The wind howled across the peaks of Mt. Coronet.
Snow danced like spirits under moonlight, and a narrow stairway carved into the rock led upward—toward a hidden shrine untouched by time or maps.
Cynthia didn't shiver as she climbed.
She had been preparing for this for years.
And still… she wasn't sure she was ready.
When she reached the final step, an elder woman stood before the shrine's doors. Her robes were silver and deep violet, embroidered with stars and twin spirals—the symbols of time and space.
"Cynthia of the ancient line," the woman spoke, her voice like distant thunder. "Daughter of Solaceon. Granddaughter of the Seer."
Cynthia bowed low. "I've come for the Trial."
The woman stared deep into her eyes.
"Are you prepared to face yourself… and what lies beyond yourself?"
Cynthia's voice didn't waver.
"I am."
The doors opened without sound.
Inside was not a room.
It was a veil.
Light fractured in every direction. The ground was stone and sky at once. There was no up. No down. Only the pulse of something ancient, vibrating at the edge of thought.
Cynthia stepped inside.
The door vanished behind her.
Memory. Vision. Time and Space.
A voice echoed through her bones.
"You walk between what was and what may yet be."
She turned.
And saw herself.
Younger.
Back in the camp.
Skylar stood across from her, smiling gently. His Ralts glowing, her Gible roaring.
"You won that match," Cynthia whispered to her younger self.
"But you never forgot the look in his eyes."
"Why do you fight, child of Solaceon?" the voice asked. "What drives you toward the fire that consumes stars?"
Cynthia clenched her fists.
Images flashed.
Skylar battling Darkrai.Skylar collapsed in Misty's arms.The corrupted mountain.The ruined tower.And Skylar's smile, always steady, even when blood stained his coat.
"Because I saw the future," she said."And I'll fight to stand beside him… even if the sky breaks."
The shrine shook.
The air cracked.
From nothing, two shadows appeared:
One with a sapphire spiral, eyes glowing like shifting tides—Palkia.
The other, armored in cobalt and thunder, echoing clocks with every step—Dialga.
They roared in tandem.
And from behind them, light itself formed a golden ring—in its center, an eye of truth:
Arceus.
Cynthia didn't bow.
She stepped forward.
"I ask not for power," she said. "Only to protect what matters."
"Then rise," came the voice. "And let the veil test your resolve."
The sky cracked.
Time split.
Space turned sideways.
Cynthia screamed silently as her body fell in every direction.
Her spirit unraveled.
She became a flicker of memory—of a child in ruins.
Of a warrior in ash.
Of a woman holding Skylar's hand as the stars burned around them.
And still—
She reached forward.
Her hand never stopped.
The veil stopped trembling.
Cynthia stood once more.
Breathing hard.
But still whole.
The golden light faded.
And in its place, at her feet…
A single object remained:
A silver pendant.
Shaped like the intertwined spirals of Dialga and Palkia.
An ancient relic.
A gift.
A mark of passage.
The shrine doors reopened.
The elder woman waited.
"You passed."
Cynthia stepped into the snow, eyes burning like starlight.
"When the time comes," the woman said, "the gods will answer your call."
Cynthia looked down the mountain.
Toward the distant roads below.
Where Skylar's aura still burned like fire.
And for the first time in weeks—
She smiled.