The ruins of Dragonspiral Tower burned with twilight fire. Crimson clouds swirled in the distance, glowing with the fading heat of battle. The cries of Pokémon echoed against the cracked stone, and Hilda—torn jacket, scuffed boots, hair wind-tangled beneath her cap—stood in the middle of it all, panting, fists trembling around a Poké Ball.

The Shadow Triad were retreating now, their Zoroark illusions unraveling into black mist. N’s army had scattered when she and her team cut through their front line, but the cost had been heavy. Her Samurott limped beside her, bloodied but defiant, its shell sword still gleaming.

“Come on,” she whispered, voice hoarse from shouting commands. “We’re not done yet.”

But even as she said it, her gaze drifted upward—to the dark horizon where she once saw you vanish months ago. You’d left without a word, following a trail of legends and fire, saying only that you had to “find the truth.” Since then, no message. No call. No glimpse of your face.

And yet… every time she saw the sky burn white, every time a gust of warmth swept over Unova, she felt her heart skip. Because that light—the heat of it—always reminded her of you.

A sudden tremor rattled the ground. The clouds split open. A roar rolled across the heavens—deep, ancient, unmistakable.

Hilda froze.

From the heart of the storm, white fire erupted like dawn breaking through the end of the world. Reshiram’s wings unfurled, each beat scattering embers across the sky. The air shimmered, radiant and alive, and on its back—riding tall and silent—was you.

You didn’t shout. You didn’t wave. You didn’t need to. Your expression, calm and wordless as ever, said everything.

Hilda’s knees nearly gave out. “Y–You…” Her voice cracked, a half-laugh, half-sob escaping her. “You actually came back…”