Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“When I first saw Boss Ingo again, I thought he was a ghost. I mean. My grandma, uh, works in Morty’s gym, in Ecruteak, so it wouldn’t’ve been that much of a surprise? But I left Johto to get away from that kind of stuff, and I kinda figured the subway was about as far from ghosts as you could get – excepting, like, Boss Ingo’s Chandelure, but she’s a sweetie, so. So I probably wouldn’t have talked to him, would’ve just tried to ignore him and made coffee for whoever else –

You don’t have to glare like that, I said ‘would’! It’s Boss Ingo, y’know? He’s good people. Always tips extra.

So I kinda, y’know, caught his eye – he was squinting around the station, I had to work for it – and I called his name, and he just? Flickered out of existence.

Yeah, like I said. Ghost.

The second time – it was about the same time, both times, maybe around 4 A.M. But the second time, I actually saw him show up, instead of just, bam, there he was. I mean, it was still a little like that, but he seemed surprised to trip over the bench. Sat on it easily enough, but I don’t know, maybe some ghosts can do that.

He was still looking around, like some kind of tourist or something, but he got pretty excited when he saw me behind the counter.

‘It’s you!’ he said.

I dunno what anyone’s ever supposed to say to that, so I gave him a” – I demonstrate – “weird little shrug-nod. But then he went, ‘Do you know me?’

Which, like. Yeah, I was only the one who filled your ridiculously early coffee order for like two and a half years. So I tell him that, ‘One black, one with cream and sugar boarded,’ and he kinda lights up, so I’m like, okay, do you want one? I don’t think ghosts can drink, but, I dunno, the warmth and smell are still nice, and if I was a ghost I think I’d appreciate someone making the effort for me. And he nods and says he’d like that.

So I get the pot going – it’s always a little slow before 6 – except I realize I don’t actually know which one of the two he drinks, so I just make both. But it doesn’t matter, because he gets up to come get them and disappears before he makes it to the counter, so, like, whatever.

And, okay, maybe I should’ve told someone at that point. But how would you have taken it if I said, ‘Hey, Boss Ingo’s back, but he’s a ghost’? If I was the only one who could see him, I didn’t want anyone saying I was crazy or that I was playing a mean joke. I wouldn’t, I swear!

And the other thing was… I wasn’t sure how long he’d stick around. It wasn’t like, okay, he showed up Wednesday, I’ll see him again next week. It wasn’t a regular thing. Sometimes he’d disappear for a month between visits, sometimes he’d be back the next day, and ghosts… you know.

Move on.

I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up just for him to disappear for good.

But he kept showing up, so. We talked. He’d forgotten a lot – that was another reason I didn’t want to say anything. I told him what I could about the Battle Subway, and some of it would click and some of it wouldn’t and I’d have to try and explain, like, the medical technology down there, or what an Audino is. I offered to give him a tour one time –

Look, it was 4 A.M.! I was willing to bend the rules a little. But, yeah, he made it like three steps before poofing out.

Which is why, next time he showed up, I walked the coffee over to him instead of making him come up to the counter, and he actually drank it this time, which is about when you showed up.”

There’s still a coffee left – the black one. I pass it over. “I tried to tell you guys to wait, Boss.”

Boss Emmet takes a big gulp of the coffee – it’s not exactly fresh anymore, but it’s still plenty hot, thanks, so I don’t know how he stands that much going down all at once. “My– My brother,” he finally says. His voice grinds like the coffee machine when I start it up for the first time in a shift – I guess it’s been a while since he’s used it. “Ingo. Is he alive.”

“I can’t say for sure.” His red-rimmed eyes burn through me, and I wince. “I’m not a licensed medium or anything, okay? It’d help if I saw him outside the station –”

“I have,” Emmet interrupts. His knee begins to slowly bounce. It’s the most life I’ve seen from him in ages. “His hat. I thought– His hat. No false starts, no detours. Follow the schedule! But– If I missed his train –”

“No, that’s good!”

“It is not good!” he says, erupting from his seat and beginning to pace. His hand slashes out in broad, sharp gestures. “It is very, verrrrry bad!”

