The Lumora Library loomed ahead, its towering glass and stone fa?ade shimmering in the afternoon light like a beacon of intellect. Isabelle’s pace slowed as she took it all in—the carved stone depicting Legendary Pokémon locked in battle or harmony, the intricate vines that spiraled through ancient symbols she couldn’t hope to understand. It wasn’t just a library; it was a monument, a place that seemed to whisper, Come in, but only if you dare to know more.

  She felt her bag’s strap dig into her shoulder as she muttered, “Why does it feel like I need an appointment just to step inside?”

  Her mental projection materialized beside her, this time in a sharp librarian outfit—a pencil skirt, a prim blouse, and glasses that reflected the sunlight so perfectly they obscured her eyes entirely. She carried a stack of books that teetered precariously, but her posture was immaculate. “Please lower your voice, Isabelle,” the projection intoned with crisp professionalism. “This is a library, a sacred haven for decorum and whispered knowledge.”

  “It’s not even a library yet. We’re outside,” Isabelle whispered back, though her voice had unconsciously dropped a notch.

  Milo, walking ahead, turned to glance at her, clearly having heard her muttering. “You’ll get used to it,” he said, adjusting his messenger bag. “Just stick by me. It’s easy to get overwhelmed your first time.”

  “I’m not overwhelmed,” Isabelle replied quickly, though she tightened her grip on her bag.

  “Yes, of course,” her mental projection said, expertly balancing the stack of books as it began to glide beside her. “Not overwhelmed. Just slightly daunted, mildly intimidated, and definitely wishing this bag didn’t weigh five tons.”

  Isabelle ignored it, her eyes shifting to the shimmering fountain near the entrance, where water cascaded in perfect arcs. The statues of Unown circling its base seemed to watch her. She muttered, “Verdantia’s library could fit in that fountain.”

  Milo didn’t pause, walking steadily toward the library doors. “Don’t worry,” he said without looking back. “You’ll appreciate the scale once we’re inside. It’s all very intuitive.”

  Her projection straightened its stack of books with an exaggerated ahem. “Intuitive, yes. For seasoned visitors like him. For the uninitiated, a labyrinth. Beware, dear traveler.”

  Isabelle huffed, picking up her pace to follow Milo. “I’m not a small-town bumpkin, you know. I’ve seen a library before.”

  The projection tilted its head slightly, the gleam of its glasses almost condescending. “Ah yes, the grand halls of Verdantia’s humble library. The bookshelf. Singular.”

  Isabelle shot a glare at the air in front of her, which Milo noticed. “Are you… talking to yourself?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

  Isabelle sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “No, I’m not talking to myself. I’m, uh… thinking out loud. It’s a thing. Totally normal.”

  Milo gave her a skeptical glance, adjusting his glasses as they reached the towering double doors of the Lumora Library. “Right. Just… maybe keep it down. People will think you’re a little—” He paused, searching for the least offensive word. “Unhinged.”

  Her mental projection materialized beside her, clutching its imaginary pearls in mock offense. “Unhinged? The nerve of this boy. Shall we lecture him on the merits of creative problem-solving, or simply let him wallow in his ignorance?”

  “Not helping,” Isabelle muttered under her breath, shooting an annoyed look at her projection before realizing Milo was still watching her. She forced a smile. “Let’s just get inside.”

  The library doors slid open with a faint hum, revealing a grand atrium bathed in warm golden light. Polished marble floors reflected the glow from crystalline chandeliers that hung like inverted galaxies. Rows of towering bookshelves stretched to the ceiling, interspersed with holographic displays that shimmered with images of Legendary Pokémon, rotating maps, and timelines of Virelia’s history.

  “Whoa…” Isabelle whispered, craning her neck to take it all in.

  Her projection crossed its arms, adopting a studious pose. “A temple of knowledge. Reverence, Isabelle. Try not to embarrass us.”

  “Intuitive, huh?” Isabelle said to Milo, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “This place looks like it has its own zip code.”

  Milo ignored her, already scanning the signs hanging above the pathways that branched off into different wings. “Lore Wing’s that way,” he said, pointing to an archway adorned with carvings of Legendary Pokémon. Above it, glowing letters spelled out Historical Myths and Origins.

  “Of course it is,” Isabelle said, trailing after him. “Just follow the glowing letters. Totally intuitive.”

  As they entered the Lore Wing, the atmosphere shifted. The air felt cooler, and the soft hum of holograms filled the space. Displays floated above the shelves, depicting key moments in history: Arceus shaping the universe, the Legendary Beasts protecting Johto, and the Forces of Nature in Virelia’s skies. Each hologram narrated its story, the voices rich and resonant.

  Isabelle paused, watching a holographic Rayquaza spiral gracefully through the air. Its deep voice echoed around her. “In the skies above Hoenn, I restored balance between land and sea…”

  “Don’t get distracted,” Milo called back, already heading toward a sleek, futuristic terminal. “We need to pick a topic, remember?”

