Chapter Text
While he watched the Lady of the Mountains tend to her kits with a gentle claw, Ingo could not help the phantom grief that overcame him, faceless and unknown. It caught in his throat like so many words that escaped his understanding.
The image of the inside of his Noble's cave blurred for a moment, as Ingo found himself within his own memories, anything identifiable filed off, leaving them a riot of color and sense-memories devoid of context.
He was unsure if it was the sounds of baby pokemon or the soothing whines from Sneasler that felt familiar. Was he remembering a mother-pokemon he had aided in the past, or was this the ragged piecemeal memories of his own mother? Had he once held a child of his own, to sooth in such a way? The wheat-grasses of Sneasler's nest provided no answers, as he tore the leaves apart between his fingers.
The peeping of hatchlings pulled him back from the memory- or lack thereof. His lady barked an admonishment at his distraction, though there was no anger in the noise.
He set himself about the tracks of cleaning the egg-wet kit before him quickly, confident in his duties. He dipped his cloth once again into the fire-warmed water at his side before carefully clearing the whelping fluids from the kit’s eyes and nose.
In return the kit greeted the world with a shrill cry, pushing against Ingo’s hand with its small muzzle in a blind attempt to find its mother.
He returned the whining kit to the warmth of Lady Sneasler's nest quickly, feeling all the lighter as he watched the last of the spring-clutch settle.
The hatching season has always been the busiest time for the clan’s Wardens. Their duty to the noble lines had them fliting about their domains like as many Combee in preparation. Any lost heirs would reflect not only on themselves as caretakers, but on the clan as a whole.
Though Ingo knew many of his predecessors were less hands-on than himself. He had been told of the struggles previous wardens undertook to leave tenfold offerings in preparation for the season, and the months spent in prayer to sinnoh in anticipation for the pokemon’s return from their whelping-den. Ingo could not imagine the stress of waiting for his Nobles return a season later, with fully weaned younglings in tow.
Many in his clan had warned him prior to his first spring in his position, that brooding pokemon are oftentimes the most dangerous.
His own first thought to describe a brooding pokemon had been ‘clingy’. He was unsure where the descriptor had come from, but he had been correct. At least when it came to his lady’s behavior.
That first spring she had demanded he stay within the den to keep watch over the eggs, only leaving to forage for plump beans and to refill his canteen with water from his reserves.
He had found himself quite adept at caring for baby pokemon, the tracks must have been well traveled, prior to his arriving at this station. He turned the eggs with a practiced ease, knew to candle them and the stages of development, information provided easily from the depths of his mind.
He knew what degree of activity from within the egg meant the pokemon was close to hatching, and what procedures must be undertaken first and foremost when a hatchling emerged from its eggshell.
He knew a warm cloth was perfect for clearing the airways, a dry blanket wrap to dry them off and to keep them warm. The safety protocol was easy enough to follow.
-
As the hatchlings grew strong enough to join their siblings of the year previous Ingo and his noble returned to their scheduled patrols across the highlands.
As they maintained the territory of his lady’s domain, clearing fallen trees from the well-used paths and maintaining the lights in wayward cave, Sneasler made sure to greet the pokemon that lived along the mountainside with barks and warbles.
As they made their way across the cliffside, The Lady of the Mountains had a tendency to collect things that interested her.
It was a quirk that Ingo had picked up on rather quickly, as Lady Sneasler was quick to pick up items on their patrols across the highlands. Any number of the trinkets they happened upon could be snatched by decisive claws, to be tucked within Ingo’s foraging basket, alongside the likes of oran berries and plump beans.
Lady sneasler had taken a liking to human trinkets as of late, though she had never seemed capable of passing an especially shiny rock without pause for an investigation into its quality.
Ingo, ever present in his duty to the noble pokemon, would of course take the collected trinkets from her waiting claws without complaint.
His own woven basket would grow heavy, by the time the pair arrived at their final station of the night. The Lady’s den awaited them, filled with the peeping sounds of the many sneasels that were ever impatient for their arrival.
Some of his Lady’s most prized items consisted of a pile of scrapped fabrics; blankets gifted by the pearl clan, pokemon toys aged and new alike, and a large portion of Ingo’s own Pearl Clan sweaters. The fabric was interspersed with hay, leaves, and other soft things. The whole display lay as a form of nest towards the side of her den.
A collection of sneaslets were splayed across the nest at the moment, stationed mid-nap and purring softly.
The den itself was as wide as Ingo was tall, if he were to straighten and reach his full height. The height of the den was slightly shorter than his own stature, leaving him to slouch more often than not when inside, though he found he did not quite mind the fact, despite the certain crick it left between his shoulder blades.
The inlet was carved into the rock of the mountainside by generations of noble claws, decorated with the trademark bubbled appearance of acid-melt.
