Chapter Text

Emmet considers putting his chips to the side. Sure, it was what was in the cupboard, but cornn chips are almost certainly not the best provisions for studying historical texts. (Ancient. Lost. Old. Forgotten.) As fun as it is to put Corvi-claws on one's fingers, it does make for a hindrance, and the crumbs lead to a bit of a mess.

(Ingo found finds them quite fun. Elesa liked likes to laugh at the strangeness of a seemingly calm and stoic man wearing little "claws" on his fingers and waving them around.)

(He always did like to make her laugh.)

Emmet supposes it doesn’t really matter. Even with Volo’s good name bringing in all these historical resources, they’re working with transcripts and copies, not original manuscripts. He’s sure he wouldn’t be trusted around those kinds of things even with a full pack of sterile gloves. 

But still. He can’t go getting crumbs all over their research. He has standards. Even if cornn is an interesting food.

Fun cornn facts- it wasn’t always blue! The amaize they grow out west comes in all sorts of rainbow bright colors- the bright indigo of the classic cornn is the fruit of decades of selective breeding and genetic alterations. But even if amaize is verrrrrry pretty, Emmet is glad for the more predictable appearance of cornn. In a modern world spoiled for choice, he’s grateful to have the freedom to choose something that stays the same.

He remembers the things people would tell them as a child. The insistence to learn to eat even things they hated. Imagine if one day you had nothing else to eat. Would you rather starve?

What a strange proposition! If someone was in a situation like that, would that really be their immediate concern?

Emmet wonders if Ingo got to have that choice. Gets to have that choice. He can’t quite keep track of the proper tenses anymore. A hundred years ago, a hundred seconds ago- he no longer knows the difference. The ancient past is starting to lose its meaning as it tangles with the frantic present. He thinks he’s starting to understand how people can go mad from knowledge.

But he supposes he’ll just have to cope with it. It’s not as though Volo will be of any help with this little pet project, and Emmet isn’t inclined to let him at all.

Even though Volo was telling truthful information that held up to their other research, he was lying right up to his eyeballs about where he was getting it. Professor Volo Sinjoh, local religious historian and LITERAL FUCKING TIME TRAVELER, had been passing off his own first hand memories as freshly uncovered research, and was perfectly content to let it stay that way until Emmet threatened to chew him- and his immortal identity- out in public.

A Zekrom-stricken idiot, if Emmet ever saw one. Did Volo expect Ingo to completely forget him upon return to Unova, or was he counting on not being around long enough for anyone to find out?

But if Emmet must concede the point, Volo did reveal one little thing- he started this whole wild Ducklett chase because he remembered Ingo being sent back. Since he’s a normal human being lacking the magical foresight to intuit historically relevant events, that’s all he knows. He doesn’t know the date, time, or any method that was involved. Only enough to start looking.

So the search parameters have changed. This is fine. They can search for a precise point in time to extract Ingo… somehow… or at least be prepared to receive him on arrival. Volo was quite insistent on the latter. Almost worryingly so, for reasons he refuses to elaborate on.

Fine. Fine. Emmet has his own secrets, and more importantly, his own resources. His conversation with Ingo (that painfully brief moment where Ingo was there with him again, he was right there and alive-) had yielded a great many places to look. Most significantly, at the moment, it had yielded the name "Akari". Akari, assistant to the Professor Petal Laventon (Emmet was not jealous, absolutely not, what are you, a cop?) and the only working pokémon in the settlement that would one day become Canalave City.

Not Jubilife City, oddly enough! The name remained through the years, but it was later given to what would become the largest city in the region, and its capital.

Emmet was no expert on Sinoan history- at least, he hadn't been- but even he'd heard of Professor Laventon. A stubborn Hammerlocke academic with no talent for commanding pokemon, but a stubbornly persistent mind to study them anyway. The man who looked at the ceremonial pokeballs of the past and turned them into something that could catch anything, anywhere, anytime, given the right conditions. The perfect tool to let someone like him create the modern Pokedex.

But a Zorua assisting him? That was new, and a few Googolplex searches told him that it was new to everyone else as well- the very existence of this mysterious assistant was barely even a fringe theory. 

It wouldn’t make sense. Those of the Zorua line were feared in such eras. One of the few creatures that competitively evolved against humans as providers of protection and prey, they were almost universally hated before the Trainer’s Renaissance. But the public version of Petal Laventon's personal journal had pages ripped out of them, and he refused to say more than the bare minimum about Zoroarks. Emmet would not find his answers in the historical record.

But the Laventon family still exists, enforcing draconian access requirements for all of the old Professor's records- including all the pages that he would never allow the world to see. Pages that were in the process of being copied and faxed to him, all because Ingo had off-handedly mentioned a couple of strangers to him. 

The Laventons are a kind family who are verrrrrry understanding of his reasons, Interpol be damned, and it seems the old Professor had wanted someone to find his secrets after all. He’d simply instructed his family to wait for the right question. To wait for someone who knew to ask about Akari the Zorua, and all that implies. Akari, the professor’s most closely guarded secret, and someone Ingo remembered well enough to consider a friend.

Emmet decides to continue with his chips as he watches the papers slowly print out, bit by bit. Each page they show has been visibly torn from a larger book, and so, so many are stained with ink and tea and dirt and ashes. 

Emmet picks the first one up out of the printer tray, the paper still slightly warm from the heat of the machine. 

Rei, the other person that had gone missing alongside Ingo, had been mentioned in one of the few parts of the main journal that Emmet had already gotten to. But Ingo hadn't mentioned this "Rei", hadn't mentioned anyone appearing from the future. His brother isn't an idiot, and wouldn't just forget to mention something as important as a second time traveller, so clearly they hadn't met yet. But he'd mentioned the Zorua.

Emmet looks at the next page that falls from the printer.

He had a lead.

One way or another, he would find Ingo. And the next step in doing that was finding Akari.

Emmet set his chips aside, let the white noise of the printer wash over him, and began to read.

=#[o]#=

First Day as an Underfunded Professor of Pokemon Studies:

Initially, my Guest Lecture about Historical PokeBall Artifacts goes well. The board Approaches Me after class asking if I have any Other Things To Present. I bring up my recent work to create catch-all pokeballs. The board is Intrigued. I, A Foolish Man, offer a short Practical Demonstration. My neurosis of hand eye coordination Fails Me. 

The board says they will Consider my proposal. Coincidentally, my research budget has been Cut and my request to hire Research Assistants at the college has been Rejected.

I will now Disappear into the Crown Tundra and Never Be Seen Again.

=#[o]#=

Emmet stares blankly at the paper, re-reading it a second time, then third.

He still cannot fully accept that THE Petal Laventon, inventor of the modern pokéball, author of the first field dex, the man that took all the scientific discoveries of his time and put them together in a single comprehensible form… was also kind of a loser.

He's just like me for real, thinks Emmet.

=#[o]#=

Second Day as an Underfunded Professor of Pokemon Studies:

I Have A Hat Now. It is my Hat of Shame. My horrible, Horrible hat of Shame. It Will Not Leave My Head until I can manage to throw a pokeball Correctly.

=#[o]#=

Third Day as an Underfunded Professor of Pokemon Studies:

I have been practicing my Throwing Skills in the sports yard of the college. Students Fear Me. Fish Fear Me. I Am Alone On This Barren Earth.

=#[o]#=

Fourth Day as an Underfunded Professor of Pokemon Studies:

Received a Telegram from My Wife in Hoenn. My Humanity Is Restored. I am Still wearing my hat of shame.

=#[o]#=

"Dragons above, he's a wife guy."

"Emmet!" Elesa sweetly calls out from the other room. "I made croissants and if you don't eat one I'll kill you!"

"Yes, dear."

=#[o]#=

Fifth Day as an Underfunded Professor of Pokemon Studies:

I had nearly resorted to eating one of my Ransei imported tea bricks just to Feel an Emotion Save for Misery before my Cufant Did Physically Drag me out of the house so that I may restock on curry spices. This is an Act of Treason.

=#[o]#=

Sixth Day as an Underfunded Professor of Pokemon Studies:

Fell asleep on a Park Bench by the Hammerlocke College. Awoke to a Zorua trying to drag away my Corpse. It has rifled through my Pockets in search of Spare Change. Alas, there is Nothing To Find. I pity the poor Beast.

=#[o]#=

What. 

"He got pickpocketed by a fox," Emmet bemoans to Orus, who had appeared from her pokéball the moment she heard the dulcet tones of someone bitching about something. "He got pickpocketed by a fox in Galar and it's not even a Nickit."

Orus shakes her head and lets out a disappointed whuff. 

=#[o]#=

Seventh Day as an Underfunded Professor of Pokemon Studies:

There is a Zorua Sitting Inside My Home. Yes, the very same who was willing to steal my Penniless Corpse. It seems Confused as to how I continue to Persist in this Mortal Coil. I have no answers.

=#[o]#=

"Neither do I."

A pause.

"Did Akari meet him by breaking into his house-"

=#[o]#=

Eighth day as an underfunded professor of Pokemon studies:

The grave robbing Zorua is of a Novel Hybrid Pedigree, possessed of Facial Barbels more appropriate to the Mienshao of the Crown Tundra. It has a Human-Friendly Temperament, but the Unusual and indeed Excessive Expression of its Outlier Parent suggests an origin as those Brood Parasites that Male Zorua are wont to sire on Females of their Egg Group. 

This one is rather Runtish, Unsuitable to survive in the wild. Much like myself. I Must Protect it from the Horrors of Human Comprehension.

=#[o]#=

Ninth Day as an underfunded professor of Pokemon studies:

I have subjected the Zorua to Horrors of the Human Comprehension. Thinking nothing would come of it, I let air my Research and Funding woes in the College Park some days past, as well as the College's Reluctance to Provide or Fund for me any sort of Assistance. 

However, before I had actually Posted any notice to hire An Assistant from my own funds, a Young Woman came up to my private residence asking about the "Job Offer in the Newspaper". She showed me a Two Week Old newspaper page with nothing but Rapidash racing statistics.

I appear to have hired a Zorua.

I suppose my Wife and I had been thinking of getting a dog anyways.

=#[o]#=

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Re: zoroarks in the laventon diary

Dear Student,

I have read through the attached document in full. Unfortunately, I cannot give you a full grade on this, as your incredible lack of evidence has turned your proposal into a joke.

I was intrigued at first, I will admit, by your explanation of the mystery and controversy surrounding the second research assistant of Petal Laventon, but to suggest they were a pokémon is simply absurd. It's common knowledge that working pokémon were few and far between in that era, and practically non-existent within the Galaxy Team. Furthermore- a Zoroark? Working for a man who could barely pass a command level of 5 in his lifetime?

Student, I appreciate your enthusiasm. Truly, I do. But I'd sooner believe in Mothman than your "theory". You've done nothing but unearth the sheer amount of academic slander Laventon faced in his time.

Respectfully, 

Professor Michael Guise

Anthrozoology

Hammerlocke University

Chapter Text

The Continued Misadventures of an Underfunded Professor of Pokemon Studies:

My Dear Hoenn Wife, from whom I am often separated by our Mutual Travels, has asked to meet me in the Fall City seaport of the distant Fiore Region. As I am unlikely to receive further aid of any sort, whether in Academics or Finances, from the Hammerlocke Institution, I’m much inclined to agree. In the meantime, I shall travel through those regions which happen upon my path, so that I may continue my assorted Lectures and update myself on the Current Sciences.

The transportation of my Horrid Beasts will be of little note, thanks to the aid of my Perfectly Functional PokeBalls That Were Absolutely Worth Better Funding, Those Ungrateful Bastards. There is, however, the matter of my new Assistant.

She claims the identity of a Young Woman named Akari Shou, who had been a high ranking servant to some Galarian mercantile Heiress from the Fujihara family, which I recall have recently married themselves into Nobility. I suspect her search for new employment is due to some discovery of her Zorua identity by the family or staff.

I could not possibly convince her to be ferried in one of my Devices without a severe Breach of Trust that she hardly even has for me, but I worry about the cost of maintaining her facade on an airship with many stationary Prying Eyes. I will resort to other Methods of transporting her, perhaps.

=#[o]#=

"Miss Shou? The Lady of the House has called for you."

Akari perked up, letting her illusion stay focused on the task at hand as she turned to look behind her. "I'll be there right away, Hunniford." She set the dishes aside carefully, wiping her "hands" on a rag to keep anyone from questioning why they weren't wet. "Has Lady Fujihara said why she requires me?"

Hunniford didn't reply. Just walked. Akari followed him.

As soon as she left the door, it slammed behind her, and a pair of guards were at her side, armed with bayonets. "Wh- what?" Akari looked around desperately, eyes finally locking onto her Lady, staring at her in horror and disgust. "My Lady, I- I don't understand," she stammered, heart pounding in her head. "What have I done to upset you so?"

"Do not presume to speak to me, mutt."

Oh.

Oh no no no no no-

"Ma'am? I don't understand-"

"Do you take me for a fool, fox?" Fujihara's eyes narrowed as her lips pulled into a sneer. "And to think that I invited you into this home, showered you with generosity… I thought of you as family."

"Please, I've done nothing wrong!" Akari pleaded. "I love this house, I have never once taken your kindness for granted!'

"I will not allow a filthy creature like you to-"

A footstep drowned out Lady Fujihara's speech in Akari's ears as another kitchen maid stepped forth.

Malinda Allen. A friend of hers, she'd thought. A close enough friend that Akari had shown her her secret, offered to cover for her when she was so ill she could barely stand. 

Malinda Allen, who was standing behind Lady Fujihara with a pointed smirk.

"You…" said Akari quietly. "Why… why? WHY!?"

Malinda stepped back, a frightened gasp on her face that didn't match the laughter Akari could hear from her mind. "My Lady! Please, take care!"

"I HELPED YOU!" Akari screamed, jumping over the guards' feet and letting her illusion phase through their weapons. "I helped you! And here I thought I'd done no wrongs but now I see that I have, for I erred in trusting you!"

"Look, my Lady!" tittered Malinda, pointing a shaking finger. "She is naught but a rabid beast, I tell you!"

The bayonets slammed into the ground to halt Akari in her path, breaking her illusion as her focus shattered. Lady Fujihara watched with an impassive gaze.

Akari… thought the Lady would be heartbroken. To find out that the poor child she'd saved from the streets was not what she'd thought. But… she wasn't. There was no empathy behind those eyes. Just… disgust.

It was the last thought she had before a guard took advantage of her hesitance to hit her in the back of the skull.

=#[o]#=

When Akari woke up, she woke up underwater.

She was lucky (by a certain definition) that her illusions were solid enough to tread water. A Basculin in the river was an odd sight, but nothing to write home about, nor was a street Nickit, even one that was sopping wet. 

She stank of fish and sewers and prayed to the Bound God that the rain might clean her off as she lay on her side in a dark alleyway. She choked on heaving breaths, cursing Arceus itself for her inability to cry. The humans always said it felt good to cry, really, that it was a way to release pent-up sadness and grief.

Akari could not cry. If she were to yell or to howl she would be heard by whatever other pokémon called these streets their home. She envied them. They could take all they liked from the bounties of food the humans threw out as waste, but weren't rendered useless without it. They could still hunt, still scavenge.

To prevent her claws from clacking on the hardwood floors, Akari had dulled them down to the quick.

She huffed. She was in no place to scorn others for their luck, not when her own decisions had brought her here. Besides, it was a damn miracle she still drew breath. No mother would care for a runt, not with other mouths to feed, each one far more likely to live into adulthood. Every day she lived was a mistake waiting to be rectified.

Not that she really cared much about any of that. Why care for philosophy if it can't actually give you anything? Knowing the secrets of the universe doesn't help you find your next meal.

Akari Shou got back up on her paws as soon as the rain stopped, and sent a silent thanks to the Bound God as she trotted back out into the sunlight.

=#[o]#=

LIAR, LIAR, LIAR, LIAR-

“Oh, do settle down for a moment, please?” Laventon wearily asks. “We’re almost done, I promise!”

Akari gnashes her teeth against the wicker wire of the cage.

“Goodness!” Some lady worriedly cries out. “What on earth do you have thrashing about in there?”

“Oh, nothing,” Laventon dismisses, “just one of those Alolan Keokeo. They don’t take well to travel. Awfully fragile temperaments at that age.”

Lady Fujihara had a Keokeo. A prissy white Vulpix pup with cold paws, always trailing frost on the windowsills. It’s easy enough to mimic those cloudy curls and balefully innocent eyes when Laventon pulls up the curtain of the cage.

“Poor thing,” the woman sympathetically clucks. “It’ll get better eventually, dear, I promise.”

“One can only hope,” Laventon nervously laughs.

Akari’s illusion drops as the curtain falls. She slinks to the back of the cage as Laventon walks them to a carriage driven by some horned, plant covered pokemon. This horrible, awful, conniving man fooled her for weeks, letting her into his house, giving out treats and affections and a warm nest by his fireplace, only to scoop it all up into a cage and ferry them both onto some cold flying contraption. It was foolish to think a pokemon scholar would not recognize her true form for what it is, diluted with hybrid features it may be. No doubt he plans to peddle her away to a fox hunter for measly human coin. A fleeting reward for pest control.

Fine. Fine. She’ll be more valuable alive, and he’ll have to open the cage eventually. She can slip away when he decides to make his mistake. They’re far enough away from her last home that no one will recognize her human name or face. She can find a different noble house, or at least something that gives food and board for her work. Even the most asinine human work is easier than fighting for carrion in the wilds.

Laventon walks off into a tavern and opens one of the rooms, letting out a weary sigh as he sets his luggage away. He sets the cage on the table and opens the flap.

“That was a bloody nightmare. What do you-” He lets out a startled noise as Akari’s mouth clamps down on his coat sleeve. “Alright, alright, I suppose I deserve that. Clearly I didn’t explain this well enough.”

He raises his arm, watching Akari writhe there like a struggling fish. Being a fish might as well help at this point, but when Akari sifts through Laventon’s mind, searching for something to scare him off, she finds… nothing. No loved ones, no hated enemies, not even a basic animal phobia. There’s thoughts- confusion, curiosity, vague amusement- but nothing she can use, least of all fear.

No wonder he didn’t care about a Zorua in his house. He’s Oblivious. Delightful.

"What do you want for dinner, Akari?" Laventon asks. "I've put you through enough trouble today. We may as well get you something nice."

Akari freezes. I don't know what you're talking about, she denies.

Laventon smiles, even as he sighs. "Come now. I spill my woes to a stray Zorua, and a young woman conveniently appears to answer a job listing I haven't posted? That sort of thing cannae be written off as a coincidence."

Akari squints suspiciously. Why wait so long to capture me, then?

"Capture you?" Laventon sputters. "High King in the sky, I meant nothing of the sort! I didn't want to force my assistant to maintain such a complex illusion on a moving airship, is all." His grin tilts awkwardly, lowering his arm so Akari can set her paws on the table. "We've been practicing this Kalosi lecture for weeks now. We can't have you worn out on arrival."

Akari hisses at him, backing away, but no longer biting or scratching. Hogwash. I don't believe you for a moment.

"Of course, of course," says Laventon casually. "I've spent ages lying, even giving you my food, just so I could - oh, I don't know, skin you? I don't even know what most poachers even do with their "merchandise". Yes, I've tricked you, the fiendish foe that I am!"

Akari sits down. You literally lured me into a box.

"I just told you, it was the easiest way-"

You lured me into a box with treats and didn't explain your actions or reasoning in the slightest, you ass.

"... that is, ah… well. It is possible that I… forgot."

Oh my god.

"I'm not used to being able to negotiate with pokemon-!"

You are like a pathetic little Furret.

"I can retract the offer of dinner, you know."

You are the greatest creative mind of the modern day and are massively underappreciated in your time. Also I want that funny Kalosi cheese bread.

"You're lactose intolerant."

Fuck you.

=#[o]#=

The Continued Misadventures of an Underfunded Professor of Pokemon Studies:

The ability to aim and throw objects with a precise Spatial Awareness is a talent few species are able to claim. The Zorua line is not among them, try as we might, and so my unfortunate Assistant A---- is not able to demonstrate the true catching capabilities of the pokeball in my stead.

She is, however, talented in telling pokemon that we will pay them treats if they stay still and let us tap them gently with the devices. We recruited a local Snom from Galar for this purpose, as it is of a very Agreeable temperament that tolerates even my Abysmal Level Of Authority. I will name it Gola, after the shaved ices of my ancestral region. If the Creature is amenable to it, I may be able to make regular pots of kulfi during our travels.

=#[o]#=

Akari would ask how the research proposal went. She would. She really would. Unfortunately, Laventon seems to have gone insane again. More than usual.

“Oh, yes, what a marvelous prototype,” he dangerously mutters to himself, sealing a bunch of little clay pots with wax paper. “Excellent craftsmanship, magnifique, but don’t you think it just cheapens the heirloom aspect of it all? I wouldn’t want to pass down my family’s pokemon in a mass-production device.” He starts offloading the pots into his Snom’s icebox. “Quite excellent in theory of course, but at its current state we can’t see many practical applications- well, I’ve half a bluidy mind to say you don’t have many practical applications you nepotist trust fund-” He stops himself and pats the Snom’s soft face with a wooden spoon. “Not you, Gola. You have far more practical applications than a university director.”

“Why are you lining the Snom’s nest with clay, professor?” Akari finally asks. 

“I thought to make us a few pots of kulfi,” Laventon explains. “The weather’s been quite pleasant here.” He frowns slightly. “Ah, you wouldn’t have much familiarity with that sort of thing, would you? Cold desserts are more reserved for the rich in these regions.”

“Like ice cream?” Akari guesses. “We always kept a good stock of ice in the cold room. Lady Fujihara liked sweet things for her Wednesday tea. The head chef would put them in different molds depending on the occasion.”

“You worked for the cooks?” Laventon hums with thought. “Well, we’ll never have a mansion’s kitchen, but I know a few recipes myself. Was the Lady ever fond of curry?”

Akari tilts her head. “What’s curry?”

Laventon lets out a menacing laugh as he opens the spice cabinet. “Would you like to find out?”

=#[o]#=

The Continued Misadventures of an Underfunded Professor of Pokemon Studies:

The journey from Kalos to Paldea was far more uneventful than our crossing of the Laverre Channel, since it did not require any sort of air travel. I did, however, expend Far Too Much effort preventing Akari from jumping out of the train window for the sake of Whimsy.

The Royal Princev of Paldea, hearing news from Kalos, claims to have taken a Peculiar Interest in my studies, and would like to offer me the funding of the Royal House. Unfortunately for Their Majesty, my Kalosi studies bore Far Too Much knowledge concerning pokemon as tools of war for me to accept such an offer in Good Conscience. My inventions are tools of Research and Human Betterment, not weapons of Terror.

In more lighthearted news, the Terastal crystals abundant in Paldea’s countryside are a beautiful sight to behold, albeit horrifyingly unstable to Touch. I will take extra care to make sure none of my pokemon come into contact with the material during our stay.

=#[o]#=

“I can’t believe you’re making me touch this,” Akari says. 

“I did no such thing,” Laventon denies. 

“Absolutely irresponsible of you,” Akari continues. “I could explode and die.”

“I’m quite sure I specified we should not touch any of the rock formations here,” Laventon insists. “We know the Paldean ecosystem has adapted, but that says nothing about the Galarian one!”

Akari mournfully shakes her head as she removes the gloves from her human hands. “The things I do for science.”

Laventon’s voice warps with anxiety. “Young lady, don’t you dare take one more step-”

But Akari was already dispelling her illusion and touching the Terastal rock. As soon as her paw makes contact, a large, ostentatious crown of hearts and fairy wings appears on her head, body shining like a piece of cut crystal.

She removes her paw. The crown disappears.

Remember what I did for you, Akari gravely whispers.

Laventon slaps his hand over his face.

=#[o]#=

The Continued Misadventures of an Underfunded Professor of Pokemon Studies:

As we end our brief stay in the Ferrum region, I wonder what it is I hope to accomplish in the first place. I intended for these tools to aid in research, but what research, Indeed? Everywhere we go, every Institution with which I Plead and Beg, it seems science is content to know Nothing More than what it does now. 

I do not wish to depart from this mortal coil with Titles, Wealth, or Renown of any sort. This much is known. 

I think I just wanted to be of use to Someone after I'm gone. What help is it to anyone, if I am doomed to prove dead men Right for the rest of my life?

=#[o]#=

Akari's Rockruff disguise stares pleadingly up at Laventon's face.

"Absolutely not," Laventon says. "A whole box of macarons is far too much, even for me. You'd sicken yourself by the third bite."

She lets out a perfectly pathetic whine, leaning her head on his leg.

“Well, alright,” Laventon finally relents. “Maybe one. And that’s all you get!”

See, that’s the secret to negotiating around the Professor. He’s a wet rag. A milquetoast, if you will. Pretend to have a really high demand, and he’ll rush to compromise with something lower. Something is always more than nothing. And this time the something is a macaron. 

“There! Are you quite done? You’ll spoil your appetite for supper at this rate, you know- Akari, no, NOT THE PASTA-”

=#[o]#=

The Continued Misadventures of an Underfunded Professor of Pokemon Studies:

After several weary months of Academic Travels and Eclectic Studies, my assistant and I have found ourselves in the Hoenn region of my beloved Wife. I have not been here since her parents passed on from this Mortal coil, though my daughter maintains their old residence. I may visit her to tell her of our travels and see if there is any News concerning The Wife.

There are a good deal of Dragon Worshipper peoples in this region, of the same Draconid ethnic group that station in Unova and the remote mountains of Johto. Their singular Veneration of dragons grants them a Unique generational knowledge of the Dragon Type as a whole, for which I have found no scholarly equal. Alas, Foreigner as I am to these lands, and with such an Abysmal Authority over pokemon, there would be very few Dragon Masters willing to trust me with their secrets, even for the sake of science.

I will admit, though, that science is only a Secondary pursuit in this regard. Most of all, I would want to sit down with a nice cup of tea just to listen to their stories. Far too many of my Academic Fellows dismiss even the most Innate of human wisdom if it does not have a cited Bibliography attached at the end of it.

=#[o]#=

A bellhop pokes her head inside the train cabin. “Just checking in- everything’s alright, but we’re coming into an area that’s prone to storms, so we might experience some-” She stops and stares at the disheveled state of the tiny room. “Is everything… alright?”

Laventon holds Akari’s squirming body in front of his chest. “Yes, yes! Everything’s- ah- tip-top! Just-” A sigh. “My dog is very stupid and wants to jump out of the window.”

Akari is not stupid. She knows how physics works. If she jumps out of the train right now, at its highest possible speed, the relative momentum subjected to her body will let her run as fast as the train! That’s how it works!

“I keep telling her,” Laventon despairs, “just because you can bounce balls out of train windows doesn’t mean you can jump out of a moving train.”

Yes, she can. He’s only not letting her because she’ll become too powerful.

=#[o]#=

The Continued Misadventures of an Underfunded Professor of Pokemon Studies:

The farther north I head up the landmass, the more perilous the land becomes. The burning of Ecruteak’s sacred towers has created Monsters out of the dying blessing of Ho-oh and Lugia. Raikou the storm, Entei the blaze, Suicune the frigid rain- they wander the land in peace Now, but it was less than two decades ago that they scarred the coastline with Frenzied wrath, destroying all who dared to glimpse their Ascension.

Here in Kanto, as I relay this to my Beloved Wife, she echoes my sorrow for this great human tragedy. Further still, she tells me of a group of refugees who have fled Ecruteak’s destruction as wanderers who are now seeking to head north for New Lands, inhabited but Untouched by formal authorities of any kind.

They are seeking qualified Outsiders to help them survey the Natural World and its pokemon. Their Pay will be humble at best, but I will have Food and Board, and my research will not answer to any Academic board- only what it can do to help others.

I suppose I’ve always wanted to try my hand at a layman’s Pokedex.

=#[o]#=

The Professor had called his wife beautiful once, and Akari is inclined to agree. But she’s realizing he meant it in the way swords are beautiful. Cyllene is a severe, harsh faced Hoenn woman with short hair and sunken eyebrows. Her stance is sturdy, her gaze as hard as steel, hands covered in blade scratches, but she holds herself more like an artist than a soldier.