  Isabelle tore her eyes away from Rayquaza, muttering, “Killjoy,” and jogged to catch up.

  As she approached the terminal, a librarian stepped out from behind one of the towering shelves. The woman was tall and elegant, with silvery hair tied into a sleek bun. She wore a tailored uniform in deep blue and gold, the library’s crest embroidered on her lapel. Her eyes, a piercing gray, seemed to take in everything at once.

  “Welcome to the Lore Wing,” she said, her voice soft but commanding. “Do you require assistance?”

  Milo, ever efficient, spoke first. “We’re here for research. A school project on Virelia’s history.”

  The librarian nodded, her gaze shifting to Isabelle, who suddenly felt very small under the woman’s intense scrutiny.

  “You’re new here,” the librarian observed. “First time in the Lumora Library?”

  Isabelle cleared her throat. “Uh, yeah. First time. But, you know, I’ve been to other libraries.” Her voice trailed off as her mental projection appeared beside her, holding up a comically small book labeled Verdantia Library’s Entire Collection.

  The librarian’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of amusement. “Well, if you need guidance, don’t hesitate to ask. The terminals are user-friendly, but the archives can be overwhelming for first-timers.” She gestured to the sleek, glowing terminal Milo was already typing into. “These will help you navigate.”

  “Thanks,” Isabelle said, feeling both grateful and mildly intimidated.

  The librarian nodded once, then glided away, her movements as fluid as the library’s design. Isabelle watched her go, impressed. “She’s like… the final boss of librarians.”

  “Focus,” Milo said, not looking up from the terminal. “We’re burning daylight.”

  Isabelle leaned against the terminal, letting out an exaggerated sigh as she waved her hand at the AR interface. “Okay, fresh air in, bad vibes out,” she muttered to herself. “Let’s get that good academic oxygen flowing straight into my nostrils. Wheeze. Ah, yes. Public spaces. My favorite.”

  Milo glanced up from his own terminal, one eyebrow arching just slightly. “Are you okay, or are we in a full mental breakdown already? Because we’ve barely started.”

  “Barely started?” Isabelle exclaimed, gesturing at the seemingly infinite rows of glowing data files floating before her. “This is a lot, Milo. Look at this place! It’s practically humming with the collective stress of a million past nerds. I can’t—there’s just—too much knowledge in one room. It’s oppressive.”

  Her mental projection appeared behind her, wearing an elegant historian’s robe, complete with an over-the-top feathered quill. “Too much knowledge in one room,” it repeated, shaking its head. “Yes, Isabelle, clearly the library is the villain here. Surely, the solution is to breathe loudly and panic. Very productive.”

  Isabelle ignored her projection, jabbing at the air as she navigated the holograms. “How do you even do this, Milo? Like, your brain is wired for this kind of stuff. Mine’s wired for… I don’t know, small-town gossip and barely passing math.”

  Milo’s fingers tapped smoothly across his keyboard, the holograms shifting seamlessly under his control. He didn’t even look up. “Just focus on keywords. The system filters things for you. It’s not rocket science.”

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  “Not rocket science, he says,” Isabelle muttered, waving her hand again and opening a new file labeled Elemental Forces of Virelia: A Complete Guide. “It’s practically AI-driven, he says. And yet here I am, drowning in the deep end while you’re doing laps like it’s your private pool.”

  Milo sighed, straightening his glasses. “You’re the one who insisted on splitting the work. If you’d rather, I can just—”

  “No!” Isabelle cut him off, holding up a hand dramatically. “Don’t you dare try to carry the whole team. This is a partnership, okay? I’m just… finding my rhythm.”

  Her projection spun a holographic globe beside her, flicking it dismissively. “Ah yes, the rhythm of chaos. Flopping is a style, I suppose.”

  “I heard that,” Isabelle hissed at no one in particular.

  Milo gave her a sidelong glance. “You’re muttering to yourself again.”

  Isabelle stiffened, her face turning pink. “No, I’m not.”

  “You absolutely are,” Milo said, turning back to his work. “It’s fine. Just… try to keep it down before someone thinks you’ve lost it.”

  “Someone like you?” Isabelle grumbled, scrolling through an archive of Virelia’s ancient Pokémon myths. “Whatever. Let’s just find a topic before my brain short-circuits.”

  The Lore Wing was alive with quiet activity. Trainers and scholars strolled between displays, holograms of Legendary Pokémon narrating their tales in soft, reverent tones. Isabelle’s eyes darted to a shimmering projection of Kyogre battling Groudon, its narration echoing faintly. Another display showcased the Forces of Nature, with Tornadus and Thundurus circling each other in an endless loop.

