Following the old merchant's directions, Enzo made his way through the snow-covered streets until he reached the house where Peony was supposed to live.
It was easy enough to spot.
The place had the same rough, practical feel as the rest of Freezington, but there was something a little noisier about it.
Tools leaned against one side of the wall, and a mining pick rested near the door. Muddy boot marks were frozen into the snow outside, old enough to have gathered frost around the edges.
Enzo stepped up to the door and knocked.
For a while, nothing happened.
Then, noise came from inside.
A heavy thud, something scraping, then a muttered curse.
It continued long enough that Enzo began to wonder if the man had simply fallen and died on the way to answer.
Eventually, the door swung open.
Peony stood there in full mining gear—broad-shouldered, weathered, and built like a man who had spent most of his life either underground or arguing with mountains.
His clothes were practical, worn, and heavy enough for both cold and labor. The lamp fixed to his helmet was unlit for now, but the pickaxe leaning just behind the doorway made it clear he was ready to go back out at any moment. His thick beard and rough face gave him the appearance of a grim man, but there was too much restless life in his eyes for that.
He looked Enzo up and down once, then he grinned.
"Well now," Peony said. "That's a face I haven't seen before. Come on in; there's no point in freezing out there."
Enzo stepped inside at once, mildly surprised by how quickly the man had welcomed him. Compared to the rest of the village, the difference was immediate. Most people in Freezington regarded outsiders as though they were bad weather with legs. Peony, on the other hand, seemed genuinely pleased to see someone new.
The interior of the house was warm, cluttered, and filled with the kind of things only a man obsessed with old stories and strange finds would keep lying around. Mining tools shared space with maps, old notes, unusual rocks, framed sketches, and shelves cluttered with dusty objects that looked half-valuable and half-ridiculous. It was not the house of a careful collector; it was the home of a man who had encountered too many interesting things and refused to throw any of them away.
Peony shut the door behind him and turned back around.
"So," he said, folding his arms, "what brings you to my door?"
Enzo took in the room and then let his eyes settle back on the older man.
"I heard you were one of the best miners in the area," he said. "I thought it might be worth meeting you."
Peony barked a laugh.
"That line might work on someone else," he said. "But you're no miner, and you never will be." He narrowed his eyes slightly, still smiling but with a sense of shrewdness. "So stop messing around. Why are you really here?"
That caught Enzo off guard more than he had anticipated.
The man was quite observant.
Enzo let out a small breath through his nose and gave the slightest nod.
"Fair enough," he said. "You're right. I'm not here because I care about mining."
Peony waited for him to continue.
"But I did hear," Enzo continued, lowering his voice slightly, "that even if we don't share a passion for stone, we might have a taste for something else."
Peony's eyes narrowed with interest.
"Oh?"
"Legends," Enzo replied.
That was all it took.
Peony's expression shifted instantly, transforming from suspicion to an eager curiosity that made him seem almost younger.
"Go on," he urged.
Enzo continued.
"I heard that someone here in Freezington possesses something rare. Something ancient."
For a moment, Peony merely stared at him in silence.
Then, he burst out laughing—full, loud, and delighted.
"My friend," he said, still grinning, "you've been tricked. You must be talking about old Wiggins."
Enzo maintained his composure.
"Wiggins?"
Peony waved a hand dismissively.
"She's an old woman who's been living out here for years. She claims to have the feather of a legendary bird."
Enzo didn't blink or reveal any emotion on his face, but inside, his thoughts became completely still. This was the reason he had come here. Not for a fake feather or the feather of a minor legendary creature—something rare and expensive, yet still possible to find with enough money, patience, and connections.
No, this was something entirely different. A feather from a true legendary being.
In his previous life, a Team Rocket operative had managed to acquire that exact feather from an old woman in this frozen village and had become incredibly wealthy after reselling it.
That alone conveyed everything Enzo needed to know. If Peony was referring to the same woman, then this was not just a local myth or a senile old fool's treasure. It was real.
Enzo stood perfectly still, a calm confidence radiating from him. He maintained his focus, not letting even a blink betray his thoughts.
With a casual tilt of his head, a hint of curiosity danced in his eyes. "And this Wiggins," Enzo inquired, genuine interest in his voice, "she really has it?"
His enthusiasm was palpable, filled with hope and determination as he anticipated what was to come.