“No, you don’t get it!” He whirls on me. “Ghosts are lingering regrets, right? They’re usually tied to one place, somewhere they cared a lot about in life,” I quickly explain. “If he was haunting the station, you wouldn’t've seen him, and if he was haunting you, I wouldn’t have seen him.”

“Chandelure. It would have found him. It did not find him.” Emmet gives a sharp nod. “Ingo is alive.”

The words sound too feeble hanging in the air like that all by themselves. We still don’t know for sure, but– gods, I hope he is. I can’t remember which one of this region’s legendaries is the one who deals with belief, but I send a prayer its way when I agree, “Ingo is alive.”

“Ingo is alive!” Emmet isn’t as loud as his brother, but that’s a high bar to clear. He’s loud enough to startle the earlybird commuters, at least, and the depot workers too, when he spins to point at them next. “I will not be coming into the station today! Please shuffle cars and update the timetable accordingly. Follow the rules! Check safety. Aim for victory! Aaaaaaaall abooooaard!”

He slams his cup into the nearest garbage and marches off. One of the younger depot workers manages to catch him before he makes it to the door, though. “Boss! Um. Where are you going?”

Emmet turns, grinning. Everyone, myself included, takes an involuntary step back. “I am Emmet,” he informs the worker. “I am going to buy a verrrrrrry large Beautifly net. And then I am going to find Ingo.”

Chapter Text

“Ingo’s a lot like you! He just appeared one day…”

Out in the Coronet Highlands, the Noble Sneasler’s ears pricked. A new voice had joined the grunts and murmurs of rock-type Pokémon amongst the cliffside. “– will just call in the next –” it said, and then “Oh, fuck.”

Sneasler snickered. Humans always sounded so shocked when they fell down, like they seriously thought their bare, clawless paws would be enough to defy gravity before it kindly reminded them why this was her territory. But an air of unease had settled over her as she trotted off to find the latest unlucky visitor. She didn’t recognize every human’s voice, but this one was distinctive, deep and oddly-accented and, above all, loud. How had it gotten here without her hearing?

When she found it, bent and injured at the bottom of a slope, she only had more questions. It wasn’t one of the pink circle humans, or the blue not-square humans, but wore an odd black pelt that was vaguely reminiscent of a Gliscor’s wings. She chirred at it, hoping to skip the “Ahh-that’s-a-big-Pokémon-please-don’t-eat-me” part of the process, but instead of screaming it… reached for her. “I assume you’re part of the search-and-rescue team?” it asked. “I hope I haven’t drawn you too far from your station.”

What?

It coughed. “Regardless,” it said, and the words were weaker now. “It appears I am in need of maintenance. I would appreciate… a pick-up. Would you conduct me to the nearest medical car?”

What?

Well. It needed help, whatever it was. And she couldn’t exactly leave it here.

She reached gingerly for it, careful to keep her claws pointed as far from it as she could. Humans tended to freak out at those. But it fell gratefully into her arms and let her throw it over her shoulder, murmuring a “Thank you” before becoming deadweight.

What???

Elsewhere, a man in white stood frozen where his brother had vanished before his very eyes.

Ingo became Pearl Clan, and then Warden to the Lady Sneasler, but the question of his home station lingered like a passenger who refused to leave long after their last train had gone. Who was he? Where had he come from? What rails had taken him to this land? Not unkindly, Warden Calaba had advised him to stop torturing himself and simply enjoy the vast space Lord Sinnoh had brought him to. Lady Irida hadn’t verbally agreed, but Ingo had noticed her discomfort when he brought up the matter of his memories or his past. It would reflect poorly on her for his loyalty to waver so obviously.

And yet, no matter how kind the Pearl Clan was to him, he could never put the abstract sense of wrongness aside.

“It must have been very different than here,” Ingo found himself muttering to his Lady. Some of the others looked at him askance for practically living with his Noble, but sharing space with a Pokémon felt comfortable in a way that his private Pearl Clan tent rarely did, and sleeping underground bothered him far less than (he thought) it should. “I can’t remember, but everything seems so quiet.”

Sneasler leaned forward to set a dagger-claw over his lips. Ingo fondly rolled his eyes and brushed it out of his face – safety first! – before replying. “Yes, other than me.”

