Chapter Text
Ingo always felt like an outsider in Hisui. And he was one, in many ways.
He spoke differently from the people around him, dressed differently from them, thought differently from everyone.
He was the man that the Pearl clan had found wandering around the Alabaster Icelands, dazed and confused and suffering from hypothermia.
The man with a voice that was loud and clear and impossible to ignore. That spoke in strange terms and clung to formalities even when there was no need for them.
He was the only one in Hisui who would approach Pokémon with respect and caution, but not a single ounce of fear. (At least, he had been the only one. Until young Rei had fallen from the rift in the sky.)
There were so many other, smaller things that added to it as well and marked him as being different. That kept them from forgetting that he wasn't one of them. That he may not have even been from Hisui at all.
He would always be the “stranger the Pearl Clan found in the Icelands” to them.
As much as he tried to lay down new tracks for himself, as much as he tried to settle into his new station in Hisui, he never felt like he belonged there. For all the effort he put into helping and being part of the world he was in, it never felt like home.
Yes, they welcomed him as a friend. They hailed him as one of their Wardens. But there was always the reminder that he wasn't native would always remain.
Maybe it would be easier to accept his current lot in life if the echoes of his old one would leave him be.
If he would stop having names and places that don't exist hovering at the back of his mind or lingering on the tip of his tongue, maybe it would be easier to accept where he was. Maybe if he finally knew who he used to be, he could have an easier time accepting who he'd become.
Maybe then he could finally shake off the shadows of his mysterious past that clung to him for so long.
If only he could find some clue to figure them out. He had been hunting for a while, though he wasn't obvious about it. (At least he'd tried not to be.) But his efforts had yet to bear fruit.
His subtle inquires about things he remembered had yet to get him answers. Sketches of vague pokémon got him nothing but confused stares from the people he showed them to. The terms and language he used simply resulted in others calling him strange. No matter who or what he asked, no one ever held an answer.
It was… Frustrating, to say the least.
But, it seemed his hunting hadn’t gone as unnoticed as he’d thought.
While patrolling the highlands, he’d been flagged down by a member of the Survey Corps who told him that there was someone at one of their camps who wanted to speak with him. When he’d asked what they’d wanted to talk about, he’d been told that they didn’t know. But the person seemed awfully nervous, they’d said.
Curiosity peaked, Ingo had made the detour to the camp in question. Up by the Lonely Spring. And found a nervous-looking, somewhat familiar young lady in a Ginko Guild uniform there.
She’d waved shyly at him when she’d spotted him. Ingo has only been able to give a blank stare and hesitant wave of his own.
He didn't know the woman personally, but he remembered seeing her a few times. Usually, she helped pack up merchandise that the other guild members sold. Volo had mentioned her, saying she could never seem to sell anything due to a terrible stutter she could never seem to shake. So she would help everyone else with their inventories instead.
What was her name again?
“H-hello Warden Ingo!”
“Ah, hello.” His brow furrowed, he knew they’d been introduced at some point but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember her name. “Is there something I can help you with, miss…”
“N-nanashi! And yes! Well, no. Actually, I-I’m here to help you! I, um, I found something, and I-I think it might be able to help you?” Ingo tilted his head curiously as the woman started rifling through her bag. “You-you’ve been trying to find something to help-help with your memory loss right?”
“W-well Volo, he, uh, he would talk about legends and m-myths a lot. And-and I remembered one story he managed to find that-that talked about a r-relic that might be able t-to help! S-so I went looking f-for it and I-I managed to find it! I-I know I p-put it in one of these p-pockets… Ah-ha!” Nanashi let out a triumphant cry, pulling out a small, dirty golden… Thing and held it out to Ingo.
He took it very carefully, turning it over in his hands curiously.
It was surprisingly heavy and looked like a cross between a bird pokemon of some kind and a toy plane. (What was a plane? He pushed the thought away.) Nanashi continued speaking, freehand waving about as she did.
“According to the st-story that V-Volo told me, that little um… Thingy? Was s-supposed to have b-been made by a master cr-craftsman to ret-turn lost things-s to where they’re s-supposed to belong! I-I thought it was weird th-that something so t-tiny could do that, but maybe th-that’s because it’s not f-for physical things! So I-I thought that m-maybe it could help you g-get your memories back!”
Ingo couldn't help the bubble of hope that sprouted in his chest.
Could this odd little relic really help him?
Considering the other legends that had been passed through Hisui that had been proven true thus far, it was certainly possible that this object could perform the task it was made for.
Maybe, just maybe, this was what he needed. To finally put his worries to rest.
To finally learn who he used to be.
A small smile appeared on his face at the thought.