  “Hey, what about this?” Isabelle asked, gesturing to the Forces of Nature display. “We could do something on the connection between weather patterns and Pokémon habitats.”

  Milo didn’t even look up from his screen. “Too broad. Narrow it down. Specific incidents, artifacts, or theories—something we can actually explain.”

  Her projection, now dressed in a lab coat with a clipboard, nodded solemnly. “Yes, Isabelle. Narrow it down. Perhaps to a single blade of grass in a single storm cloud. Would that be specific enough for Professor Overachiever?”

  “Don’t you start,” Isabelle muttered at the projection. She turned back to Milo. “Okay, fine. How about that ‘Storm’s Beacon’ thing? It’s supposed to control weather or something.”

  Milo paused, tilting his head slightly. “That could work. Artifacts are always interesting. People like tangible connections to history. Look it up.”

  Isabelle swiped through the AR interface, the glowing files rotating lazily around her like a carousel of overwhelming academic expectation. She dragged one forward, labeled Storm’s Beacon: Myth or Artifact?, and prodded it open. The hologram expanded, revealing a 3D image of the Beacon itself—gleaming like a crystalline tuning fork, etched with intricate swirling patterns that seemed to hum faintly even in their digital form.

  She leaned closer, her brow furrowing. Huh… it’s shinier than I thought. Isabelle poked at the image, rotating it slowly. “So, let me get this straight,” she said, pointing at the projection. “Someone dug this up, saw a shiny thing with squiggles, and thought, ‘Oh, this must control the weather.’ Genius. Absolute genius.”

  Milo, still engrossed in his own terminal, glanced over with a sigh. “You’re oversimplifying. The glyphs match patterns found in other regions, and there’s historical precedent for artifacts like this being tied to Legendary Pokémon. It’s not as random as you think.”

  Oh, I’m sorry, Professor, she thought, throwing up her hands in her mind. Didn’t realize I was supposed to trust the word of people who see swirls on a rock and think, ‘This must summon the God of Thunder.’

  Her mental projection materialized beside her, now sporting an exaggerated researcher outfit complete with thick goggles and a comically large magnifying glass. Ah yes, the definitive authority on ancient civilizations: Isabelle, Skeptic of Swirly Things.

  “Fine, fine,” Isabelle muttered aloud, dragging the Beacon’s diagram closer. She tapped at one of the glyphs, and a sidebar lit up, explaining their supposed connection to Tornadus’ ability to manipulate storms. “It says here… ‘The winds obey.’ Okay, that’s dramatic. But still, Milo, this isn’t exactly concrete proof. I could write that on a sticky note and slap it on Azzy’s tail. Doesn’t mean she can summon hurricanes.”

  Milo sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not about concrete proof—it’s about building a case. Artifacts like this are pieces of a puzzle. And right now, you’re making fun of the puzzle without even looking at all the pieces.”

  Sure, okay. Let’s announce my incompetence to the world. Isabelle let out an exaggerated mental sigh. Hi, I’m Isabelle Moreau, drowning in the shallow end of the knowledge pool. Please save me.

  Her projection perched smugly on the edge of the holographic display, crossing its legs as it adjusted a pair of luminous spectacles. Yes, announce it. Or, alternatively, consider that you’re doing fine and stop whining. Novel concept.

  Isabelle ignored it, flipping through additional diagrams. One image caught her eye—a faded map overlay of Azure Bay City, with a marker denoting the supposed discovery site of the Beacon. She frowned, tilting her head. “Wait, they’re saying this thing is on display in Azure Bay? Like… right now?”

  Milo glanced at her terminal and nodded. “Yeah, there’s an exhibit there. It’s supposed to be one of the museum’s highlights.”

  “That’s weird,” Isabelle said, leaning closer to the map. “I mean, they make it sound like it’s just a historical curiosity, but doesn’t it look like…” She gestured vaguely at the shape of the Beacon, her finger tracing the lines of the hologram. “Like it’s… part of something? I don’t know. Like this isn’t the whole picture.”

  Milo straightened, now paying more attention. He leaned closer to her display, his light blue eyes narrowing. “Huh. You might be onto something.” He swiped at the image, enlarging the Beacon’s shape. “The base does look… incomplete. Almost like it’s supposed to connect to something else.”

  Her projection smirked, now wielding a laser pointer like a sword. Ladies and gentlemen, behold: Isabelle, accidental genius. Quick, someone document this historic moment.

  “I’m just saying what I see,” Isabelle muttered, feeling an odd flutter in her chest as she stared at the artifact. Something about it felt… familiar, though she couldn’t explain why. But if it’s in Azure Bay, why does it feel like it’s not supposed to be there?

  Miles away, in the heart of Kairoku City, the Beacon rested not in an exhibit but within a high-security chamber deep inside the Pokémon League’s headquarters. The room was a sterile, metallic expanse, bathed in dim blue light. The artifact sat on a raised pedestal encased in a transparent energy field, its crystalline surface pulsing faintly with a rhythm that seemed alive.