The den was made smaller by its inhabitants' collection of precious items, lain carefully along the walls and placed within newly claw-carved inlets.
What was once merely the few items Ingo had taken with him from the pearl camp had grown to a half organized display of fabric, porcelain, and toys. The sneaslets within the den had a way of disrupting the display’s careful organization, choosing any and everything to sacrifice as their newest toy.
The Lady didn’t seem to mind, simply removing the more favorable object from the kits hold, before replacing it with another item of less import.
Ingo has so far been unable to find what classified one object above another, and on multiple occasions found tchotchkes taken from his own hands and gently replaced with a pinecone or soft toy. The sneaslets were more likely to complain at the loss, but were just as easily distracted with games or lessons.
The sound of Lady Sneasler’s gentle bark distracted Ingo from his inspection, noticing where the Pokémon had gained the attention of its eldest. The little lord was more energetic than his siblings, awake and getting into antics even while its siblings slept.
Sneasler barked again, the sound petering off into a soft whine.
Ingo was by no means fluent in her form of communication. But still he found the intent of the sounds easy to understand.
The easy way he seemed to understand his Noble was a point of interest, to the other wardens. Though when he tried to explain the subtle differences between barks and yips, the others had failed to understand the lesson.
Perhaps it simply wasn’t the kind of thing you could be taught, either that or Ingo had proven not to be the best teacher.
His neighbor in the highlands, the warden Melli of lord electrode, had once jokenly accused him of being a Pokémon himself. Ingo had joked in return, that perhaps he was a playful zorua hiding among humans, and that he should throw a pokeball to find out. Melli did not seem to understand the joke, scoffing before a triad on the galaxy team's entrapment of pokemon.
Ingo shook his head from the memory, attention returning to Sneasler and her young.
The sneasel chirped, small claws grappling at the rock as it tried to share its prowess with its mother. Sneasler caught the little Pokémon by its decorative scarf before it could fall, willing it to pay attention. After a soft whine in Ingo’s direction the young pokemon focused on its apparent task. The sneasel had the air of the upmost concentration, muzzle and brow scrunched to nearly hide its large red eyes.
Ingo found himself fond of the display, wishing for a way to capture the moment, though unsure what he’d been planning to do.
A yip from Sneasler followed, as she motioned to knobs in the rock with one claw, pulling the sneaslets paw along with her own.
As the small Pokémon found purchase it gradually climbed higher along the dens wall. Its mother’s large claws held the brunt of its weight as it reached for the next foot or claw-hold.
Rock climb. A move useful not only to Sneasler herself, but that allowed her to carry humans from place to place.
A move that has to be taught from one pokemon to another. Held close to the lines of the Noble pokemon of Hisui. A hidden move, the word appeared along the tide of Ingo’s mind like a message in a bottle, before washing away back into the depths.
Lady Sneasler let go of the young lord, chittering happily as the small pokemon was able to hold its own weight on the rock, its small arms shook with the effort.
Without its mother, would the sneaslet ever be able to learn the move of its birthright? Once learned, could the pokemon ever forget something it worked so tirelessly to master? Something in Ingo’s brain decided these kinds of moves would be harder to let go of, even if the Pokémon wanted to.
The small pokemon let go of its arm-hold in the rock, falling less than a foot into its mothers waiting claws, barking in excitement.
Ingo’s attention returned slowly to the newest additions to the dens decor. He turned over one of the many tchotchkes scattered about the rocky floor of Sneasler’s den in his hands.
Ingo had the suspicion the Pokémon had been entering the time-space distortions to scavenge despite his warnings against it. The stranger items stood out from the regular iron chunks and pine cones the highlands provided. Strange metal boxes of unknown origin sat amongst the more natural items, along with thin disks that reflected light into his eyes.
While he knew the objects were interesting to his Lady , he only wished his Lady had brought him along on the venture.
The distortions have been growing worse, it was dangerous to enter them.
-
They had been, for as long as Ingo had lived in Hisui. It was not a gradual or elegant thing. They would come in waves, growing worse each time they appeared.
Maybe they had been appearing even before he woke amidst the alabaster wastes, alone and confused. It seems the distortions had always clawed their hold on Hisui’s landscape.
When Ingo had first found himself in this land, they had been armed with the defense of plausible deniability. It didn’t have to be a horrid mystery when they had the easy culprit of a rogue zoroark practicing its craft on the alabaster horizon on which to pin blame.
Even working together, every zoroark in the region couldn’t form such a complex illusion. The globes of color- moving shades of blue and purple like a sunset pulled into the heart of a storm left the eye to blur against their forms.
Each warden had their own explanation prepared for the sights, dutifully writing off the unexplainable with their more mundane mysteries.
In the highlands the moving lights of clefabel’s intricate dance could be blamed for any such lights in the night.