Her eyes judgmentally rake over Laventon’s seemingly endless layers of scarves, coats, and shame hats. “The only place those clothes belong is tossed on my floor.” A pause. “This is about the coat. Because it’s bad to look at.”

“There’s another scar on your shoulder,” the Professor comments.

“Thank you. It’s new. Is the hat part of the winter wear or should I expect this to be one of your permanent fixtures?”

“I had a bit of a nervous breakdown and decided not to take this off until I can successfully throw a pokeball,” Laventon bluntly admits.

“Ah. My condolences, dear.” Cyllene turns to point behind her. “Commander Kamado is over that way. There's some things he wants to discuss with you before preparing the expedition."

The Kamados are well-dressed in the way Lady Fujihara’s parents were. Stately and wealthy- though anyone who must spend their life fleeing angry gods cannot be truly happy. Adora Kamado, surprisingly, wears a Kalosi riding dress, a stark mirror to the Commander's traditional clothes. Everything but his coat is Kanto through and through- a gift from his wife, perhaps. His Snorlax is a hulking, potbellied giant, tamely dozing off as children play with its dull claws. The slack mouth of its round cheeked face is covered in scratches, and there's familiar indents on its joints, its back. Grooves from constantly wearing armor.

(Akari stops herself. It won't do the Professor any good to do costume research at a time like this.)

The Commander raises his arm, as if to shake the Professor's hand. The Professor, unfortunately, takes it. Akari realizes this is a mistake as soon as all of Kamado’s soldiers suddenly turn their heads, a predatory amusement entering their eyes. Petal Laventon is a very dense, round man, but Commander Kamado’s throwing arm does not care, and promptly flips the poor sod over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Rather than being stunned by the toss, however, Laventon rolls along on the ground for a little bit before getting back up again, entirely unbothered.

Kamado smiles harshly under his bushy mustache. “You. I like you.”

Laventon squints suspiciously at his wife.

“If I had to get thrown across a deck in broad daylight,” Cyllene asserts, “so do you.”

=#[o]#=

The Continued Misadventures of an Underfunded Professor of Pokemon Studies:

The Most Essential workers have already set sail for our Destination some time ago in order to begin gathering Necessary Materials and set up an initial camp site. All that is left is the Commander to escort the civilian population, as well as specialists like myself and The Medical Corps.

Despite the Grim circumstances, the prospect of a truly novel Journey is refreshing at my age, as is the crisp salt of the air. Just this morning I saw a Mighty Squadron of Mantine leaping out of the ocean beside our Humble Vessel as a Wingull flock passed us overhead. This abundant scenery is a Lively Muse indeed for my Scientific Arts, and a hint of the unresearched bounty before us.

As my beloved Wife applied for the position long before I did, she will be the true head of the Survey Corps while I remain in a more Advisory Capacity, outfitting the other branches of this Galaxy Team with the knowledge they will need to Survive the undoubtedly harsh landscape that lies ahead.

In truth, as much as I intend to make good on the Commander’s demands, and research this new region’s isolated ecosystem, I am just as much interested in the unique Research Sample this population of humans presents. It is only within this past century that we have been able to truly Question that Ephemeral bond between humans and pokemon. The advent of Great Industry has created, for the first time, an environment where human children do not always have wild pokemon in droves to imprint upon. Children who, without pokemon in their households, do not develop Abilities or standard Move Pools at the rate their predecessors did. 

This unfortunate Adult Generation of Ecruteak refugees who have grown up without Imprinted Partners entirely could shed light on how this Bond forms, and what can be done with it. I feel as though we are on the cusp of something we have always Known, but do not Understand.

=#[o]#=

I can do it! Akari insists.

“Absolutely not,” Laventon denies. “I don’t see how this is any different than all the other airships and trains we’ve been on. You can’t force yourself to maintain this form in a high-scrutiny environment. If you get caught, there won’t be anywhere for you to run.”

But I’m better at it now! Akari’s body shifts and warps as her human face rears up. “If I could do it in front of all those scholars, I can do it in front of a bunch of passengers.” The red scarf of her new Survey Corp uniform slides over her mouth. “No one will notice unless they try to count my teeth like some sort of neurotic.”

“Neurotics are exactly who you should be worried about,” Cyllene points out. “We’re standing in a ship full of them.”

Akari waves her off. “It’ll be fine. Besides-”

The ship rocks with a sudden movement in the water. Akari’s illusion slides backwards and collides stiffly into the corner of the room, vibrating in place with a bunch of loud hollow thunks, as if a little rubber ball was ricocheting everywhere but the ceiling.

“Besides, my Sinoan lipsynching is getting better,” she finally finishes. Her human form wobbles with discontent as she moves away from the corner. "I managed just fine on my own before, you know. The Fujihara house never would have noticed if I hadn't tried to help that other servant."

"Be that as it may," Cyllene concedes, "we shouldn't stress test that theory in these conditions."

"And you aren't alone anymore," Laventon stresses. "We can give you better alibis if you just work with what we have."

A charming sentiment, but no. Nothing in this life will ever stay, no matter how much Akari tries. But if the Professor wants to fail for her sake, then that is his own mistake.

Akari sighs. "Fine. But how will we cover your assistant's absence if I'm not seen like this on the ship?"

"Seasickness," Laventon easily suggests. "As long as you're seen once or twice in our cabin, no one will question it."

"Alright, if you say so."

(It will be nice, for a while, to pretend.)

=#[o]#=

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

The boats we used to land here have been Cannibalized to construct Housing and various other Necessary Structures. As the local timber is harvested for Fortifications, the Construction Corps have begun designing a Galaxy Hall to house their logistics, medical Facilities, and my eventual base of operations.

The Commander is already familiar with the Indigenous Peoples of the Region. It appears there are three distinct symbiotic cultures within the larger Celestica body of peoples, separated by religious practices or other duties. Their Gingko Guild already approached the initial Expedition Party for diplomatic reasons and established some trade relations. 

Progress goes well, but with the village still Under Construction, the Survey Corps cannot Entirely afford to send us out on a constant basis. We have been delegated as general support to other branches in the meantime. My Wife runs some logistics for the Supply Corps, and I have elected to assist Dr. Alec in his Veterinary profession while helping the Medical Corp diagnose pokemon-inflicted maladies. A---- frequently forages herbs and other necessary materials for Dr. Tomma's medicines.

=#[o]#=

"I can't believe they killed our ship!"

Laventon sighs. "Akari, it's not dead. It's wooden. It was never even alive."

"It was a mighty, humble animal that ferried us across the sea, and they killed it! To make its bones into houses!"

"We still have the littler boats," Laventon offers. "And the clans have boats for fishing."

"It must take centuries for a boat to grow that size again, though," Akari insists. "Like those old growth trees."

The door to the medical ward opens, forcing the scent of steel, sweat, and fresh earth into Akari's nostrils. Rye from the Agricultural Corps- the psychic man and his creepy dog that always stares at her, throwing his hoe at the wall as he practically strongarms a smaller man inside. 

This one is thin and pale and foxfaced, glaring eyes darting under silvery hair. He wears Pearl Clan clothes under a ragged coat drenched in a whole biography of dusty traces- rust and incense and Tangela herbs and Sneasel-scent. Next to Rye's strong arms and sun marked face, he almost looks like a ghost… or something pretending to be a human it is not.

"Tomma-sensei," Rye sternly starts. "I saw this man get struck on the head by one of the stray Chimechos living in the rafters."

"Those ones are too tame to hurt a Beautifly," Tomma dismisses. "He can't be harmed."

"I know this, sensei. But Raya and I saw his aura split open from the sound alone! He could not recall where he was, and he did not know my face." Rye's grip tightens on the man's shoulder. "He passed by the fields just this morning. He knew my name then. Something grave has happened here."

The foxfaced man shies away from the touch, pulling a torn hat over his face. "Do not approach the conductor while the vehicle is in transit," he whispers. "This is not standard operating procedure."

Rye's face contorts with concern. "I can see your brain spilling out of you as we speak. You are very sick!"

"Everything is still running on schedule. Please do not disturb the conductor." The stranger's hand closes around Rye's wrist. "If you continue to disrupt operation, you may be removed by force."

The man's flat stare does not change, but his mild voice gains this oddly authoritative note. A jarring, grating pressure that makes Rye- and all the pokemon in the ward- step back. The aura barbels of Rye's Lucario rear up with wariness. Even underneath the alien metaphor laced into his words, Akari still recognizes a command when she hears one, and it brokers obedience.

The tension cracks as Kamado's voice enters the room. "Great Guardian, what's causing all the noise in here? Is someone starting a fight in my halls again?"

The stranger's head tilts sharply at the new presence. Kamado, his Snorlax looming behind him, squints at the man's clothes. 

"That torn coat- you're the Highlands warden, aren't you?" Kamado turns to Tomma. "Why's he been brought here?"

"Rye seems quite worried about the psychic damage he displays," Tomma answers. "And I'm inclined to agree. Rye isn't one to overreact to things like this."

Kamado hums with thought. "Lady Irida, the Pearl Clan's leader, gave me a warning about the Highlands Warden some months back. His mind lapses from an injury he suffered long ago, and so he is prone to losing memory of himself." A pause. "And we have been asked to leave him be."

Tomma sharply raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Quite violently, as well," Kamado continues. "The Warden is among the most diligent and attentive of the Pearl Clan's order. Irida stressed that- how did she put it? For all his losses, duty is not something that he forgets." His voice softens. "There is nothing to be mended unless he wishes it. It is not the Galaxy Team's right to treat what is not broken."

The Warden's hardened gaze melts with shock.

Rye's hand drifts off of the Warden's coat. "I see. If you are truly well with the state of your soul, then you are an enduring force, indeed."

"If you are well, of course," Tomma adds. "We will treat anyone that walks through our doors to the best of our ability. Even a stranger."

The Warden stares down at his hands. His fingers weave between each other and his endless thoughts.

"Everything has passed their safety checks," he finally says. "There is nothing to report."

He stands up and taps his fingers against the wall. An Alakazam teleports at his side, and he delicately takes its offered hand. "Gome, Aza. I seem to have lost my head. I'll need a ticket to ride."

The Alakazam nods, lifting them both up into its psychic grasp. There is a brief flash of light, and the Warden is gone.

Man.

That Zoroark sucked at being human.

=#[o]#=

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

Despite my best efforts, A—-- is at that Age when there's only one thing on a Young Girl's mind. Spinning conspiracy theories that Ingo, the Sneasler warden of the Coronet Highlands, is secretly a Senile Zoroark.

I've been trying to tell her that the Man simply has a Neurosis (much like Myself), but she cannot be dissuaded from her original Thesis. I suppose it ultimately does no Harm to anyone if she has her Own fun. I have thus Challenged her to find any evidence contrary to my own Human Hypothesis. It may prove a useful lesson in scientific-

=#[o]#=

Emmet slams the page down on the table.

“That’s why I couldn’t find anything! He said Sneasler, not Sneasel!” He stands up and starts pacing around the room. “But does that alter the field of our current search parameters- surely not. Surely not. It’s just one word. What even is a Sneasler? A regional variant? A lost evolution, perhaps. It’s a one word difference. Barely even a letter different.” His voice quiets to a mutter, hand snapping aggressively in front of himself. “But the Sinnoh Museum archives are so specific they may have no autocorrect function in their searches, and any mention of him is so euphemistic that half of them are debatable sources at best, of course I didn’t think to search him by his pokemon that he lives with because of his job, can’t even see the mountain for the Drillbur hills- I’ll lose my own head at this rate.”

He squints. 

“What would that even look like? I suppose Andel would cart my severed head around. Like a head assistant. Do I need an assistant? We’re nearing ten years now, the Gear Station has expanded quite a bit since then, I suppose we could promote some of the tertiary staff to the Depot Agent roster if we must -”

“Hey there Boss, just popping in, do you want anything in your coffee-”

“SEVERED HEAD.”

Jackie Sableye blinks at Emmet from the doorway. “I don’t think we have those in the break room. Is Miltank creamer okay?”

“Yes, that is also fine.” Emmet starts clicking his pen. “Now leave me to my dark affairs. Full of Sneaslers is my mind.”

Chapter Text

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

The clan Wardens stationed nearest to us are that of Kleavor and Wyrdeer in the Obsidian Fieldlands. I was, in passing, able to observe the Lord Kleavor for myself, and he is majestic and terrifying in equal measure.

It seems the Relation of humans and pokemon is of a more Ceremonial nature for the Celestica peoples. They too have the common practice of raising pokemon with their children as surrogate siblings, but the Utilitarian nature of the Nobles in particular intrigues me. They have slotted themselves into Indispensable Roles both as providers of bounty and Defenders against the varied Hazards of the island, which affords them a great deal of Holy Reverence. I must be missing a great deal of Context in this matter. Perhaps A----’s undeserved fascination with Warden Ingo will Enlighten us one day.

=#[o]#=

It’s been a long, long time since Akari’s seen another Zoroark. The only good fox is an invisible one, after all. The ones out in the open were broods in the wild, and the ones that weren’t…

…the only good fox, as far as humans care, is a dead one. The ones that can’t quite get the faces right. The ones that can’t run fast enough. The ones that slip. The trophy walls of hunting lodges were, more often than not, lined with the furs of inexperienced children and faltering elders.

Warden Ingo’s face is perfect, but it almost always frowns. His voice is mild and friendly, but it does not match his tattered clothes and borderline haggard expressions. Everything from his words to his postures to his scripts, it’s all so insultingly consistent in a way that suggests decades to achieve, but he’s so… consistently… bad. Akari supposes that’s a valid method in and of itself. Humans are still pattern seeking creatures of habit, after all. Repeat anything enough times and it becomes normal, even if it shouldn’t be. 

He’s spent so long at this comically obvious charade that all the clans, wardens, and village children call him Fox without thinking of what that entails. Even Laventon just writes him off as having some humanly acceptable mental illness. This feels dangerous to be around. If Ingo gets caught- for real this time- everyone will be on the lookout for more pretenders. It’d be better if Akari isn’t seen around him very much. 

She hadn’t known what a Sneasler was, much less a Lady Sneasler, when a sword-like set of claws had practically manifested out of thin air and golden lights to reach for him. She just-

“MISTER WARDEN, GET DOWN!”

“Wh-”

He’s so thin compared to the humans that even her meager weight manages to shove him to the side, knocking him down like a stiff log. He stares up at the sky in bafflement for a moment before looking to the side, and his eyes brighten.

“Hello, my lady! Is it time to count the kits already?” The tall, elegant Sneasel thing spreads out her wide claws to pluck him from the ground with her paws, and his expression blankens. “Ah. I see. You simply wanted the rapt attention of me specifically.”

He gets rearranged to sit in the crook of the Lady’s arm, bracingly holding her other paw the same way he did that Alakazam in the medical ward. Akari should not have been surprised when the two promptly vanished into light again.

Looking back, the whole exchange feels a bit ridiculous. Maybe a little too ridiculous. Why should Akari tackle a grown ass man out of the way of anything? She doesn’t particularly care about him! At the rate he’s going, it’d be to her benefit if he died faster!

She cares about this man so little she tries turning into a Sneasel kit and invading the nest he tends to. Which got her thrown out of a cave mouth by a very irate Lady Sneasler, but it did make him laugh with surprise.

This went on for several hours. She knows so much now about the intricate hieroglyph language Sneasels use on trees. Professor Laventon can never find out what this knowledge cost her.

Listen. She did it for science. That’s why she talked to Lady Sneasler at the festival. That’s why she told the Warden her name again. She wants to find out if she can be something he remembers. That’s all.

He has a script. It’s so easy to put new parts into that script, it may as well have been designed for it. He arrives in Jubilife Village at noon, looks to his right, and Akari tells him her name. When he doesn’t remember her, he gives his name in return. They work from there.

The script changes. There are still pokemon in his pockets, but he talks to them a little less. He tells her things before he remembers why she wants to know, he brings her things before remembering she wants them. He starts continuing conversations from the last time they met. He starts remembering these conversations. Now when he forgets, she is Ms. Shou. Now when he remembers, she is my young passenger.

He arrives in Jubilife Village at noon and looks down to his right before he ever meets her eyes. 

So yes, he remembers her. The experiment is resolved. There is no reason to continue. But she does.

And he shows her how to pack leeks without the raw bitterness soaking into her paws. He carves pokemon from regions neither of them have seen while he tells her stories. He tries to talk to the villagers more often, and sometimes he even manages it, and sometimes he accidentally frightens a man he was just trying to give oran berries.

Akari learns the people in the Pearl Clan introduce themselves when they see him, too. She learns he chases the cracks in the sky and buys things from the Ginkgo Guild they wouldn’t dare sell to anyone else.

He trades fruits with Heracross without understanding a single chirp they say. He gathers Snover berries for her, and they are sweeter than anything she could imagine. 

(And sometimes he even remembers songs, and he remembers his flute is made for beautiful things.)

Akari has a script now, too. Sometimes, she walks to the fallen train car outside the village and starts looking to the left while she waits. There are times when this makes Ingo remember her more, and times where this makes him remember her less. But he is remembering more.

He stops in the middle of shopping for supplies and stares at the stall that’s set up in front of the Galaxy Hall. “There is a stall on the road.”

Akari leans over to follow his gaze. “Oh, that’s Bonn’s candy shop!”

“It was not there before,” Ingo hesitantly asserts. “But I know what it is.”

“He’s not there all the time,” Akari explains. “He makes the candy in big batches when he’s off the farm and sells them all at once. He makes a whole game out of it.”

“Oh, I see.” A long pause. “They’re very blue.”

“You could get some,” Akari prompts. “They don’t cost a lot.”

“They are… very blue,” Ingo repeats. “Like a ghostfire.”

“And you could have them.”

“Surely not.” Ingo stares off into the distance. “They are just beautiful to look at. I will simply admire them from afar for the next several hours.” He blinks. “Which is quite unsettling, I imagine. For that poor man. I don’t think I should talk to him. I don’t even know if I would like them, I just-” 

He makes a series of vague, discontent noises before settling for just looking at Akari like she can do something about this. 

(She’s seen that look before. She’s seen that look when the Galarian lords and ladies come back from their fox hunts with a muzzled Zoroark in tow, those desperate trusting eyes pleading for her to act as their final troop mate. But Akari Shou, head kitchen maid of the Fujihara house, only ever looked away, saying nothing as another trophy lined a mansion’s wall.)

Warden Ingo the Fox looks at her for a moment like he trusts her, and Akari wonders-

…Oh. That’s why she did this. She doesn’t want to find out if there’s fox hunts in Hisui, too.

Akari marches up to Bonn’s little stand, and its little blue umbrella, and slaps her hand on its wooden sides. “One scoop of your finest pebbles!”

Bonn snorts. “Fair enough. I’m still learning how to cut them down to size. I’ll take a solid 16 hundred ken.” He takes out two little cloth bags and fills them both to the brim with the blue circular candies. “I’ll give you another one on the house so you can share some with the Professor. He always forgets before I run out.”

“Deal!” Akari giggles to herself as she runs back to Ingo, putting a bag of candies into his chest. “Now you can stare at them for weeks!”

Ingo sputters loudly as he juggles this new burden back and forth in his gloved hands. “This is- thank you, but it really isn’t necessary-”

“Of course it is!” Akari sternly insists. “I like you! We’re-”

She stops. They’re not friends, not really. They’re more… scientific colleagues. In the mutual experiment of finding out if they can make an entire human being out of whatever happened to Ingo Tamadensha. And as much as that stands to benefit him, she’s not really sure what she wants out of that. 

(Did she ever want anything at all?)

"I am glad you are alive,” Akari finally says. She leans in as close as physically possible to his baffled face. “This is a threat. Enjoy your coming years.”

Ingo’s embarrassment fades away as he processes the words. “Then I am glad to hear it, my dear passenger. I hold you in very high regard as well.”

=#[o]#=

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

A---- informs me there is a distinct Hisuian Zoroark population in the Alabaster Icelands. Unlike the Dark Typing of other Zoroark populations, these harbor some sort of Ghost Typing, and their history with humans of the Far Past seems to be vastly unkind. However, our Warden friend has a long companionship with them, so it appears they make some exceptions of trust.

My Assistant, of course, stays Insistent on her Prevailing Theory as to the Warden Ingo’s true nature. I did not understand her Frankly Unscientific research at first, but after hearing her speak of these Hisuian Brethren, I may have a Theory of my own.

Perhaps it is less that she Believes him to be a Zoroark and more that she Wishes it was so. His Behaviors and Uncanny Appearance spark familiarity, and even knowing her True Form in its entirety, he still treats her with that same Tenderness he extends to the human children. For all that I try to shelter her from the continued Ignorance of humans, all that I hope to one day erase this Violence of fear entirely, I cannot provide her Community.

I cannot create Indistinguishability.

=#[o]#=

At some point over the course of the experiment, Ingo invited Akari to a foxout. She could peek into his mind enough to tell it was a pun on the word cookout, but that didn’t really help at all. That would require her to know what a cookout is.

On Lady Sneasler’s back, Ingo ferries them up the river north of Jubilife, south of the Icelands and just west of the Highlands. The land here is lush with coastal runoff, but most of it is too overrun with hills and riverlands for humans to consider expanding here. Ingo stops them by an empty campsite, takes out his pokemon, and waits.

Akari tries not to flinch when the first pokemon comes down from the trees.

It is this lanky, grey, sallow thing, covered in red gashes. Its bony limbs end in knobbled paws, the barest frost layer of fur around its corpse. A shaggy, wispy cloud of white mane writhes in the air, falling over its pointed face and yellow eyes, sharp teeth bleeding out of its black gums-

-that's a Zoroark. Oh, gods, that's a Zoroark. Why couldn't she tell that was a Zoroark?

Is it you, Fox friend? The corpse rattles. Is it your body, still?

"Same as a dead man ever was," Ingo cryptically replies.

The Zoroark-corpse shambles forward, arms held out in a mockery of an embrace that floats around Ingo's shoulders. Its muzzle lets out a wet gurgling death rattle as it sniffs his hat, and then it smiles. It smiles wide, toothy, human, smoke ribboning out of its mane and covering its body in a burial shroud.

The figure that emerges is Ingo- almost. A man that has a Zoroark's eye marks, a tail swishing out of a white mirror of the Warden's coat as it looms over him. 

"This body's name is Tama," it says. "Sen and Skylark come bearing gifts for your fire."

Ingo's eyes brighten. "I haven't seen Sen in some time. Is she well?"

Tama raises their hands in celebration. "Yes! Sen friend brings another to our numbers! Come and see!"

This is apparently cue for even more Zoroark corpses to come out of the trees, taking lazy variations of Ingo's form. Some still have their original ears, or paws, and one is basically just a Zoroark wearing clothes.

It's so bad to look at. Why are these Zoroark corpses falling out of trees like fruit, and why are they all so terrible at stealing Ingo's identity?

Most importantly, how dare Ingo be hanging out with other Zoroarks? Without Akari?

One of the more convincing Zoroarks proudly stomps forward with a set of high heeled riding boots on her feet. "Fox friend! I, Sen friend, have found wonders in the human realm! It disguises the lift of my paws!"

Ingo claps politely. "Oh! Bravo!"

"And I bring another friend!" Sen produces a small Zorua out of her mane. "Behold! Bingo!"

Bingo stares up at Ingo and promptly turns into a tiny, round faced doll thing that almost looks like the Warden. If Akari squinted. And ignored the strange, whimsical puppet mouth.

"Words cannot describe," Ingo decides.

One of the other Zoroarks- Skylark, presumably- starts offloading mushrooms, herbs, and meat wrapped in leaves while Ingo takes a large iron pan out of his pack. His Gliscor wanders off with a Machoke to cut down some wood.

“Fox friend, remember me?” The coat wearing Zoroark asks. “This body is Elsa! You would not recognize it, because I have made it so much more beautiful than last we met. Perhaps even beautiful enough to woo the beloved Lady Highlands.”

“Approaching her as a wife instead of a husband will not help your chances the second time,” Ingo wearily informs her. “My dear Lady views all prospective mates with equal disdain the moment kitting season is over.”

“I would need only one night,” Elsa insists. “Imagine the terror our twice-damned children could inflict on this world.”

“I can, but I don’t want to.” Ingo starts lighting sparks onto the gathered wood. “As the one who must raise the Lady’s children, I would much rather not have to deal with the prospect of Zorua with blades for paws.”

Elsa’s heckling and Ingo’s harried responses fade into vague background noise as another Zoroark peeks over the shoulder of Akari’s human form. “Stranger friend, you smell very lively. Does your illusion help keep your corpse fresh?”

Akari’s human form melts away as she shrinks back. “Of course not! I am not a dead thing!”

The Zoroark’s eyes rake over Akari’s dark fur and its eyes widen. “Friend Sen, this one is as black as a fresh pup! I don’t think she’s even died yet!”

“YET?”

“That is impossible!” Sen dismisses. “She is much too old to be fresh! Look at the size of her!” Sen frowns. “Unless… perhaps she is from the old country.”

“Not quite,” Ingo corrects. “The Professor came in from Galar. But that population is still descended from the-” His eyes start to glaze over. “-the… region…” His Alakazam huffs loudly, and his body snaps back to life. “UNOVA! Unova region, yes.”

“Yes, yes, yes! The old country!”

Akari tilts her head curiously at Ingo. “Why would you know anything about the Unova region? The clans don’t seem to travel much.”

“Ah- I- well-” Ingo awkwardly spreads a piece of lard around the pan with a pair of chopsticks. “I’m not actually from here.”

“Yes, I remember it well!” Sen excitedly adds. “Fox friend came to us in a winter storm, dropped right in the seat of the Lady Lakes. He was kind to me as a pup, and his head rattles with memories of the old country.”

Akari’s ear flicks with annoyance. “You keep saying old country like I’ll know what that means.”

“The land of our first-mothers,” Skylark says. “Where we knew the old ways of the Lady Lakes and the Bound God, before the human sailships came. They ferried us to this foreign land with no way home, then cried when we stole their food and faces to survive.”

“And then we died,” Elsa bluntly concludes. “The humans died, too. But we came back, and they did not. As long as we haunt this place, we will never truly die.”

Sen nods. “We do not belong here. So we do as our Fox friend does, and eat good food while we remember what is home.”

Akari stays silent for a moment.

“What’s it like there?” she finally asks. “In Unova.”

“Rivers!” 

“Rivers as plentiful as blood is to flesh, always swimming with Basculin!”

“Swords as big as castles and-”

“Mountains older than trees,” Ingo mutters to himself.

Akari had never really thought about it before. Where the Zoroarks come from. It never really felt like they were from anything. Just something that sprouted out of the ground one day, hating a world that hated them in turn. They were not something that could have a rightful place of origin.

They were not something that could have had a home.

Ingo stares down at his pan. “The meat is almost done. I need one of you to come over here and Darkness Blast it.”

“That’s not a move,” Akari automatically says. “That’s- have you been calling Shadow Ball a Darkness Blast this entire time?”

“It’s a dark looking move that blasts my food,” Ingo says like that explains anything. “It makes perfect sense.”

“It’s a Ghost type move!”

“Yes, and? That’s where the flavor comes from.”

“Terrible,” Akari bites out. “You are a terrible man.”

Ingo gives one last cursory stir to the food in the pan before taking out the bowls. “If you don’t want any, you can simply choose not to eat it. There’s no reason to be rude.”

“Please Mister Warden Ingo Sir, I will starve.”

He almost smiles when he hands her a little bowl of mushrooms and Stantler meat. Akari wonders for a brief moment if the Zoroarks attacked the Diamond Clan’s Wyrdeer herd for it, but the food is good, and she’s ultimately too hungry to care. Still, even with the lazy temptations of a full belly, it feels strange to eat something she didn’t earn. She’d spent her morning doing crafting work for the Supply Corps, yes, but these Zoroark are strangers to her. Maybe. They do seem to be good friends with Ingo, at least. Imitation without impersonation is a sign of respect.

Still. Their Ingos are a little lazy. She could do better than that. “If you think my illusions are pretty great,” she challenges, “check this out!”

