Cyrus woke to the sound of something steady.
Not silence.
A rhythm.
Beep.Pause.Beep.
Pause.Beep.
For a moment, Cyrus thought someone was playing a game of Q-Bert next to him. Then his senses and memories returned to him in fragments, weight on his chest, a dull ache radiating through his shoulder, the taste of antiseptic instead of smoke or shadow.
Hospital.
He opened one eye.
White ceiling. Soft lighting. No fractures in reality. No looming crescent shapes in the sky.
Good sign.
Ditto was wrapped around his forearm in the shape of a loose blue sleeve, texture slightly uneven, like it hadn't fully relaxed yet. It tightened immediately when Cyrus stirred, fabric rippling.
"…Hey," Cyrus croaked.
Ditto shifted, forming a small, uneven heart shape near his wrist before settling again.
Cyrus closed his eyes for half a second longer than necessary.
Alive, then.
The door slid open with a quiet hiss.
Gengar drifted in first, half-submerged in the wall, eyes dimmer than usual but alert. Its shadow stayed close to the bed, touching Cyrus's side like it needed the reassurance of contact.
"Gen."
"Yeah," Cyrus murmured. "I fine."
Behind Gengar came two figures who made the room feel smaller just by entering it.
Joseph Von King filled the doorway like a held breath finally released—broad shoulders, posture locked tight, eyes already scanning monitors, IV lines, bandages. He didn't speak at first. He just looked.
Dr. Maren Rei-King followed more quietly, but somehow with more force. Her expression was calm, too calm, the kind of composure built for crisis rooms and impossible equations. Her gaze flicked over Cyrus with clinical precision, cataloging damage faster than any machine could.
She reached the bed first.
Her hand hovered for a fraction of a second before resting lightly against his forehead.
"You're awake," she said.
Cyrus managed a crooked half-smile. "You sound disappointed."
Her lips pressed together. "Don't."
Joseph exhaled sharply and stepped closer, arms crossing, jaw tight.
"You collapsed three minutes after emergency transport reached the Atrium," he said. "Multiple fractures. Severe neural fatigue. Dreamwave saturation bordering on catastrophic."
Cyrus winced. "That bad?"
Maren adjusted a monitor, eyes never leaving the data. "You were less than a minute away from permanent dissociation."
That landed.
Cyrus swallowed. "But… not?"
"Not," she confirmed. "Thanks to intervention. And a frankly obscene amount of luck. We told you to be safe and keep at a distance."
Gengar let out a low, satisfied "Gen."
Joseph finally looked at his son's face instead of the equipment.
"You survived....," he said quietly.
Not praise. Not approval.
Acknowledgment.
Cyrus shifted slightly, shoulder protesting sharply.
"Darkrai's dormant," he said. "Cresselia's stabilizing. The city's intact."
Joseph nodded. "We know."
Maren's fingers stilled.
"We felt the correction," she said softly. "Every sensor tied to the Divide spiked at once. Then… leveled."
Cyrus stared at the ceiling. "Hoopa intervened."
Joseph's posture tightened.
Maren closed her eyes briefly, then reopened them. "How?"
Cyrus hesitated.
"Angrily."
That earned him a look from both of them.
"He stepped in because Darkrai broke the rules," Cyrus continued. "And because Cresselia let it get too close. Hoopa didn't… like that."
Joseph exhaled slowly. "Did he threaten the balance?"
"No," Cyrus said. "He enforced it."
Silence settled.
Maren finally nodded. "That tracks."
Joseph gave her a sharp look. "It does?"
"Yes," she replied. "Hoopa isn't chaos. It's selective."
Cyrus turned his head slightly. "He almost lost me."
Maren's composure cracked, just barely. Her hand tightened around the bedrail.
Joseph's voice dropped. "That won't happen again."
It wasn't a promise.
It was a declaration of intent.
Cyrus let the weight of that sit.
After a moment, he asked, "The cult?"
"Disbanded," Joseph said. "Leader detained. The rest scattered the moment Darkrai collapsed. Their belief system didn't survive reality."
"Good."
"And Divide City?" Cyrus asked.
Maren smiled faintly. "Shaken. But alive. Officials are calling it a 'contained mythic event.' Public messaging emphasizes natural correction, not invasion."
Cyrus snorted weakly. "They always do."
Gengar shifted closer, shadow curling protectively around the bed.
Joseph rested a hand on the railing. "You are grounded."
Cyrus blinked. "Excuse me?"
Joseph's mouth twitched. "Medically."
Maren added, "Psychically. Emotionally. You're staying here for observation."
Cyrus sighed. "Figures."
Ditto formed a tiny thumbs-up.
"Traitor," Cyrus muttered.
The door slid open again.
Hoopa peeked in upside-down, small this time, rings dim, eyes careful.
"Ooooh~ hospital naps," Hoopa whispered. "Those are the best naps."
Joseph froze.
Maren didn't turn.
Cyrus did.
Hoopa drifted closer, hovering near the foot of the bed, unusually subdued.
"…You okay?" Hoopa asked, sing-song softer than usual.
Cyrus nodded. "Still here."
Hoopa smiled. Relief, unmasked.
"Good," Hoopa chirped. Then, quieter: "Don't do that again."
Cyrus met his gaze. "Same to you."
Hoopa giggled weakly and vanished in a pop of light.
The room felt… steadier after that.
Maren checked one last reading, then finally allowed herself to rest a hand on Cyrus's arm.
"You ended a centuries-old imbalance," she said. "And lived."
Joseph nodded once. "That matters."
Cyrus closed his eyes.
For the first time since arriving in Divide City, sleep came without pressure.
Without dreams.
Just quiet.
And somewhere beyond the walls, the city breathed again.