The wind bit deep on Mt. Coronet that night. Snow fell in thin, scattered flurries, and the cold cut through Steven's black trench coat as though it were made of nothing more than silk. The bright moonlight caught the coat's hem, making it ripple with each gust. All around him, the swirling snow drifted down like the lightest of rains.
Near the summit of Mt. Coronet, great stone pillars of weathered yellow brick rose from the ground at uneven heights, some squat and thick, others tall and narrow, all of them ancient.
Steven brushed the snow from his shoulders and looked down at the object in his trembling hand — a smooth, blue, cylindrical stone. In the darkness, the faint blue light it gave off was almost startling. It pulsed steadily, like something alive and waiting.
"Steven, aren't you cold?"
Diancie's voice came from just behind him. She had been following in his wake the entire climb, unknowingly sheltered from the wind by Steven's body walking ahead of her.
"I am," Steven said, his silver-blue eyes fixed on the path ahead, his voice even. "But it hardly matters now."
However cold Mt. Coronet was, it was nothing compared to what he had already endured in the Secret Realm's middle layer. And right now, he needed this cold. The biting wind and the sting of snow kept his mind sharp.
Behind him, a trail of deep footprints pressed into the accumulated snow. Further back along the path, those prints grew shallower and shallower until the mountain's face was smooth and untouched again.
"Metagross!"
A low, resonant cry echoed from the rear of their small group. Metagross drifted steadily at the end of the line, four red eyes scanning the wind-battered slope. It wasn't hovering out of laziness on Steven's part, nor was there anyone to impress in this empty, frozen place. The reason was simpler: beyond a certain elevation on the mountain, the blue stone in Steven's hand would begin to glow, and when it did, Metagross couldn't move forward — not even an inch, as if the stone itself was drawing a boundary in the air.
Steven supposed that was what you might call the ritual demanding its due respect.
Thud.
His boot came down on the earthy yellow stone bricks of the summit altar's approach. He walked past the ring of stone pillars without a glance, heading straight for the altar at the centre.
The stone left his hand on its own.
It rose gently from his palm, drifted upward, and settled above the altar — then erupted in a brilliant, blinding blue light. Steven narrowed his eyes but didn't look away.
A massive figure began to take shape in that light.
He watched Dialga's towering phantom materialise above the altar, and he waited. He had done what he could before coming here. He'd left a note for Cynthia. He'd sent Wallace a message, asking him to cover the Champion's duties while he was gone. He'd told Joseph where he was heading. Every one of his Pokémon stood with him. The only thing he hadn't been sure of was whether he was truly ready — but that uncertainty had passed the moment he stepped onto the mountain. Everything else was done.
"Diancie." His voice dropped low. He reached into his coat and drew out the Poké Ball — the same one he had used when he caught her in Eindoak. "I don't know what's going to happen next."
Back at Cynthia's house, he had been careful not to say too much, afraid of waking Cynthia or her grandmother. But there was still time to say this, and Diancie deserved to hear it.
"This is your Poké Ball," he said. "You are the Princess of the Diamond Kingdom. Whatever happens here has nothing to do with you." He held the Poké Ball out toward her. "As a friend — I'm asking you to go back."
Diancie stared up at the Poké Ball in his hand for a long moment.
"Did you ask your other Pokémon the same thing?"
Steven's snow-flecked eyelashes dipped. "No."
"Then why ask me?" Diancie put her small hands on her hips and stood straighter, chin lifted. "I told you — Cynthia said to keep an eye on you! And I'm your Pokémon, Steven. I go where you go."
With that, she reached out and pressed the button on the Poké Ball herself. She dissolved into red light and was gone.
Steven stared at the Poké Ball in his hand. A quiet, crooked smile crossed his face.
Curiosity? Stubbornness? Or, beneath all of it, something closer to worry?
"I'm sorry to drag you into this," he said softly. He tucked the Poké Ball away and looked up at Dialga's form, which was growing more solid by the second. "But if this is the choice you've made... then I'll make sure you're protected."
Metagross let out a sharp, warning cry. The steel-type's red eyes were locked on the ancient dragon looming above them, its phantom gaze fixed downward on Steven with undisguised disdain.