Peony snorted.
"She says she does." He scratched at his beard.
Enzo was about to ask where the woman lived, but he stopped himself before the question could escape his lips, being too eager could be dangerous in this situation.
Peony had already seen through the mining lie in seconds, which meant that pressing her now would only raise her suspicions.
So, Enzo leaned back slightly and let a hint of disappointment creep into his voice.
"So, I came all this way for nothing?"
Peony laughed again.
"Oh, completely. That old woman is half mad." Then he paused. "Though, to be fair, she isn't the only one around here with an eye for strange things."
That got Enzo's attention.
Peony was already digging into one of his coat pockets.
"Truth be told, I probably shouldn't be showing this to just anyone," he muttered, pulling out a folded bundle of old papers and photographs. "But if you're here chasing legends, you might appreciate this more than the rest of the villagers do."
He spread a few of them out on the table.
"These," Peony said proudly, "are pieces of evidence. Proof. Legendary Pokémon in the Crown Tundra. Not just stories."
Enzo stepped closer, his expectations set for sketches of the Regis, perhaps one of the old birds or local cave markings tied to ancient myths.
Instead, Peony held up a weathered photograph and tapped it with a rough finger.
"This one," he said. "This is my rarest."
Enzo looked down, and for the first time in several minutes, his control nearly slipped again.
It was Zacian.
Not a sketch, not a crude imitation, and not one of those fanciful old drawings made by peasants from stories.
An actual image. Faded, yes. Old, yes. But unmistakable. In the picture, the legendary wolf stood in profile, staring at a man holding a sword.
Enzo lifted his eyes slowly.
"Where did you get this?"
Peony puffed up slightly, pleased with Enzo's reaction.
"Found it in a ruin inside a cave. Proper find, that one. Amazing, isn't it?"
Enzo took out his phone and quickly captured the image, careful not to appear too eager while doing so.
Peony, meanwhile, was already grinning like a man who had just found a new conversation partner.
"Actually," he said, "you should save my number too. If you ever find anything like this, send it to me. I love this sort of thing."
Enzo nodded at once.
"Sure!"
They exchanged numbers, and Peony looked absurdly pleased about it, as if he had just made a new friend instead of handing information to a stranger with potentially dangerous levels of self-control.
Then, the older man gestured toward the window.
"Tell you what," he said. "I'd ignore old Wiggins if I were you. But if you insist on wasting your time, her house is the yellow one at the far end of the village."
Enzo watched where Peony was pointing with his eyes.
"Thanks for that," Enzo said.
Peony raised a finger at him and added, "Make sure to tell her I sent you. She has a bit of a soft spot for me."
That information was certainly helpful.
Enzo smiled slightly. "I appreciate it. That could save me some hassle."
"Maybe not," Peony replied cheerfully. "She can be quite moody."
Enzo tucked his phone away.
"By the way," Peony said, almost forgetting, "what should I call you?"
Without hesitation, Enzo replied, "Eric."
Peony instantly reached out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Eric."
Enzo shook his hand.
"If you ever need anything," Peony offered, "just let me know."
"Thanks, Peony," Enzo said.
With that, Enzo stepped back out into the chilly air. The door clicked shut behind him as the wind blew through the village once more.
Finally.
Adjusting his coat and trying to look calm and unremarkable, Enzo began walking toward her house through the icy street.
The yellow house stood near the far end of the village, a little apart from the others, with snow gathered thick along the edges of the roof and around the crooked little fence in front of it.
Enzo stepped up to the door and knocked.
Nothing.
He waited, hands in his coat pockets, breath fogging faintly in the cold.
Still nothing.
He knocked again, a little louder this time.
For a few long seconds, there was only silence. Then, at last, a sharp old voice called from somewhere inside.
"Who is it?"
Enzo straightened slightly and put on the most respectful, well-behaved tone he could manage.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Wiggins. Mr. Peony sent me to speak with you."
Silence again, a long silence.
Long enough for Enzo to wonder whether she had simply decided not to answer after all. He could eventually hear movement, though. Slow movement. Something dragging. A muttered complaint. The sound of locks being handled with the kind of deliberate slowness only old people and suspicious people ever seemed to master.
The door opened just enough for one sharp eye to examine him.
Then a little more.