Pokémon were mysterious creatures of course, but Ingo was aware of none powerful enough, or cruel enough, to create such sights as the space-time distortions.
The bubbles of color and light would appear in waves, gradually shortening the time between their appearances.
Recently it felt like if he stood still looking out over the highlands it would be a matter of minutes until one sparked to life above head.
Ingo had tried to investigate them many times, despite Lady iridas protests at the idea. It was his job as warden to protect the highlands, after all.
They seemed perfectly circular, size and shape ignoring the natural pull and drop of the terrain. They seemed to originate in one spot and move outwards as they formed.
As the distortion formed it would bring with it a sense of unease, both for people and Pokémon. The Pokémon unfortunate enough to be caught in a forming distortion would make quick work of escaping out of the area, unnaturally quiet in their steps.
Ingo himself fought with the urge to vacate the area at the onset of a distortion.
The feeling grated on his teeth, the innate acknowledgment of danger echoing at the base of his skull.
The longer he spent in the distortion the worse it became, leaving his limbs shaking and vision blurred.
Strange Pokémon and stranger items would appear as if from the air itself, before disappearing just as quickly.
Irida had posited the guess that these pockets were moving pokemon from across the region to suddenly appear someplace new, and that the abrupt change itself was frightening. The idea explains their abnormally aggressive behavior.
Those he has spoken to within the galaxy team have decided it could be a displacement of time, the more world-traveled among them claiming to have seen pokemon they’d only before seen immortalized in rock.
Ingo, of course, had not shared with them tales of his own mysterious origin.
Though it seems the lack of explanations for his stranger qualities seemed only to further their interest in him.
Ingo chose to ignore the fact that despite having seen so many regions, the strange patterns and fabrics of his clothes, or some of his stranger mannerisms continue to go unrecognized, even by the newcomers.
The galaxy team, who Ingo had been introduced to mere months into his life as a warden, were strange in their own ways.
They looked to every Pokémon within Hisui with not just confusion but an urge to understand them.
Not in the deifying way he was used to the clans seeing Pokémon, or in the familiar, almost friendly way he found himself reacting.
Their interest was cold, seeing Pokémon either as obstacles or rarely as assets.
There were a few among them, who Ingo had found himself reacting to positively.
-
The first member of the galaxy team Ingo met was a young man, seemingly nervous around Pokémon but interacting with them nonetheless.
Sneasler seemed amused by the boy, from where she sat watching him throw berries at a group of gathered shinx, standing a fair distance away with a small book in hand.
The boy wore the usual galaxy team ensemble. Ingo could appreciate the choice of a good uniform.
The usual blues were accented by a red hat and scarf, the hat seeming to sit slightly too large on the boys dark blue hair.
The boy hadn’t seemed to notice his audience, despite Ingo following close to his Noble.
“Greetings!” Ingo barked, catching the boys attention.
The boy dropped what looked to be a razz berry to the grass, having been mid-throw when distracted.
The boy’s eyes lit up before looking around wildly. It took him longer than a moment to spot them, where they sat above on a cliff side.
“Hello?” He called, voicing a small shout of surprise when Sneasler dropped to the grass in front of him, Ingo not far behind.
Ingo watched as Sneasler picked up the dropped berry, “That’s not yours, my Lady ” he reminded.
Sneasler complained at him with a low warble.
“She can have it!” The boy held up his hands, shaking his head.
Ingo nodded, “I am Ingo.” He introduced, “warden of Lady Sneasler.” He motioned to the tall pokemon between them.
“Rei…” the boy mumbled, taking a step away from the Noble.
Lady Sneasler hissed in distaste at their fear of her, unaware that the action had the opposite effect on the boy.
Ingo reached for one of the pokemon treats he kept in his coat, hoping to distract the pokemon.
“Woah,” the boy watched the Lady accept the offering, “your pokemon likes you?”
“Yes,” Ingo’s head cocked to the side, amused “the Lady Sneasler has seemed to take a liking to me,”
The aforementioned Noble Pokémon took the opportunity to steal his hat with a quick movement of her clawed hands.
The boy flinched at the sudden movement, causing Ingo to furrow his brow.
“Do you have a hard time befriending pokemon?” He asked politely, despite knowing the answer.
“I guess…” the boy held the end of his scarf between his hands, “my Pokémon isn’t my biggest fan”
“You have a partner?” Ingo’s looked around the clearing for where the Pokémon could be hiding- perhaps a bug type prone to hiding within the folds of its trainers clothes.
The face or name of the Pokémon he had been thinking of was gone, perhaps a burmy was small enough to hide under the young man’s hat.
“Partner..” the boy repeated quietly, “yeah I do, he’s in here” the boy unclipped the pokeball from his belt, “most of the wardens I’ve met hate the pokeballs”
“…” Ingo looked at the boy for a moment, organizing his thoughts before responding, the pokeballs were a concept Ingo found both foreign and familiar in its complexity. He could see why his fellows would dislike them, though Ingo himself can’t find reason to.
