identifiable.”

She stared at him.

Gray looked pleased with himself.

The count remained thirty-three.

Nobody solved the mystery.

That pleased Gray more than it probably should have.

The world had become too full of enormous questions lately—ancient sleepers, Legendary Pokémon, underground ecosystems, Unown swarms, myths turning into history.

Two unexplained Magikarp felt almost comforting by comparison.

Cynthia called in the late afternoon.

Gray was outside by then, but only because Blissey had decided fresh air counted as recovery and Bastiodon had positioned himself close enough to make wandering difficult. Gray sat in a chair near the porch with one ankle resting over the other, while Bastiodon lay beside him in the grass like a very large, very patient restraint system.

The ranch stretched away under soft afternoon light. Most of the morning mist had burned off, and the fields had settled into that quieter part of the day when even the louder Pokémon seemed less interested in proving anything.

Gray answered the call.

“You alive?”

Cynthia’s voice came back tired but steady. “Apparently.”

“How’s the shoulder?”

“Still attached.”

“Head?”

“Still bad.”

“Same.”

The silence that followed was easy enough that neither of them rushed to fill it.

Eventually Cynthia said, “Have they told you about the Unown sightings?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think?”

“Nothing yet. Too scattered, too messy, too much bad reporting mixed in.”

“Same.”

Gray looked out toward the far pasture. “People are going to draw patterns anyway.”

“They already have.”

“How many?”

“I stopped counting.”

“Any especially terrible ones?”

“One person thinks the sightings make a crescent.”

Gray groaned.

Cynthia sounded amused when she continued. “Another thinks they form an eye.”

“Of course they do.”

“And somebody else has decided they point toward Mt. Coronet.”

Gray’s gaze shifted toward the distant horizon before he caught himself.

“No.”

“I know.”

“We do not have enough data for that.”

“I know.”

“Thousands of Unown teleported away from Oreburgh. Some of them turning up near ruins afterward does not automatically mean they’re spelling directions.”

“I agree.”

Gray narrowed his eyes even though she could not see him. “You’re being suspiciously reasonable.”

“I have a concussion.”

“Right. That explains it.”

She laughed softly, then went quiet for a moment before speaking again.

“The League asked whether we want active searches for Cresselia and Darkrai.”

Gray’s expression hardened almost immediately. “No.”

“That was my answer.”

“Passive sightings only.”

“Yes.”

“No tracking teams.”

“Agreed.”

“And absolutely no capture attempts.”

“Obviously.”

Gray rested one hand against the edge of Bastiodon’s shield. The old Pokémon shifted slightly beneath his palm but did not move away.

“If Cresselia turns up injured somewhere near people, help her. If Darkrai appears and isn’t hurting anyone, leave it alone.”

Cynthia was quiet for a second. “That’s more or less what I told them.”

“Good.”

“Some people are still uncomfortable with Darkrai being unmonitored.”

Gray looked down at Bastiodon. “Some people spent a thousand years being wrong about Darkrai.”

“That was also more or less what I said.”

“With less profanity?”

“Considerably less.”

Gray smiled. “Coward.”

“I am the Champion.”

“Exactly. You can swear officially.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

After that, the conversation loosened.

There was no new crisis to solve, no immediate plan to return underground, and no research agenda either of them was physically capable of pursuing. Cynthia said she would probably stay in Oreburgh another night because the League wanted her available in case anything changed. Gray told her that sounded miserable.

“It is.”

“Sandgem is better.”

“Probably.”

“Except for the Magikarp.”

There was a pause.

Cynthia said, “What about the Magikarp?”

Gray looked toward the pond. “There are thirty-three now.”

Another pause.

“I thought there were thirty-one.”

“So did I.”

“What happened?”

Gray watched sunlight catch on the water beyond the paddock fence. “I reject the premise.”

Cynthia laughed hard enough that the sound cut off abruptly.

“Don’t,” Gray said. “It hurts.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“I did nothing.”

“Gray.”

“I reported a population count.”

“Thirty-three.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“No idea.”

Cynthia was quiet for a moment, then said, “That may genuinely be the most important mystery in Sinnoh.”

Gray nodded to himself. “Finally, someone understands.”

They stayed on the call for several more minutes after that, mostly talking about nothing important.

Then Cynthia had to go.

Gray remained outside with Bastiodon beside him and let the ranch stay quiet.

Evening settled slowly over the ranch, drawing the last warmth out of the fields and turning the windows of the laboratory gold before the light began to thin.

Gray did not do rounds.

That mattered more than he expected.

Usually, being home meant movement. He checked fences even when Marcus had already checked them, looked over feed schedules he had no reason to distrust, stopped by whatever paddock Tessa happened to be working in, visited the older Pokémon, inspected equipment, and wandered from one small responsibility to the next until dinner arrived and he realized several hours had disappeared without him noticing.

Today, other people did those things.

Gray stayed on the porch.

From where he sat, he could see pieces of the ranch moving through their ordinary routines without him. Tessa crossed the far field with a feed bucket at her side. Marcus stopped beside one of the sensor posts near the trees and crouched to check the housing. Elias locked the storage building, tested the handle once out of habit, then headed toward the lab. A little later, Lyra came out with a folder tucked under one arm, noticed Gray still in the same chair, and gave him a small nod before continuing toward her car.

Nobody called for him.

Nobody needed him to stand.

The ranch kept functioning anyway.

Bastiodon slept beside the chair with his legs folded beneath him, his breathing deep and slow enough that Gray could feel the faint vibration through the porch boards. In the fading light, the scratches across his armor stood out more clearly than they had that morning.

Gray looked at him for a long time.

Not Shieldon.

Not the younger version the dream had given back to him.

This Bastiodon carried years on him.

There was a shallow scar across one plate from an old battle Gray still remembered too clearly. Another section had been worn smooth along the edge from years of contact, from hands resting there, from travel, from battles, from ordinary days. The lower armor showed small marks that had accumulated gradually enough that Gray could not place all of them anymore.

The dream had not included those.

The dream had offered cleaner things.

His parents alive.

Old losses undone.

Partners returned in the exact shape memory preferred.

A life arranged so neatly that every absence had been corrected and every grief had been quietly removed.

For a while, that had made it almost impossible to leave.

That was the cruelty of it.

Reality had never promised permanence. It had never promised that the people he loved would stay, that Pokémon would not age, that accidents would not happen, that bodies would not fail, or that there would always be time to say what needed saying before something ended.

The dream had promised all of that.

Eventually, the promise itself had become wrong.

Gray rested one hand against the familiar edge of Bastiodon’s shield.

The old Pokémon opened one eye.

Gray let his palm stay there.

“I know,” he said quietly.

Bastiodon gave a low rumble.

Gray smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

The answer had no meaning Gray could have translated for anyone else, but he understood it anyway.

The ranch beyond them grew darker by degrees. Evening sounds replaced the daytime ones: distant calls from the paddocks, the soft clatter of a gate settling into place, the rustle of something moving through tall grass near the tree line. Lights came on one by one in the lab and the house.

Gray watched all of it.

The false world had been kind in exactly the way reality never promised to be.

That was why it had become unbearable.

Here, things aged.

Things broke.

People left.

Pokémon died.

New problems appeared for no reason at all, and sometimes nobody understood them by the end of the day.

But the scratches were real.

The tiredness was real.

The warm metal beneath his hand was real.

So was the fact that Bastiodon was here now.

Gray let out a slow breath and leaned farther back into the chair.

For the first time since entering Cresselia’s chamber, he allowed himself to stop trying to understand what came next.

The world remained strange without his supervision.

For tonight, that was enough.