She snickered, as she did. It brought a warmth to Ingo’s coalbox of a heart. “Maybe they’re all like me,” he teased, beginning to pace back and forth. “Can you imagine? A whole network of people blaring their whistles and honking their horns.”

The sound poured from his mind and surrounded him like a fog. When he blinked, he was in the shadow of an irregular mountain range, tall rectangles jutting from crossroads like – (ties in a track?) An odd sort of train was stop-and-starting, cars (cars??) jockeying for position before the yellow line. He cried out in surprise and people turned to look at him, staring, staring, more words in the cacophony that was beginning to flood his head. They were closing in on him now. Someone tried to touch him, and he jerked back –

stumbling into a wall in Sneasler’s den.

She sniffed curiously at him. He was breathing at far too many notches, he realized, but the knowledge did nothing to prevent him from derailing. What was that? Where was that? Why was it so much? How did he get there? What would have happened if he hadn't come back? What would they have done to him? What if he had been unable to return at all? He had already lost one home. He couldn’t lose this one, too!

It took him a while to realize that the low rumble against him was purring. Sneasler had curled up on him while he was… (?) out of his cab, and while the weight was nice, the closeness was quickly becoming uncomfortable.

He didn’t want her to leave, however. Something about coming back to himself like this was unbearably lonely.

Instead, he nudged her off his lap and held out a hand to her.

She blinked at him. Ingo could understand her annoyance at being pulled from her seat. But this felt right, somehow.

He wiggled his hand again. His Lady chuffed, but slowly, cautiously, threaded her knife-fingers through his.

Ingo ached.

“I apologize for the unscheduled departure,” he whispered. “I did not intend to leave.”

She looked at him, golden eyes gleaming in the dark. Then why did you? they seemed to say.

“I don’t know.” Ingo shook his head. “I can’t promise it will never happen again when I don’t know what happened in the first place, but I can say that for as long as I am here, this is my home station.”

The words sounded familiar. Why did they sound familiar?

He (carefully) squeezed her paw, and it was like he was running on two tracks at once. “Any journey I make will be a round trip,” he said, twice over.

There was someone next to him. Someone important. But he raised his head to look and the impression sloughed away, leaving only his Lady as she snorted and leaned her weight against him.

A child fell from the sky and bested him in battle. Ingo had felt light-headed, after, as if he had been expecting the world to come to a stop with her win and it had just kept spinning on– no, not because he was surprised or offended that Miss Akari had beaten him. (It was the man in white who liked winning more than anything else. He remembered that now.) Though… that fight had been a little too easy. Perhaps it was time to take his training up a notch.

She found him often, after that, eager not for a battle (as he’d initially assumed) but out of some sense of camaraderie. Ingo couldn’t find it in himself to deny her the company. Unlike his fragmented and foggy memory, hers was whole anywhere that didn’t concern her own personal life, and she spent a good deal of time bemoaning the lack of modern conveniences until he, too, could remember how much easier life would be with a microwave and indoor plumbing. In return, he taught her how to start a fire (no, you can’t just have your Typhlosion do it every time; ghostly fire doesn't provide much warmth, and what if you were separated?) and, when he judged them close enough, opened up about his misadventure with the unexpected, impossible trip.

“It sounds like you went to a city,” she gasped.

A city?... Yes, that sounded right. “Do you think that could be where I came from?”

She grinned. “Only one way to find out!”

His misgivings seemed so feeble in the headlights of her youthful eagerness. “I am not certain I know how to get on that train,” he admitted. Or how to get off.

“Well, what did you do last time?”

“I was teasing Lady Sneasler.” He grinned, a flicker of humor lightening his face, and tugged her hat down over one ear. “Should I attempt the same with you?”

The girl squawked and yanked it away from him. “I don't think that was it!”

“No? Are you sure?” He drew his hands back in, gambling that she would be unable to read the mischief in his eyes. “Recreating the scene may be the best ticket to our destination, after all.”

She threw herself backwards with a groan. “Uggggggghhhhhhhhh, fine. I'll be Lady Sneasler then, I guess.” Akari thought for a moment, then drew herself up, pulling her hat over one ear again so its brim trailed behind her in a poor mockery of Sneasler’s feather and letting her eyes fall half-lidded. “Sneasler sneas,” she said, then stage-whispered, “That means ‘Ingo is a butthead.’”