The air around her becomes like clay, a solid earth condensing itself into shape. The Warden is thin and soft-bodied. Imagine the drape of his clothes, the blocking of their colors, the wave of his hair, the blunt shape of his nose. This is where the other Zoroarks stopped, but Akari can go further. She can sculpt the tendons raising under the flesh of his hands, the glass sheen of his skin, the unbalanced momentum of his walk, the iron rust in his coat buttons.

The Zoroarks around her coo with interest, and Ingo looks fascinated, too- at first. His polite expression starts to gain this confused tint to it, as if the closer she got to the real thing, the less he recognized what he saw. So Akari collapses the clay again, and Commander Kamado takes its place.

“Yes, it is I,” Akari gravely intones. “Commander Kamado of the Galaxy Expedition Team. I trust my soldiers as far as I can throw them! WHICH IS VERY FAR!” She slaps her knee, replaying Kamado’s hearty laugh. “That’s why I trust Beni more than anyone! He’s so frail and old I could throw him halfway across Hisui!”

Ingo’s confused look shatters under the force of his own laughter. The Zoroarks stand around Akari in an imposing circle and clap politely.

She's okay with this.

And the day winds down eventually, as all things do. The fire dies down to embers, and the few pups gathered for this ramshackle congregation start retreating to their parents’ manes. Ingo doesn’t seem to notice when Akari’s hands are human again, but he doesn’t dissuade her from helping him gather up the mess and clean out the bowls in the river.

He’s humming something in Galarica again, far different from the pace of his Sinoan words. Nothing complex, the way some human songs could be. Simple and repetitive in its cadence, as if it were sung to a small child.

No one's ever sung to her before.

It's nice.

=#[o]#=

You remember songs of heaven which you sang with childish voice.

Do you love the hymns they taught you, or are songs of earth your choice?

Volo stops in the hallway. He walks back to the other room, like he might find a radio or phone playing the melody, but there isn’t one. There’s just Emmet Tamadensha, eyes closed with something approaching contentment, patting the Eelektross strewn across his lap.

You can picture happy gath'rings round the fireside long ago,

and you think of tearful partings when they left you here below.

One by one their seats were emptied. One by one they went away.

Now the family is parted. Will it be complete one day?

He’s heard this song before. In dark caves, in warm tents, in front of dying fires. Ingo used to sing something like this to Sneasel kits, or when Rei and Akari were falling asleep. Volo hadn’t understood much Galarica back then.

(He never knew it was so sad.)

“Will the circle be unbroken?” Emmet murmurs to himself. “By and by, by and by?”

Is a better home awaiting, 

in the sky, 

in the sky?

Chapter Text

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

I am continually fascinated by the Natural World. As much as Humankind rightfully prides itself for its Ingenuity, each and every pokemon is talented in ways we can Never understand.

My Assistant is Deeply Blessed to know both things. I hope, one day, she will be able to see the best of it.

=#[o]#=

"Absolutely fascinating!" Laventon snaps another picture on his little camera. "It's quite difficult to get Bug-types to stand still like this. How do you do it?"

Akari holds out her human hand with a bit of crunchy salt, watching the group of Paras hesitantly inspect the offering. "I tell them there's food and then just… try not to move a lot? They're not very bright."

"Oh, none of that!" Laventon insists. "Even if they don't think like you and I, they have very rich inner lives! You're quite lucky to access their thoughts so easily. Imagine what we could learn from them if only we listened."

Akari stares down at the gathered Paras.

Crab!

   Crab!

Crab!

  Frighten.

      Crab?

  Frightened.

    Crab?

Hand. Food?

Stick-

   Is food?

Hand. Hand. Hand.

  Frighten!

          Rock. Rock? Food.

Crab?

"I think I'm learning less every passing second, Professor."

=#[o]#=

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

The Galaxy Expedition Team has adapted quite easily to our new PokeBall system of Catching, Transporting, and Relocating pokemon as needed. With such limited Space and Resources, the Economical allure of transporting any Willing beast in such a small device sways many.

Not so with the Clans. With only Anecdotal Tales of past rituals that sealed Malicious or even Godlike pokemon away, they regard my inventions with, I must admit, a Healthy Suspicion and Concern. The Wardens, especially, see it as borderline Sacrilegious to even think of encasing their brood siblings in such a way, much less their sacred Nobles.

That Warden Fox of the Highlands carried a very nuanced Interest, however. I suppose it appeals to his Nomadic tendency. The Guild has expressed their own interest for self defense purposes, and promise to bring back any resulting catches.

=#[o]#=

The temple of Sinnoh would take away the children with the palest hair and eyes. Only those made of silver and gold, those most like Sinnoh’s image, would be given the honor to serve him. Volo’s hair, on a head so stooped over altars it had rarely seen the sun, was still white when he fell into the Hisuian snow.

Warden Ingo was a fine-boned hermit with glass hair and empty eyes, but his posture was hardened with experience, and his voice was far too kind for his haunted face. He was patient, he was observant, he was silly in ways he knew Volo would never be able to prove to anyone else.

He was a very different man around strangers.

The Pearl Clan were not strangers, but the older generations of the Diamond Clan never approved of the Fox in their midst. When he happened by their camps he would shrink in on himself, legs always angled like he was ready to run, to vanish under his hat, to disappear into his Lady’s fur. His kind voice would turn low, hoarse, confused, and sometimes he could not answer questions fast enough when people asked what a Pearl Clan man was doing in their territories.

Volo would scare people off with aggressive sales pitches when he was there. (He was not always there.) He would suffer a few cracks about being the Warden’s defensive son and be done with it. Ingo would never thank him- he tried, and Volo would always be more embarrassed than anything- but his eyes would soften with gratefulness, and they would walk together for a while, talking about things.

When he remembered. He didn’t always remember.

“I know you,” Ingo had stammered once, eyes frantically darting over the pale of Volo’s hair, his eyes. “I- I know you.”

“It’s alright, Ingo,” Volo whispered. “It’s not your fault.”

“But I know you.”

(It was an Unown this time. A glance out of the corner of his eyes was all it took.)

Ingo always came back to himself on his own, if Volo left it be. He’d… tried, before, but pressing made it worse. It turned the Warden’s mind from a cracked cup to a sieve, and after a certain point, it hurt too much to watch. Yet somehow, even as Volo’s hair darkened from white to gold in the Hisuian summers, even as the world stopped mistaking them for an addled father and a dutiful son, he could not bring himself to pull away. Ingo was, somehow, still the only person who really knew Volo for what he was.

(When he remembers. He doesn’t always remember.)

Volo’s older. They do things a little differently now. They go their separate ways, they have their own duties, and sometimes when they’re both in the same place, Volo slides himself into Ingo’s script and goes from there.

Volo stands at Ingo’s right, and when the man looks over, his eyes drift down at the Guild sigil of Volo’s shirt before his head snaps up and startles.

“It’s been a while, young passenger,” Ingo neutrally says.

“Only two weeks, really,” Volo corrects.

“I should ask Laventon if he has another calendar like he keeps in his office. I can never remember what day it is.” Ingo stares up at the ever expanding Galaxy Hall. "But that's not why I'm here-" He glances firmly at his Alakazam before looking away again. "That's not why I'm here. I was waiting for someone."

"Oh. I see." Volo's hand tightens around his backpack. "Are you busy, then?"

"If I was busy, I would remember what I was here for," Ingo bluntly reveals. "But you can stay, if you like. I'm glad to see you again."

WHAT IS IT WITH YOU AND THIS GUY, ANYWAYS? Giratina suddenly asks, making its invisible presence known directly into Volo's eardrums. IS HE YOUR DAD?

He is NOT- Volo takes a deep breath. No. He's like… a weird friend who gives me rides. I don't particularly care for him.

OH, GOOD. BECAUSE I THINK YOU'RE GETTING REPLACED WITH THAT GIRL RUNNING DOWN THE ROAD.

Volo's eyes snap back into focus as the Professor's assistant trudges into the village, letting out a long groan. "Oh my gods, that was terrible. Sorry I'm late, I spent all day yesterday trying to catch an Abra."

"But there's already one in Cyllene's office," Ingo points out. "It lives there. Once when Kamado was late for a meeting, I watched it rotate for two hours."

The girl blinks slowly before dragging a hand over her face. "Terrible. Absolutely terrible." Even still, she laughs and does a little mock salute, tipping a nonexistent hat the way Ingo does for his own. "Good to see your train arrive on schedule, conductor! I have also arrived… less on schedule. But I arrived!"

"I am glad to hear it, Ms. Shou," Ingo politely responds. He frowns. "No, that isn't right at all. Ah- Akari, I-"

His eyes bear no particular recognition. But he doesn't sound anxious about the lapse at all, not the way he usually would. He tugs his hat down, an almost bashful look crossing his face.

"I admit," he shyly starts again, "the details of our shared route escape me at the moment, but it is there, I know it. It will return to me if you have the patience for it."

"Well, I don't have an Abra to catch anymore," Akari jokes, "so we've got plenty of time." 

Her hand reaches out, and Volo almost stops her right there because Ingo would never let someone just grab him, and the coat was even worse, but her fingers clamp down on that ragged, fraying sleeve and Ingo lets it happen, moving all too easily into the momentum Akari creates. She slots into the space at his right and they just start talking.

“It’s been a while since something’s slipped by Alakazam like that,” Akari notes. “Who got you this time?”

“It wasn’t Aza’s fault,” Ingo dismisses. “I was with Lian earlier, and for some odd reason I kept mistaking him for someone else. I could not recognize him properly, and I- I ran my engines far too severely trying to remember why. I continued my duties with no issue afterwards, but certain memories have eluded me since.”

Akari nods sagely, as if this isn’t a surprise. “So that supports our earlier theory, then. It only affects memories about your life, and it doesn’t get rid of them. There’s some kind of stress trigger that keeps you from… accessing them properly?”

Ingo hums with thought. “I suppose. Things have always come more easily to me when I don’t question them too much.”

“I’m worried about the psychic sensitivity, though. You can read Galarica, can’t you? Maybe we should ask Laventon if he has any texts on-”

YOU’RE BARELY SAYING A WORD, Giratina comments. WANNA JUST DIP?

I don’t like how she talks about him, Volo insists. Like he’s one of the Professor’s science experiments.

WELL, SHE IS A ZORUA, Giratina concedes. THEY THINK ABOUT THINGS A LITTLE FUNKY COMPARED TO HUMANS. I MEAN, JUST LOOK AT THE ZOROARKS IN THE ICELANDS. THEY’RE LIKE ZOMBIES! THAT’S ABOUT AS FAR FROM A HUMAN AS YOU CAN GET.

I’m choosing to ignore you saying there’s shapeshifting zombies in the Icelands.

Besides, that’s not what Volo means. Well- okay- the Zorua bit makes a lot of sense in retrospect, but pokemon have lived beside humans forever. It’s not weird if some of them choose to live as humans.

It’s the fact she looks at Ingo with that scientific curiosity. It’s the fact that Ingo’s script, from the softness of his words, the speed of his steps, where he looks to his right, has been changed to make way for her, whether Ingo remembers it or not- his script changed, changed in a way it never did for Volo, because Volo never never thought of it first, never thought he could even try and-

-and because Akari will probably never have to know what it sounds like when Ingo’s mind well and truly shatters under its own weight. She will never have to know those manic, haunted screams in ancient quarries where no one is around to help.

Because Akari changed the script, and Ingo got better.

For her.

Y’KNOW, FOR A GUY YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT, YOU’RE GETTING WEIRDLY KEYED UP ABOUT THIS.

“I haven’t seen you this talkative in the village before!” Volo abruptly cuts in, slowing down his pace to match the other two. “I hope you’re not trying too hard to keep us both entertained.”

“He’s totally not trying!” Akari complains. “He can be all smiley and everything- it’s like staring at a different person! He knows how to do that all the time and he just doesn’t.”

“There’s no point,” Ingo bluntly says. “Could you imagine?” His weary eyes blow wide open, a thin smile carving across his face. “Hello!” He recites in a clipped voice. “I am Ingo! I am a Warden of the Pearl Clan. Follow the rules- safe driving! I hope you have a verrrrry nice day!” The smile drops as his normal expression returns. “I can, but I don’t want to. It’s not natural.” His hand covers his mouth. “It’s not right to act like someone else.”

He stares off into the distance and stops talking.

Volo turns back to Akari with a dry expression. “I think you hurt his feelings.”

Akari’s cheeks puff with frustration. “It’s not like I can make him act like that all the time! But he needs to get better at doing that around-” She gestures at the village. “It’s not safe. People are going to be cruel if they think he’s weird.”

“You’re being weird, trying to teach him stuff like that!” Volo retorts. “You do know he’s a bit brain damaged, right? I don’t think anyone expects him to act normal.”

“Still-”

=#[o]#=

Oh dear. Akari and Volo are starting to talk about him like he isn’t there. That might be Ingo’s own fault. He does tend to look like he isn’t paying attention to things.

But they’re saying a lot of things in front of him, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that. He should figure out how he feels about that. He’s going to walk off into the beach until he figures out how he feels about that.

Somewhere along the way, however, he’s gotten himself turned around, and now he’s watching Spheals roll down a hill in the Coastlands. Look at them. There’s not a single thought behind their eyes but pure joyous whimsy. Ingo is going to roll down a hill and discover whimsy. 

He does, in fact, discover whimsy. He also discovers an alpha Lopunny in the Fieldlands, glaring at him with the hatred of imprisoned gods. She is like a woman. A tall, angry, fluffy haired woman that wants to snap him in half. How did that happen? He should figure out how that happened.

He should figure out how that happened through incredible violence.

So anyways, Ingo starts fistfighting an alpha Lopunny. He doesn’t know who’s winning. It doesn’t matter who’s winning. What matters is that violence is a question, and the answer is yes. The other humans get unsettled by friendly violence, though, which is a shame. Captain Zisu doesn’t, though. She is so nice. And tall. And violent. And utterly willing to snap him in half for personal enrichment.

…He should go fight Zisu. But he shouldn’t do it with his usual pokemon. Aza, Mac, and the boys aren’t for fighting. They are like coworkers to him. That would be weird. He should do something different. Like a pokemon fight, but more.

But double.

But triple.

Ingo points at an alpha Wyrdeer across the field. “YOU! GIVE ME YOUR EYES!”

=#[o]#=

“You can’t make this last, you know,” Volo stubbornly points out. “I’ve tried. It doesn’t work.”

“I’m not trying to make anything stay,” Akari insists. “He’s not actually losing memories, anyways. I just want to see if things can change a little bit.”

“I don’t think that’s a good thing.”

Akari frowns. “Do you- do you not want him to be better at this stuff?”

“Of course I want him to be better!” Volo sputters. “Just like how I want him to be doing well, and I want him to remember things more, and I want to let myself hope that the only man on this damn island who understands me as a person might actually mourn me if I died tomorrow instead of getting up the next morning with a chance to forget about me forever, BUT WE DON’T ALWAYS GET WHAT WE WANT, DO WE?”

Akari stares blankly as Volo’s chest heaves with exertion. A stubborn redness starts to well up across his face.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Akari gently asks.

"I will not," Volo decides. "I'm going to keep arguing with you, though."

"Okay!"

=#[o]#=

"Good day to you, Lord of the Woods. If I may ask-" Ingo stumbles forward as the Wyrdeer pushes into his back. "I am quite alright, I can walk by myself-"

The Wyrdeer proceeds to flip Ingo over its antlers and onto its back. This is fine.

"Moving on!" Ingo adjusts his hat as he looks up at the Lord Kleavor. "I need your largest idiot."

Lord Kleavor stares at one of its Scyther children. The child is ineffectually gnawing at a Wurmple that appears to have given up on struggling against this pathetic predation attempt.

"No, no." Ingo spreads his hands apart. "Your largest idiot."

Lord Kleavor bows his head sagely and gestures to one of his mates.

"Very good, sir! I will also need rocks." Ingo stares out at the rocks around the Grandtree Arena. "No. Better rocks." He turns back to the small child next to him. "Clay, we need to go back to the mines, I need better rocks."

No, no, that's not Clay, he's too young- he's too early to be Clay- who the hell is Clay-

Ingo claps the child's shoulder. "Don't let me call you Clay. I know that's not your name."

The child frowns. "But I like being dirt, Fox."

"Then come, dirt child, I yearn for the mines."

=#[o]#=

"You should visit Ingo more often," Akari says.

"Maybe you should visit more often, fox girl," Volo bites back. "I hear the Survey Corp is getting quite busy these days. How often do you run into each other? Every few days? Weeks?"

Akari's smile is full of sharp, pointed teeth. "If I were a fox girl, then you should know that Zoroarks can go years without seeing their troop mates. I would not need constant human enrichment. You probably do, though. It might make you less anxious."

"I do not need to see him constantly! I'm not a child!"

"And yet you are arguing with a child," Akari smugly points out. "Checkmate, Volo."

"What does that even mean?"

=#[o]#=

Ingo stares at the Wyrdeer, Kleavor, and Basculegion he's gathered in front of himself. Really, in retrospect, it's very strange he's wrangled all three of them in one day, much less an hour. They all live in different areas. He couldn't possibly have covered this much distance on foot.

Ingo stares at Lady Sneasler, who started looming behind him at some point.

Lady Sneasler innocently stares back.

"You've been teleporting me around again, haven't you?" Ingo accuses.

Lady Sneasler mewls pathetically and brandishes one of her paws towards him. There's a pebble stuck between her claws. 

Ingo sighs and brings another spoon of mineral feed into the Basculegion's mouth.

=#[o]#=

A brief silence falls.

"He likes me more, though," Volo quickly says.

"He does not!" Akari growls.

Volo twirls a delicate handle etched with alternating black and white triangles. "He made me a knife. Did he make you a knife?"

Akari turns back to Ingo, who was holding three pokeballs contemplatively in his hand. "Mr. Warden Ingo sir, can I have a knife?"

Ingo stares blankly at her for a moment- clearly judging the wisdom of fulfilling a vaguely suspicious request with no context.

"No."

He walks away.

"That doesn't mean anything," Akari insists. "He makes me my favorite food. He only does that for Lady Sneasler. I am at least Lady Sneasler favorite."

“Are you, though?” Volo smugly presses.

=#[o]#=

Zisu knows people wonder why she lets Warden Ingo hang around the dojo. Her whole thing is cultivating strong people and pokemon, and the Warden is… neither of those things, particularly. He’s so lanky and small that his own pokemon carry him around half the time, and he overcompensates with the swing of his arms just to walk. He doesn’t have a lot going for him. He wouldn’t survive the Security Corps.

He’s surviving Hisui, though. He’s doing that for days, weeks, months at a time, without physical strength or the protection of others. It was difficult to reconcile with the rest of him, at least at first, but then Kamado invited the clans to that festival, and the man Zisu had met then was like looking at a different person. Hearing him talk about the move pools of the different Nobles had sparked an incredible realization.

This man doesn’t just know pokemon battles. He could do pokemon battles. With extreme prejudice. And incredible violence. Zisu’s pretty sure that deep down, he wants to. 

One of these days, the Warden of the Coronet Highlands is going to snap, and Zisu is going to do everything in her power to make this happen faster.

But one does not simply walk up to a strange man and say Good afternoon, sir, would you like to fight in public until my entire team breaks in half? It’s weird! It’s awkward! He might not even be into that! What’s even the procedure here? Buy him dinner first? Just throw a pokeball at him and see what happens?

And asking her subordinates doesn’t help at all. The other women started playfully judging her taste in men, and everyone else just sort of froze like a Stantler in the lantern lights. They don’t seem to know what she’s talking about, and at this point, neither does she. This still doesn’t solve the initial problem, where she’s pretty certain he’s into pokemon battles, but doesn’t actually know one way or another.

Right now, he’s standing ominously in the shade of the dojo entrance, watching Dorian and Keaka’s sparring with vague interest. Monferno is making a decent effort, but the Lycanroc has the sheer type advantage. Ingo lets out an audible huff when the battle ends exactly as expected.

Dorian looks up unamusedly from soothing the Monferno’s wounded pride. “This isn’t as easy as it looks, you know. Why don’t you come up here and go a few rounds yourself?”

Ingo glances up at Zisu, as if asking for permission.

She doesn’t blame Dorian for the mistake- not a lot of people know much about the Alola region Keaka hails from, much less its pokemon. But lately, Keaka’s performance has been coasting on the fact that the Hisuian pokemon- and his fellow Security Corps soldiers- just don’t know what to do about his team. 

Fuck it. Ignorance can’t carry him forever. It’ll be funny to throw Ingo at him like a natural disaster and see what happens.

“Well, if it’s allowed, I don’t see why not!” Ingo tilts his head at an odd angle, staring at the Lycanroc past his hat. “That’s a Midnight form, if I recall. I imagine you’ve trained it with some useful Dark-type moves to reach past its base Rock typing.”

“Well, sure,” Keaka easily responds. “It’s good to have a broad move pool and all that. What kind of pokemon do you have?”

Ingo’s hand curls around a pokeball like a set of bony talons. “Nothing impressive enough to go against yours, I’m afraid. I only have a Bug-Rock, Normal-Psychic, and Water-Ghost. That’s rather unfortunate!”

Keaka smiles bashfully. “Yeah, that’s not fair. I’d take that out pretty quickly.”

“Quickly, you say?” Ingo innocently challenges. “Even all three at once?”

“Wait, what-”

But Ingo was already unleashing the level 75 alpha pokemon from his pockets.

=#[o]#=

“Your efforts are certainly… noble, ” Volo hesitantly concedes, “and I suppose you have kind intentions, at the very least-”

“I am a fount of generosity and goodwill,” Akari deadpans. “Praise me.”

"...no."

"Disgusting."

Volo sighs. “Listen. I respect what you’re trying to do, but you’re risking making things worse. Ingo’s not some sort of… weird chemical reaction you can add things to for fun! He’s a little frail!”

“Ah, you misunderstand,” Akari realizes. “I am doing these things because he is old and frail!”

“No, no, you don’t get to call him that, I get to call him that-”

A large explosion blooms out of the dojo, followed by several terrified screams. Akari and Volo turn around to see Ingo standing amidst the chaos- and three alpha attendants to the local kami Lords- completely unbothered.

Ingo tips his hat with acknowledgement. “Greetings, passengers. I hope my personal distractions did not derail you from your discussions.”

“Did you-” Volo pinches his brow. “Did you just wander off, wrangle a bunch of random wild pokemon, and start a fight in the village while we weren’t looking?”

“Well, you were talking about how old and frail I was,” Ingo bluntly says, “and I was getting bored of pretending I wasn’t listening. But I didn’t really know what to say about it, so I left.”

Akari startles. “Wait, you were paying attention that whole time?”

“While I was there, yes.” Ingo blinks. “Did you think I wasn’t paying attention when you all talk sometimes?”

Akari and Volo’s faces both bear a matching cringe of realization.

“You do… have that kind of look on your face,” Akari admits. “Some of the village children ask if you’re blind.”

“Only a little bit. Though I did think about some things while I left you two alone.” Ingo’s head swivels between the two of them. “You were both being rather condescending. I don’t much care for it, and I would not like for you to speak of me this way again. This is not a request.”

“He was worried about you and we had to talk about it!” Akari insists. “We were being nice, I promise!”

Ingo points down at Akari as he looks to Volo. “Does this young woman speak for you?”

There’s a right answer to this question, and Volo doesn’t want to be on the wrong side of it. He looks off to the side, away from Akari’s expectant gaze. “No.”

Akari’s balls her fists. “I wasn’t doing anything bad,” she murmurs.

“You did not intend to be unkind,” Ingo corrects. “But it hurts to hear you think so little of me, Akari.”

“That’s not what I-” Akari looks up at him, then ducks her head into her shoulders, face disappearing into her scarf. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

Ingo looks down at her downcast face, his back straightening for a moment as he takes a deep breath. “I do not think less of you for this, my dear passenger. But let us not make a habit of it.”

Akari mutely nods, and Ingo’s expression softens. 

“I will need to speak with our other passenger for a moment, and I would like for us to be alone. Could you go back to Laventon for me and ask if he has another one of his calendars? I will wait for you afterwards.”

Akari’s eyes brighten as she walks off to the Galaxy Hall. Ingo’s posture wearily slumps forward as she disappears through the door.

“She is trying to be kind.” He murmurs it, as if the words were only meant for himself. “She is trying. She’s too young.”

Ingo saunters off towards the dojo entrance, and Volo follows him. Volo glances up at the Galaxy Hall’s vast roof, adorned with fading bronze statues of Magikarp. It looks like the architects didn’t get the Gyrados they wanted after all.

“That was… gentle of you,” Volo hesitantly starts. “You’ve never been kind to disrespect before, where your mind is concerned.” A pause. “Not to me, at least.”

“Akari is-” Ingo’s hand points stiffly at the ground as he tries to find his words. “I suspect she has not seen much kindness. I expect her to overstep at times when she tries to create what she does not know.” His mouth flattens. “But you and I have spoken of this before. I do not expect it from you.”

Oh. Oh, that actually hurt. That hurt a lot more than Volo thought it would.

“You’ve known me for much longer than she has, my friend,” Ingo points out. “We’ve shared pieces of each other that no one else can understand, and yet- do you only trust me to ferry you and nothing else?”

Volo laughs sadly. “You do know everything. That’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re the only one who does.”

Ingo looks up at him suddenly, eyes wide with an emotion that Volo can’t quite place. “Surely not. Ginter, or- or Cogita-”

“Cogita is a descendant of my people,” Volo reveals, “not a survivor. And I have long passed the time when I was allowed to tell Ginter such things.”

“Allowed to- surely someone would have noticed what you were going through,” Ingo worriedly insists. “The Guild, at least. You used to have nightmares every night!”

“You noticed because I told you,” Volo softly confesses. “Because I know you cry in your sleep, too.”

Volo’s eyes dim as he watches the traffic of Jubilife Village. All those people. Those lovely, lovely people. If he finally finds the right rift home, he wonders if they’ll ever even notice he was there. He supposes, in a perfect world, they would never have needed to meet him at all. In a perfect world, Ecruteak City would not have burned, and the Celestica would never fall.

(And he would never live to see this.)

“I know that you remember things better when you can see them,” Volo admits. “But neither of us are supposed to exist, you know. If I disappear tomorrow, you’ll be the only person who knew I was here. Ginter and Cogita will remember the lost child who lived inside their homes, but you’ll remember me. It- it terrifies me that you could forget that after I’m gone.”

Ingo stares at Volo for a long moment.

"There are so many people from my life that I cannot see again," he starts. "They sit in my memory like… station signs along the tracks during a terrible snowstorm. Sometimes I cannot read what is there, and sometimes I cannot see them at all. But the tracks do not end. My journey continues, and the stations remain, whether I can see them or not."

Volo huffs as he leans back. "You know I can't understand your train metaphors."

"Just because I cannot see these memories does not mean they are gone," Ingo summarizes. "Just because I cannot remember does not mean I have truly forgotten. Do you understand?"

Once upon a time, Volo was so small that Ingo could reach down and rest a hand on his head. Ingo has to reach up just to make it up to Volo's shoulder now. And he does.

"All storms pass. Spring comes eventually. And if, one day, you are gone from this world, some sign of you will remain." Ingo taps at his temple. "Even if only in here."

"Is that what Akari does for you?" Volo asks. "Does she help you clear out the snow?"

"Something like that."

Akari loudly stomps back to the dojo gates. "I HAVE RETURNED FROM HELL!" She puts a small notebook into Ingo's hand. "And I realized I don't know what a calendar is! Have this instead!"

"Yes, this is also fine!" Ingo sincerely decides. "Thank you."

"How do you not know what a calendar is?" Volo wonders.

"How do you not know what chess is?" Akari fires back.

"Some of us are older than chess, you know!" Volo recklessly retorts.

Akari blinks.

"I don't know what that means!" she bluntly admits. "And now I'm hungry. Someone feed me."

Volo stares back at Ingo, a despairing look growing on his face. "This is the one keeping your head on straight? Despite it all?"

"Despite it all," Ingo resignedly echoes. "Though it is a reasonable hour for a lunch break, regardless. One moment, please."

He claps his hands together, then walks back into the dojo proper.