  The chamber buzzed softly with the hum of machinery. Multiple monitors surrounded the pedestal, displaying streams of data and readings that constantly fluctuated. A team of researchers, dressed in the League’s official uniform, moved efficiently around the room, their expressions tense.

  “Energy levels are stable,” one technician murmured, her hands hovering over a glowing control panel. “But the fluctuations in elemental resonance are increasing. We’ll need to recalibrate before we run another test.”

  A tall figure, cloaked in shadow, stood at the edge of the room, observing the activity. His gaze was fixed on the Beacon, the faint pulse of its glow reflecting in his cold eyes. “It’s more than a relic,” he said quietly, his voice a low rumble. “It’s a conduit. A key. And we’re only scratching the surface of what it can do.”

  Isabelle shivered suddenly, her fingers pausing mid-swipe. Did it just get colder in here, or is that just me?

  Her projection, now draped in an explorer’s cloak, examined the hologram critically. Perhaps because it’s clearly more than a shiny weather stick, dear Isabelle. Or maybe you’re just easily spooked. Both are valid theories.

  “Shut up,” Isabelle whispered, glaring at the projection. She shook her head and tried to focus. “Okay, so we’ve got a supposedly magical artifact, glyphs that might as well say ‘Insert Drama Here,’ and an exhibit I’m guessing doesn’t even have the real thing.”

  “What makes you say that?” Milo asked, curious.

  “I don’t know,” Isabelle admitted, her voice softening. “Just… a hunch. Like this thing isn’t where it’s supposed to be. Like someone’s hiding it.”

  Milo tilted his head slightly, his fingers pausing on the AR terminal. “You’re skeptical,” he said matter-of-factly, his tone neutral but observant. “Not a bad trait for research, but let’s focus on what we know, not what we’re imagining.”

  Her mental projection appeared beside her, now in a snappy detective coat with a magnifying glass in hand, peering dramatically at the screen. Focus, Isabelle. Because clearly, your wild speculations are not appreciated in this temple of logic.

  “Fine,” Isabelle muttered, shaking her head as if to clear the nagging thoughts. She gestured toward the text file on the Beacon. “So, what do we actually know? A shiny tuning fork with swirly marks, found somewhere near Azure Bay—supposedly—and connected to Tornadus. Great. Let’s just slap ‘mystery solved’ on it and call it a day.”

  Milo sighed, adjusting his glasses. “You’re better at this than you give yourself credit for.”

  Isabelle blinked, caught off guard. “Wait… are you praising me?” A grin started to creep across her face. “Milo Tanner, the walking textbook, thinks I’m smart—”

  “Nope.” Milo’s interruption was swift and decisive. “I said you’re better than you give yourself credit for. Not a genius. Don’t get carried away.”

  Isabelle’s grin widened anyway. “Sounds like praise to me.”

  Milo’s expression didn’t budge, though a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested he was suppressing a reaction. “Can we get back to the project?”

  Isabelle groaned, pulling up another file. “Fine, fine. Let’s dig into this connection to Tornadus and see if it leads anywhere useful. But for the record, I’m still claiming that shiny artifacts are overrated.”

  “You can claim whatever you want,” Milo said dryly. “As long as we get this done.”

  The pair continued working, their banter softening into focused concentration as they sifted through the archives. The Lore Wing’s atmosphere wrapped around them like a quiet cocoon, the holograms glowing faintly against the polished stone walls.

  Unbeknownst to Isabelle and Milo, a shadow slipped quietly among the towering shelves of the Lore Wing. The faint glow of the holograms cast fleeting light on a figure clad in a dark uniform, the prominent “E” stitched onto their sleeve catching the faint luminescence. A Gastly hovered near their shoulder, its wide, unsettling grin blending with the surrounding shadows.

  The grunt moved with purpose, their eyes scanning for something beyond the public exhibits. Their focus wasn’t on the curious students at the terminals, but on a specific door marked Restricted Access. The faint flicker of a security panel glowed beside it, casting an ominous light across their determined expression.

  Gastly giggled faintly, its gaseous body swirling in anticipation as the grunt reached into their pocket and produced a small device. They began working swiftly, their movements precise and calculated. Whatever they sought wasn’t meant for public eyes—and certainly not for Isabelle or Milo, who remained engrossed in their project, unaware of the shadows weaving through the library’s secrets.

  The faint sound of the panel chirping softly echoed through the otherwise quiet space. As the door slid open, the grunt disappeared into the restricted section, the Gastly’s eerie form trailing behind like a wisp of smoke.

  The library’s hum continued uninterrupted, its secrets waiting to be uncovered—by those who sought knowledge, or by those who sought to exploit it.