Ingo half-choked on a snort. “It is a pleasure, as always, to be in the presence of my Lady,” he said seriously.

Akari gave a passable imitation of Sneasler’s laugh.

Time to get back on track. “If we are to recreate the scene, I'm afraid some things will have to be transported elsewhere. Do I have your permission to conduct you?”

“Oh, you mean, like, move me? Yeah, go ahead.”

Ingo shifted the bench and its passenger around, but Jubilife’s training grounds were a very different space than Sneasler’s den. After three circuits of minor adjustments, he decided he was stalling and stepped back with a sigh. “This is as close as I can make the model. I believe I said something about… ah.” He slumped. “About being very loud,” he muttered into the brim of his hat.

“What was that?” Akari teased, eyes sparkling.

He cleared his throat and pointed at her. “Never mind! The next stop…”

“Hey!”

“...I was pacing, I believe.” It felt odd to do so with her eyes on him, but her gaze was light, though it felt heavier with every round trip.

“You can do it! I believe in you!”

...and things changed.

The crush of sound was as chaotic as it had been the first time, but he was more prepared now, even as he jumped at a sudden squawking of horns. People sluiced around him like water – keep moving, something told him, don't obstruct the tracks, so he let them push him on.

The sun was setting here, as it was (back home?) before, but the colors were more brilliant, reds and golds that set his heart aflame. More than that, they painted the strange buildings of the city, reflecting in soul-touching silver and –

His pulse stopped. White.

From across the street, the man in white met his eyes. Then Ingo stumbled and he was gone.

“I saw him,” he told Akari all in a rush. “I saw him. He was there. My…”

She nodded and gave him a determined smile. (Why was that so familiar?) (The man had been smiling, too, but it was wrong.) “Then you'll just have to go back,” she said.

Ingo began practicing, late at night or early in the morning, times he thought wouldn't be as busy – though he tried not to do it in the Highlands. Lady Sneasler seemed most anxious about the process, and, after tripping over a rock and nearly breaking his neck, he thought it safer to do on level ground.

The other streets were never quiet, but he'd been right about the traffic. As he grew more confident, his feet took him many places: a giant metal wheel, a raucous arena whose cheers shook the streets, and his favorite, an underground room with a kind person who knew him and offered to make him something called “coffee.” That stop felt correct in a way nowhere else did, but whatever was conveying him made for an unreliable commute. Some nights he would arrive at other stations, and some nights he paced for hours and never left Hisui at all.

About a month after he'd started practicing, he saw a hat like his own in that other place. It was slouchy in a way Ingo’s wasn't, and appeared to be made from a cheaper material, but it was black and bore the same odd symbol, as did the one he saw a few minutes later. Soon, every person on the street seemed to be wearing one of his hats. Fiddling with the brim, Ingo pulled his own cap down and followed after.

The train of people brought him to the first collection of green he'd seen in this land of flashing lights and stone. Pokémon milled freely amongst the crowd and the trees, some even wearing their own black caps, and some of the humans had taken it further, wearing long coats that also matched his own.

“Man, your coat looks rough,” someone said. Ingo tried to stammer out some kind of defense, but the other person waved him off. “Nah, don't worry about it. We're all here for the Subway Bosses, right?” They nodded to a pile of things next to a wall. “If you've got something to leave, you can put it over there. You should probably hurry up, though. I think they're starting soon.”

Ingo reflexively dodged their slap to his shoulder and stared down at the pile. Rectangular figurines at various levels of detail dotted bouquets of flowers, guarded by a wall of little trophies with green bases. Some of them were blanketed by a child’s scribble or arrayed around pictures painted on canvas. The whole thing was surrounded by candles, some plain, others decorated to look like a Pokémon.

His head hurt.

At some point, the river of people rushing past him and occasionally bending to add things to the pile became a trickle, and then died down. A solemn hush swept over the crowd. Ingo forced himself to pull away and look to the front with everyone else.

There was a picture up there. Ingo was in it– along with the man in white. They were both standing straight and tall, one frowning, one smiling. (They'd just passed their tests. Ingo had insisted on a picture to commemorate the occasion, but couldn't find it in himself to enjoy the result; he always looked so gloomy in photos. — had taken it upon himself to make Ingo laugh for the next one. That was the one they kept–)

It was silent. Had been silent. The man in white had stopped dead center stage and was staring directly at Ingo.