"GOOD AFTERNOON, CAPTAIN!" Ingo shouts. "I WILL BE LEAVING FOR LUNCH! WHEN I RETURN, WOULD YOU LIKE TO FIGHT IN PUBLIC UNTIL ONE IF OUR TEAMS BREAKS IN HALF?"

"Oh, fuck yeah!"

"EXCELLENT!"

Chapter Text

[Striker]

so you know how we were going to have a weekend over

[YOU]

who doxxed you this time

[Striker]

not me this time! someone sent a bomb to drayden’s house tho

[YOU]

HWELLO???

[Striker]

yeah we still don’t know what’s up with that!

[YOU]

IS DRAYDEN ATMADESHHA FUCKIGN DEAD

[Striker]

king if drayden was dead i’d be leading up with that

[YOU]

isn't he. the Champion's grandpa? like I know she ain't home for shit but she still lives there right

[Striker]

yeah I think the officers are talking to her about it right now. Drayden’s alright too he’s just fucking pissed

Main problem is that emmet needs somewhere to crash for a bit while they’re doing that cus someone needs to actually watch him

Medical thing.

[YOU]

??? he has ingo

[Striker]

op i know you don’t do chatr but ingo’s been missing for like a month

[YOU]

Oh shit

is emmet OK? I remember those guys being uhhh they’re twins right don’t they live together. 

[Striker]

Yeah it’s a

It’s a whole thing. That’s kind of why he was staying over at drayden’s (on top of the medical thing) he kind of can’t be alone right now

[YOU]

You’re going somewhere with this

[Striker]

this is gonna be shitty to ask but can you pick him up on the way to my place. I know we had plans but it’s either that or he has to chuck himself in a hospital and i kind of don’t wanna do that to him

[YOU]

Say what now

=#[o]#=

Everything in Mistralton that isn’t hangars is farmland. Skyla was putting crops in the back of her car before she ever touched the inside of a plane. She’s used to a long drive. Still, she’s a little relieved when ‘pick Emmet up on the way home’ meant picking him up from Gear Station instead of driving all the way to Opelucid City.

Skyla’s seen the Tamadensha train twins in passing at the yearly Nacrene Gala- sometimes on their own, other times as Ms. Strika’s scandalous plus two-in-one- but in person, as regular guys, she’s met them maybe… once ever. Elesa’s goofy, violently autistic former schoolmates, running into her and Skyla on their first date. Things were still new then. She hadn't really questioned it.

And now she's picking one of them up to third-wheel the weekend she'd been planning with Elesa. Which isn't his fault at all. He's clearly going through some shit.

But she feels like she should have asked more questions before agreeing to be okay with this.

Emmet's things are in the trunk, a suitcase full of pokeballs nestled by his legs. They've all got those cutesy little stickers that add effects when the pokemon come out- it's some real 90s kid shit. Cutesy, train themed 90s kids obviously split down the middle in color schemes. 

"You are Elesa's friend," he starts.

"We're sort of dating," Skyla corrects.

"That's not mutually exclusive," he insists.

"I guess."

He's waggling one of the pokeballs in his hand, and he keeps looking to the left like he expects someone other than Skyla to be there.

"I apologize," Emmet suddenly says. "You're being very kind. I'm a poor passenger, I'm afraid."

"No, no, it's fine!" Skyla insists. "Interpol's riding your dick or whatever the fuck, and- and someone mailed a bomb to your house, holy shit! How did that go?"

"Ah, yes," Emmet distantly acknowledges. "That did happen." He looks outside the window. "I went to pick up the mail and there was a package on the side of the road. I only realized anything was wrong when Garbo tried to eat it."

Skyla nearly chokes on her own breath. "The fucking Garbodor?"

"She is verrrrry well trained to remove workplace hazards!" Emmet jokes.

"I'm guessing that's when you called the authorities?" I hope.

"Well, yes," Emmet immediately confirms. "We can't have people sending that sort of nonsense to our uncle's house. But it would seem Garbo's toxins degraded the detonation mechanism, so it turned out to be harmless after all." He tilts his head. "We did feed it to Andel afterwards, to be safe."

Everything is wrong with this man. He's talking about the weirdest, most violent thing happening to him this year. And he does it so formally! As per my last XTrans, I fed my fire ghost a fucking bomb. Sure, in retrospect it makes sense, but it is… a little bonkers.

It's so bonkers that they don't say much else until they stop by Elesa's place. She's got a whole top floor penthouse in an apartment complex that has a buzzer. Elesa has to buzz them in. Apartments are such bullshit and no amount of friendly debates about urban planning will fix this.

"Hey, kings," the comm crackles. "You alive?"

"What are you, a cop?" Skyla retorts.

The comm crackles as Elesa giggles, and the building door unlocks. The elevator ride is so quiet that Emmet and Skyla both startle when Elesa practically grabs them both by their coats.

"Emmet you unfuckable Shuckle-"

Emmet lets out an unhinged giggle as the taller woman half smothers him into her coat. "Dragons above, Elesa, tell me how you really feel."

"Shut the fuck up," Elesa half sobs. "I had to hear that shit on the news. I thought you died."

"Daijoubu," Emmet murmurs into the fabric. "I'm alright, dear. I promise."

"I, on the other hand, am absolutely consolable!" Skyla jokes. "I had to hear this man talk about feeding bombs to his pokemon for a good half hour."

Elesa's expression crumples as she pulls Skyla into her other arm. "Shit, shit, shit, I'm so sorry-" 

"Wait, back up, I'm not actually pissed-"

Elesa leans down to pepper Skyla's head with kisses. "I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that, I panicked, I should have-"

"It's cool!" Skyla insists. "I promise!" She awkwardly pats Elesa's back. "If it's important to you, it's important to me, okay? We can do our own stuff some other time."

Elesa pulls away and sighs. She drags her hands over her face.

"I am fine," she whispers to herself. "I will be normal and sane." Another deep breath. "Okay. Get your shit unpacked. Skyla's with me, Emmet gets the studio room. I ordered some food earlier and I'm gonna pick it up."

Skyla can hear her heeled boots disappearing down the hall. Emmet's smile stays perfectly still until the exact moment the elevator door opens.

"I shouldn't have agreed to this," Emmet admits. "I didn't know you had plans."

Skyla throws her hands up in surrender. "Hey man, hospitals suck. Even the nice ones."

"I knew something must have been going on if you were in town," Emmet continues anyway. "It was too convenient, I-" He lets out a strained, wordless noise, falling back against the couch. The dent there is familiar with his shape, with the exact way he lands.

Familiar, like the black and white mugs Elesa never uses, like the spare chopsticks in the cutlery, like the futon in the studio room that's always been a little squished, as if too many people had tried to sleep in it at once.

"Can I… ask what you're doing here?" Skyla dares to say. "Like, completely literally, why are you here?"

Emmet tilts his head. "You brought me here."

"Well, yeah, but-" Skyla waves her hand, a frown crossing her face. "Why did she have me bring you here to her house which is- like, I'm looking at it now, and a good chunk of the shit here is yours and Ingo's, and- shit, man, I know I don't have all the history yet, but can I know what the fuck is going on with you and my girlfriend?"

Emmet's smile turns dry. "You're a Gym leader, Skyla. You know the Enquirer is full of lies."

"I know you and your brother are the ones feeding those lies to the Enquirer," Skyla points out. "And you lie about everything except trains and Elesa Strika."

Emmet looks to his left, finds no one there, and clasps his hands together.

"Elesa was our first friend outside of our pokemon," he hesitantly says. "We had our journeys together, and I suppose our paths never diverged since. We love her very dearly, but that's all. I can't say there was ever anything else."

He pauses, as if someone else will fill the silence. (And no one does.)

"I'm worried about her," he admits. "She is trying very hard to be stronger than I am, but she has not taken his absence well."

"Huh." Skyla hums to herself. "When you put it like that, I guess it makes sense. She's seemed kind of- I don't know- high strung lately. But I guess I'd be freaked out too if someone like my…" She trails off uncertainly. "...brother?"

Emmet's mouth quirks upwards, hand waggling in an equally vague motion.

"If someone like that disappeared," Skyla finishes. 

"We've had this conversation before," Emmet confesses. "Not you and I, of course. But there have been other girls who questioned the presence of our two-car train. Many assumed we would be less present as other people entered her life, and then we were not. And with the way people talked about the three of us…"

"...they would ask her to choose," Skyla realizes. She huffs. "I kind of feel like a jerk now, making all this about me."

"Oh, please do make it about you!" Emmet encourages. "I appreciate her support, but I would not want her to neglect you in the process."

"You just lost your brother," Skyla concernedly points out. "It's- it's fine if you need more from her than I do for a bit! Honestly!"

"I am Emmet! I will be fine. My brother will be fine one day, as well." Emmet nods to himself. "Yup, yup. We have never needed much from life. So long as my brother is here in this world with me, I am content. But Elesa is not, do you understand?" His finger points back at Skyla. "Maybe there will be other girls after you. Maybe you will be the last. I hope it ends well, whether you continue these tracks or not." His smile turns sad. "I do hope. She really does like you. It hurts to see her cry."

The door clicks back open, heralding Elesa and her many, many boxes of Alto Marian food.

“Hewwo, bewoveds,” she jokingly calls out into the room. “I return!”

“HEWWO?” Skyla mockingly calls back.

“Hello! I am Emmet!”

“You guys haven’t unpacked shit,” Elesa points out as she moves to unload the food on the coffee table. “Were you two talking about girl stuff without me?”

“Your girlfriend is asking about the allegations!” Emmet brightly reveals. “Don’t worry, she only said nice things!”

Elesa loudly groans. “I swear on the Lakes, we are never living that down, huh?”

“Maybe there would be less allegations if you did not leave us with lipstick stains during work hours,” Emmet retorts. “Maybe that would have something to do with it.”

Skyla lets out a wicked cackle. “You what?”

Emmet turns to Skyla with a dead smile. “She bullies us, Ms. Swan. She bullies us always.”

Elesa snaps a lipstick tube open. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Emmet freezes like a Sawsbuck in the headlights. “Don’t you dare.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Elesa coyly denies as applies a fresh coat of black lipstick on herself. “Just giving myself a touchup.”

Emmet looks back to Skyla like she’ll do something about this. And for a moment, she considers it.

…No, it’s funnier to let this happen.

“Yeah, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Emmet.” A wicked grin breaks across her face. “Correlation doesn’t equal causation, you know.”

“You of all people should disapprove of this!” Emmet accuses, not moving an inch from his seat. “What possible enjoyment do you get from watching your partner prey upon innocent young men like myself?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t make it so funny,” Skyla challenges.

“Heyyyyy, Emmy, do you remember I put the napkins?” Elesa innocently asks.

“Hm?” Emmet leans towards her to point to a spot in the kitchen. “It’s right over there, esa, you can see iIIT-T-T-T-T-T-T-”

His words decay into a high pitched warble as Elesa grabs his face and places a large black kiss on his forehead.

“This is absolutely undignified of you,” his voice finally manages to shake out.

Without any color in his face to hide his blush, he turns a violent pink under a head of fluffy white hair, and it makes him look so much like a pathetic scrawny Flaafy that Skyla breaks down laughing, and Elesa does too.

(Emmet looks down at the lipstick smudging on his napkin and his smile softens with fondness.)

=#[o]#=

Warden Ingo and Captain Zisu have a running game of sorts, and it goes something like this.

“Altaria, Cloud Nine.”

“Psyduck, Swift Swim.”

“Finneon, Storm Drain.”

“Gastrodon, Sand Force.”

List a pokemon and one of its inherent Abilities. The other person must respond with a pokemon that also has the previously mentioned Ability, then list one of its other possible Abilities. This repeats ad infinitum until a unique Ability is reached, or the mutual limits of their knowledge.

“Nosepass, Magnet Pull.”

“Magneton, Sturdy.”

“Shuckle, Gluttony.”

“Snorlax, Thick Fat.”

As exhilarating as it would be to battle each other into the ground on a daily basis, there is such a thing as moving too hard, too fast. Besides, Zisu usually doesn’t get to talk shop like this without having to force people to keep up- Professor Laventon might be one of the few who could keep a really technical conversation going, but even his expertise lies more in the academic details, not the strategizing. And most days, that’s all well and good, but it’s… nice to just play around like this. Even if the other player is a kami Warden.

“Spheal, Oblivious.”

“Slowpoke, Own Tempo.”

“Glameow, Limber.”

“Persian, Technician.”

Turns out even the clans don’t know a lot about the guy. Anyone in their 20s or younger grew up with him just being around, parked in the Highlands like he’d been there all their lives. No one knows how old he is, or even what he is.

To be honest, Zisu just thinks he’s kind of lonely. A little bit shy, a little bit married to the job, but mostly lonely. It’s a damn shame people think he’s so intimidating when he’s really, really nice. He likes to spend time with her talking about anything pokemon, and it’s almost kind of weird. She’s never had a male friend so utterly disinterested in looking good for her. Maybe he’s too old to care? Or maybe he’s just not into that kind of thing. 

Either way, good for him. She’s not into that kind of thing either.

“Scyther, Swarm.”

“Beautifly, Rivalry.”

“Haxorus, Mold Breaker.”

“Mold Breaker compliments area of effect moves like Earthquake,” Ingo recites.

“I’m not familiar with that one,” Zisu admits.

“It’s a non-contact Ground-type move with a base power of 100 and hits all pokemon on the field, as well as dealing double damage to any pokemon embedded in the ground. This can be avoided by pokemon who fly, levitate, or have some way to avoid physical and Ground-type moves.” Ingo taps his hat as he paces. “This is not the case with Mold Breaker. Combined with an Ability whose key feature is to bypass other Abilities entirely, you can inflict damage on otherwise unreachable opponents.” His arms gesture wildly as his speech picks up pace. “Of course, the Earthquake-Mold Breaker strategy comes at the cost of allies around you, so it must be used selectively in Multi or Double Battles. But this disrupts other opponent Abilities that affect said allies or ignore terrain modifications made over the course of the battle. Honestly, it’s not practical in any extended combat, especially with limited resources, so its chief application is ending fights as quickly as possible. It’s also not without its controversies- obviously it’s banned indoors and in any concrete heavy areas, as well as boats and-”

“Man, you get going when you get going, don’t you?” Zisu fondly comments.

"-and certain coastal areas besides. I do believe-" Ingo stops and processes Zisu's words. "Oh, yes, I suppose I do, don't I? Anyways, the move is such a high point of contention that the- I AM INTERRUPTING YOU SEVERELY!" He shoves his hat harshly over his face. "Gyaaaaaaa…"

Zisu claps Ingo across the back and knocks their heads together. "It's fine! Go off! But I did have a few questions." She taps a finger to her chin. "Mold Breaker affects everyone on the field equally? Does that affect abilities that would otherwise buff allies? So something like Flower Gift, or abilities that raise collective stats, would be negated by the introduction of a Mold Breaker pokemon." She nods to herself. "That sounds like it limits your options in some ways, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. I guess any hypothetical Mold Breaker team would favor the pokemon in question as a queen or ace member with high physical attack stats. Maybe special attack, too? You're practically forced to go on the offensive as soon as something like that's on the field, so you might as well take advantage of it-" Zisu looks down at Ingo at the corner of her eyes. "Ah, fuck, I'm interrupting you now, aren't I?"

Ingo just leans into her, looking up with the most utterly entranced look on his face. "No, not at all. Please continue."

This strange man who fits perfectly in her arms while they talk about battle strategies is so powerful and so small. And one day, Zisu is going to top him.

…In a pokemon battle.

"Alright, here I go interrupting again!" Zisu continues. "I wonder if Mold Breaker takes priority over the abilities of kami pokemon. Do you think we could ask Laventon if he-"

Chapter Text

Emmet liked to joke that Ingo’s Chandelure was the other half of his brain- aside from Emmet himself, of course.

Ingo supposes his brother has a point. Even as a Litwick, Andel was always perched on his shoulder- he was able to point at things for Andel to lift, and they would pretend Ingo had psychic powers. Andel was reserved and shy in the face of everything else, but not to him. A constant whisper in his ear, an extension of his mind, equal cogs in their eternal machine. All of their pokemon were, really, but perhaps Andel most of all.

When Andel tells him there’s something inside the station after closing hours, Ingo checks for it.

The stations close at midnight- the Subway Bosses are gone by then, and the Jackies lock down the gates after them. Simple Nimbasa law extended to a Unovan standard, trying to keep exhausted or drunk people from traveling in unsafe conditions, herding them back to pokemon centers and other local mainstays for the night. It’s around 11:45 PM right now. By sheer technicality, the subway is still open, but anyone still inside Gear Station should be leaving.

He’s just about to stow his lantern when Andel looks to Ingo’s left, right before a small hand grasps his coat.

“Densha-san?” a child’s voice asks. “Ryūrasen wa dokodesu ka?”

There’s just a random Sinoan child here. 

That’s unusual.

“Andel,” Ingo tersely demands. “Esa no kyara ka?”

Andel rocks from side to side in denial. Alright, so this isn’t a random ghost or disguised pokemon. It’s an actual unattended child in Gear Station at the most unreasonable possible hour.

Damn shame. Ingo was kind of hoping it would be a pokemon. That would have made more sense.

“Maigodesu ka?” Ingo asks the child. “Are you lost, passenger?”

“Ryūrasen no tō,” the child repeats.

If the child knows Galarica of any sort, he isn’t speaking it. Maybe he got separated from a tour group? That might explain why he wants to go to Dragonspiral Tower- but not at this hour. And Ingo would have seen the group in question earlier today, or at least the missing person report for the child himself. Unless…

…no. No, surely not. Not at this time of year-

“Why do you want to go to Dragonspiral Tower?” Ingo softly presses in Sinoan. “That’s very far away from here.”

“He doesn’t know where I am. He has to find me.”

Hiking shoes. A pink wind jacket. Uncut hair. A well-worn Quagsire backpack with fraying straps. No pokedex, no pokeballs, no idea where to go. A child wouldn’t be having their pokemon journey in another continent, not with this low level of preparation. But there’s a fairgrounds in the city outside. 

(Sometimes, humans are cruel, and leave their children somewhere nice before never coming back.)

“I can show you where Dragonspiral Tower is,” Ingo decides to say, keeping his voice as level as possible. “But it is very late, passenger. I will need to come with you so we can call the train and tell it where to go, alright? I’ll even wait with you afterwards in case you need to go somewhere else.”

The child nods. Ingo lets out a breath he doesn’t realize he was holding and takes out the control tablet from his suitcase.

The trains are already being routed to Anville Town for their daily reset, and it would be unfair to the current shift of ATO Porygons to extend their overtime. But Single Train 001 wasn’t active today, so it won’t be too much trouble to recall its digital conductor for a quick stop. He’ll have to inform Emmet about the schedule change, though. They were just about to clock out of their own shifts.

=#[o]#=

XTRANSCEIVER [Subway Boss I. Tamadensha] IS MESSAGING [CONTACT NAME: ei].

[YOU]

Delay. Unattended midnight passenger requires my assistance. 

[ei]

Understood. What is your terminal? I will correct my route accordingly.

[YOU]

Denied. May need to direct passenger to local authorities. Estimated delay up to several hours.

[ei]

What is your final station?

[YOU]

Your final station is home, as planned. Rest your engine on schedule. Do not wait for me.

=#[o]#=

“Ah! Look to your right, passenger.” Ingo points at the train coming down the tunnel. “Single Train 001, right on schedule.” His hand rests gently on the boy’s shoulder as the train comes to a stop. “Please stay clear of the opening doors.” When Ingo deems it safe enough to cross them over the threshold, he gives an apologetic pat to the train’s inner wall. “Gomen nasai. Thank you for coming. I know it is very late.”

The boy tilts his head at the action.

“The ATO computers in each train are run by specially trained Porygon,” Ingo explains. “So each one is alive, in its own way, and they all work very hard to do their jobs. It is important to be kind to them!”

The boy turns to the wall and gives it a gentle pat.

“Very good, young passenger.”

"Does it live in the front of the train?" the boy asks. 

"We can see it if you'd like-" Ingo watches the boy run off to the front of the front. "This is also fine!"

If there was any doubt the boy was a tourist, it's definitely erased now. He's fascinated by the ATO terminals, the signs, the way Andel rocks in place on its fixed point.

"Your phone doesn't have a Rotom," the boy points out.

Ingo tilts his wrist. "This is an XTrans. There's no Rotom at all."

"Mine has one." The boy opens his backpack and a small handheld tablet just floats out of its own accord, the Rotom embedded into its surface blinking placidly as it emerges.

[MOSHI MOSHI!]

"Ah. I can never understand Sinoan technology."

The boy laughs at Ingo's confusion. It's the first time he's smiled since they've met. His eyes trail back to Andel again.

"Are you partners?" he asks. "What's that like?"

Ingo raises his eyebrows. "Do you not have one of your own?"

"There's pokemon in the house, but they're not mine."

Ingo hums to himself. "Humans have infinite possibilities with pokemon, but you never forget your first." His hand briefly ghosts the glass of Andel's lantern. "You cannot take away that moment of indistinguishability with another living thing. It is as beautiful as it is terrifying."

The boy leans against his backpack. "I want a Piplup. I think it would be nice."

"A foster starter!" Ingo realizes. "You're with the research program, then."

"I like it. You get to go outside a lot." The boy goes through the pictures on his phone, showing off different pokemon he's encountered. "I made a lot of friends, but none of them are partners."

"I'm sure it will happen one day!" Ingo assures him. "You seem very kind."

The boy smiles softly. "Not really."

"That's alright, too," Ingo decides. "I am a Subway Boss! It is not my job to know if you are a good or bad person. My only job is to conduct your car towards your destination, wherever that may be."

The boy nods sleepily.

"You can rest if you like," Ingo tells him. "I will remember our stop for both of us."

What a strange child. Then again, Ingo and Emmet must have been even stranger at that age. Still, it's a bit concerning. And Ingo's not really sure how he'll convince the boy to trust a stranger if it turns out he's been left alone after all. He doesn't seem like a very happy young man, and Ingo has no idea how he'll react to further stress. Hmm.

He wonders if Emmet's gone home by now. He hopes so. One of them will need to get enough sleep tonight.

"But I suppose I've taken our entire sleep schedule with me," Ingo jokes to himself. "What do you think, Andel? Will he actually fall asleep without us, or will you have to intervene again?"

Andel chimes with amusement. 

What even happens to the child if Ingo does take him to the authorities? Does he have some responsibility after that? Does he take them to a pokemon center and be done with it? Do pokemon centers take longer term residents? Where would the child stay afterwards? Would they ask Ingo to do something about it?

Oh, Dragons. They probably would. If no family is found, he'll be the only contact they can reach. Surely not. Surely not. The house is full enough with two grown men and twelve pokemon between them, there wouldn't be room for another person. Ingo and Emmet are both orphans, besides, that's not a stellar example of how to raise another child- oh, sure, Drayden tried his best, but adoption is always a traumatic process, and oh, hey, another traumatized orphan, yup yup, slap that together and call them an orphanage, INGO TAMADENSHA IS NOT READY TO BE A FATHER-

Andel twirls gently in Ingo's field of vision, scattering soft firelight over the walls of the train car.

It's fine. This is fine. There's no point in speculating over something that may never come to pass in the first place. Ingo refuses to unpack the abstract concepts of adoption or fatherhood for at least another decade. 

Or he could just talk to Drayden some time. That works too.

The train suddenly reverberates with a loud, hollow clunk.

Ingo slowly gets up and moves to the ATO terminal, pressing the intercom on the wall. "001, status."

[DESTINATION NOT FOUND.]

"Specify."

[DESTINATION: ICIRRUS NOT FOUND.] 

[LINE: AXEW NOT FOUND.] 

[UNOVA NOT FOUND.] 

[GEAR STATION NOT FOUND.]

"Are we compromised, 001?"

[NEGATIVE.]

Ingo frowns. "Then something of our destination is. 001, activate floodlights."

Ingo hears the train lights click and whirr with the command, but when he looks out the window he sees… nothing. Nothing but an endless glaring darkness.

His eyes turn to Andel as he points at the window glass. As Andel's flame approaches the surface, the darkness moves, a mass of scales and hieroglyphic shapes and eyes skittering out of the way like frightened insects.

The subway tunnel is gone. The windows are full of stars.

Ingo's hand starts to shake. "It appears our theory is correct. Our destination is not available to us."

[ATO HAS NO DATA ON HOW TO PROCEED. QUERY- INPUT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.]

"Vacate the system as soon as possible and send out a distress call when the train approaches the nearest station," Ingo orders. "There are no other options."

[QUERY- PASSENGER EVACUATION.]

"Evacuation will not be possible. I will do everything I can to ensure passenger safety."

[QUERY- SUBWAY BOSS.]

Ingo laughs grimly. "Dragons deliver us, I'll do what I can." He turns away, grabs his suitcase, and nudges the child awake. "Hello again, young passenger. May I ask your name?"

The boy rubs the sleep out of his eyes. "Rei. Why?"

"Our destination has been compromised, Rei. We need to move to the back of the train to avoid injuring ourselves."

"What?" Rei looks out the window and freezes. "Wait, no, no no no-"

Ingo nudges Rei to stand. "It is distressing indeed, passenger, but we have no time! We need to move!"

It will be impossible for a collision to come from the side, which leaves only the front or back. The front is more likely, but until Ingo can determine one way or another, the safest place will be in the center of the middle cars. 

“It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have made you come with me-”

“We’ll be alright, I promise!” Ingo insists. “Keep going towards the center!”

The air cracks behind them. Ingo looks back.

The first car is gone.

The first car is gone.

Whether it is returned to the train tracks, or vanished entirely, Ingo cannot say, and he does not want to find out. He grabs Rei’s hand in an iron grip and runs.

There are no more stars, no skittering black. The glass of the windows has begun to crack in the face of a blinding light and creaking, deafening pressure, holding the train in its tremulous grasp.

The second car is taken with a forceful pull that makes Ingo stumble on his feet, shoes grating against the grooves of the floor, and the third takes a bit of his suitcase with it. Nothing much, just the clasp. Just enough to force it open, not enough to take his tablet or cards out.

It’s enough to take his pokeballs out. Enough to fling them out into the void, and for Andel to chase after them. When the fifth car disappears, the panicked trill that had whispered in his head his entire adult life has vanished.

He nearly throws Rei across the car to make it into the sixth.

There are sixteen cars in Single Train 001. Six of them are gone, seven, eight, nine, ten. There are six-five-four-three-two cars left in Single Train 001. A two-car train.

A one-car train.

That’s not even a train at all anymore, is it? That’s just a car. That’s just a piece of metal, glass, and plastic, floating alone in the universe and signifying nothing.

And the door of the last train car opens. Sort of. In the way a little aluminum can is opened by the blunt point of a knife, and pried open the rest of the way with a plastic spoon.

Kind of like how there’s a giant hand here now, sort of. There are four, knobbly, bony white fingers forcing their way inside the train car, with long golden nails and grey corduroy palms, click-click-clicking in a high pitched rhythm. Nails on chalkboard, whistles in empty rooms, crab legs tossed along pristine marble tile. Its flesh pulls taut like a tailored glove as it moves, forcing its golden hemmed wrist inside, and in place of its thumb there is a hollow nut shell, gaping and empty, smacking open and closed like lips as it swivels on a non-existent neck joint.

“I’m sorry,” Rei whispers into the folds of Ingo’s coat. “He found me. I was supposed to be alone. I didn’t want anyone to see, I was too late, I’m sorry-”

The hand lurches forward, rearing on the axis of its golden wrist, its nail-points stabbing into the floor as it tries to gain traction. Ingo’s foot kicks into its hollow head as he scrabbles back, and his heel finds its other side, the lip of its empty face grasping around him as he flinches away.