Old Wiggins stood there, wrapped in so many layers that she looked half-built from blankets and bad temper. Her face was lined, severe, and immediately distrustful, the kind of face that had spent years assuming the worst and had probably been right often enough to keep doing it. Her eyes moved over him with open suspicion.
"Peony sent you?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am," Enzo replied politely.
Her expression hardened.
"Oh, that fool sent you here to laugh at me, did he?"
Enzo kept his face calm.
"No, ma'am. Nothing like that. He only mentioned that you might have something unusual, and I was interested."
She narrowed her eyes further, clearly unconvinced.
"Interested," she repeated, as if the word itself offended her.
"Yes, ma'am."
Another long pause followed while she judged him.
Then, with obvious reluctance, she stepped back from the doorway.
"Well, come in then. No point letting the cold in for free."
Enzo stepped inside.
The house was exactly what he had expected and somehow worse in every direction. It was old, overheated, and thick with the smell of a place that had been shut for too many winters. The air carried traces of old fabric, stale tea, wood polish, and something faintly medicinal.
Too many things filled the room. Embroidered cloths hung over chairs and tables. Boxes were stacked beneath sideboards. Old kettles sat beside framed photographs, yellowed with age. Shelves groaned beneath trinkets, folded fabrics, cracked porcelain, and enough miscellaneous clutter to make the entire place feel as though it had been slowly buried by its own memories.
It was suffocating.
And watching him from the far side of the room was a Perrserker.
The Pokémon was sprawled across the back of a chair like some badly mannered metal gremlin, one eye half shut until Enzo entered. Then it opened the other and fixed him with a long, unwelcoming stare that felt more judgmental than curious.
Enzo glanced at it and allowed himself a faint smile.
"I see you also have good taste in partners."
Wiggins snorted sharply as she shuffled farther into the room.
"You can save the flattery. The price is not going down."
That got his attention immediately.
So she did mean to sell.
Good.
He kept his expression mild and followed her toward the table without rushing. Perrserker continued to watch him the entire time, as if waiting for one wrong move so it could decide he was not worth keeping alive.
Wiggins lowered herself into a chair with a long, complaining sigh and pointed at the one opposite her.
"Sit."
Enzo did.
For a second, neither of them spoke. The room clicked and creaked softly around them, while the kettle, somewhere in the back, gave off the faint sound of heat settling into metal.
Then Wiggins looked at him again.
"Well?" she asked. "What exactly did that idiot Peony tell you?"
"Only that you might have something rare," Enzo replied. "And that if I wanted to waste my time, I should come see for myself."
That made her lips twitch very slightly, though whether with annoyance or amusement he could not tell.
She pushed herself back to her feet with visible irritation, muttering under her breath about fools, then disappeared into another room.
Enzo sat still.
Perrserker did not stop staring.
After a short wait, Wiggins returned carrying a small wooden box in both hands. The box itself was old, worn smooth at the corners, and carefully maintained despite its age. She set it down on the table between them with far more care than she had shown anything else in the house.
That alone told him enough.
"This is it take a look," she said.
Then she opened it.
Inside, laid against dark cloth, was a feather.
This was different.
This was real, that was a part of a true legendary.
The moment Enzo saw it, something inside him locked into place.
The shape was wrong for anything ordinary. The texture was too clean, too sharp, too alive in a way dead things were not supposed to be.
Even resting motionless in an old wooden box, it carried a presence that did not belong in a normal room on a normal table in a forgotten village at the edge of a frozen region.
And then the System stirred.
Not loudly. Not with a full window. Just a faint, precise pulse at the edge of his awareness, enough to confirm what his eyes had already understood.
Galarian Zapdos's feather.
Enzo felt the shock hit him hard enough to hollow his chest for half a second.
He had come all the way out here for this, and now it was lying in front of him in an old box on an old table in an old woman's crowded house.
On the outside, he did not let a single thing show.
His expression remained controlled, thoughtful, interested, but not desperate.
Wiggins, meanwhile, watched him like a hawk.
"Well?" she asked. "You've gone quiet."
Enzo let his eyes rest on the feather a moment longer, then looked back up at her with measured calm.
"It is certainly unusual," he said.
Wiggins clicked her tongue.
"Unusual," she repeated. "That is what people say when they do not know whether they are looking at treasure or rubbish."
Enzo gave the slightest smile.