“Thank you, Miss Nanashi. It was very kind of you to do this for me,” he said, carefully tucking the little relic away in a pocket of his coat. The woman’s face brightened, losing some of the nervous tension she’d had.
“Y-you’re welcome sir! I’m h-happy I could help! L-let us know what you learn, o-okay?”
“I will,” he confirmed, then tipped his hat to her. “I’d best return to my patrols for the day. I must ensure the tracks are safe for all travelers.”
“Y-yes, I need to g-get back to work too,” Nanashi said, with a nod. “H-have a good day sir! And I hope y-you have a s-successful search!”
The two parted ways and Ingo returned to his duties as a warden, the weight in his pocket reminding him of the new lead he may have finally found. And keeping it from straying from his mind for long.
The relic practically burned a hole in Ingo’s pocket for the rest of the day. Quietly gnawing at his nerves until he could get it back to his hut to examine it properly.
Even while climbing sheer cliff sides, checking the torch-lines caves, and dodging alpha pokemon, the weight in his pocket held a grip on the back of his mind.
Not even his hand getting nicked by the claws of one of Lady Sneasler’s kits had managed to drive the thought of it off. Merely pushing it aside for him to hurriedly take something to combat the dose of poison in his veins. It helped that he’d gotten in the habit of keeping a few Pecha berries in his pockets for just such a thing.
(Not that it really mattered anymore, he’d been scratched so many times by the kits that he practically had a blood level of sneasel poison at this point.)
He was sure Lady Sneasler had noticed his preoccupied thoughts, but she didn’t seem to care about his lack of focus. As long as he kept pace and didn’t stray far from her, she didn’t mind that he was quieter than normal.
Ingo still found himself counting down the minutes until he could return to his hut and finally learn more. Until he could pull out the strange thing and see if it could truly help him find out who he used to be. To learn the kind of person he’d been before he’d ended up in the Icelands.
He’d made his way back to his hut as the sunset, taking the day’s light and heat from the mountains with it.
He set his pokemon loose from their pokeballs to let them roam for a bit before retiring for the night, as he often did. They were used to the freedom to wander, and Ingo had no plans to deny them it. Keeping them in the balls forever was cruel, and he wasn't a cruel man.
Calmly removing his shoes at the door, setting his celestia flute on a table, and starting a fire before the chill could fully settle. (It was best to start the fire early, to get it going good and strong so that it would last through the night.)
Continuing his routine, he started boiling water in a pot, adding cut vegetables and meats as it heated. The smell of his cooking dinner filled the room quickly as it bubbled away in its pot before it was stemmed by Ingo placing a lid over it to help it finish.
No one would be stopping by that night (that he knew of) so, while waiting for his meal to finish cooking, this was the perfect time to try and figure out how the odd relic worked.
(To finally learn who he really was.)
He carefully pulled the tiny gold plane from his pocket and started examining it again, now that he was in a place quiet and private to take his time with the inspection.
It was small, only slightly larger than his hand, with little accents engraved into it such as tiny feathers into the wings and smoke-like details in the odd triangle coming from the tail. There was an indent in the main body of it that looked like a tiny seat. (The pilot's seat, his mind told him.)
The whole thing was encrusted with dirt and it would probably take a great deal of cleaning before it could reclaim its full luster. He could only imagine how the relic’s creator would feel if they saw the state it had fallen into. Yet it still managed to retain much of its golden sheen despite the grime. It would probably fetch a very high price if someone tried to sell it, though Ingo had no plans to do so. Not if it could truly bring back his lost memories.
Turning it over revealed a tiny plaque on the bottom with minuscule writing engraved in it. Ingo squinted at the words carved into it, trying to read it despite its size and the way time had worn it away.
“To restore what's... missing... Time's-time's Flow... between Space... to return... lost... to whence they belong...” He read slowly, trying to piece the inscription together from the few symbols he could see and puzzle out. “Without... Without seeking the creators… Pull… The trail… To set the lost to-to peace.”
Pull… The trail? What could that mean? Ingo looked over the plan again, a hazy image appearing in his mind. Could… Could it be referring to the smoke?
He carefully grasped the smoke in one hand, the other holding the rest of the plane steady, and gave it an experimental tug. To his surprise, it shifted ever-so-slightly.
Ingo adjusted his grip, and carefully pulled at it. It took a bit of effort, likely from the dirt and such that could have collected inside of it. It would take a bit more strength to pull it loose. He simply adjusted his grip again and continued to pull it back, watching as it ground further and further out until it finally stopped with a sharp ‘click’.
(He wondered how pulling the “trail” loose was supposed to help with restoring lost memories. Was it supposed to release something that would help?)