“It’s not your fault,” Ingo shakily says, rocking back and forth, “it was never your fault, you’ll be alright, I swear it on my life-”

But the black hieroglyphs are leaking through the window cracks, spilling down the walls like dusty, coagulated ink, golden nails prying his limbs open as they close around Rei’s jacket and alien words babbling up his hands, his arms, crawling into his hair and staring at him like a wall of eyes, eyes, they’re in his eyes stop stop stop GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD STOP STOP STOP-

“-STOP, STOP, HE DIDN’T HURT YOU, HE DIDN’T MEAN IT, JUST TAKE ME BACK, STOP IT-”

-STOP IT STOP IT STOP TOUCHING ME STOP LOOKING AT ME WHERE ARE YOU TAKING HIM STOP IT Sto p, stop, pL e a s e,

=#[o]#=

Bend, and back. Bend, and back. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe. Bend. (Break-)

No, no. Breathe. Just breathe. Breathe, bend, and come back.

Come back.

Just as the spoon bends and returns to what it was. As ribs breathe life into lungs. Breathe. Bend. Return.

Good. Return, friend Warden. Can you move your eyes?

His eyes dart unsteadily, frantically inspecting every corner for darkness and alien words and eyes, eyes, eyes-

Peace. A thin, callused paw softly closes his gaze and thumbs gently over his eyelids. Be at peace.

Breathe. Bend. Return.

“Aza,” Ingo chokes out. “What happened to me?”

You remembered something that hurt to behold. We cannot speak it without hurting you again.

There’s a notebook in Ingo’s hands. It has his handwriting. It has places he intends to go, people he intends to remember and how to remember them.

It has alphabets with alien script and alien words and letters made out of a thousand eyes. There, in the last few pages, where the letters begin to distort and repeat in manic patterns until his hand was forcibly stopped. The grit of the pencil is still embedded in his fingers where it was worn down to slivers.

"We’ve done this before,” Ingo realizes. “I’ve done this… before.”

Yes, when you were a Warden alone. But this is not your way now. There are things to return to. 

“It is important to remember the truth,” Ingo protests, “even when it is painful.”

What lies here is no truth, friend. It is a wound. You need not force yourself to open its scar. You will not be lesser for it.

Ingo’s focus trails down past Aza’s large head and trailing whiskers, down, down, down to the screams he has vomited across the page. The eyes within the letters stare back so sharply it burns and writhes, a phantom across his skin.

He tears them all to shreds, page by page, until they stop trying to whisper to him.

Chapter Text

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

The appearance of Waka's first Bonded Pokemon has created a Cascade of change within the Jubilife children. I am perpetually Beset by their Insatiable curiosity and their Hazardous Impatience to have pokemon of their own, to which their parents have tasked me in Satiating through Knowledge. 

I have taken to letting them observe my Laboratory Processes as I fill them with knowledge of the Natural World. As a result, I have A Great Excess of willing Human Subjects to (Ethically and Safely) examine as their Abilities and Normal-Psychic move pools develop over time.

This also leaves me with an excess of Petty And Overly Willing Assistants. Both a Blessing and a Curse! My beloved Cpt. Cyllene and I have re-delegated this volunteer group for menial Land Observation and counting of Pokemon Specimens in the wild when they do not Observe my experiments. It is a task the children enjoy Greatly while their elders labor in the village Proper, and bides the time until their own First Bond.

In the meantime, this leaves my first assistant A---- without her usual work. I have assigned her to continue assisting Dr. Alec and find more complex pokemon for our ongoing Interviews.

=#[o]#=

"Left!" The Starly raises its left foot off its perch. "Good! Right?"

Doctor Alec raises a hand with pause. "One moment, Akari." He takes out a small stylus. "May I?"

The Starly turns to Akari with a questioning gaze.

He's just checking if your leg is still hurt, Akari silently responds.

The Starly ruffles with impatience. Akari temptingly shakes the bag of honeycomb slices, and the Starly reluctantly raises its right leg. Doctor Alec passes the stylus to Doctor Yukino, who gently prods the hind toe as he lets out contemplative hums.

Their father is a toymaker spending his days in the Supply Corps. They're twins, apparently- round faced young men with long brown hair tied back with simple ribbons. Akari's favorite thing about the doctors, though, is their killer eyeliner. Alec has red on the corner of his eyes, and Yukino has purple. Yukino's so much better at it, though. Akari can't even make out the texture of it.

"Looks like the epsom salt bath worked," Yukino reports. "The infection's gone entirely."

"Mhm, mhm!" Alec nods to himself as he records the results. "Just make sure she has a perch in the house from now on, alright, Waka? Letting her feet rest properly can keep these sorts of things from happening."

The young boy nods his head. "Hai!"

"What's her name?" Akari asks. "You gotta name them."

"Disestablishmentarianism," Waka immediately responds.

Doctor Alec stares at Waka in flabbergasted silence for a moment.

"I'm gonna write that down as Ari," he decides. "Is that- is that even Sinoan? It doesn't sound Sinoan." He squints. "Have you been stealing books from Laventon's library again?"

"I think it's neat!" Akari turns back to Disestablishmentarianism the Starly and opens up the honeycomb bag. "Anyways, you did great. Here you go!"

The bird cocks her head back and forth before attacking the honey with her claws and pecking at it.

Waka cheers. "Yeah! Kill it!"

Alec sighs wearily, then looks down at Akari and smiles. "Thanks for the help. I still can't quite wrangle my way around the new pokemon in the village. They can't seem to listen to anyone but you."

"Guess they keep strong trainers in the Survey Corps, huh?" Yukino comments.

Akari laughs uneasily. "Yeah, I guess."

Here's the thing. Akari is a solid level nine Zorua. She's not like humans, who can lace their words with such sheer psychic authority a strong enough person could tell a Magikarp to jump and it would ask how high. The only thing Akari has a sheer level of authority over would be newborn pokemon. But she can get a raging bloated alpha to do what she wants in about twenty minutes because she follows one simple principle.

Food can be exchanged for goods and services. As someone who can talk to both humans and pokemon alike, she is very good at negotiating the details.

Sometimes, she wonders if Doctor Yukino is good at negotiating, too. He hates Rye's Lucario with a passion, and his eyeliner never changes. There's a Hisuian Zoroark mask framed on the wall in the twins' office. Sometimes their father talks about Alec like he was an only child growing up. Akari wonders.

And she knows she can never really know. The only good fox is an invisible one, after all. Besides, Yukino would never tell her even if she asked. Akari Shou spent her whole life watching Zoroarks die. Doctor Yukino would surely sell her treacherous coat if it saved his skin, because the only good fox is an invisible one, and the next best thing is dead.

(It's what she would have done, after all.)

=#[o]#=

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

The Pokemon that the Clan children are surrounded by is often Livestock. Of course, other wild Pokemon are often selected as Brood Siblings, but Surely there have been cases of Bonding with creatures whose fellows are meant to be a next Meal. Does that not bring the Bonded Pokemon discomfort?

I posited this Moral Quandary to A----. She laughed. She Laughed at me. She laughed at me and proceeded to feed Bird meat to her Shinx right in front of Waka's utterly Unbothered Starly. The Starly tried to eat one of the Bones.

=#[o]#=

Akari is like a mother.

She has three little baby pokemon that depend on her for things like food and shelter. She takes care of them even though they are small and pathetic. That's- that's basically what a mother does, right? Akari is like a mother to them. A good mother should provide necessary enrichment to develop their survival skills.

That's why she's currently holding onto a flying Staravia by its leg. She is a good mother who teaches her children how to hunt. Granted, she didn't expect the Staravia to try flying away after she bit its leg, but that's life sometimes, y'know? A hunter must improvise. Adapt. Overcome.

Miriel, who is a good Turtwig son, has followed suit and snapped his beak on the bird's other leg. This is an excellent tactical decision because now the Staravia can't land, much less escape, leaving it in range for Blaidd's Psybeams. Not any of Shimmer's attacks, though. Shimmer is not allowed to hunt, because he's a little too small and pathetic to have a true killing instinct. He must watch as the strong protect his innocence.

The Staravia thrashes in the air, tossing Miriel to the ground. The movement causes Shimmer to startle, letting out a burst of electricity. The Staravia spasms and falls over dead instantly.

Obviously, as the last one who was touching the beast when it died, Akari was the one who killed it. She has singlehandedly slain this mighty creature. She is also slightly paralyzed. This is not relevant.

"Yes, yes, praise me!" Akari triumphantly places her paw on the bird's head. "I am your provider! Me specifically! Today, we feast!"

Shimmer loudly sneezes.

=#[o]#=

Speaking of the Meat Related ways my Assistant mocks me, I woke up this Fine morning to a hefting Staravia Corpse on our Dormitory Table. A---- claims to have hunted it with the aid of her Pokemon, and would like me to Roast it in some way to commemorate this Achievement. Which is absolutely Preposterous to ask of me at This hour.

And I'm going to do it anyway.

=#[o]#=

Akari's always wanted to do one of those human picnics. Not that she particularly understands the appeal of eating fancy food outside when it would make so much more sense inside, but Akari doesn't do things because they make sense. She does them for fun.

Fighting with her pokemon in the scenic backdrop of the Celestica Ruins over a roast Staravia seems like a perfectly reasonable afternoon. She's pretty sure that's how picnics work. Just lay the food out directly on a blanket and start fighting over it. If that's not how picnics work, then it's how they should work. 

Never before has food been so filling, so greasy, so needlessly primal, as a meaty ribcage torn between the mouths of a Shinx, Turtwig, Ralts, and a Zorua.

REALLY? A dry voice echoes. RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY STATUE?

Akari drops the bone from her open mouth. "God? Is that you?"

WAIT, WHAT, HOLD ON-

"GOD HAS BEEN TRAPPED IN THIS TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE MODERN ART!" Akari shouts. "EMBRACE FREEDOM, MY CHILDREN!"

THAT'S NOT REALLY ACCURATE, THE STYLE IS MORE TRACEABLE TO THE MINOSI PERIOD-

Akari starts gnawing at the broken leg of a six legged statue with something vaguely approaching religious fervor, maybe, if an observer squinted through their cataracts while drunk and half a kilometer away.

Blaidd is putting in a great team effort by picking up the nearest rock with his psychic powers and bashing it repeatedly against the ground. Miriel is slightly less successful. His beak, unable to find purchase on hard stone, only rocks it back and forth. Shimmer, once again proving his status as the eternal baby of Hisui, bats at the impurities of the marble like that will do anything.

So the plan is going great.

GUYS… THIS- THIS REALLY ISN'T NECESSARY. SOME OTHER GUY SET ME FREE A WHILE AGO. 

"If you aren't trapped, why are you hanging around in a bunch of dusty ruins?" Akari asks.

The Bound God falls silent.

…I GOT USED TO IT, the God admits. IT'S WEIRD. I CAN GO ANYWHERE I WANT NOW. BUT I DON'T KNOW HOW ANYMORE. I DON'T KNOW IF I EVER DID.

Akari tilts her head. "Well, what did you do before?"

PEOPLE USED TO LEAVE ME FOOD. THEY DID IT BECAUSE THEY WERE SCARED OF ME, BUT IT WAS STILL NICE TO HAVE THINGS. 

An offering. Akari can do that! 

=#[o]#=

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

A---- Invaded my study last night to ask what gods like to eat. I took the Strange Query far too seriously for my own good.

The ritual feasts of the High King are a sight to behold, but I Severely doubt this is what she means. Alas, the only conclusive answer I could give her was remembering a forest god from my native Postwick that took well to offerings of Dubwool milk.

Our shared friend Ingo, who was Lured to my Office with the promise of Caffeine and Lengthy Discussions about the particulars of Triadic Tao, suggested that the Value of the offering to the Devotee is of greater significance than the Content itself.

=#[o]#=

When Giratina finds itself next in the Ruins, the fox cub gives it a woven tray laden with potato mochi. Savory and soft and absurdly chewy in ways that beg to be ripped apart, to be eaten slowly. Soldiers' rations made by aging hands. Just salient enough to be eaten every day, bland enough to be made every day without much variance. It's nothing grand.

Volo has left food to sustain it as if it were mortal, and the Zoroarks of Hisui share their food stores, but this is an offering. It's the first piece of human food Giratina has ever eaten that doesn't taste like fear. 

It tastes like the whimsy of being given something by the sheer virtue of asking for it.

(And Giratina would like to taste it again.)

=#[o]#=

Emmet Tamadensha has managed to look both better and worse than the last time Volo saw him. It's almost impressive.

Ingo's always appeared deceptively sickly, and Emmet does too, but as the weeks have gone on, the man in front of Volo looks increasingly tired. It shows in the careless bluntness of his nails, the lopsided tie of his growing ponytail, the sleepless set burrowing under his eyes. But he doesn’t have the same desperation he did when Volo first approached him with that old photograph. He seems more peaceful now- almost happy.

"I promise I'm not actually sleep deprived," Emmet preemptively answers. "This time. The doctors say Ingo nii-san and I have developed mutual Pain Split, which has been doing wonders to the unfortunate efficiency of my engines-"

He pauses to take a long, long swig of concerningly black coffee.

"-which would be bad enough if Ingo wasn't doing it so much faster than me." A sigh. "I've been told so many things about human learnsets against my will. If I have to hear one more statistic about the failure stats of Endure, I'm going to strangle someone." A pause. "In a pokemon battle."

"Wait, you share Endure, too?" Volo asks.

"I have Endure," Emmet corrects. "We have Pain Split, but we can't know the rest of his move pool for sure-"

"No, no, he had it," Volo confirms. "He-" His voice turns weak. "I've seen him Endure before."

Emmet's squint pushes a curious, invasive tint to his smile.

"Come now," Volo jokes, "the Glameow's already out of the bag. You know I was using myself as a primary source for half the information I fed you. I did- I did know him."

"Hm." Emmet's hand twitches with phantom electric shocks as it flexes around a piece of blue rubber. "You knew him well if you knew his set."

"A region wide trader and a man of safe travels," Volo vaguely answers. "We ran into each other a lot over the years. Lots of things to talk about."

“I am Emmet. You are lying.”

Volo looks off to the side. “Yes, I do tend to do that, don’t I?”

Emmet’s mouth twitches like he’s too polite, too professional, too damn nice to actually look annoyed with Volo’s bullshit, and Volo has to tell himself he’s not a shitty teenager sitting across from Ingo at a Hisuian campfire again.

“He wasn’t my father,” Volo finds himself saying. “I didn’t have any parents of any sort. But I had him.”

Emmet’s eyes widen.

“We all grew up with him,” Volo hastily adds. “He was practically Hisui’s free-range uncle. But the three of us- Sinjoh, Shiro, Shou- I think we were the only ones that were his. Whatever that was to him.”

There’s a fragile edge to Emmet’s voice all of the sudden. “Was he good to you?”

“He was,” Volo decides. “Far more than I deserved, at least.” He looks down at Emmet’s face and cringes. “Don’t look at me like that. I won’t transform into your long lost nephew.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant at all! I do apologize. I only-”

Emmet looks down into his coffee, nails tapping against the ceramic. 

“We’d been thinking about children,” he softly admits. “Not having children, of course. Neither of us wanted that. But it’s common for childless Masters, in our culture, to adopt… apprentices of sorts, to continue the Dragon people and pass down the craft. We’d been comfortably running our own tracks for a while, so I suggested we consider expanding our two-car train. To do for another child what was done for us.” Emmet smiles, wide and pained. “Zekrom deliver me, it was the last time we really fought.”

Volo nearly laughs. “Ingo didn’t strike me as the type to hate children.”

“I don’t think he ever did!” Emmet elaborates. “But for a long time, our family was only the two of us. We will always love our uncle, but we never got the chance to learn from our mothers. It still hurts verrrrry much, sometimes. Ingo was afraid of what that would do to us, to love someone that way again. He said he wouldn’t think about it again until our forties, at least.” Here, the smile softens. “So I am glad to hear my brother found his answer on his own. Whatever that was to him.”

“Sorry if I’ve been weird about it,” Volo apologizes. “I’ve- I’ve been trying not to be weird about it. It’s been a hundred years, I’m far too old to be needing someone like him in my life, I just-” A breath. A sigh. “I wish he could have been at my wedding. I wish he could have seen my granddaughter. There were… so many things I wish I could have said or done, but we just…”

“...ran out of time,” Emmet finishes.

A silence reigns, but only for a while.

“The first few times we met, I had to keep reminding myself you aren’t him,” Volo admits.

“Yes, I’ve been told we look alike,” Emmet snarks. “Maybe it’s the hair.”

“There were Zoroarks all over Hisui,” Volo insists. “Looking like Ingo isn’t anything special, I promise. It’s more… stuff you say, the little tilts in your head. He’s the only other person I’ve met who moves and talks like that. It’s… fucked up of me, probably, but sometimes it feels like staring at his ghost.”

Emmet looks back at him, expression betraying nothing in particular. “What a terrible thing to say to me,” he bluntly points out. “But I’m glad to hear it. I’m glad that whoever my brother was then, I could still be mistaken for him.”

“He never really changed,” Volo realizes. “He went out of his way to stay exactly the same, as much as he could. I didn’t really get it back then. But now that I think about it, he must have wanted to be mistaken for you too.”

Emmet nods to himself, eyes drifting shut, and Volo half expects him to fall asleep on the spot. Instead, Emmet loudly sets his mug against one of the table’s coasters, body jumping back to life like a coiled spring.

“I am Emmet. We are going to lunch. Because we are friends now.” He firmly claps Volo’s shoulder with his rigid hand. “I do not understand what my brother is to you. But I want to! And I would like to start by sharing what he is to me, as well. So we are going to lunch. Okay?”

Huh. 

“Yeah,” Volo decides. “I’m okay with this.”

Chapter Text

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

Literacy was a Mistake. I will never be a Teacher of any sort again. The Children had borrowed one of my Galarian Folklore books, and I, A Fool, thought nothing of it. And now, in the midst of the Hisuian holiday period of Snowcrown, I see the Hated Thing upon my door frame.

THE GOD DAMNED MISTLETOE-

=#[o]#=

“Do you see it as I do, Inspector?” Laventon asks. “The utter disrespect.”

Inspector- the Cufant that sits inside Laventon’s home- curiously bats at the offending object with her trunk.

“It’s a parasitic plant! I don’t know what fascinates people to the point of this… romantic whimsy.” Laventon squints up at the door frame. “What did they even substitute it with? Is that a branch of Snover berries? Absolutely horrid.” Inspector’s trunk moves to close around the berries, and Laventon bats her away. “Not that horrid. Someone worked quite hard to put this up. It would be rude to take it down.”

Inspector’s large dark eyes stare at the door frame, then back at Laventon.

“Don’t you dare,” he darkly whispers. “I know where that trunk of yours has been, you can’t just-”

Laventon shudders as Inspector moistens her trunk in her mouth and applies it to his face with a sopping wet smack.

“You are corrupted and disgusting,” Laventon admonishes. He stares out at the other pokemon in the residence. “Well? Anyone else want to add to the holiday spirit while we’re at it?”

Chai, the Polteageist, rests on the table utterly unbothered, while Laventon and Cyllene’s Honege Asi floats in place, sharpening itself. Abe-chan, Cyllene’s Abra, continues to rotate in the rafters. It's rotating on the y-axis today, it seems. Gola, however, starts crawling towards Laventon with malicious intent.

“That was a rhetorical question,” Laventon tells the Snom. “Don’t you dare condone this behavior.”

The Snom stops just short of his foot before leaping up to land on his face, tenderly caressing his hair with its soft mandibles. Laventon sighs heavily and looks down at his Indeedee. His long suffering, holiday dressed Indeedee.

“Are you seeing this shite, Leftenant? The insubordination.”

Leftenant reaches out a paw to give Laventon’s pants a consoling pat before going back to her self-assigned task of putting candied berries into gift bags.

“PROFESSOR, LOOK! I’M A ZOROARK!”

Laventon slams the door open in a panic. He is rewarded with the sight of Akari, blessedly human, running around in a winter coat with a wooden Zoroark mask on her face as she gets chased around by the other children.

Laventon closes the door.

He sits down on the table.

Chai pours him a strong cup of tea.

Everything is fine.

Everything is fine.

Cyllene pulls back the divider of the room, emerging with both of their King’s Day coats. “You look terrible, Petal.”

“I could have been a police detective,” Laventon lowly mutters into his cup. “Solving murders every morning would have been easier than this.”

“Ah, but consider this,” Cyllene offers. “If not you, then someone else will be forced to count the Mirelands Psyduck population.”

“This is true.”

=#[o]#=

During the Snowcrown Armistice, it's customary for people from different clans to give each other gifts- starting with the clan leaders themselves. This year, with Jubilife doing well enough to stand on its two feet, they've been included in this tradition.

Adaman gives them both a hearty gourd of wine, while Kamado offers intricate boxes of fragile berry candies shaped like stars. Irida presents them both with carved shells, etched with the image of Kamado's Lugia and Adaman's Sinnoh.

"I'm not saying you're right," Irida insists to Adaman. "But we must be gracious to each other during Snowcrown, even if you hold a false Sinnoh."

"I am glad to see you be amicable to each other," Kamado says, "even if only for Jubilife's sake." His Snorlax chuffs tamely as he looks between the two leaders. "I understand that involving us in your traditions requires a great deal of trust. It will not be in vain. I hope you enjoy the friendship we have to offer, humble as it is."

"It is an honor to share our Time with you," Adaman replies.

"And the bounties of Hisui's vast Space," Irida adds.

Kamado nods stiffly and walks away. Irida and Adaman wear identical smiles as he leaves.

"Well then!" Adaman places his hands on his hips. "I'd say it was a wonderful time seeing you again, but that would be lying."

Irida tilts her head innocently. "And calling you a waste of space would border on an act of war, but there's no need for that, is there?" 

"Eat shit and die."

"Yes, fuck you."

A child giggles from above their heads. The two of them look up to see a berry laden Snover branch hanging above their heads.

"I've heard about this from the children," Adaman notes. "Some Galarian winter tradition. Any two people who pass under one of these branches have to kiss."

"Well, I would hate to be the one to insult tradition." A pause. "I will simply wait for you to forfeit."

"Absolutely not," Adaman insists. "You have other duties, surely. No one would blame you for lasping in a few little rituals."

"You first."

"No."

=#[o]#=

Beni and Laventon stare at the Snover branch, then back at each other.

They stare deeply into each other's eyes, stand up straight, then firmly shake hands in a professional manner.

The children laugh. Kamado huffs under his breath. Beni's small mustache twitches upwards in a way that could be mistaken for a smile.

=#[o]#=

"Gaeric, look!" Sabi bounces down the road, carrying several boxes. "Someone gave the wardens gifts! I found ours!"

"Oh, that's wonderful! What a lovely surprise-" Gaeric's body reels with a violent flinch, and he breaks into a horrified sprint. "IS THAT A GUN?"

Sabi waves the pistol around in her hand. "I'm a cowboy, baby!" 

"AND A PIPE?" Gaeric shouts in alarm. "WHO GAVE YOU THOSE?"

"Secret desu!"

"Sabi- Sabi, I think you've opened my gifts on accident- Sabi, come back here-"

=#[o]#=

"People have been trying to catch me under one of these all day," Volo comments.

"Same, honestly," Melli admits.

And neither of them kissed. It turned out they both had the same, bastardish, unspoken rule.

I refuse to touch a man prettier than me.

=#[o]#=

"I hear Warden Fox will give you an odd kiss for luck this Snowcrown," Zisu jokes.

Ingo stiffens as he follows her gaze. "Ah- I do apologize, Captain. The children misinterpret my gestures. I only give blessings for the continued safety of their tracks."

"Well then, Warden," Zisu dares, "might I have your blessing? For luck."

He lowers his head as if he's about to kiss her hand, but no- his forehead knocks gently against her knuckles, the triangular monochrome clasp of a beaded bracelet pressing into her palm as his own hands draw them together. He whispers an unidentifiable prayer under his breath, and raises his head again.

She almost wishes he'd fallen for the bit and kissed her anyway. It would've been less tender than this.

"That's a Pearl Clan sort of thing, is it?" Zisu asks.

"No," Ingo quietly confesses. "Not at all. But its memory is spiritual to me nonetheless."

"Huh. In that case, uh-" Zisu hesitantly lowers her own head to his hand. "For luck, friend," she whispers. "For luck, and victory to us all."

It might have been a mistake to reciprocate something she does not understand. But she'd make that mistake forever, if only for the fragile gratitude on Ingo's face when she makes it.

"Victory to us all, Captain," he echoes. "What worthy tracks, indeed."

=#[o]#=

Iscan points up at the Snover branches children keep leaving on doorways and sneaking into the decorations. “What’s all that for?”

“Nothing much,” Palina dismisses. “They keep catching people under them to try and get them to kiss.”

“Oh dear.” A pause. “Even from opposite clans?”

“I think especially from opposite clans,” Palina guesses. “They don’t remember the war, after all. I suppose it’s turned into a game, making the elders play nice for their sake.”

Iscan hums loudly and walks towards one of the branches. “Damn shame I’ve been caught under one, then. Guess I have no choice.” He scratches nervously at his face. “With whoever gets caught next, I mean. Could be anyone.”

“Anyone at all,” Palina agrees as she walks after him. “It would be a shame to break tradition.”

=#[o]#=

If Laventon must concede the point, it seems this… very large, island-wide prank the children have concocted for themselves is putting a bit of much needed whimsy into the Hisuian population. If he must.

But still! Who could have stolen his Galarica books, read them, and been tall enough to use his door frame as a first victim? It has to have been someone in the village, but none of the children are old enough to-

Laventon stills and calmly scans the crowd. He sees 14 year old Bellamis, half-Kalosi son of Commander Kamado, Braviary mask betraying nothing as he lifts another child onto his shoulders, passing a Snover branch into their tiny hands.

“I ought to have a word with your father about stealing my books,” Laventon loudly threatens.

“That’s a weighty accusation, monsieur,” Bellamis deadpans as he hands out another Snover branch. “Theft would be absolutely unbecoming of me. Imagine the Commander’s son, engaged in such petty mischief!”

“I’ll make you answer for your crimes one day,” Laventon darkly promises.

Bellamis leans close into Laventon’s face. “No one will believe you.”

=#[o]#=

Beni looks down at his two Kirlia, their perfect tiptoes shuffling in place as they look up at him with beckoning eyes. “What is it, girls? Did you see something?”

They take him by the hands, leading him out of the canteen, only to stop up and point at the branch in the rafters.

“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Beni reassures them. “The others just want to have some harmless fun-”

The Kirlia take advantage of his stooping posture to jump up and peck at his cheeks.

“Ah. I see. A misdirection to disguise your coordinated assault.” Beni pats them on their little green heads. “Very good.”

=#[o]#=

“Oh, my goodness! Is the Lady Lilligant alright?”

Arezu follows Laventon’s gaze, looks at her Lady’s bald head, and laughs. “She’s fine, I promise. She’s just going through her winter phase. She’ll be back to her beautiful self by spring.”

Laventon rakes a skeptical eye over the Lilligant’s wilted flower bud and faded leaf crown. “I suppose I must trust your judgement in that regard.” He gingerly pats the pokemon’s head. “I wish you a pleasant winter, then, Lady Lilligant.”

Arezu raises a wary hand. “Oh, wait, I should warn you that her head is very-”

But Lady Lilligant’s head was already deforming like a sad balloon from Laventon’s touch.

“-soft,” Arezu finishes. “She’s a little soft from the water swelling.”

Laventon stares down, horrified, at his hands. “I have committed assault on a holy being.”

“Laventon-hakase, please, she’s fine, her head’s already going back to normal-”

“WHO WILL WASH THE SIN FROM MY UNDESERVING HANDS?”

=#[o]#=

Akari points at the black dragon mask in Ingo’s stiff grasp. “I thought you’d be wearing this one, not the other one.”

Ingo’s other hand drifts to the wooden white dragon face he’s lazily slung across his back. “There are times to favor Ideals, yes, but I find Truth to be my more persistent pursuit these days.” His fingers thumb over the red eyes of the black dragon. “Besides, this one is supposed to be a gift.”

“For the man in white,” Akari guesses.

“Yes, I think so,” Ingo distantly replies.

Akari huffs loudly. “Well then, Mr. Warden Ingo sir, if you have no gift for me this King’s Day then I demand recompense! You must receive my traditional human kiss!”

Ingo’s back stiffens as Akari tugs one of his sidelocks, forcibly tilting his head down to meet her. Her human illusion leans up to give him a simple kiss on the cheek- but her true Zorua body underneath gives a gross, sloppy lick going up the entire right side of his face.