Two women in blue nudged — out of the way. The black-haired one took his position on the stage and began to speak, but she was drowned out by the heartbeat pounding in Ingo’s ears. He had to go. He couldn't stay here.

The man in white crashed into him before he could leave the park. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but all that came out was a pleading rasp. His eyes were wide and desperate.

Ingo gently separated them. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I don't know who you are.”

He stepped back into Hisui. The last thing he saw was —’s hand, reaching for him.

Ingo curled up in a ball and cried.

“I found him,” Ingo confided to Akari after her confrontation at Mt. Coronet’s peak. “I found him, and I spoke to him, and I walked away.”

“If only one of us can go back, you should make it count,” she said, uncharacteristically solemn.

He slumped. How thoughtless of him, to bare his troubles when she was still stranded at the platform! “Of course,” he said. He couldn't change what had happened to bring him here or take his memories, only reunite with — and do his best to explain the situation. “A train only runs one way, after all.”

But none of theirs had to run alone. Ingo rolled his shoulders back, the way he had seen the man in white stand, and pointed as crisply as he could manage. “Do you know who may be waiting for you at the station? I can pass along a message that you have been separated from your cut and will be waiting at the lost and found.”

“Oh…” Her eyes filled with tears. “You don't have to do that,” she sniffled. “I'm fine!”

“Nonsense! A conductor makes sure all passengers are escorted safely to their destinations.”

She gave a wet-sounding giggle. “Alright. I don't remember who might be looking for me, but… thank you.”

Ingo finally got his coffee. — was there also, but in his rush to meet him Ingo lost his grip on the throttle and was flung back into his bed.

He bit down on a (scratchy, bitter) blanket to muffle a long and drawn-out scream.

Ingo stood in front of the subway station and waited.

Afternoon turned to evening, but he was accustomed to long days on his feet and his time on the mountain had taught him a near immovable patience that even the increasing strain of staying here couldn’t break.

The crowd swirled around him. He heard a few people ask about the new statue. Others took pictures with him, which made him uncomfortable, but he couldn't crack through the shell of focus he was maintaining to say so before they tapped on their little rectangles and vanished into the depot. It was simpler to ignore them and pay mind only to his heartbeat. His practice trips had added teeth to the rail, but the grade in the future was steep; the longer he spent riding this new track, the more coal it took to keep him from sliding backwards.

Eventually someone in uniform ventured out to exclaim over him and try to bring him inside.

“No, thank you,” Ingo firmly rebuffed. Any movement could be enough for his wheels to slip. He couldn’t risk it.

“Oh. Um. Do you… want a chair?”

Ingo thought about that for a moment, then shook his head.

“Okay,” the woman said thinly.

He was making her life difficult, Ingo realized with a prick of shame, and he didn't even remember her name. “I am sorry to derail you. But this is something I must do.”

She shook her head, blowing her bangs out of her face. “No, it's okay, Boss. You do you.” One hand fell to the black box on her hip. “Uh. Do you mind if I stay out here with you?”

Ingo considered. “No. I believe that's fine.”

“Great.” She retreated to sit to the side of the front steps and spoke into her little box. Soon, other workers trickled out to join her, until there was barely any room left on the steps. That meant there was a full car to watch Ingo get trapped under a large net.

The crowd gasped. “Oh, dragons, he actually did it,” someone said as Ingo jerked around and came face to face with the man in white.

“I am Emmet,” he said in a rush, over the murmurs of the passengers. “I am a Subway Boss.”

“Emmet –” Ingo gasped, but the man gestured sharply and Ingo hit the brakes.

The whispering stopped.

Emmet took a harsh breath, yanked his hat down, and started over. “I am Emmet,” he repeated. “I am a Subway Boss. I like combinations of two Pokémon. And I like winning, a lot. You are Ingo, a Subway Boss. We are a two-car train. You have been derailed for a very, verrrrry long time. I –” His eyes watered. Angrily, he swallowed whatever he had been about to say and shook his head. “Please return to the station,” he said instead. His hands moved in a familiar pattern, one up, one down – their names, Ingo realized. They were a unit. One made no sense without the other.