A painful shock traveled up his hands, making him drop the plane with a startled yelp and start rubbing them together.
It... Hurt.
The strange static-like shock had hurt. Much more than he felt like it should have. And the pain was staying, instead of fading after the initial zap to his hands that left them feeling full of pins and needles. Shaking his hands out didn’t make it fade, which was… worrying.
But that wasn't what was sending off alarms in the back of Ingo's mind. No.
It was the fact that the pain was spreading.
Creeping its way through his fingers up his arms and into his chest, stealing his breath away and leaving him dizzy.
Something is very wrong here. He thought, stumbling back from the plane. The pins and needles feeling shifted to something worse, a deeper pain that he couldn’t put an apt description to. Settling deeper into him, down to his bones, even. He braced a hand against the wall, trying to stay on his feet despite the throbbing pain encompassing his body.
Agonizing crunches and cracks filled the air, fire shooting through his veins as if something was trying to melt him from the inside. Like someone was crushing and tearing and shifting his body as they tried to reshape him.
This is wrong, this is very wrong! Ingo’s mind screamed, his breathing picking up. His chest felt tight. He dragged his eyes to his throbbing hands, desperately trying to find some explanation for the pain he was in.
His hands looked wrong.
"Wh-what is this?" he breathed out, staring at them in disbelief. There was a strange, dark violet tint creeping its way over his hands and his fingers looked... Sharper, almost like claws. Shifting and changing shape with painful pops, fingers being forced together as it went.
And they were changing. It sounded insane, but he was certain his hands were changing.
A sharp, white-hot spike of pain from his head and back had him grasping at them with a startled cry and falling to his knees.
His hand caught on- something. Something that was growing from his head. His breath hitched painfully in his chest.
It was short, and a little bristly but quickly getting longer as he ran his changing hand along it. It felt like a feather, but why on earth was he growing a feather from his head?
"What- What is going on here?!" Ingo rasped. Forcing his eyes open (when had he closed them?) he saw more purple spreading over his skin in burning prickles. Burning prickles that bristled along his body and under his much too loose clothing.
His coat and tunic had fit fine before. Why was he suddenly swimming in them? The tunic was starting to slide loose, the belt slipping down his waist as it suddenly seemed too large to fit him. The legs of his slacks were pooling around his ankles, threatening to trip him if he took a wrong step.
Pulling his hand from his head, Ingo ran it over his changing arm, shoving up his hanging sleeve to try and see what was going on.
It looked like it was covered in… in fur.
No, it didn't just look like fur, it felt like it too. There was fur sprouting from his skin.
On the floor beside him, the little golden plane startled rattling, a faint glow coming from it. He didn’t pay it any mind, too focused on the painful, impossible sight of his changing self.
The throbbing pains in his body suddenly worsened, his vision nearly going black and ripping a pained groan from him.
“Help. I-I need help. But how?” He wheezed out, the pain creeping from his chest up to his throat and over his face. It felt like he was choking on his words. “I need… The flute. T-to call snezze- snnee- sneas-el. S-snea? Zzel?!”
He clasped a hand over his mouth in alarm. That-that didn’t… Those, those were the cries of a sneasel. Wh-why was he- why was he making those instead of…?
Panic building, he tried to force more words out but nothing human-sounding left him.
No. No, no, no! Wh-what’s going on, why is this happening?
The thought of his pokémon getting help shot through his mind and he tried to call out again. Praying that, even if he couldn’t understand the cries leaving him, his partners would. That they would hear and understand and get the help he desperately needed.
He heard noises from outside, like something scrambling over stone, and Ingo felt a flicker of hope. Someone was outside.
It had to be one of his team, or even Lady Sneasler herself. There was help coming. He could get help-
A blinding spike of pain in his head stopped him from thinking further, and he slumped to the floor with a cry. (The cry of a sneasel in distress.) The scrabbling outside became much louder.
There was a surge of light that would have blinded anyone that tried to look inside the hut and a moment of suffocating pressure that would have knocked the breath from any person close enough to feel it.
And when both vanished, they took the tiny dirty gold plane and Warden Ingo with them.
(Elsewhere in Ancient Hisui, a man who sought to become God screamed in fury.)
(The plan he’d hatched to claim victory over Arceus’ Chosen Hero by ridding himself of them had been foiled before it could begin. The key tool was lost to him forever, as it could only be used once before it became useless. And there were no others of it to be found, all of them lost to time or destroyed by those who didn’t know their true value.)
(All because of a former guildmate who had actually listened to the Legends he’d loved so dearly and remembered them. A guildmate who had then tried to use them to help another, without ever knowing the real reason he had sought that particular story out.)
(And would likely never know the results of their selfless act, or how it had gone wrong.)