"And which one do you think it is?"
Her old eyes sharpened.
"I think that if you came all the way to my door for it, then you already know the answer," she said.
When Enzo finally asked the price, old Wiggins straightened in her chair with the pride of someone who had spent years waiting for the world to recognize the treasure in her possession.
She puffed herself up, looked down at him as if she were doing him a favor simply by speaking to him, and named her number with all the gravity of a queen setting the value of a crown jewel.
"Five thousand."
Enzo did not react, he did not blink, did not shift in his seat, did not let even the smallest spark of interest show on his face.
But inside, he nearly collapsed. Five thousand... For an item like this, that number was beyond cheap. It was beyond reasonable. It was so absurdly low that it barely even felt like a price.
In his past life, one Team Rocket member had become unbelievably rich after reselling it, that alone said enough.
Unfortunately for Wiggins, she read his silence in the worst possible way.
Her face tightened.
She leaned forward, squinting at him as if trying to decide whether she had asked too much, then clicked her tongue and lowered the price before he even had to speak.
"Four thousand. And not a Pokédollar less."
That almost made him laugh.
Not because it was funny, but because the deal had somehow become even more absurd.
"Fine," he said.
Wiggins still looked suspicious, almost offended by how easily he accepted, but greed won out over doubt soon enough.
Enzo calmly reached into his bag, counted out the money, and placed it on the table. The old woman snatched the notes at once and counted them with sharp, greedy little movements, checking the full amount twice as if she trusted neither him nor arithmetic.
Only when she was fully satisfied did she shove the box across the table toward him.
"There. Done."
Enzo took it with steady hands, careful not to move too quickly, then closed the lid and slipped the box into his bag. The moment the feather was secured, Wiggins made a dismissive gesture toward the door, already treating him like an inconvenience whose purpose had been fulfilled.
"Well? Off with you, then. Sale's done."
Enzo rose from his chair with the same polite calm he had worn since entering the house. "Thank you for your time," he said, and without giving her any reason to look at him twice, he stepped back out into the freezing air with a fortune resting quietly inside his bag.
By the time Enzo left Freezington behind, the calm of the village was already fading from his mind.
The feather was secured. This part of the plan worked even better than he had hoped. Now, the crucial part was about to begin.
He moved quickly, there was no time for scenery now and no patience for reflection.
The train carried him back through Galar's polished veins with the same smooth efficiency as before, but this time Enzo barely looked out the window.
His thoughts were already elsewhere, focused on the one piece of knowledge that no one else in this timeline should possess.
In his previous life, something extraordinary had happened in the Galar Mine.
A true legendary Pokémon had laid an egg there, an event so rare that it should have shaken the entire world the moment it happened.
But it had not.
At the time, no one knew what had happened. Only later did some mine workers discover that something unusual had occurred when they found fragments of an eggshell deep within the lower tunnels.
By then, the egg had already hatched, the nest had already been abandoned, and whatever opportunity had existed was long gone.
Not this time.
This time, someone knew in advance.
Enzo knew.
And with that Zapdos feather, he now had the perfect plan.
He traveled to the Galar Mine south of Turffield. The entrance looked ordinary enough from the outside. Workers moved in and out, carts rattled along the rails, tools struck stone somewhere in the distance, and the whole place had the same rough industrial rhythm that every mine in every region seemed to produce.
Nothing about it suggested that somewhere below all of that dust and labor, something ancient and monstrous had chosen to nest.
Enzo stepped inside without hesitation.
The moment he crossed the threshold, his shadow stirred—not subtly. It rippled against the ground as if something within it had suddenly become alert. A second later, Sableye's head pushed halfway out from the darkness, its gemlike eyes immediately locking onto the glittering walls with open greed.
The mine was rich with exposed mineral lines; veins of crystal and ore caught the little light that existed and threw it back in fractured flashes. Sableye made an almost reverent sound.
Enzo did not even look down. "Concentrate."
The Pokémon froze. Slowly, it sank back into the shadow, though not before giving the walls one last miserable, hungry stare.
Enzo kept moving.
A few turns later, deeper inside and away from the busiest sections, he reached for a Poké Ball. "Zoroark."
The illusion fox emerged in a pulse of dark light, its crimson mane catching what little glow the mine offered. It landed lightly, immediately alert. Enzo wasted no time.