Ingo nodded. Emmet’s throat made a noise like a sudden brake, but he lurched forward instead, throwing himself into Ingo with the force of a train and forcing Ingo to stumble back.

The weight against him vanished. Ingo spun on his heel before he could so much as feel the air change and put his whole engine into going back, appearing just behind his brother and gripping him tight. Emmet shook in his arms. Ingo, close to tears himself, went with him as he sank to the ground, fingers digging into the sleeves of his coat.

“I can’t stay,” he confessed when he had control of his voice again.

Emmet sniffled. “Yet?”

“I don’t know.” There was so much to figure out, still. He would need to arrange for a replacement at the training grounds. And his Lady – could he still be her Warden if he was split between two stations? “But I’m not leaving you alone again, Emmet. No matter what happens. We are a two-car train.”

Emmet drove his head harder into Ingo’s shoulder. “I am Emmet,” he said thickly. “I have been decoupled from Ingo for a verrrrrrrrrry long time.” The words hung there for a moment as Emmet gathered the strength to keep going. “A blue flag is better than decommissioned,” he managed at last, barely audible from against Ingo’s coat. “I am Emmet. I will wait.”

Ingo clutched him tighter. “Bravo, Emmet,” he whispered.

That seemed to be the final straw. Emmet pulled back and scrubbed his sleeve over his eyes, drawing up a perfect, plastic smile and giving him a crisp Gear Station salute. “Drive safely, Ingo,” he ordered. His eyes were wet. Neither of them acknowledged it. “Follow the schedule. Aim for victory.”

Ingo returned the salute, locking his own tears firmly in the storage car. “Always,” he said, voice loud and clear. “My tracks will lead me back to you.”

Emmet nodded and marched away, the crowd parting like rails to either side of him. Ingo took a breath and fell back to the past.

His hands shook. He had a brother. “I have a brother!” he shouted, and the words echoed off the mountaintops.

His Lady poked her head in to glare at him, but Ingo was too keyed-up to apologize for his volume. “I have a brother,” he repeated instead, and she sighed and trudged over to sit before him. He repaid her kindness by scratching behind her ear the way he knew she liked, moving to comb his fingers through her thick fur when she reluctantly started purring. “We’re twins,” he told her, not remembering, exactly, but knowing it was true. “His name is Emmet…”

Chapter Text

▲ was attending his own memorial. ▲ was reaching out of his tunnel to grab ▽’s lunch from their dwelling in the sky. ▽ was catching ▲ in a butterfly net. ▲ was walking across Their Coronet, two hundred years before his birth and thirty years after what could have been his death.

What is the meaning of this.

The Dragons of Time and Space rocked back as they adjusted to their Creator’s presence. The God of All did not speak so much as create its words, little eyes blinking as they spun away and drifted off to elsewherewhen. The letters had none of the earmarks of alterations to the spacetimestream. They simply began to always have been there.

As disconcerting as it was to be overruled in their own domains, Sinnoh could do nothing but answer their Creator.

It was not right, Palkia answered.

Her brother answered, It was just.

(The Dragons did not, as a rule, care about such petty things as gender. But the two admired their emissaries, and in this, as in many things, they had begun to reflect them in turn.)

Art thou denying My Judgment?

▲, eyes lighting up the dark. Three years spent out of time and hundreds of miles removed from his place for the privilege of conducting ☼ for fifteen minutes through eighty feet of cave.

The crackling rift. The madness it brought. The fury, pain, and devastation of being turned against her own creation. The humiliation, as it and the creatures spread across its vastness cracked and bent under her assault.

Dialga bent a knee. Your Judgment, O Creator, [is/was/will be] wise.

Oh, he was such a suck-up. They'd already agreed that their Creator had made some oversights, even if Dialga had been less enthusiastic. The sands of time buried all but the broad strokes, after all, and ephemeralities like pain and longing could only be fleeting when humans’ short lives were already in decay. All wounds would heal in time, and its god had little reason to care for the humans who did not spend their days at his altar.

But it would be sacrilege to bicker at the Creator’s feet. And despite herself, Palkia could not fully disapprove of its great Plan either. In Your vast mercy, the world was saved, she said. But a Wurmple is no lesser than a Whiscash.