They both know what’s happened here. And they both know Ingo is too polite to say anything about it in full view of all the other humans. So he just stares down at her afterwards, mouth warped with a comical expression that oscillates between disappointment and patent disgust.

Volo bursts out with laughter.

Akari turns her head towards him. “I saw you avoiding mistletoes all day, Mr. Ginkgo Guild trader. Do you want to make sure no one kisses you again?” Her teeth gleam dangerously as she shuffles towards him. “I could help you.”

Volo shoves down her head. “Absolutely not! You gross little cub!”

“EVERY SECOND YOU’RE NOT RUNNING, I’M ONLY GETTING CLOSER-”

=#[o]#=

“Ross-" Emmet sighs. "Ross, please, I’m trying to make coffee.”

The Eelektross clings pathetically to Emmet's legs, its man-sized girth dragging against the ground as he tries to walk across the room.

Emmet looks up at Volo. "The idiot thinks I'm on death's door. He does this every time I so much as breathe off schedule." He firmly pats the Eelektross' head, the motion reverberating over its smooth body. "Please remain outside the yellow line until the vehicle comes to a complete stop. You are violating safety protocol."

The Chandelure rocks back and forth with smug amusement.

"Don't act like you're better than this, Andel," Emmet scolds. "I've caught you trying to comb nii-san's hair while he's not looking."

Ross apparently takes this as an invitation to do the same. Its long front flippers scrabble up Emmet's body, tail writhing to find purchase as the man himself stiffly wiggles with protest.

"Ross, no-" His voice tilts with panic as Ross' flippers make it up to his shoulders. "Oi, oi, oi, yamero-"

"My Lady, please, this isn't necessary-" Ingo stutters loudly as Lady Sneasler pulls him against her chest, tongue determinedly scraping the cut on his head. "Please, you'll tear out the stitches at this rate." His eyes turn despairingly to Volo. "You're laughing. Your conductor is being assaulted before your tender eyes, and you're-"

"-just laughing at me," Emmet finishes as Volo snaps back to attention. "How dare you? I should throw Alvan at you next time and see how you like it."

The threat is mostly diminished by the bright red Eelektross mouth trying to swallow Emmet's head. Mostly.

"I suppose it's harder to keep them under control without Ingo around," Volo concedes, trying to swallow his continued laughter.

"Not at all!" Emmet corrects. "We simply suffer, point at each other, and laugh. Such is the price we pay for teaching our wretched beasts so many tasks. They learn to do things when they haven't been told."

"I had a Lucario who used to eat the shoes of people I didn't like," Volo offers. "I couldn't get him to stop because he knew I secretly thought it was funny."

"You had a Lucario." Emmet blinks. "Oh. You outlived your first team. Is that why I never see you with pokemon of your own?"

"They tried their best," Volo insists. "Human bonds can make pokemon live a very long time. But even that has limits. Or maybe- maybe I didn't stay close enough to them after… after everything. I don't know." He shrugs. "I still have my old Spiritomb. And Garchomp's still here, even if she's turned into a bit of an old woman. It's not so bad."

"But you lost your partner," Emmet sadly stresses.

"By the time I lost him," Volo quietly confesses, "he wasn't the first."

Emmet's eyes search his face, never lingering long enough to make contact.

"It wasn't a happy thing when my brother left Hisui, was it?" he whispers. "You keep telling me he's alright, but you talk about him like he's died."

Volo takes a deep breath. "There was nowhere else for him to go. We'd reached the point where the only thing he could do was go home." He tilts his head and smiles sadly. "But I was gone from his life long before he left. We didn't part on good terms."

"You still care about him," Emmet points out.

"Yes, well, it wasn't really a mutual split. It was all my fault, really." Volo sighs. "Honestly, I don't know if he's going to want to see me again, and- and I'm okay with that. I just want to make sure he gets home."

"I would want to see you again," Emmet softly says. "I know that's not the same, but it's true."

"You can't know that," Volo chokes out. "You don't know what I've done."

"But I do know my brother. I know enough to say it's worth a try."

Volo chuckles. "You're being very wise for a man with an eel for a head right now."

"I'm about to be even wiser when I get this caffeine boarded into my bloodstream. Come help me grab the pot."

Chapter Text

Ingo sprints up the Gear Station stairs, head darting wildly as he searches his surroundings. Emmet's bike is already off the rack by the entrance, and Ingo unlocks his own to race after him.

(He doesn't notice, at first, that the bike stays behind, even as he takes it with him.)

There's no time to take off his coat, his hat, his tie. Maybe he'd move faster if he had, but he didn't, and there's no time, no time, no time-

"Emmet!" he shouts into the dark as his brother comes into view. "Emmet, we need to go back to the station! There was an attack, a crash, an- an- an- an-" BREATHE, DAMN IT! "-an infestation, I don't know what it was, but it derailed Single Train 001 and we need to file an accident report-"

The bike sways sharply as he tries to catch his panicked breath. The night is cold- too cold for June. It feels like frost hissing up his sleeves, biting his lungs, crawling into his eyes, and the ground is unsteady as if it's already covered in the beginnings of ice. But Emmet is riding into the night with little more than the shirt he wore to work, the coat of his uniform tucked away in the saddle bag of his bike, and he says nothing. His head doesn't turn to acknowledge anything Ingo has said, only amusedly following Archie's gliding skips along the ground as the Archeops peters alongside him.

"Ei, this is serious." Ingo picks up his pace to force them closer together. "I saw our pokemon exit the train, but I can't find Andel anywhere, and there was a child- oh, Dragons, the child, I couldn't do anything and-"

Ingo forces his bike sideways, right in Emmet's path.

"ANSWER ME, FOR GODS' SAKE!" he screams. "HAS KYUREM STOLEN YOUR HEAD? WE HAVE A DUTY TO-"

Ingo nearly falls over as Emmet- and the bike- ride through him. The intangible mass grinds against his bones with a weight that never collides into his body. And he realizes, then, the night was never even cold. This strange, crawling sensation has no temperature, no texture, nothing at all.

And his bike never actually left with him.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t actually remember how he escaped the train crash. He doesn’t actually know if he escaped it at all. How did he-

He blinks, and he recognizes the tunnel lights of the Axew Line. He sees his pokeballs flung on the sides of the tracks, Andel staring down at the empty shell of 001 and the last missing train car.

“Am I dead, Andel?” Ingo quietly asks. “Did I-”

He died. He must've… died, didn't he? That's why he can't remember leaving the crash. He'll go inside the train and see his own body.

But the train car is an empty shell. There's nothing inside, and he can't grab the arm of Andel's flame, he can't touch any part of Andel at all. And surely, if he'd died, Andel would have left this world and taken his soul down with it.

Andel is still here.

And Ingo is not.

He can still hear Emmet humming.

=#[o]#=

Ingo pulls Sabi away from the cliffside, away from the open view of that crack in the sky.

“You shouldn’t look at them, young passenger,” his voice speaks through an empty vessel. “It does terrible things to your eyes.”

Sabi tilts her head at him. “What do you mean, Fox? What’s in there?”

His Alakazam stares past his shoulder, looks down at Sabi, and shakes its head. Its eyes are haunted.

“Why did you call me Fox?” Ingo suddenly asks. “Have we met?”

=#[o]#=

Ingo watches Emmet walk through the aisles of a midnight bodega, hand ruffling a Purrloin’s head as he contemplates a pokemame muffin.

“Emmet, that’s far too sweet to have at this hour,” Ingo softly scolds. “Don’t tell me you’re going to stay up all night waiting for me. I won’t be there.”

Emmet flicks through their XTrans shopping list, back stooping as Archie goes back to climbing across his shoulders. The cashier says something, and Emmet calls back, but Ingo can’t understand a single word coming out of his mouth. The sentences are muffled and distorted, sound passing through water. Ingo boxes his own ears and his skull rattles with a loud hiss, as if some dry thing was skittering inside it.

His reflection in the refrigerator glass has black dripping eyes and a heavy tar bubbling in the back of his throat. He coughs on reflex, but the sound itself forces more and more and more down his lungs, incessant babbles in his ribcage as he doubles over in pain on the tile. Oh gods, even the cold tile has it too, that cold-not-cold insect skitter, as if the ground could not be bothered to render properly around his body.

Emmet, Archie, the cashier, none of them notice. They don’t notice because they’re real.

They’re real.

…And Ingo Tamadensha is not.

=#[o]#=

“Oh, look at that!” Volo reverently traces his hands over the ancient hieroglyphs. “I haven’t seen such intact Celestica writing in ages.”

“This is one of Warden Calaba’s favorite sites,” Ingo tells him. “Mine, less so. I do hate how the letters move. They remind me of crawling insects.”

Volo pauses. “Ingo, what are you talking about?”

=#[o]#=

“Stop talking, stop talking,” Ingo mutters as they fall out of his mouth, dripping into his palms, “stop, stop, stop touching me, please-”

Elesa-Ms. Strika-Electric Gym Leader-trainer-stranger-friend-esa-esa-esa tilts her head sweetly at nothing, black-blonde-black-striped bangs falling over her clear eyes as she browses through her laptop.

“Stop this, please,” Ingo begs. “I want to go home. I just want to go home.”

And it becomes a Nimbasa apartment- a Driftveil hospital ward- a Gear Station work office- a child’s school dorm- an old house in Opelucid City, wooden floors and family portraits and Drayden’s footsteps clicking down the halls, and Emmet is still riding home.

Ingo walks forward, his head spinning as the room renders and re-renders around him, the panels perpetually shifting under his foot. He curls up under the old Twin Dragons shrine and prays.

“Reshiram deliver me from-from-from earthly deceptions,” he stammers, “Z-z-Zekrom shield my will, that I might live through this trial.” A shaking breath. “Kyurem empty my soul, clear my mind so that I might see what lies ahead-”

His prayers start to drown under his own sobs. By the time hieroglyphs crawl under his skin again, he’s too tired to start screaming.

=#[o]#=

Up. Down. Black. White. Up. Down. Black. White.

“Mr. Warden? Mr. Warden Ingo Sir?”

It’s not real. The words aren’t real. They were never real. Just look at the triangles. Up. Down. Black. White. Up. Down. Black. White.

“Ingo, hey- Ingo, what are you doing? Stop that, you’re being weird!”

Up down black white up down black white black and white and black and white and black and white and black and white and-

“Stop doing that, stop it, you can’t just act like that for no reason, what if someone sees, stop it-”

BLACK AND WHITE AND BLACK AND WHITE AND BLACK AND WHITE-

His measured breaths shatter into a rattled wheeze as something dry-skittering-black- eyes-eyes-EYES-EYES- no, no, familiar, something false but familiar clamps down on his wrist, forcing the charcoal out of his shaking hand. 

“Akari,” he softly says, “I’ve told you not to grab me like that. Let go.”

“You’re doodling all over the walls and you weren’t listening to anything I was saying!” Akari gently moves his hand up and down. “What’s going on with you?”

Ingo stares back at the mass of alternating black and white triangles covering the cave wall. “The sky’s been too loud lately. I needed it to quiet down.”

Akari looks up at him with increasing concern.

“I made sure to find a wall that doesn’t belong to humans,” he adds. “Besides, Sneasels hieroglyphically mark their paths all the time! It’s not harming anyone.”

Akari fiddles around with his hand, and Ingo allows it. “I’ve never seen you act like this before,” she murmurs. “It feels like it just came out of nowhere. I’m worried about you.”

Ingo sighs. “I admit this particular compulsion has not seized me in a long time, young passenger. I once suffered bouts of paranoia and phantom sensations, especially in the early years.” His hand ghosts over the familiar triangles. “This is… this is the safe alternative until it passes.”

“But the humans are moving around more often,” Akari presses, “and Kamado is bringing in even more people across the sea. You can’t be seen acting like-”

His hands clasp around her own. She has seen the labors he does. His hands should be worn and split and endlessly callused, but they have always been paradoxically soft, forever shielded by the gloves he wears like a surrogate skin.

“I fight every day, every hour, to do even this,” the Warden’s lowly says. “I am doing better than I have in years, and I know some of it is thanks to you, and I do thank you, dear passenger, but please.” His voice shakes, his mouth quavers. “Please, this is the best I can do. Can it not be enough for you?”

Akari’s hand pulls away. A Zorua stares up at the man called a Zoroark. “Will it be enough for them?”

“Is that really all that matters?” Ingo whispers.

“It’s always the thing that matters for staying alive,” Akari mumbles under her breath. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”

And Ingo doesn’t look upset with her. He never does. He just looks sad in the exact way that makes her feel really really angry for no particular reason, like she’s done something wrong in the oh, it’s not your fault way but it’s still wrong, somehow, and she hates it.

“I’ll see you back at the village,” Ingo decides. “We’ll have a nice day out, and I’ll be human enough for the both of us. Alright?”

“Alright. You promised.”

=#[o]#=

Ingo walks down the Nimbasa streets, the small light in his hand bouncing off the hieroglyphs making up every surface.

He wouldn’t need a flashlight if Andel was here, but the Chandelure babbling nonsensically in his brain isn’t Andel, and they both know it. Just another simulacrum in a world of simulacrums. He’d shout it away for the insult alone, but he knows better than to say anything that could be misconstrued as words in this place by now. Everything that can turn into speech will. And every bit of speech seems to spawn more of the hieroglyphic eyes into existence. 

They move. That’s the worst part. Everything in his vision is a static, two-dimensional thing until the exact moment he steps through or touches it- and then it warps under his hands, scales sliding over each other into something that forces through his senses, eagerly awaiting his reaction with a thousand eager stares.

So he stays silent, keeps moving, and tries to find his passenger. He doesn’t know how much longer his mind can stand this place, but if he doesn’t have a choice, then neither does Rei.

But this truthless world won't stop babbling to him, over and over, through the air he breathes and the ground he walks on and the false echoes of his head, ever constant, ever present, ever infinite, an eternal lullaby rendered into a grating screeching pressure-

"SHUT UP!"

Ingo barely has a second to feel guilty for yelling at Andel, even only a mirror of it, before the hieroglyphs are forced out of his mouth again.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. Not the world around him or the babble in his ears or the constant dry-black-skittering tearing through his scalp- it doesn't matter. Find the passenger. That's all that matters.

Find the passenger-

=#[o]#=

Akari should have known it was going to be a bad day the moment Ress called her over to say Warden Ingo was curled up outside the gates.

"Kagami had its shield up and I guess he just walked into it," Ress uncertainly explains. "And now he's- I don't know if I should touch him. Can you talk him out of it?"

This is the most embarrassing possible way to start her day, and she’s trying not to let it show on her human face as she walks out the front gate. She barely has time to get her scarf in order before she finds Ingo huddled to himself on the grass.

“It was just a Mr. Mime,” Akari says. “Ress has it put barriers up to keep wild pokemon from eating through the walls.”

“Ah.” The Warden’s hand unclenches from the grass. “Yes, that makes much more sense.”

“More sense than-” Akari hisses through her teeth. “You’re really going through it lately, aren’t you, Mr. Warden? Maybe you shouldn’t be in the village today.”

“It’s fine, Akari. There’s things I need to do, regardless.” Ingo drags his hand over his neck as he stands. “I will simply do them in a more… expedited manner than usual.”

Okay. Okay. "That's alright," she assures him. "I can help you." 

Ingo sharply straightens his coat with his hands. “Daijoubu ka. I’ll sort my affairs on my own time. I won’t keep you from your duties.”

So Akari just starts following him anyway. He usually stocks up on certain supplies, so they end up wandering in the direction of the main street, where Ingo’s eyes pass over a swath of rich purple fabric at the clothier’s. He takes out every single one of his pokemon, unrolls the fabric in front of them, and nods before wordlessly buying it.

“It’s quite expensive to make that sort of color,” Anthe comments. “Are you thinking of making something special?”

“Certainly.” Ingo takes out his knife and starts tearing the fabric to shreds in the shop, before moving to bundle the pieces around his team’s necks like scarves. “There we are! That’s much more visible than before.” He takes out an odd, vaguely animal shaped carving from his pocket and brandishes it in front of Anthe’s shell shocked face. “By the way, what pokemon do you think this is?”

“A… very poorly made Psyduck?” Anthe hesitantly offers.

“No, that can’t be right,” Ingo mutters under his breath. “Thank you.”

He then walks away with his newly scarved pokemon and doesn’t elaborate.

And Akari so desperately hopes that will be the end of it, but no. He walks over to Choy at the general store and starts buying Full Restores and Max Revives.

Only Full Restores and Max Revives.

“Are you alright, sir?” Choy concernedly asks. “Are you safe?”

Ingo takes out the bad duck carving again. “Do you know what pokemon this is?”

“I-” Choy frowns, brows furrowing into his round glasses. “Mm.”

“It eludes me once again,” Ingo ominously concludes before walking towards the candy stand. His Tangela follows in his wake to scoop up the medical supplies he left behind.

"Very sorry about that, sir," Akari rushedly tells the befuddled merchant. "He's very busy today!"

(Ingo is visibly sorting the candies on the stand by alphabetical order.)

"Very busy!" Akari fruitlessly repeats. 

She can feel her illusion trying to waver and crumble under Choy's piercing (knowing, judging, waiting) gaze. Desperate to escape it, she runs off after Ingo, pulling at the hood of his Pearl Clan tunic- the one part of his outfit that doesn't threaten to dissolve into threads at a mere touch. 

"C'mon, Mister Warden Ingo Sir," she jauntily belts out, "lots to do today! We can't be sitting around wasting time!"

"I'm getting there eventually, dear passenger," Ingo insists. "Just remembering to go down the list."

His notebook is open to what might have been said list at some point, but it's definitely not anymore. His uneasy hand is covering everything in those creepy, mindless, monochrome triangles again as he goes over each task.

"My eraser ran out," Ingo says like that explains anything.

Akari takes a deep breath. In, out. In, out. "That's alright," she tells him, trying not to claw out every page and every carving of those damned triangles. "How about you talk me through it while you sort? Until another customer comes, of course, we can't be getting in anyone's way."

"I can't say it started with anything in particular," Ingo starts. "I did wake up with the alphabet soup singing in my eyes again, but that doesn't feel like it's new, so I wasn't that alarmed." He points down at his carving. "But then there was the duck."

"The… duck."

"Yes, the one that lives in the train walls, we've all seen it." Ingo holds it up to Bonn. "Do you know what this pokemon is?"

Bonn squints at the carving from under his candy stall umbrella. "I might've. There was that rift that cut real close to the walls the other day. Laventon took a few pictures."

"Ah!" Ingo loudly forces a candy bag into place. "That's what I was here for! I was going to talk to Professor Laventon on the way to see Commander Kamado. Bravo, sir."

Akari really, really doesn't want Laventon or Kamado to see her with Ingo like this. The abstract concept of having to live through that makes Akari want to melt into the floor.

Ingo squints to himself. "Now that I think about it, the matter would concern the Security Corps as well. Perhaps I should go talk to them directly."

He… knows what the Security Corps is. He spectates their fights, he plays with their soldiers like worn fangs on a well-loved bone. He’s seen their guns, he knows their captain- he is familiar with their violence to the point of enthrallment, and it is only at this moment that Akari realizes he trusts that violence to never be pointed at him.

And the embarrassment becomes fear as Akari imagines (sees, hears, smells) the gun smoke from a dozen hunting rifles, all aimed at the Zoroark who can't even be bothered to care about his own life, his own safety.

She knew he was a danger, she knew from the start, why did she go and care about him?

(She already knows the answer, but that too reeks of gunpowder and tannin.)

=#[o]#=

Ingo Tamadensha has done many weird things in his life. Finding his irrevocable partner pokemon in a graveyard. Hiding in dark corners because it frightens people. Running an illegal nuzlocke out of the Unovan subway for a solid year and a half. That one time he went on trial for defraying the Unovan public transport budget… with money he got for running an illegal nuzlocke facility for a solid year and a half. He also publicly serenaded Elesa outside her window once at 2 am so that an uncomfortably heterosexual League finalist would stop trying to date her, but that’s besides the point.

The point is Ingo’s done a lot of weird things, and he only regrets some of them. (He was hoping to run the Battle Subway for at least two years before Nimbasa law spontaneously made it legal.)

But watching Emmet go about their nightly routine all by himself as Ingo stared at him from the other side of a black alphabet soup dimension was an all new level of weird. A low weird. An unhinged, stalkerish weird, even for them.

Emmet doesn’t hesitate to take over Ingo’s half of their nighttime maintenance. Nudging Russ’ work shell into storage, topping off the teams’ water bowls in case anyone got thirsty, making sure Orus’ polishing post hasn’t been utterly demolished by her tusks since the last time either of them checked. He puts away the files that had been left on the table before they went to work, and good-naturedly wrestles a plastic toy out of Garbo’s mouth.

The pokemon Ingo had with him aren’t here, but Emmet is thorough. He’ll find them by tomorrow, and Emmet doesn’t look worried by the absence. Ingo’s glad for it- glad that Emmet doesn’t realize what’s happened yet. He’s glad his brother can have one last night in a world where they both still exist.

There is nothing in this plane of existence that does not reek of artifice- if he does not die of dehydration, starvation, or simple exhaustion, the unending clockwork of constant sensory assault is going to destroy his mind. Even if Ingo stands perfectly still, stays perfectly silent, somehow manages to feed nothing else to this place, there’s nowhere else to go. Everything generated by his memory has distorted beyond recognition a lifetime ago. Maybe an hour ago. Maybe a minute ago. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here. Emmet’s the only thing left that hasn’t fallen apart.

Ingo’s going to die here. It’s just a matter of when. So he opens up his XTrans one last time, while it still has battery left.

He’s going to open his mouth and say goodbye, even if it kills him.

=#[o]#=

Akari walks ahead of Ingo as he starts going towards the dojo. "Why don't you go talk to Professor Laventon after telling me what I should relay to the Security Corps?" she offers, giving herself an out from the embarrassment while giving Ingo an out from the sheer life-threatening danger. "For the sake of efficiency and what have you." 

And so that you don't risk them seeing you like this, her mind whispers.

Ingo’s resting frown sharpens suddenly. “I’m sorry?”

Akari is shaking, even if her illusion stays still. “People are staring at you. It’s embarrassing!”

“Yes, and?” Ingo’s pencil taps sharply at the edge of his notebook. “It hardly matters either way. I still have to do my job.”

“It’s embarrassing me,” Akari just barely mutters.

Ingo’s mechanical steps pause, body swaying with the aborted momentum of a screeching halt. “Does it worry you that much?”

“Yes!”

He blinks. “Very well.” He turns back around to the Galaxy Hall. “We can adjust our tracks to a less traffic intensive route. It would be much less work to talk to Kamado directly, anyways.” His hand rests briefly on her shoulder as he passes. “There is no need to be part of this if it brings you so much distress. I will return shortly.”

No no no no-

=#[o]#=

PART, echoes the unknowable one.

The spoken word shatters once more and unveils the body that was buried beneath. The human with glass eyes and paper skin, the dragon twin, the body who walks twice through time.

WHOSE BODY IS THIS? WHAT DID IT LOSE?

The body breathes, as if alive, but it does not answer. The body is Ingo Tamadensha. The body is ei. The body is dead. The body is no one.

The hand of the unknowable one points a golden nail tip to the body’s head. The spoken word moves the body to stand.

“T-t-t-t-t-” The body snaps straight. “Thank you for riding the Battle Subway today. I am the Subway Boss Ingo. I will choose the next destination based on your talent. Do you understand Pokémon well? Can you hold on to your principle? Will you go on to victory or defeat?” Its head jerks sharply to the right. “The fellow over to the side is also a Subway Boss, Emmet. Will a Multi Battle help us cover each other's weakness? Or will you show your overwhelming power? I look forward to seeing how well you fight. However, it is difficult to win unless you and your partner are in total sync.”

The body’s script is sped forward.

“I am the Subway Boss Ingo. What can I see after winning, winning, and winning? Where is my destination? I've kept thinking, and I've learned one thing. That is, you cannot know what happens after winning without winning. Therefore, I will exert every possible effort to-”

THE BODY IS NOT A TOY, scolds the unknowable one. LET IT SPEAK FOR ITSELF.

The spoken word subsides. The body’s voice trembles as its flat expression suddenly stutters.

“Where is my destination? Where is my destination? Where is my destination? Where is my destination-”

PEACE. STATE THY PURPOSE.

“I- I- I- I would like to- [               ] -therefore I will exert every- every- everrrrrry possible effort to- to to- -choose the next destination based on your t----- [                           ] -the person who comes all the way here. Single Train 001, right on schedule! Q-Q-Q-QUERY- PASSENGER EVACUATIONN-N-N- Hello again, young passenger. May I ask your name?”

IT SPEAKEST OF THE TRAVELING STAR. THIS IS NO DESIGN OF MINE.

“Follow the rules! Safe driving! We have a duty to [                  ] -follow safety protocols- Our destination has been compromised. Rei, [         ] distressing indeed, young passenger, but- [QUERY:] Rei.”

THIS BODY HAS SEEN TOO MUCH FOR ITS MIND TO BEAR. IT WAS NOT DESIGNED FOR THE TRAVELING STAR FOR ANOTHER TO FALL WITH IT. I CAN RETURN THEE TO THINE RIGHTFUL PLACE, IF THOUST CAN PROVIDE IT.

“[QUERY: PASSENGER EVACUATION.] Rei- there is nothing else to say.”

…SO THAT IS ALL THAT IS LEFT OF YOU. MY REGRETS. IF THIS IS ALL THAT BRINGEST SOLACE TO THEE, THEN THERE IS NOTHING ELSE TO BE DONE. ACUITY WILL ENSURE WHAT WAS SPOKEN HERE CANNOT SEIZE THEE FURTHER.

The spoken word swallows the body as it walks away into the darkness. All he remembers is that at the top of the mountain there was a lake, something moving out of the corner of his vision and he saw

bright

blinding eyes.

…He thinks there might have been a train crash.

=#[o]#=

Akari wants to scream. Scream and yowl and claw and bite, whatever will keep Ingo from going into Kamado’s office.

He’s older, he’s better, he’s so stupid that he’ll walk into his death, right in the middle of the only place Akari can be safe, because he will try to do what she cannot. He’s a genius, he’s an idiot, fine, fine, fine! Anything that will make him back down, turn away, stop it before someone kills him for trusting these humans too much.

But if Akari says anything, they’ll both die. Her human form moves with perfect poise as her shaking body follows him through the door.

Kamado frowns as he takes in his new guests. “Warden? This is unexpected. Does something of the Pearl Clan require our attention?”

“No, no, nothing of the sort, Commander!” Ingo immediately assures. “That would be Lady Irida’s duty, not mine. But I recall that your expedition teams did not have means to access the Highlands last winter or spring, correct?”

“So it was,” Kamado nods in confirmation. “Winter had us reinforcing our supplies, and spring was spent assisting the repair of bridges and other vital footpaths in the Fieldlands. What of it?”

Ingo clicks an empty pokeball in his hand, the sound bouncing persistently across the pristine walls. “The melting snow in the Highlands will saturate the ground with water. This is of no consequence on its own, but the Onix and Steelix populations will be forced to surface so they do not drown themselves. The terrain in certain areas will destabilize as the local pokemon reroute their underground pathways.”

He can’t be bothered to look at Kamado’s face, even now. His eyes drift to a tea set on the side table, eyes following the steam’s billowing path in the air as he keeps clicking that damn pokeball (and the tea smells like sulfur and formaldehyde and black fur smothered in brine-)

“So the Highlands are unpassable?” Kamado guesses.

“I would discourage your Supply Corps from scavenging any local materials on your own at this time,” Ingo elaborates. “The Pearl Clan and myself will re-create the proper routes as things settle down, and you will be informed accordingly.”

Kamado hums. “This will delay the rock salt farming Tao Hua wanted for our stores. I’ll have to negotiate with the Ginkgo Guild to see if they can part with their own stock.”

Pipe smoke falls out of his mouth in a sigh as he roughly opens a file cabinet. (Impassive aristocrats in smoking jackets, playing cards over a weeks-old Zorua pup found in a farmer’s Wooloo herd, just large enough to make a fitting handbag for one of their lovers.)