"Find the strongest concentration of dark energy in this place."
Zoroark gave a small nod and moved at once.
From that point on, Enzo let it lead. The fox moved through the mine with slow, deliberate steps, constantly analyzing the space around them. Its senses stretched through the tunnels, across the rails, through the stone, searching for the direction where the dark energy was densest.
Enzo followed in silence, paying close attention to the way Zoroark adjusted its path every few turns as if tracing an invisible current flowing deeper underground.
The farther they went, the lower the mine seemed to sink.
Soon, they were no longer just walking through tunnels. They were descending.
Then, without warning, Zoroark stopped.
Its whole body went rigid.
Enzo noticed it immediately.
"What is it?"
For a second, Zoroark said nothing. It simply stared downward, eyes fixed on the darkness below them with something far more serious than caution.
Then it finally answered.
"Below us."
Enzo's expression sharpened. "What about it?"
Zoroark slowly turned its head toward him, and for the first time since entering the mine, there was clear shock in its expression.
"There is a concentration of dark energy below us, unlike anything I have ever felt in my life," it said. "Something extremely dangerous."
Instead of fear, a sharp smile touched Enzo's face.
"Good," he said.
Then he reached for another Poké Ball.
"Houndoom."
The dark hound appeared beside him and almost instantly reacted the same way.
Not fear exactly, but hesitation. A stiffness. A primal recognition that whatever was below did not belong in a normal mine.
Houndoom lifted its head, sniffed once, then let out a low sound in its throat.
He crouched near the wall and thought quickly.
Going straight in would be stupid. He needed chaos, noise—a pull in the wrong direction, so he made one.
A little farther up one of the side shafts, he found exactly what he needed: storage containers for mine fuel and blasting materials. Nothing huge, nothing dramatic—just enough to create confusion in the right place if handled properly.
He looked at Zoroark. "A small breach. Nothing more."
Zoroark understood instantly. With careful claws and practiced control, it opened a thin puncture in one of the containers, just enough to let the liquid begin to spill. Enzo crouched low, guiding the slow trail along the stone floor, letting it snake toward a split in the tunnel where the ignition would send the force upward and outward rather than down.
Houndoom watched, already understanding its role.
When everything was in place, Enzo gave a single nod.
Houndoom's jaws opened.
A spark.
It touched the trail.
The reaction was immediate. Fire raced across the ground in a glowing line, vanished around the bend, and a heartbeat later, the mine roared.
The explosion slammed through the tunnels with brutal force. The ground shook. Dust burst from the ceiling. Somewhere above, men shouted. Alarms started blaring almost at once, metal screaming, workers yelling over each other as the entire upper section of the mine lurched into chaos.
At the same time, Enzo called another Pokémon.
"Krookodile!"
The black and red ground-type creature appeared beside him, already half snarling, half eager. Enzo pointed down. "Dig." It obeyed with savage efficiency.
Stone and dirt tore apart under its claws as it forced a path deeper, while the explosion above dragged every sane pair of eyes upward. Another blast sounded in the distance, probably fuel catching where he had hoped it would. More shouting. More tremors. Somewhere above, something powerful began moving fast toward the disturbance.
Perfect.
That meant they were looking the wrong way.
Krookodile broke through into a lower cavity with a final violent shove, and Enzo dropped down after it.
The air changed instantly.
He felt it before he even properly saw the space.
Darkness.
Not the ordinary kind.
A pressure soaked into the stone itself, old and foul and heavy enough to make the skin tighten. The hollow below was wider than he expected, almost like a hidden chamber carved out by time and corrupted by prolonged presence. The ground there was blackened, not with soot alone, but with residue, as if the entire place had been steeping in violent energy for days.
And at the center of it was the nest.
It was huge.
A mass of dark straw, scorched fibers, broken stone, and half-burned debris arranged into a shape that looked less built than clawed together by something fierce and half feral. The entire structure seemed steeped in dark energy. The edges were charred. The center still radiated warmth.
And inside it sat the egg, far larger than any normal egg had any right to be, the shell was dark, almost smoky in tone, with faint patterns that seemed to shift when viewed too long. It did not just sit in the nest. It dominated it.
Enzo stopped, for one second, all the noise of the mine, all the dust, all the danger, all the calculations vanished behind the sight of that single object.
