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There were plenty of things unfamiliar to Ingo. The culture and traditions of the Pearl Clan, Pokemon he swore had different typings and appearances, and even his own past. Each and every day since his awakening in the Pearl Settlement led to him encountering reminders of how foreign the world of Hisui was.
Silence, oddly enough, was unfamiliar. The first night had been unbearable as cracking coals in the medic’s tent died and he was left with a void to fill his ears. Something told him that there was supposed to be some sort of noise, whether it be another person’s footsteps or even constant music pouring from the settlement. But all the Icelands was to offer was whispering to as a replacement. When he was eventually given a tent of his own, he coaxed Chimechos to live in rafters in exchange for berries. If not for their chiming, he would have gone insane.
His new station in the Coronet Highlands was slightly better. The comforting buzz of Lord Electrode and other Electric types filled the clifftop and the soft crackling of torches guided through the mountain’s various tunnels. A low rumbling alerted him when Onixs and Steelixs were passing underground. Though they were solidarity creatures, Sneaseler and her kits constantly chattered to him as if they were engrossed in a conversion. As he entered Sneaseler’s cave, her weeks-old kits ran up to his feet and chirped hello.
“Greeting little ones,” he said out as five Sneasel kits began digging their claws into the hem of his jacket. He was an excellent climbing post, but he rather not have his already torn jacket shredded up even more. He lifted one Sneasel from his thigh as the other four climbed up his back. “I appreciate the warm welcome, but I ask you all to exit the car immediately. We are over capacity.”
A sharp hiss emerged from the back of the cave and the kits hopped off his jacket for fear of their mother. Ingo nodded at Sneaseler as she entered his view.“Thank you very much, Sneaseler.”
Sneaseler warmly chirped back and continued sharpening her claws on cave walls. Her kits continued to prattle on, begging Ingo to play with them. Reaching into his sleeve, he pulled out a Celestica Flute. “We have one more stop before playtime. Once I have completed the maintenance check, we will proceed.”
Exposing the Sneasel kits to the Celestica Melody was one of his duties as Warden. Though one of them will inherit their mother’s position, it was important to them to respond to the flute’s call. Ingo turned the Celestica Flute, questioning if Sneaseler and her ilk’s reaction to its melody was learned behavior or were it engraved in their hearts since birth.
To the Pearl Clan, the Celestica Flute was a divine instrument. Its melodies sang praises to their Almighty Sinnoh and alerted the Nobles of their needs. Only prominent clansmen were allowed to keep one on their person at all times as misuse of the flute was a grievous crime, though everyone was given a chance to play during traditional celebrations.
To him, it was a relic of a possible past. The first time he heard its melody, it tickled the back of his mind. After the final note exited the flute’s body, a phantom melody continued in his mind. It was some sort of lullaby, but not one mothers’ hummed to their children. He imagined Steelixs strung together, traveling along a set track on a set schedule. The lullaby was meant for them.
Near silence overtook the mountain and Ingo’s ears screamed for substance. The Sneasel kits meowing and the screeching of Sneaseler’s claws against the wall offered some relief, yet he longed for a long continuous whistle to pierce the air. He brought the flute to his lips.
“ALL ABOARD!” With a mighty breath, he began to play the Celestica Flute.
An odd melody entered Emmet’s ear. Something ancient and celestial. It couldn't be tinnitus because the doctors assured him his ears were fine. Nor was its interference on the intercoms since none of the deport agents heard it too. Whatever it is, the melody came from inside him. He shook the melody out of his head, opting to continue his safety check. He had no time to dwell on it.
Emmet made a mental note to update the intercom system checked as a garbled announcement detailed the departing trains. The low rumble of trains mixed with the steady conversations of passengers. Standing at his post on the Doubles platform, Emmet directed wandering passengers to their correct destinations.
If not for the aching silence on his right side, everything was running smoothly.
“Mornin’ Emmet.” A large hulking figure appeared next to him. It was Clay carrying a blocky canvas bag. “I gotta speak to you. In private.”
“The Doubles Train is leaving soon. I am expected to board,” Emmet replied. “We can talk tonight.”
“It’s about your brother,” Clay said bluntly. “I think I got a lead.”