A body counts time differently than a calendar, Dialga agreed. He [will] belong[s] [then/now]. If he was [to be] kept [now/then], he would spend more time healing than We took.

He does not revere Me the way the others of My ⊛ do. But he dedicated himself to Me, Palkia said. He prayed. And she was a dragon, and he was Hers, and her lost Warden’s faithful service meted more than a sad end on the gods’ abandoned games table. It was not enough for Us to return to him his proper place. I gave him My blessing –

I allowed him My approval, her brother butted in.

– to return home.

▲ was proudly taking on a challenger at fifty miles-per-hour. ▲ was combing his Noble’s fur. ▲ was shoved into the back corner of a booth, ducking away from ▽ and a Leader’s hands as they reached, laughing, for his hat. ▲ and ☼ were watching the stars together from the outskirts of Jubilife Village.

It appears he has many homes indeed, said the Creator.

Palkia felt pride. They are the homes he has built, she said. I would let him keep them close, and they him.

His attachments to the [now/then] will fade as it grows and as they age apart, Dialga said. He [has not/will not/does not] corrupt time. I see no need to intervene.

Arceus watched the moments, picking through them with one golden hoof and lingering for an endless moment on the last one. So mote it be, it spake.

The Dragons of Time and Space bowed in gratified relief.

Thou hast given Me much to think about.

Judgment delivered, Arceus [wasn't/hadn't been]. In its absence, [ ] shone like a sun.

Chapter Text

“I don't know what your plan is, sky-faller,” Commander Kamado snarled as he dropped Ingo in the cell, “but rest assured, I will not stand idly by as you disrupt the peace we fought so hard for.”

“You're on completely the wrong track!” Ingo shouted for the third time, over the final-sounding thunk of the key in the lock. He slumped. “I will tell you again: I know nothing about the rift,” he said. “The only one risking war is you, Commander.”

The other man stilled, broad shoulders stiffening in the dim light of the Galaxy Team’s jail. “Is that a threat, Warden?”

“If it is, it is one made by your own actions.” Ingo returned Kamado’s stare. “As long as you are alive, there is no such thing as the end of the line. Turn back, Kamado, before my lady Irida hears that Jubilife has failed to uphold its end of the truce agreement.”

The Commander’s eyes hardened. “Don't try to play to my caution, skyfaller. I've let this charade go on long enough,” he sneered. “Irida will thank me for saving her clan of children and elders the embarrassment of failing to deal with you… if she finds out at all.”

He strode out of the room, jail door slamming shut behind him.

Ingo sighed, collapsing against the wall. He'd done his best to convince Kamado of the foolishness of his actions. Hopefully the young Miss Akari would not suffer the Commander's undue wrath.

As far as temporary accommodations went, Ingo could do worse. The cell was inside, away from weather and hungry Pokémon, and if he grew tired of standing, there was a rickety cot to sit or lie down on. Of course, this was meant not as a stop, but a terminus; he was a car derailed, trackless and confined to this shed to rust until the stationmaster tired of this farce. Ingo’s team had been confiscated to the Pastures, and without his flute, even his voice could not reach his Noble in the highlands. Truly, this was quite a pickle.

Ingo took his cap off and stared at the dented emblem. Somewhere, somewhen else entirely was a land that only he could travel to. The destination, so far as he could tell, was the same each time, but he had arrived to it at several different stations. The return trip had always brought him back to the station he had left Hisui from. But did it have to?

A tangled map of many colors scrolled across his vision. This is a 4 o’clock green-line train, boarding in v̧e͠t͡r͏iD̵f̶i̧l̴ with service to ón͢i͡t͝M̴st̴rl͞an̴, nL͟͞u͞ą́c̛a̴s̨͡ó̸̷, and –

Ingo shook his head, jamming his hat back on and dismissing the odd image. (Some kind of transportation network?) He had little need to visit Lake Verity’s beaches or the rocky crags at Veilstone Cape, and though he could hardly say he enjoyed trekking across the Icelands when he needed to return to camp for supplies or a Clan meeting, ensuring safe passage from the Highlands was part of his duty as Sneasler’s Warden. To simply arrive there in an instant would be to neglect that duty.