“Thank you for your time, Warden,” Kamado’s voice sounds as it cuts through the fog like a Boltund. “You’re a credit to the Pearl Clan’s friendship, as always.” He stares back up at Ingo, a contemplative look on his face. “You seem quite weary today. No one would mind if you needed to rest in the village for a while before you returned to your duties.”

At this, Ingo’s expression finally shows hesitance, thank the Bound God. “I cannot impose on your hospitality, Commander. I will depart from your station posthaste.”

Ingo’s impassive face does not waver as he leaves the office, and not as he leaves the Galaxy Hall. But outside, his hand tenses around the pokeball he keeps clicking, the motion becoming more and more stilted as they veer outside Jubilife’s walls.

Loud and rhythmic like the loading of a shotgun. 

Why is he doing this? What does he gain from acting like this? He knows he's in danger, doesn't he? But- no, no, the Pearl Clan, they vouched for him, didn't they?

(Loud and rhythmic like the loading of a shotgun.)

But this isn't the Pearl Clan, and he's never acted like this before. He's still relatively okay, his illusion is as good as it ever is, so he can't be ill or something, so what gives? What changed?

(Loud and rhythmic like the loading of a shotgun.)

Is… is it her? Is this because of her? She's trying to help him why would- why would he-

Loud and rhythmic like the loading of a shotgun, and Akari sees a pokéball about to be aimed at her and she sees an infant pup in a cage and she sees Lady Fujihara wearing a shawl of black and red fur and asking Isn't it just beautiful, now that it's dead? because the only good fox is a dead one and-

(Loud and rhythmic like the loading of a shotgun.)

He's going to turn her in.

(Loud and rhythmic like the loading of a shotgun.)

She's encroached on his territories, eaten his food, challenged his bodies. He's going to get rid of her to cement his own position.

(Loud and rhythmic like the loading of a shotgun.)

It's the only other option. It's what she would do, if it were her.

(Loud and rhythmic like the loading of a shotgun.)

Akari doesn't want to die.

(Loud and rhythmic like the loading of a shotgun.)

"Would you STOP THAT!?" Akari practically screams, slapping that Giratina-damned pokéball out of the elder Zoroark's paw, panting and heaving as her body tries to process all the anxieties in her mind. 

The ball drops to the ground. His strained frown furrows in place, hand flexing over empty air like a set of talons.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" Akari fearfully steps back. "I didn't mean it like that, I promise-"

"And what did you mean, dear passenger?" Ingo softly demands. "What do you gain from quieting my hands?"

"What do you gain from embarrassing both of us in public?" Akari honestly wonders.

The frown drops. "I'm not any different from what I always am."

"That is the point," Akari insists. "You know this, you know what I mean! You won't look at people, you break things in public, and- and the constant, constant symbols, you're obsessed with them lately! It's like you can't think about anything else!"

The line of Ingo's mouth lurches upwards like he wants to smile, almost. Wide and thin and strained, it pushes up his cheeks and forces an uneven squint in his eyes, like he desperately wants to keep something out.

“I-” His words catch and stutter and choke. “You seemed so nervous and I- I know I haven’t been doing well lately, I know, but I wanted to make you feel safe-"

“How?” she challenges. “I don't understand, how was any of this to make me feel better?”

Ingo’s eyes dart to the side. “I- it’s my job to-”

“Look at me when I’m talking to you," she demands, praying that for once in his life he might care enough to act correctly, even if only for his own sake. "What about your actions was meant to help me?"

(“Stand up straight and look me in the eyes for once, Dr. Laventon,” an aged voice shouts behind a closed door of a Hammerlocke college, “How do you HONESTLY expect anyone to listen to your proposals if you can’t even manage that? If you keep this up, people will start asking if the trainer is you or your Indeedee-" )

"You seemed so scared," Ingo haltingly explains, his eyes always landing on her own for only the briefest of seconds, like he's scared to meet her gaze. "You’ve been so worried for me, always, and I thought- I thought that if I showed you that you didn't need to be scared, it - it could help."

Akari feels her breath catch. "And you thought that doing all the things I can't stand to see you do would make that better."

"You kept saying all these things that I can’t do around humans," Ingo says. "But I did do them. Because I can. To show you that I am not in danger."

Oh.

… Oh.

"Okay," Akari tells him, calmly, quietly. "I understand now."

Ingo's frantic motions still ever so slightly, his shoulders relaxing by the smallest amount. "I am… glad to hear it."

"I hope you are," Akari nearly whispers. "I hope that you are so terribly, terribly pleased with yourself for this."

Her illusion shatters like glass under the weight of her realization, as fear and concern and confusion becomes anger. Simple, simple anger.

Ingo startles in place. “Akari! Your-”

"How dare you?" she asks. "To take my territory from me, that I could understand, but- this? This wasn't necessary. You didn't need to make a mockery of me." Akari huffs, almost amused by her own obliviousness. "You've proved your damn point, Ingo."

"I don’t- I don’t- I don’t understand-"

"I TRIED MY BEST!" Akari screams, the shadows in the air making her look more than the tiny, helpless pup she is. "I let you into my home and you've turned me into a JOKE! And even now you don't even bother dropping the act!"

His unreadable, strained expression drops, and Akari sees what he was holding back all along. Tears. There are tears welling out of his eyes that he doesn’t even know what to do with. His face doesn’t shift with sadness to acknowledge it- his hand distractedly notes the wetness on his cheek and he looks down on it, shell shocked. An odd, incoherent noise dies in his throat, and a fresh wave of tears pours down again.

Akari's paws find solid ground beneath her despite the way her head spins and floats. She… she did this. She can't- she needs to stop, she needs to apologize to him, to explain, to understand-

("Don't fuss over me," Laventon insists for the third time, shooing Akari away from him where he sits beside his Indeedee.

"You're crying."

"You don't have to point it out," Laventon mutters. "I'm - I am a grown man, it's not proper for me to start crying in public over something as simple as a damned air siren. Especially not one I was warned about!"

"So… that's… that's bad to do. Crying, I mean."

"Unless you're alone, of course, but even then…" Laventon huffs in annoyance. "I just need to man up- pull myself up by my bootstraps and what-have-you. I'll be quite alright soon enough!" )

“G-g-g- gomen- gomen nasai, gomen nasa-a-a-a-i-"

("Did Petal leave already?"

"Er- yes, I believe so. He- he got scared by all the loud noise, I think."

"Hmph. Pity. I do wish that man would stop acting like such a child already and carry himself like a proper Galarian" )

"Stop apologizing," Akari demands.

("Stop apologizing already and get up off the floor, you're embarrassing me.")

“Y-y-y- hhHHH-” Whatever Ingo was going to say is drowned under a quiet sob.

"You- you need to-" That's odd. Akari's words seem broken now too. 

Ah. Yes, that would be why. She’s crying too.

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-

"I can't be seen with you," Akari finally says to the Warden of the Highlands. "I'm sorry. But if you aren't going to care about your own life, then…" She chokes on her own tears as her body trembles. "Then I can't afford to either. Goodbye, Ingo."

Ingo’s crying breaks, right then and there, interrupting itself with the sound of an unsettled laugh.

“I do apologize, Akari,” he finally chokes out, “to have been such a deeply unsatisfying character for you. Drop the act. An act- of course, it would never have been- why should I believe you would-”

The giggling peters off into quiet sobs again. He doesn’t say anything else.

She looks away. There’s nothing else to say, and she wouldn’t be able to past her own tears. But she waits for him to break the silence.

Because that’s how it’s supposed to work. That’s how it works when humans fight each other. They yell and break and cry, and then they come back. They prod and pry until someone admits their fault, until someone is finally appeased. This is the part where Ingo finally stops pretending, or he convinces her she was wrong.

She wants to be wrong. She wants it to be an accident. She doesn’t want to be the reason he’s crying.

There's a click.

Akari jolts in place, but- it's not a rifle. It never was. Just a pokéball. There's a flash of sparks Akari recognizes as an Alakazam's Teleport, and… 

…Ingo is gone.

There's no proof he was ever even there.

=#[o]#=

XTRANSCEIVER [Subway Boss I. Tamadensha] IS CALLING [CONTACT NAME: ei]...

...CALLING...

...CALLING...

…ONE MISSED CALL FROM [Subway Boss I. Tamadensha] at (CLOCK NOT AVAILABLE). [Subway Boss I. Tamadensha] LEFT (1) MESSAGE.

What this place has taken cannot be returned to you, and I want you to know there was nothing you could have done. You did what I asked, and I did my duties to the best of my-

-my…

…Dragons deliver me, you deserve better than this.

I love you. I hope that life is kind to you. I hope your track is long and dark and full of promise, and I hope it loves you as I did. I hope your coffee doesn’t get cold on the way. 

I hope I will be waiting for you when you reach the terminal called End in your life. I hope we’ll stand there, ei, and watch trains pass by forever.

[THIS MESSAGE WILL SEND WHEN SIGNAL SERVICE IS FOUND.]

Chapter Text

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

In Spite of- or perhaps even Because- of the Jubilife adult Population’s non-specialization in commanding Pokemon, their Movesets are very highly developed, especially among the Security Corps. It is only in the Younger population that we see a return to the more supportive and non-combatant Learnsets which are expected of a typical human Pokemon User.

A Theory. Without childhood experiences in raising and Wielding pokemon, the Atypical Nature of the Jubilife Learnset is the population’s Survival response to the Unfortunate Chaos following Ecruteak’s fall. Some Movesets are even costly to the User- we need look no further than Guardsman Ress, who can use the Psychic move Substitute, and Commander Kamado who infamously has a high level Takedown…

=#[o]#=

They who so thoroughly committed the ways of Lord Electrode to memory, and all descendants derived thereof, who knows the ways of the land and quells the wild nature of the Highlands so that all Hisui can better face their gods. What higher station to be a Warden of the Celestica peoples, what sacrifice to live a chained life of service, what greatest honor to be the brother-sworn of the Diamond Clan’s heir! Such a person would be entitled to a respect only afforded to the most lauded elders of the clan council, by virtue of their skill alone.

What a disappointment, then, that all of this was wasted on Melli the Mareep weaver, Melli the wool spinner, Melli the nobody.

He lets it get to his head because he doesn’t have a choice. He was stolen from his job, his herd, everything he ever knew. Because he was the only one young enough, Limber enough, to make a decent enough second best. And he knows it. Everyone knows it.

So he sings his own praises, because he has to do his job anyway. Because he’s damn good at it. Because no one else will. Because when people roll their eyes at Warden Melli for being too tall, too loud, too fussy, too petty, too damn much, at least they’re not rolling their eyes at Melli the wool spinner.

When he turns 16, those rolling eyes and snide words start to feel like firecrackers going off in his head. Popping and bursting, but never leaving his skull. The pressure builds up, up, up until he hears it in his sleep, and nothing can make it go away.

Embroidery helps. The firecrackers subside in the face of monotony and colored threads. But it always returns, and Warden Melli doesn't have all the time in the world to ponder stitchings.

…Melli the nobody did. He had all the time in the world. 

His hands shake with rage around his embroidery hoop.

Maybe he really was nobody before being a Warden, but at least he had friends, and his Mareep herds, and work people actually trusted him to do well without breathing down his neck, and he didn't have to hear all those terrible, terrible words splitting his skull open like firecrackers until he just wanted to EXPLODE-

-and next thing Melli knows, he wakes up in someone else's yurt with no idea how he got there. His eyes hurt. And his ears. And his jaw. And his sinuses. Sinnoh save him, his sinuses ache like he just had the worst sneeze of his life.

He stares up at the ceiling. This is a Pearl Clan yurt- the support beams are sturdier, the pink fabric is faded and snowblown. His Skuntank is curled up against his side, and a Gligar is sniffing curiously at his chest.

The area around the hearth is covered in a maddeningly efficient row of mold presses and drying fruit, while fat Slowpoke tails stew slowly over the fire. But when Melli's weary head turns to where the shrine should be, he finds… nothing. The frames reserved for the clan founders only have blank papers, one black and one white. The ancestral tapestry of the Pearl Clan has been replaced with a circular symbol of blue and white, like a light breaking through a dark tunnel. It's the same symbol on the rim of Warden Ingo's hat, hanging lopsidedly with its matching coat off of the very bed Melli is lying in.

Oh gods, Melli's in Ingo's house. He's in Ingo's bed.

Not that this is- uh- weird or anything. It's not weird unless one of them makes it weird. It doesn't mean anything that Ingo's pretty much the only man for kilometers that Melli interacts with for weeks at a time, and he's kind, and there was this one time he almost smiled-

"Hey, you!" Ingo cheerfully says, suddenly very close to Melli's face. "You're finally awake!"

He promptly pushes something into Melli's mouth, and Melli's migraine goes away, sort of. In the sense that his migraine has been replaced with a suspiciously pounding heart and a jittery shake in his muscles.

"What the false Sinnoh did you just feed me?" Melli chokes out. "I feel like my heart just exploded. Did you shove horse medicine down my throat?"

"If it revived a fainted Ursaluna, it was bound to work on you," Ingo bluntly reveals. 

Melli knows the only reason he finds this man attractive boils down to the sheer isolation, but he'd like to take a moment to call himself out for having bad taste. This man is… so unfuckable. Even totally discounting the fact that they're both from different clans, Wardens on top of that, and Ingo being an unknown amount of decades older than him, it's just- why? Why does Melli have to gaslight himself into being enamored with the cat dad?

Did all of Arezu's knowledge of Pearl Clan gossip finally eat his brain? Is he not immune to propaganda?

"You've expended yourself, Warden." Ingo hands Melli a bowl of Slowpoke stew. "Eat."

"You don't need to feed me," Melli protests.

"Ah, but I am the conductor of this household!" Ingo happily points out. "If you don't comply with proper maintenance right this second, I will be inconsolable!"

Melli grumbles and laboriously mouths a spoonful of stew. He's never had Slowpoke before. The meat is smoky, rich, and soft. He tastes kingsleaf, leeks, and the bitter kick of Petilil leaves, soothing his throat and chasing away the ache in his bones.

"Not that I don't appreciate your… rescue," Melli haltingly starts, "but what happened to me in the first place?"

Ingo quickly chews on a chestoberry. (Melli's fairly certain he has a mild addiction at this point.) "Oh, it's a very simple explanation, really. You've learned a new Sygna move."

"But I already have a Sygna move," Melli protests. "I learned Night Slash from Skuntank."

"That's a Dark-type move," Ingo dismisses. "However! Explosion is a Normal-type move."

"I thought Explosion was an Electric move," Melli protests. "Or a Fire one, at least."

"Not quite. And Sygna moves aside, humans can acquire most any Normal and Psychic moves with little consequence." Ingo takes a long, long sip from his own bowl of soup, then sets it down next to himself. "Alas! You've learned Explosion!"

"But how is it Normal-type? That doesn't make any-" The content of the conversation finally catches up to Melli's thoughts. "I EXPLODED?"

Ingo laughs, face betraying nothing but cat-like contentment. "The blast was quite prodigious! I heard it from the other side of the mountains."

"I exploded," Melli whispers with horror. "Sinnoh's chosen, how did this happen?"

Ingo slowly chews over a cut of Slowpoke meat.

"Well you see, Melli," he slowly recites, "there comes the time in every young man's life when his body goes through some dramatic physical and emotional changes as part of a natural biological process-"

"I already know sex is real, please stop trying to tell me what puberty is."

Ingo raises his hand in surrender.

"This is utterly humiliating," Melli despairs through his sad spoonfuls of stew. "I was finally getting into the flow of things, and now I've turned into a- a- a human bomb! I'll never hear the end of it!"

"Explosion is a signature move of Lord Electrode's line, is it not?" Ingo questions. "I find it quite heartening to see you develop such a close affinity to him." His eyes cast wistfully aside. "I took my station at far too late an age to have the same with my Lady. I acquired Poison Heal as an Ability after tending to her kits for so long, but my move pool remains ever stagnant."

"Of course the one connection I forge with my Lord is a move I can't even use. It's useless." Melli's hands shake around his bowl. "I'm useless."

Useless boy, useless weaver, useless Warden, useless firecrackers in his head, useless, useless, useless-

Ingo roughly taps Melli's head. 

"You will not break," he commands. "You will breathe. Breathe. Bend. Return."

His chest rises, and the room breathes with him. The Gligar stretches its wings, the Tangela sways, the Machoke flexes its chest, the Abra rocks in place.

Melli's Skuntank breathes.

Breathe. Bend. Return.

And the firecrackers fizzle away.

"You are not useless," Ingo forcefully corrects. "You are stubborn. Your will is so strong that you will not be defeated without taking your opponents down with you. There is merit to that, my friend, even if you cannot see it now."

Melli sighs.

"You were the first person to call me Warden," he admits. "Do you remember that?"

"That does sound like something I would do," Ingo dismissively admits. "I recall professions more easily than names. The lapse cannot be helped, but I apologize regardless."

"It meant a lot to me," Melli insists anyway. "Hearing someone else say it."

"No less than you deserve, Warden," Ingo asserts in turn. "Despite the unkindness you have faced in taking this position, you still do it anyway. You may yet be the best of all of us."

Melli snorts. "The great Warden Melli. Imagine that."

=#[o]#=

There's ghostfires in the Highlands tonight. Lingering on stone paths, smeared across tree bark, buried in fresh footprints as it mixes with the soil.

Melli watches from a distance as Warden Ingo's chest heaves laboriously, smoke spilling out of his snarling mouth in waves. His eyes burn with tears, even as he walks ever forward on his path, and his pokemon follow close behind, too afraid to touch him. His unsteady body collides into an old stone pillar, and his hand catches fire as he pushes himself away.

He never did tell Melli what his Sygna move was. Melli hadn't thought much of it at the time. Ingo forgot many things, and pieces of himself were no exception.

Melli's starting to suspect Ingo didn't want anyone to squint too hard at the Warden Fox with a Ghost-type move.

"Endure it," Ingo whispers to himself. "Endure it-"

He lets out a frustrated growl as fresh tears fall from his face, leaving short lived sparks on the ground below.

“Gods above us, Warden,” Melli loudly calls out. “You look terrible.”

“G- gomen-” Ingo’s voice crackles, sputters, and dies to the smoke inside his throat. 

That won’t do. That won’t do at all. Melli’s displeased squint shifts with a calculating note.

“Are you entirely with me, Warden?” he asks. 

Ingo stiffly nods, and Melli hums with thought. 

“I traded textiles as a boy,” Melli reminds him. “And as such, I retain my many talents from that former life. I can read guildsign, if you know it- I imagine you must, with how much you ferry those Ginkgo fellows around. You’ve always been a structured communicator, if nothing else.”

A stranger would find him grating at a time like this. Perhaps even take his comments as insulting. But Ingo, even on his most mindless days, was never a stranger, and Melli likes to trust he can count on that.

Yes, Ingo’s hands finally reply.

“Delightful!” Melli claps his hands together. “Now would you like to make yourself useful and help me break rock salt for Lord Electrode, or would you rather we wallow our miseries in lum wine? Either option is less work for me.”

Salt first, Ingo decides. He pauses. It’s a fair trade. For the wine later.

“Well, now I know you’re out of sorts,” Melli snidely remarks. “That’s the first time I’ve convinced you to get drunk.”

He doesn’t recognize the odd hand gesture Ingo points at him in response, but it’s definitely some kind of insult and Melli loves that for him.

Your house- we’ve been here before? Ingo questions as they walk back towards Lord Electrode’s Arena.

“I would hope you haven’t,” Melli responds. “I’ve never let you in once. That’s cross-clan fraternization, you know. Absolutely not allowed.”

Liar.

“Shut up and tell your Machoke to help me crush salt.” Melli pushes up the fabric entrance of his clan yurt. “Don’t take that as an order. I just need the Machoke so you can actually keep complaining.”

What a terrible man. You are so rude to me. A pause. But true enough. Fire, ghost, it’s not safe… for… salt? Ingo’s hands stutter in place, reaching for the correct verbage. Fire catches- turns- WHAT-

“Flammable,” Melli offers, signing it alongside his words. “And relax a little. Your hands are making your words stiff.”

Ingo waves his hand around the fires as they float vaguely around his head. What is this? No one knows. Least of all- me! He snaps his finger at his Machoke and gestures at Melli’s table of salt.

“It behaves like a Fire-type move, almost, but it doesn’t quite catch like one, does it?” Melli takes out an extra pestle as he bundles the salt in fabric. “It feels a bit cold to me.”

This move is Ghost. Or it was. O-m-i-n-o-u-s Wind? This move has been changed. It is not the same as it was.

“I’ve heard of ghostfires before,” Melli recalls. “Wisps and the like. That sort of thing gathers in holy sites and graveyards- burning out the spirits of the dead, I suppose. Does that sound familiar at all?”

Ingo’s eyes widen as he frowns. The flames around him coalesce into a single burning lantern with twin flames at its side, rocking in place from an unseen chain. Before. There was a friend- pokemon? Brood-sibling. A body of glass-golden eyes-lantern fire.

“It sounds beautiful,” Melli honestly says.

Yes. Always.

“Did you suddenly remember this past partner of yours? Is that what brought this on?” Melli turns to the waiting Machoke and mimes digging a pestle gently into the salt-laden fabric. “Like this, if you can.”

No, Ingo corrects. I remembered this many times- nothing changed. But- I was not alone before. Pokemon, Pearl Clan, Lady, the Wardens, they are always present.

His hands stall in the air. No sound remains but the hiss of ghostfire and the crunch of salt.

My mind is gone, Ingo haltingly starts again. There is no return from what stole it away. But that is life. His hands settle into their own rhythm, the flames moving peacefully along with it. It doesn’t matter that I forget. Names, people, memories. I do not need them. They are still here. I have to be a Warden, to be a friend, to help other people- I do not need names for this. I do not need to remember the things that duty will not forget.

Suddenly, the line of his mouth shakes.

Someone changed me, to WANT to remember. In Prelude Beach village, there is-

His right hand pitches sharply upward, resting around chest height, hand curling around the memory of a young girl’s hair jewelry.

She waited, always! For me, for a friend, for nothing. It doesn’t matter to her that I forget. She waited for me- to know, to live, to remember. But she worries, always. She wants to make me something that does not exist. His hands move harshly as his face shifts with sadness. But she waited for me. I believe- CARELESSLY- it doesn’t matter. I believe, for TWO YEARS, it doesn’t matter. Only that she waited, for me. Only that I CAN remember becoming different- different from this, different from this loneliness, different from before. But she does not know what I was before. She only knows that I am WORSE than others.

His hands clash together as he paces to himself.

I have to be a Warden to help others. I do not need to remember to know I have a duty to help HER. But she believes the only thing that matters is I am WORSE than other people. The smoke rolls out of his mouth again. OTHER PEOPLE? I do not need to remember them! I remember her! But SHE remembers other people. She wants to make me something that does not exist. I CANNOT do this. I SAY I CANNOT DO THIS. So she says I AM SENILE, FOOLISH, LIAR. I am a CARELESS liar. She will not wait for me. She will not wait for liars.

A harsh sound flies out of his throat.

FINE! His hands angrily flick out. FINE! FINE! FINE! My mind is gone. I do not need to remember HER. But SHE changed me to remember, she waited FOR ME. And now she is gone. I look right and no one is there. Always.

“The best I can do only makes a j-j-j- joke of her,” Ingo’s voice finally chokes out. “How can she say something so terrible?”

Melli doesn’t know what to say. Ingo had seen him through every complaint and breakdown and horrible breakup over the years they’ve known each other, but in some way, Ingo seemed blissfully distant from it all. So blasé about his drifting state of mind he was almost beyond mortal concerns. It is strange, in this sense, to see him weep over something like this. To be torn over something so unspeakably large, so unspeakably small, as a little girl giving him a broken heart.

Ingo looks down at his own tears with growing distaste. “I must seem unbearably pathetic, derailing so totally over the words of a child. I can hardly stand it myself.”

Melli turns away from his salt and does a long, exaggerated stretch. “Don’t stop on my account, Warden. I’ve cried over far more trivial things than you, remember?”

“It was never trivial,” Ingo hoarsely corrects. “It mattered to you.”

“You could stand to give yourself the same courtesy,” Melli smugly points out. “You really do get ahead of yourself sometimes.”

"Yes. I suppose so."

"Don't break," Melli softly commands. "Breathe. Breathe, bend, return."

The ghostfire pulses with every rise, every fall. And every breath, it becomes a little less. It fades, fades, fades, until it is gone, and there are no more tears left to give.

"I didn't realize how lonely I was until she told me to leave," Ingo finally admits. "She had filled an absence I could not remember, and now it burns in a way I cannot forget." His hand clutches at the Pearl sigil of his tunic. "But for this, I am grateful. Her parting words have made me recall a grief of sorts. Perhaps I will finally be allowed to mourn it."

"Don't go crawling back to her like this," Melli warns him. "Don't you dare. You can't let people treat you like that, no matter how much you love them."

"I know," Ingo simply says. "It was terrible, in the end."

"Do you ever count on forgetting things?" Melli wonders. "Things that hurt. Things like this."

"I don't know," Ingo honestly admits. "But someone thought I was worth waiting for, if only for a moment, and it was her. So I would like to keep this pain for a little while longer. I will not erase what she has changed in me."

Melli huffs. "Well, alright. I suppose I can drink to that."

=#[o]#=

(142 years pass. Emmet Tamadensha doesn’t know why, but his tears start to feel like static.)

Chapter Text

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

The Anomaly above Mt. Coronet, which has sat Largely Undisturbed for these last two Years, has made a Sudden Increase in Size and General Intensity.

An Older Lady, known to the Hisuian peoples as The Mourner, is of the ‘Sinjoh’ Celestica which populated the land before these ‘Nuevo’ Celestica that compose the Diamond and Pearl Clans. She provided Translations of some Ancient Texts, which claim the Anomaly to be a recurring phenomenon dubbed a Space-time Rift. The oral history of the Nuevo-Celestica appears to corroborate this Bold claim, and proposes they have a connection to the Distortions that regularly drop strange Pokemon across the land. The Distortions pose a great Danger to human life and the Hisuian Ecosystem, but both are Acclimated to the phenomenon and the Anomaly itself has done no Harm as far as anyone can tell.

But it is growing. And I do not know at what point it is meant to stop.

=#[o]#=

The day after Ingo went away, Akari starts packing her things.

How many days of food can she fit? Not too much as it is now, but Bagin from the Security Corps knows how to expand the tumblespace in his packs to fit a whole Copperajah if he wanted, and he could part with those secrets for a fee.

How much medicine can she need? How much can she forage along the way? Would Commander Kamado be suspicious if she asked for her papers back? Would Laventon raise an eyebrow if she asked for all of her money at once? Would anyone notice if Akari Shou took the next boat back to Johto, or will she need to create another face?

Does she say goodbye?

…It would be the first time she had someone to say goodbye to.

She would have to say goodbye to Laventon and Cyllene. She would have to say thank you to Beni for all the food he painstakingly made for her. She would have to promise Bellamis they’ll meet again in Kalos, honest, and at least pretend for Anthe’s sake she’ll send letters.

She’d have to tell all the children that she’s going away. She would have to leave this village she helped build and make sure its future never knows she existed.

A waste. A waste that she had started to have a life here, in a way she did not before. A waste that she squandered it all on the tears of a sad, sad old man who knows all of her secrets and no longer has a reason to keep them. But this is the only way things could have ended here. It will end as it always has, with Akari making one friend too many until one of them realizes she’s worth more dead than alive.

(At least she’ll have some company when it’s time to go. She didn’t have a pokemon team before.)

She knows she will have to leave, but she wants to pretend a little while longer. So she waits. She waits for her little world to fall apart.

It never does.

She goes to work the next morning. Cyllene promotes her another Star rank. She holds a Rapidash still for Dagero’s cameras, and helps Laventon bind books to send back to Johto’s college. She makes pokeballs and draws all the local flowers she cannot write down, pretending she isn’t scribbling the ghost of an old Fox in the margins. 