Emmet froze in his tracks. There hasn’t been a lead since his disappearance. All the police managed to find was a grainy camera feed of Ingo performing a maintenance check beforeGear Station’s opening, dissolving into static just as something off-camera caught his attention.
“Are you sure?” Emmet asked tentatively.
“I’m a man of truth,” Clay tipped the brim of his hat. “I ain’t got nothin’ to gain from twistin’ your heart.”
Emmet pulled his phone from his pocket. “Give me a moment.”
Less than ten minutes later a depot agent boarded the Doubles Train as Emmet’s place, and he and Clay were seated in the employee break room. Phantom Joltiks buzzed over his body as Clay dug through his canvas bag.
Emmet liked Clay. He was direct and sometimes his construction company assisted in maintaining the subway lines. The fact that he found the first lead on Ingo in two years earned him another mark in Emmet’s book.
He bounced his leg under the table. “What did you find?”
Clay placed a yellow envelope on the table.“A historian from Sinnoh reached out to me a while back, saying she was researching its old civilizations. Apparently, my great-grandpappy was some big shot back in the day and she asked if I got any records of him.”
“What does it have to do with Ingo?” Emmet asked. “Please keep this conversion on track.”
“I’m gettin’ there,” Clay replied as he pulled a piece of paper from the envelope and passed it to Emmet. “When lookin’ through my family history, I found this.”
Emmet took the paper. It depicted a group photo taken in what appeared to be a bleak-winter wasteland. A scantily dressed woman stood in the middle, surrounded by a cluster of people in pink tunics. Without the expectation of a miniature Clay look alike and women that bore some resemblance to Burgh, none of them were recognizable. Then his eye caught the one figure wearing a dark coat and cap. His clothing was torn up and the brim of his cap obscured his half face, but Emmet recognized his deep frown.
His heart tighten. Ingo was alive and well. Living in the ancient past of another region with Clay’s ancestors. Part of him felt a great relief while a new set of worries overwhelmed him. His brother was set to the ancient past. He was alive and well and right now in the current day, his body was likely somewhere in Sinnoh.
He placed the picture face down on the table.“When was this picture taken?”
“A century ago, maybe a bit more.” Unlike Emmet, Clay wore his discomfort naturally. “My great-grandpappy lived to see my birth and passed soon after.”
Hard stones grew in Emmet’s throat. “Your great-grandfather is dead. He was much younger than my brother. Ingo is probably-” Emmet stopped himself before he could utter the dreaded words.
“I reckon so.” Clay’s lips tightened and he drummed his fingers on the table. “I don’t know what this means, but I haven’t told the lady yet. This is a personal matter and I ain’t dragging a stranger in your business.”
“Why?” Emmet asked though he didn’t know if he was asking Clay or the universe at large.
“Cuz you deserve to know what happened to your brother,” Clay answered on behalf of the universe. He patted the envelope. “Everythin’ in here is copies of my great grandpappy's records. Your brother is a few of them. I ain’t giving anything to the lady unless you want me to. ”
Emmet buried his head in his arms, carefully not to let Clay see his fracturing smile. He was Emmet and Emmet always smiled. He smiled as he dial 911 as the Singles Train returned without a conductor. His smile when reporters questioned him about his brother and when Elesa begged him to take care of himself as his autonomous body dragged itself to Gear Station every day without stop.
To frown is to admit defeat. Emmet hated losing a battle and he hated losing his brother.
The soft melody of the imagery flute entered Emmet’s ears again, but instead of ending on its usual note, it morphed into a melody Emmet was remembered with. The flute sang the lullaby the residents of Anville Town imparted onto its trains and children.
A few of the depot agents knew the melody too and it wasn't uncommon for one of them to play a recording in the break room. But he and Clay were the only ones in the room and no one had bothered to replace the room’s radio when it died.
The lullaby was coming from his head, or rather his heart.
Emmet pulled another paper from the envelope. The picture it depicted this time was Clay’s miniature ancestor blowing into a long white flute. In the corner, he spied Ingo holding a flute of his, blowing into it as if it were a whistle.
The lullaby grew louder and Emmet realized who was playing it.
“You have my permission to submit your findings. On one condition.” Emmet picked on his head and straightened his smile.“Who is this historian lady? Can I have her contact information?”
“Sure thing.” Clay pulled a pen from his dress pocket and scribbled something onto the envelope. “Her name is Cynthia.”