“Ah, it is within the contraption, then?” Ingo looked to the tool, tied with string to the child’s belt, round and painted with red and wooden-brown.
“Uh- yeah!” Rei spoke, fumbling with the pokeball, “he doesn’t like me very much though,”
“Then you are working to improve your friendship?” Ingo asked, aware of Sneasler leaning over his shoulder to get a better look at the machine.
“Uh… I don’t know how I could get him to like me, he attacks me every time I let him out?”
“May I see.” Ingo motioned with his hand, “perhaps I could help.”
“Are you sure? It could be dangerous!” The boys posture was tense as he spoke.
“What Pokémon is it?” Ingo was flooded with the sudden image of the trouble a powerful yet poorly trained Pokémon could cause for its trainer.
Except- the boy wasn’t a trainer, not by the looks of it at least. Perhaps Ingo could help.
“It’s a pikachu, mr.warden sir”
Ingo found himself surprised for a moment. Pikachu normally make wonderful partners, perhaps this boy needed more help than he let on.
“Please, call me Ingo,” he shook his head, “or warden Ingo if you prefer”
“We’ll, ok then warden Ingo” the boy said before letting the Pokémon out of its ball,
The Pokémon was summoned in a flash of red light and a sharp cry of displeasure.
Ingo settled onto his knees despite the way they popped at him in anger. “Hello, little one.” He told the Pokémon.
It turned its head away from him, a small snuff of noise accompanying the action.
Ingo found himself huffing a laugh of his own, despite knowing the boy would not perceive it as such without an easy smile accompanied. The small pokemon was cute, clearly having a personality larger than its power level.
The Pokémon looked back at him in surprise from the noise, scrunching it’s face in a sign of displeasure.
“See! It’s so mean!” The young boy confirmed as he moved to retrieve his pokemon.
“Don’t-“ Ingo barked at the same time the Pokémon’s red cheeks started to spark with the beginning of an electric type attack.
Rei hesitated, the moment giving the Pokémon opportunity to finish its attack before being recalled to the machine.
Before it could attack Sneasler had stepped forward in an attempt to guard her warden, growling at the small Pokémon.
The pikachu yipped, running to hide behind the relative safety of its trainers legs.
“Be nice my Lady , you’re smart enough to know a threat from a hatchling,” Ingo said.
Sneasler whined at him before gibbering at the Pokémon in what must have been an olive branch of sorts.
The pikachu did not seem pleased, again showing off its personality in the face of a Noble.
“He would prefer to travel alongside you,” Ingo explained, “it tells you as much through its attacks”
Ingo reached a hand out towards the Pokémon, being careful to look away as he did so “Some Pokémon do not like pokeballs, it is only natural they would have preference.” He continued “It may simply like to be carried or walk along beside you”
The boy seemed to deflate, “You sound like Akari”
Info nodded once, watching from the corner of his eye as the pokemon moved forward to sniff at his hand, “Then this Akari must be a very talented trainer,”
“Yeah!” Rei confirmed, “She’s the new member of the survey corps,” he was watching his Pokémon investigate Ingo as he talked, “She’s out researching the crimson midlands today, so she couldn’t come with me”
“How’d you befriend him already,” Rei whined at the sight of Ingo offering the Pokémon a treat from his pocket, while the flavor was more apt to a sneasel’s tastes, the rodent seemed to enjoy it.
“He would prefer sweet foods,” Ingo commented, watching the Pokémon nibble the treat between its small yellow paws, “and to avoid the pokeball, if possible”
Rei’s posture shifted, leaning forward to watch Ingo’s activity, “How do you know so much about pokéballs, warden Ingo?”
“…” Ingo shook off the uneasy feeling that accompanied his less concrete memories. He could remember the feeling of cool metal on his palm, though it seemed unrelated to the matter of pokeballs, “I do not know,” he said, realizing Rei was expecting an answer.
The boy narrowed his eyes at him, leaving Ingo to sit still under the child’s scrutiny.
“Would you like some?” The boy asked, seemingly having decided something.
“A pokeball?” Ingo asked.
The boy nodded, “they aren’t that hard to make?”
The idea was exciting, for reasons beyond Ingo’s knowledge. “I would like that very much”
Rei nodded, “well Pokémon are really hard to catch,” the young man spoke in the voice of a practiced instructor, “it takes forever to learn how to do it properly and not get hurt,” he pulled a few of the machines from his bag, “well unless you’re Akari I guess! She’s amazing”
“You speak highly of her,” Ingo commented.
“Uh,” The boy brought his hand to his neck, straightening his scarf, “yeah! She’s great with Pokémon,”