His eyes lit up with the look of a man staring at something he should never have been allowed to touch.
"There you are," he whispered.
He acted immediately.
"Porygon Z. Prepare teleport."
The digital Pokémon emerged in a flare of unstable light and began locking onto the coordinates Enzo fed it.
At the same time, Enzo reached into his bag, pulled out the wooden box, and opened it to take out the feather of Galarian Zapdos.
Then Enzo stepped forward and placed the feather directly into the nest.
Its energy spread at once, subtle but real, mixing with the residue already saturating the chamber. Enough to mislead.
"Gengar."
The ghost slid out from his shadow in total silence.
Enzo lifted the egg carefully. Its weight shocked him. It was heavy, warm, and disturbingly alive in his hands, like holding a future disaster wrapped in a shell.
He passed it to Gengar.
"Hide it."
The ghost took it at once and sank backward into shadow, swallowing the prize whole without leaving even a trace visible.
Above them, another explosion thundered through the mine.
The nest chamber shook.
Dust rained from the ceiling.
And then, deeper in the dark, something screamed.
Not a human sound, not even close.
A monstrous cry tore through the stone with enough force to freeze the blood. Krookodile snarled. Zoroark's fur lifted. Even Houndoom took half a step back.
It knew.
"Now," Enzo snapped. Porygon Z completed the lock, and the world folded.
For one disorienting second, there was only distortion, light, static pressure, and the sensation of space being forced open around them. Then Enzo stumbled out onto hard ground well outside the critical zone, cold air slamming back into his lungs as reality snapped into place around him.
He did not hesitate.
Every Pokémon not actively needed was recalled at once, all gone in a rapid sequence of red lights, then he threw one final ball.
"Corviknight!" Enzo shouted.
Emerging with a loud metallic cry, the great steel bird lowered its body, letting Enzo climb onto its dark back before the summon fully settled.
"Fly, go, go!" Enzo urged.
Launching into the air and leaving the chaotic mountain behind, they heard a second monstrous cry echoing through the sky.
Sounding distant but furious, the roar was accompanied by a thunderous collapse of stone and metal.
Hearing the alarm bells blare wildly while workers shouted in pure panic as the mine collapsed, Enzo looked back only once, watching thick, violent waves of dust and smoke spill into the open sky.
Knowing he had actually succeeded in stealing something that should never have been touched replaced his simple feeling of victory with a creeping dread, realizing that something deep inside that mountain now knew its treasure had been taken.
Blurring together, the long escape route south pushed Enzo to travel through Hammerlocke, using trains and rapid transfers to reach Stow on Side. Passing the edge of Glimwood Tangle to navigate the glowing forest paths finally brought the thief back to Ballonlea.
Skipping any unnecessary detours or wasted conversation, Enzo headed straight toward the quiet hotel, approaching the front desk projecting pure confidence despite his overwhelming physical exhaustion.
"I have a reservation under the name Eric Lookgood," Enzo stated firmly.
Utilizing the specific fake alias previously secured by Ratchet and Ronnie to avoid any unwanted attention from the local staff.
The receptionist handed over the room key without asking anything, simply watching as Enzo left.
He locked the heavy wooden door behind him, feeling a wave of comfort and quiet wash over him.
As he took a deep breath in the stillness of the room, he noticed that his hands were still shaking from the rush of adrenaline.
He turned toward the darkest corner and spoke softly.
"Gengar."
The ghost emerged from the shadow like spilled ink returning to shape, and in its arms was the egg.
Gengar placed it carefully into his hands.
It was heavy.
Heavier than before, somehow, now that there was no danger to distract him from the reality of what he was holding. Warm too. Not with ordinary heat, but with a dense internal life that made the shell feel almost unreal beneath his fingers.
Enzo stared down at it, and slowly, a huge smile spread across his face.
"Finally," he whispered. "This time, you're mine."
Then the System stirred.
[ SYSTEM SCAN — TARGET IDENTIFIED ]
Specimen: Galarian Moltres (UNHATCHED)
Level: 0
Potential: LIGHT PURPLE
Ability: Berserk
Typing: Dark / Flying
Moves Detected: None
Obs: "A true legendary direct offspring. Dark energy saturation detected. Handle with extreme caution."
Enzo did not move, he just stood there in the quiet hotel room, the egg of Galarian Moltres in his hands.