"I know," Steven said quietly.
He met Dialga's gaze without flinching.
[You resemble the one I have seen before.]
The voice arrived not through the air but directly in Steven's mind — deep, measured, and ancient, carrying the easy contempt of something that measured time in eons.
Steven knew immediately who Dialga meant. Most likely, his mother.
[But her power far exceeded yours.]
Dialga turned its great head slowly, as though the admission required no particular effort.
Steven said nothing. He let his expression settle back into calm and simply continued to look at Dialga. Its posture, its gaze, the unhurried weight of its speech — all of it was noted. Including, he thought privately, how needlessly archaic its phrasing was.
Why don't other Legendary Pokémon speak like that?
Such theatre.
[So be it.]
Dialga's sigh held a faint note of resignation. A sphere of blue light drifted from its phantom form and merged into Steven's chest. He felt nothing — no pain, no warmth, no shift in his body. But when Dialga spoke again, the words came in clear, plain language. Much easier to follow.
[You are appointed as our envoy. You are to retrieve our token and return it.][That is your task.]
Steven looked at Dialga. One who didn't know any better might have mistaken it for Arceus, handing out divine assignments.
He let out a small, quiet laugh.
[That disrespect will be overlooked. Once.]
"I have one question."
[Ask it. Only one.]
Steven's voice was steady. "Can I meet the previous envoy you chose?"
If they were replacing their envoy, the last one was likely no longer in a position to serve. That was the outcome Steven feared most. The silence that followed felt long.
[Yes.]
A single word. Steven exhaled slowly. He had asked what he needed to ask. Dialga did not wait for anything further.
The blue phantom dissolved, reforming into a great, churning vortex of light that hung suspended in the air above the altar — a gate, vast and cold and humming.
[Enter.]
Steven glanced sideways at Metagross and raised his hand to brush a clump of snow from the top of its head.
"Let's go, Metagross."
"Metagross!"
He returned it to its Poké Ball, rolled his shoulders once to shake off the remaining snow, and walked forward into the blue.
The golden-haired girl woke slowly, dragging her eyes open with the reluctance of someone who had no immediate reason to move. She scratched at her tangled hair, stretched until her back popped, and turned to squint at the clock on the bedside table.
Past ten?
She sat up. Steven hadn't come to wake her? And Diancie's side of the room was empty.
Cynthia didn't bother changing out of her pyjamas. She shoved her feet into her shoes and padded down the hall to Steven's door. She knocked. No answer. She tried the handle — nothing — and headed downstairs.
"Good morning, Grandma."
Cynthia spotted her grandmother on the sofa, hands folded around a cup of tea, and gave her a bright smile before turning toward the back door.
"Cynthia."
Her grandmother's voice stopped her.
"Hm? What is it, Grandma?"
Cynthia turned, brows raised.
"Don't bother looking for Steven." Her grandmother set her teacup down with a soft click and looked at her with tired, knowing eyes. "He's already gone. He took all the Pokémon from the backyard with him."
Cynthia stared at her for a second, then turned and ran.
She pushed through the back door and swept the yard with her eyes. Not one of Steven's Pokémon remained. She ran back inside, took the stairs two at a time, and shoved Steven's room door open.
Bang.
"Victini?!"
Victini shot upright from the bed in a panic — "Tili?!" — and launched itself straight into the ceiling with a solid thud before crashing back onto the mattress.
"Tili…" It lay still for a moment, small hands pressed to the top of its head, whimpering quietly.
"Little V — where's Steven?" Cynthia crossed the room in three strides.
Victini tilted its head and blinked up at her. It had no idea.
Cynthia's eyes swept the room and landed on the desk. A cup held a folded note in place. She crossed to it and picked it up.
The first line held only two words.
Two words, and yet they were the loudest thing in the room.
Cynthia's hands curled slowly into fists. The redness crept into her eyes quickly, too quickly to stop, and the brightness gathering there had nothing to do with the morning light. She pressed her lips together.
She wasn't sure, in that moment, whether what she felt was anger or hurt.
Probably both.
The two words read:
I'm Sorry.