“We shall move with speed, but not haste,” Ingo murmured to himself. After all, the journey was just as important as the destination. Yes. He would start small.

...though, given the circumstances, he could not reappear within Jubilife’s walls. And Irida, as his Leader, had a right to know what had diverted him from his tracks. She would not be happy to hear that he had broken free, only to quietly hole up in the mountains again.

“Very well.” Just this once. “Full steam ahead.”

Ingo took a breath to steady himself. This was a short cell, with hardly any room to pace, but the actual moment of transportation, he'd learned, needed just one step. All he had to do was feel it: the ethos of movement, the straining sense of his lodestones reaching for a place where they aligned. Easier said than done, when the tracks themselves were fighting him as he struggled up the grade. But he had managed before.

“And… go.”

Ingo stepped back into Hisui and almost collided with Irida, but scrambled away before he could infringe on her personal space. The uncoordinated flailing resulted in him hitting the ground with a thump, startling Irida and sending the other members of the Pearl Clan present muttering.

“Did–” Irida gaped, pointing disbelievingly upward. “Did you just fall from the sky? Again?”

“As I did not actually fall from the sky the first time, I can hardly call that accurate,” Ingo corrected, brushing the snow off as he got to his feet. “As for this time… speaking literally: no, I did not. More figuratively, however, I suppose you could draw that comparison.”

Irida wobbled. “You were supposed to be in Jubilife,” she whispered. “Are you saying Almighty Sinnoh sent you here?”

Luckily her voice was much quieter than his, but Ingo still flinched, darting glances at their onlookers as he hunched further into his coat. “I have no proof of that,” he cautioned, “and would strongly advise you to refrain from jumping to conclusions, lest your jump take us over the yellow line and into the third rail.” He saluted sharply. “I am merely one of your Wardens,” he said. “And, as your Warden, I would request a private audience.”

She followed his eyes and nodded, drawing herself upright: the picture of a Clan Leader again. “Of course, Warden Ingo. Please, follow me.”

His Leader did not take him to the meeting house, however, but her own dwelling, glaring sharply when he moved to protest and shutting the door even more sharply once he was inside. “Tell me everything,” she ordered.

He had removed his hat as he entered, a thin concession to the propriety broken by his intrusion into her space, and now stared at it as he played it between his hands. “Firstly, let me clarify. My tracks did indeed take me to Jubilife Village today.”

“Then how did you get here?” Irida burst.

“I do not know the mechanism by which it works,” he answered, “only that it does.” He could not reasonably call it a fluke anymore: he had repeated the experiment, verified the process, and could now call upon it largely on command. Still, Ingo was hesitant to make too much of it. Better to keep his explanation simple. “My lady, I have crossed from Jubilife to our settlement in a matter of footsteps. I dare not speculate into the motives of gods, but I cannot shake the feeling that this must be some sort of blessing from Sinnoh.”

She fell to her knees. “I was right,” she murmured. “Almighty Sinnoh sent you to us.”

Yes, this was what he had been afraid of. Ingo moved to join her, but winced and had to abort the gesture when his knees protested. “My lady, please,” he begged. When this failed to move her, he tried again, reaching out gingerly to set a hand on her shoulder. “Lady Irida.” Her head bent further, but she made no move to shake off his hand. “You are my clan leader, and, I hope, my friend. Please do not treat me any differently. I am your Warden, first and foremost. I have no wish to be placed atop a pedestal.”

She nodded slowly. “A pedestal… Like standing at the top of a mountain, with no one else to share the view. It's lonely, isn't it?”

Her table had only one cushion, he realized. Bowls for her Pokémon rested in spots of honor nearby, but there was no sign of other human life. Ingo took his hand back and pulled his cap low. “It is,” he agreed.

She rose. “So, then. Warden Ingo.”

He lightened at the title, giving her a grateful nod.

“If you were in Jubilife, what brought you to our home in such a hurry that Almighty Sinnoh Itself was forced to step in?”

“Ah.” He'd almost forgotten, really. “I fear Commander Kamado may be committing a gross breach of inter-factional diplomacy.”

She gasped, one hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Really? What did he do?”

“He jailed me,” Ingo said, and allowed a flicker of humor to cross his face as her eyes widened.