The world never ends, so she starts to push it. She spends some days in Doctor Alec’s office, determinedly avoiding the eyes of his ‘brother’, and other days she models for Anthe’s clothes, boldfaced as she changes her appearance to match outfits between fittings. Anthe smiles wryly, and the world never ends.

Akari does magic tricks for children when their parents aren’t looking, casting illusions out of her hands. The world never ends.

(She sees ruined walls, passages of eye-laden letters drowning in a sea of alternating triangles, and she hates them for stealing that old Fox away.)

Fog and smoke, herbs and Sneasel venom, the dust of his tattered fabric and the rust of his coat buttons. His scent lingers in the village like an insult, like a eulogy, like a ghost she cannot see, and it puzzles her- for a while.

The truth of the matter is, he never really left. He just stopped waiting for her.

He wanders into the village at noon, meanders in his grid-like walk towards the Galaxy Hall, stares up at the building… and he keeps walking. He goes on with his day the way he always has- the way he did before he started to remember her. Staring at everything and saying nothing, voicing his requests through the animals in his pocket. There is a stutter in his words now, as if sparks were dancing on his tongue, as if even his voice began to taste like smoke. He glances at his pocket watch, eternally anxious to leave, and he makes himself smaller the longer he stays.

If Akari had stopped here, she could convince herself she was right all along. That this is what he was before her, frayed and battered and lost, and maybe if this was simply his natural state, she could tell herself to leave him be.

But he still looks to his right, and he’s trying not to. His head drifts down to his side and jerks back up again, a shell shocked look on his face as he clutches the hand she slapped away.

He does not speak to her any more than he does a stranger, and he’s started to avoid Professor Laventon. Akari could convince herself that he’s forgotten his old script, if she tries. It would be easy to pretend she could walk up to him, introduce herself, and go on as if all this had never happened. 

The world never ended, after all. Nothing has changed. Everything is exactly as it was before she decided to know him.

But he still looks to his right, and he’s trying not to. No matter how Akari tries to spin it, he remembers the pain of their parting words, if nothing else. His script has changed to accommodate her presence, and now it echoes with her absence. He has changed- for her.

His silence remains- for her.

(When Volo had warned her not to change him, she had not considered what would happen when she was no longer there to maintain it.)

He doesn’t call her Akari anymore. Not Ms. Shou. She is not the dear passenger, or the young passenger, only the passenger. The worst part is, she can’t even tell if he remembers her or not. She doesn’t know what that’s supposed to look like any more.

…She could ask. She could ask. He’s always honest about something like that. It would be easy. But if she asked, he would answer, and suddenly she realizes that she can’t stand the thought of knowing.

Suppose he has forgotten her. If he has, then Akari will bear the weight of their final words alone, and every day would be a terrible waiting game of when he eventually remembers again. When he remembers what she tried to control, when he remembers what he would not concede. And if he remembers her? If this is how he remembers her? That’s not something she can wait for him to forget. This is not something she can run away from, not this time. 

She will live, and so will he, until someone finally has half a mind to polish their hunting rifle, and she will watch him let it happen because he will not fit inside his human skin for anyone, not even for her.

And the world will never end. 

It will go back to being the same as it always was. 

The world where Akari Shou keeps her comfortable fireplace bed as she watches foxes die.

=#[o]#=

Volo lets out a nervous laugh. “It probably goes without saying, but don’t get the wrong idea from all the stuff I have to say about him. I’m just the one who’s here, y’know? We were close, but other people were closer.”

“You knew him the longest, didn’t you?” Emmet asks.

Volo shrugs. “Sure. But Shiro was around the least, and Ingo still practically doted on him sometimes. He hung out with Warden Lian a lot when the kid got older.” He squints. “I honestly can’t tell you if him and Captain Zisu fucked or not-”

Emmet chokes on his coffee, sparks crackling on his sweater.

“But no one even got close to Akari,” Volo finishes. “No one- nobody had what they had. It was uncanny.”

“Professor Laventon’s Zorua?”

“She definitely started out that way,” Volo concedes. “Laventon never owned her, though, she just worked for him. And then she decided to reverse adopt Ingo one day? No one could make her leave." Volo despairingly looks off to the side. "Despite it all."

Emmet snorts.

"Ingo would get lonely sometimes in a way no one could fix, but Akari almost did," Volo recalls. "I was almost jealous." 

Emmet stares at him expectantly, silently sipping coffee.

"Okay, maybe a little jealous," Volo quickly admits. "Listen, we don't all have magic fox powers, okay?"

"Of course," Emmet indulgently allows. (Bastard.) "What happened to her after that?"

"She left Jubilife during the Red Sky and she never really came back," Volo vaguely says. "I think she just lived with Ingo for a good few years? Things were pretty chaotic back then. She didn't like to talk about it."

Volo pats the aged crest of his Garchomp for a while, saying nothing.

“I don’t actually know what happened to her after that,” he slowly admits. “The last time I saw her was right before Ingo left. I never saw her again.” A pause. “I don’t think she’s dead. After what happened to her, I don’t know if she can even die. But I honestly thought she would have hunted me down at this point. It’s weird.”

Emmet's smile stays silent, unreadable.

"Don't look at me like that," Volo defensively sputters. "My dysfunctional relationships are between me, my therapist, and Giratina itself, alright? You can't judge-"

"Are we doing the right thing, Volo?"

Well, this is one of the conversational segways of all time.

"When I began this search," Emmet slowly starts, "I only thought about seeing my brother again. Because I had- I had thought Ingo must feel this same loneliness that I do without him. And what I saw of him, with Victini's aid, only seemed to confirm it." One of his hands starts to shake. "But time has passed since then. He found friends, he had a family, and I- are we being selfish?"

"It's already been done," Volo reminds him. "We're only there to ensure it."

"I don't care what tracks we have been forced to run," Emmet harshly says. "I care about my brother. Can you honestly tell me he will be happy with removing him from his station just to return him to ours?"

Volo leans back against his Garchomp.

"The way I see it," Volo decides to say, "he was happy. He was happy the same way you're happy right now. I mean- gods, everyone knew he was happy despite where he was, not because of it. I-" He sucks in a breath. "Emmet, I've been here for almost 150 years since I fell and I had to live through every second of that. If we leave him there, that's what he gets. Do you think he wants that? Because I sure as hell don't."

Emmet stares at him for a moment, then sighs. "Forgive my presumptions. The longer this affair goes on, the more my mind wanders from its intended route. You are- you are a very good friend, to set me back on track as you have.”

“You’re a good brother,” Volo offers in turn. “But he’s already on his way. It’s not our place anymore to think about whether or not that’s the right thing, is it? Just giving him a good place to land.”

Emmet’s smile shifts with a wry note. “That sounds like something Ingo would say.”

“That’s because he did,” Volo bluntly reveals. “I’m not that wise.”

Besides, it doesn’t matter. Volo can't leave Ingo in Hisui. Not like this.

(He won't survive it.)

Chapter Text

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

An Unidentified Airborne Object was ejected from the Anomaly, and had sailed a Considerable Distance through the sky to make Landing just outside Prelude Beach. I Recruited a few Security Corps personnel to Venture with me outside the Village and thus Investigate the nature of this Object. It was my hope to find a Meteorite of sorts. It would be of No Use to My Work, but it could be sent to Other researchers in hopes of Better Understanding the Anomaly.

This search was, however, Thoroughly Abandoned, and Rightfully so, as we found a Young Boy washed up on the shoreline. He has been swiftly transferred to the care of the Medical Corps, and fishermen, along with Warden Iscan, have been warned to keep a Most Watchful Eye for signs of a downed Ship.

The Commander, curiously, asked me if the Boy came out of the Anomaly. It is certainly a Poignant Question, but I must hold in this case that Correlation cannot equal Causation. No human being could Survive a fall from the Highest Peak of the Continent, much less be flung such a Great Distance into the shore.

=#[o]#=

“So!” Beni harshly sets his teacup against the table. “What have you done with him?”

“We’ve assigned him to Laventon’s pokemon school with the other children,” Kamado relays. “I have Bellamis keeping an eye on him for now.”

“For now?” Beni presses.

“He’ll need to earn his keep eventually. All the different branches are itching for a free new apprentice. Same as it ever was.” A sigh. “It was a town hall and a half getting everyone to agree on where to put him, but eventually we settled on one of the Survey Corps dorms.”

Kamado stares up at the cook and huffs.

“Alright. Out with it, spymaster. What do you have on him?”

“He’s quiet,” Beni starts. “Very terse for his age. There’s too much fear in his eyes to be as amnesiac as he claims. He is waiting for his environment to turn unstable.”

“That may be expected for a survivor of a lost ship,” Kamado points out. 

“There is no ship. No wreckage. Warden Iscan had the Basculegions scan the ocean floor and reported nothing.” Beni leans back. “The only information I could find were reports from the Pearl Clan. The meteorite the Professor saw certainly came out of the space-time rift, and it was human-sized.”

Kamado relights his pipe. Takes a deep pull from it. Stares at the ceiling. 

“I could kill him if you wanted,” Beni offers.

Kamado sighs deeply.

“It would not be hard!” Beni gleefully reminds him.

“Beni,” Kamado despairs for the thousandth time in their life. “Beni, that is a child.”

“I could easily kill a child! We both know this!”

“He’s twelve, Beni.”

“I was ten. Didn’t stop me from assassinating my first feudal lord.”

“You-” Kamado harshly pinches his brow. “No. We’re not having this conversation. We’re having you over for dinner, you can’t talk about child murder in front of my wife.”

“I’m offended for your wife,” Beni scolds him. “She would make an excellent assassin! No one ever sees her rapier until it’s too late.”

“I know she would, Beni,” Kamado fondly concedes. “But it’s been twenty years. Please stop offering to murder my problems.”

“I am a shinobi, Commander,” Beni reminds him. “The samurai line of your family may be dying with you, but murdering your problems is what I’m for.”

“We don’t even know if this is a problem,” Kamado stresses. “No matter what he is, right now he’s just a boy!”

Beni scoffs to himself. “The Towers were just towers before the gods burned it all to the ground. What’s the point of keeping me around for advice if you never listen?”

“Because you are my dearest friend and I want you to live well. ” Kamado roughly presses his hand down on Beni’s messy mop of hair, a sad look creeping over his face. “Just this once, I want us to live well without resorting to violence. Is that too much to ask for?”

Beni’s mustache pulls with the line of his mouth, violet eyes rolling with exaggerated distaste. “If I must. I suppose someone will have to temper your optimism.”

“Yes, and someone will have to explain to my son that normal cooks don’t use their meat cleavers as throwing darts every time someone forgets to pay their tab,” Kamado snarks. “Let’s go home. Try not to invade the kitchen while we cook this time, you’re terrible at being a guest.”

=#[o]#=

“We have a new friend today!” Laventon calls out to the small crowd of children. “Rei will be staying with us until one of the Corps properly recruits him, so let’s all lend a helping hand as he gets sorted out.”

Apparently Laventon fished a boy out of the sand earlier today. He’s a very odd looking boy. He’s got thin clothes, uncut hair, and a pink puffy jacket. He smells like… rubber and oil, this heady chemical reek, as if he washed his clothes in factory coaltar. Underneath it is this papery dust-scent of ink, sooty and uncomfortably organic.

Weird. Ingo had that ink-scent too. The exact same. (Don't think about it.)

“Now, we like to start our new students off with a quick introduction of their Ability and any moves they may have,” Laventon continues. “If you don’t know yours, we have some very easy tests-”

“I have Color Change,” Rei reveals.

“Oh, wonderful, then there’s no need to-” Laventon pauses, blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry, Color Change? My goodness!”

Shou, one of the younger boys, raises his hand. “What’s a Color Change do?”

“It changes a person’s type to match with the last move used on them,” Laventon explains. “It’s not quite instantaneous, of course, but it’s mechanically very fascinating.” He turns to Rei, a spray bottle in his hand. “Would you mind allowing us to demonstrate? It only simulates a pokemon move enough to trigger a reaction. Water-type in this case.”

Rei curiously holds out his arm. Laventon shakes the bottle and points a conservative spray of mist at him. In an instant, the arm becomes freckled with fish-like scales, a thin webbing growing on his hands.

“Mermaids are real!” Shou shouts.

Laventon wheezes out a baffled laugh. “It’s quite natural, my boy, I promise! Humans can acquire all sorts of interesting moves. I myself have Teleport, though it-”

Ceci, a round faced little girl, innocently chucks an apricorn at Laventon’s head. It bounces harmlessly against the blackboard with a hollow wooden thunk as the Professor’s body reappears by the bookshelf.

“-is mostly entirely reflexive on my part-” Laventon pauses, head rocking as he takes in the change in position. “Oh, I see.” He wags his finger at Ceci. “You stop that.”

Laventon rocks a lot. All the time. He rocks like he’s a loom processing a new punch card. Akari didn’t really think about it at first, but in retrospect, she never really sees other people do that. Maybe Cyllene sometimes, when she’s copying her Abra. The only time Warden Lian did it was when he was talking about rocks, so really the only person that did it the same way Laventon does would be Ingo-

Stop that. Akari can’t be thinking about that. That’s weird. Just think about the new kid. He’s the one who’s actually here.

What kind of moves do you have?" Akari asks Rei. "I've got Agility, Imprison, and Scary Face."

Rei squints. "How does Scary Face work?"

"It's easy! You just-" Akari pulls her cheeks with her hands and sticks out her tongue with an exaggerated blehhhhh.

(This is not, in fact, how Scary Face works, but no one needs to know that.)

"Oh. Cool," Rei blankly responds. "I have… Endure."

The other children coo with fascination. Laventon and Akari stare at each other with a look of shared horror and decide to unpack this later.

"And I have Splash!" Ceci cheerfully reveals. "Look!"

She jumps up. Then jumps up again in the air. She bounces off the air several times until she's reached the height of one of the cabinets, then flops harmlessly into the ground like a wet fish. The other children are delighted at this feat of defying physics.

Rei stares at this sequence of events with such a perturbed look on his face. It's the first actual expression Akari's seen on him since they've met, and it's kind of funny.

The rest of the lab session isn't much different from the ones that came before it. Laventon checks on any changes the children have had in their Abilities or moves- Bellamis has Swords Dance now, after the fencing training with his mother- and he writes down the new results for the Medical Corps before sending them downstairs to bother Tao Hua about testing the new scatterbangs the Supply Corps is working on.

Before Akari can follow after, though, Laventon stops her with a quick hand on the shoulder.

"What do you think of that boy?" he asks. "Rei, I mean."

"There's a lot of stuff behind his words when he talks," Akari notes. "He talked about his moves like they weren't his."

I have Endure, he said. Buried underneath was I don't know why I know. I don't know why I have it. I'm scared to find out what it's for.

"He has a Hisuian accent," Laventon points out, "did you notice? That shouldn't be possible."

"You're sure saying a lot of words about a kid you just half adopted," Akari muses.

"I didn't adopt him," Laventon insists. "I just loaned him one of our new research pokemon!"

"The imported ones who won't listen to you?" 

"I feed them every day and they still won't love me," Laventon despairs. "Raj is the only one that will, and even he's still the laziest Oshawott I've ever met."

"Not even Cyan?” Akari asks. “I thought he was very polite!”

“He dug a rock out of the ground and now he won’t stop war dancing around it. I might trouble you to ask him directly about it, I can’t for the life of me figure out what’s going on.” Laventon pats Akari on the head. “In the meantime, I’ll have the Rowlet’s perch transferred to Rei’s dorm. It's a bonsai! Absolutely lovely specimen to take care of. Teach him responsibility and all that.” He sighs. “Gods, I'm so old."

Well, Akari doesn’t have much else going on. She may as well figure out this rock mystery.

The Cyndaquil, which she named Cyan when it first arrived, has his own little makeshift furnace bed and a hearty bowl of leppa berries, both of which are being inexplicably ignored in favor of an oblong, disc-like rock set on the floor, just large enough to be carried in Cyan’s mouth. 

Rock? Rock? rockrockrockrockrock- Cyan snorts sharply as Akari approaches, bending his long snout around her hand. Oh, hello! Smells! So very smells! SNFSNFSNFSNFSNF-

He sneezes, letting out a small shower of sparks that bounce harmlessly off of her human illusion.

Oh! Oh no! Oh noooo…

“I’m not a real human,” Akari quickly explains. “You didn’t actually touch my hand, so I didn’t get burned! It’s fine.”

Cyan’s beady black eyes blink as he tilts his head. His nose wiggles with suspicion as he toddles towards her body, closer and closer, until his little wet snout points directly at her stomach- where her Zorua body is hiding at the moment.

“Good eye!” Akari compliments. “Good… nose? I guess I can drop it with just the two of us.” She lowers herself through the clay of her human form as it melts away, shaking the last traces off of her fur. “There! That’s better-”

Cyan then shoves his nose over her entire face, snuffling around her eyes, ears, ruff, even her own tiny snout. Oh, you have so MANY outside smells! So many! Oh please, oh please, oh PLEASE tell me about your outside smells, I want to know EVERYTHING!

“You’re one of the Professor’s pokemon,” Akari tells him. “You could just go outside yourself. It’s not like anyone will stop you.”

Cyan’s body shakes with nervousness. No, NO, I could never! I want to, but there’s a scary pokemon outside the village nest who watches EVERYONE leave! I can never get past him!

Akari’s barbels twitch. “The guard? But that’s just Ress! The only thing he does is call out people’s names when they leave and come back.”

I know! It’s so scary… Cyan bashfully grooms his face with his paws. I know it’s embarrassing, but I just can’t do it. It’s easier to stay inside.

“But then why do you want to go outside?” Akari wonders.

Cyan pushes the rock forward with his snout. For my treasure! It is my treasure that I found, and it is mine. 

It really is just a rock. It’s not even a very strong rock, or one of those rocks that humans will pay money for. It’s a bog-standard rock with a bit of shiny smoothness in the middle. When Akari licks that shiny spot, it sticks oddly to her tongue.

So so shiny, so so smooth! Cyan happily summarizes. I want to know everything about everything! If I could just go outside, then maybe I will learn what makes it so special. It IS special, I know it.

“You know,” Akari starts, “it’s my job to go outside. That’s what I do with the Survey Corps. Maybe it won’t be so scary if we go outside together.”

Cyan’s eyes grow wide with wonder. You’d do that for me?

“Sure? Helping people and pokemon get along is part of my job, too.”

Oh, thank you! Cyan grabs the rock in his mouth, jumping around in excited circles. Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re my best friend forever!

“It’s not like I’ve handed you the world on a platter,” Akari dismisses. “Weren’t you a wild pokemon once? You’ll be just fine once you’re out there.” Her voice drops to a mutter. “I could never do something like that.”

You know how to leave the nest, Cyan points out. I could never do something like THAT. It’s not the end of the world if you don’t help me, but it’s still everything to me that you’ll help me with my treasure.

Oh. That’s what this feeling is. Missing being needed. Missing needing to be helpful, to be knowing, but mostly just wanted. She misses the feeling of being waited for. She misses waiting.

“I’ll tell the Professor I’m taking you with me,” Akari decides. “Then we can go outside whenever we want.”

Oh, yes! You’re the Professor’s, too! Cyan scoots closer. Then you must have a name. One of those human names. What is it?

Akari gathers her human form around herself once more, stands up, and points sharply at the ground.

“This body is Akari Shou. I will be your conductor for the foreseeable future, as long as you would like.”

=#[o]#=

[YOU]

They want us to do a monologue speech fuck this shit i’m walking into traffic

[BOSS EMMET]

Oh dear. Do not.

[YOU]

OH DRAGONS WRONG NUMBER

[BOSS EMMET]

Hello. I am Emmet. Agent Cameron, I was unaware you took summer classes.

[YOU]

I may have. 

May have. 

Failed public speaking last semester

[BOSS EMMET]

Congratulations!

[YOU]

This is bad actually

[BOSS EMMET]

My condolences!

[YOU]

Feels inappropriate to keep texting you like this boss. Aren’t you on sick leave? 

[BOSS EMMET]

I am working from “home” due to various “medical reasons”. But I am still working. Alas. Someone needs to dab on my haters.

[YOU]

If you say dab again I’m resigning

[BOSS EMMET]

That’s a funny trick to play on god!

[YOU]

what

[BOSS EMMET]

Well then, Alex, what’s all this about a monologue assignment? I’m dying to know. 

[YOU]

Well. I have to do a scripted monologue in front of the class.

[BOSS EMMET]

“Oh, full of Skorupis is my mind!”

[YOU]

Yes that

Not that one exactly. Just that type of thing

I’m just having trouble picking out which one to use

[BOSS EMMET]

Do one from a video game. That’s what I did in school. The professor will never have to know.

[YOU]

This all probably sounds really stupid huh

You’re what

30

Probably way past your college days

[BOSS EMMET]

Nii-san and I never went to college. Much too stressful. Went straight to Gear Station and worked our way from there, yup yup.

I think it’s neat you get to do that. Very dedicated.

[YOU]

Verrrry dedicated even

[BOSS EMMET]

VERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRY DEDICATED

SUPER BRAVO, AS INGO MIGHT SAY

[YOU]

I could do an anime one. It would be funny

But I’d have to write a script to scrub all the weeb out of it

[BOSS EMMET]

Send it to me later and I shall judge if you pass your safety checks.

[YOU]

Don’t you have anything better to do

[BOSS EMMET]

Not when the government stabs my bones, I don’t!

Chapter Text

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

Just earlier today I saw a Veritable Infestation of Bidoof trying to breach the Village walls. Unlike previous attempts, however, they were not so easily frightened away. They Gnashed at the wooden walls like Starving Prisoners. It was quite Unnatural, to say the least. Furthermore, Bidoof should be present by the Rivers and Wetlands, not the open Fields and Shorefronts our village occupies. What could have caused them to Displace in this way?

=#[o]#=

Despite the Professor's best efforts, it's taken all of a day for Rei to be known as the boy who fell from the sky, and most importantly, an outsider. An outlier.

Still, an outsider that Laventon is quite determined to recruit for the Survey Corps. Rei had thrown a perfect pokeball catching a stray pokemon in the village, and some glimmer of hope Akari didn't realize Laventon still had suddenly flooded his eyes. Which- ouch. But fair. Neither her or Laventon are great at actually using their own equipment, inventors or not.

Cyllene seems pretty on board with it, or at least on board with getting Rei employed so she has an excuse to feed him. She looked at the very obviously twelve year old boy, loudly said fifteen or so, old enough to earn your keep, and that had been that. So now Rei is 'fifteen' in the same way Akari is 'eighteen'. Which makes Akari three (3) whole human paper years older than him, and therefore his superior. His mentor, if you will. She is going to get a good grade in Survey Corps mentor, which is something normal to want and possible to achieve. She has so many tips and tricks to show him.

…Well, maybe not her dodging method. That one relies a little too much on her human body not being real.

First things first, now that Rei is supposed to be living here, he's going to have to get acquainted with Ress. Ress is a guardsman. Technically. In the sense that as long as someone is within the bounds of the village or a base camp, he knows where they are at all times. (Psychics are weird like that.)

"Oh?" A tall body leans past Akari to get a look at Rei. "What a curious getup you have there. I can already tell you're quite the character."

That better not be Volo. She already knows it is, but it better not be.

Akari turns around. Yep, that's Volo, eyeing up Rei as he vigorously shakes the much younger boy's hand. 

"I'm Volo of the Ginkgo Guild, the go-to choice for any of your mercantile needs here in Hisui!" Each handshake vigorously wobbles Rei's body with the sheer force of it as Volo's words pick up speed. "I've heard talk about you. Fell from the sky, didn't you? Now that's certainly a tale I'd like to hear-" His eyes flick to the Rowlet on Rei's shoulder. "Oh! You've a pokemon! You're certainly full of interesting surprises!"

Oh, no. He's doing the bit again. 

"You know, investigating the odd and novel is key to any good merchant's success!" Volo tilts his head innocently. "I've also heard about this trial you're to attempt. So what do you say? How about you and I see how our Pokémon stand up to one another in battle?"

Please. The only people into it are Zisu, Ingo, and maybe Beni! He's gotta stop doing this-

Rei grins as he raises his Rowlet bearing arm. "Finally, a normal person!"

"Delightful! I like you better and better!" Volo smiles darkly as he brandishes a pokeball. "Let's get your blood pumping, shall we?"

Rei whistles sharply, gently tossing his Rowlet off its perch. "Go on then, Ronin!"

Oh gods, there's more of them. The disease is spreading. At least Volo didn't break out his Lucario for this random act of violent whimsy. He has a Togepi now. A little baby. That's cute.

People don’t really battle for fun like Ingo and Zisu do. Sure, they’ll take out their little guys and let them wrestle a bit, but that’s not directed by the humans in any way- the only battle occurring is one of the individual pokemon involved, not this battle of wills. Volo’s definitely going easy on Rei, though, even with a level 5 Togepi. At that age, it should have at least Growl and Sweet Kiss, but he’s only having it use Tackle in the face of Rowlet’s Leafage attack and Rei’s funny little hit-and-run tactics. Even when his Togepi finally stumbles one time too many, he gathers it up into his arms with a relieved smile.

“It's always good fun to have your Pokémon do battle, don't you think?” Volo gently asks. “And as they gain experience through battle, they'll learn more moves and grow even stronger! Moves, items- use them well, and the world will open up to you! But so few people here have their own pokemon.” His wry wink is visible even with one of his eyes covered. “If only more knew how to use pokeballs!”

Rei snorts, as if Volo just stumbled into an inside joke.

Volo kneels down, placing his Togepi next to Rei’s Rowlet. “At any rate, let me help our two battlers recover from their little exercise.” He slices some nanab berries for the two before rifling through his bag. "And to you, my sky fallen friend, I present some Potions in thanks! You can use them on your Pokémon whenever they might be worn out from battle." 

It's a script, that much is certain. But Volo's never been one for scripts, beyond dealing with customers. Maybe Volo’s feeling a little starved for rivals in this niche hobby of his? Regardless of his motivations, Rei seems oddly comforted by this odd song and dance. He takes his little prize with a nostalgic look on his face.

"I'll be hoping that you're successful on that trial of yours," Volo earnestly says. "More Galaxy Team members means more customers for yours truly, after all!"

Rei sharply nods and walks off to the guard post.

"How did you know he wanted to battle?" Akari asks.

Volo taps his head. "Ingo taught it to me a while back. Humans can tell by looking into each other's eyes, if you know where to look. Where he came from, people could start a fight without even saying a word." He laughs lightly. "It's one of those odd Psychic-type quirks, I imagine. It doesn't take too much training to do it."

"Sure, but how did you know Rei would do it back?" Akari presses.

Volo shrugs. "Lucky guess," he vaguely says.

“How’s, uh-” Akari kicks awkwardly at the ground. “How’s Ingo been lately? Have you seen him around?”

“Can’t you just go ask him yourself?” Volo simply asks.

Oh. Oh, boy. Ingo has not told Volo about the drama. Okay. Okay. This is fine! Akari doesn’t particularly give a shit either way. And Ingo just- apparently does not give enough of a shit to tell Akari’s friends about it either! Gods, he really could not care less, could he? He didn’t fight her properly over it, not even once, he just… left. It’s the first time someone’s just left after she asked to leave her alone, and maybe that means something, but it still hurts for some reason.

And Akari can’t tell if it's her fault or his, that he only ever did what she asked. She hates it, she hates it, she hates it. She’s the one that told him to leave, but he’s the one who actually left, and she doesn’t want to die, but she doesn’t want him to die but she can’t stand to be around someone who made such a mess of her home but she can’t stand to be alone anymore even though she used to be JUST FINE WITHOUT HIM AND SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHY THAT HAD TO CHANGE-

“You look like you’re having a terrible day,” Volo notes. “Do you want to get ice cream? A guy I do spice deliveries for in the Wallflower has a machine for it. Modified one of the Pearl Clan’s Silcoon spinners to make it.”

“I do still have to go to work,” Akari points out.

“Well, after then!” Volo insists. “Rei’s with you, right? We can all get together.” He awkwardly tucks a stray lock of hair back under his hat. “It’s been a while since we’ve run into each other. Everything’s changing lately. Let’s do something nice before anything weird happens.”

“I’d like that a lot, actually.” Akari tilts her head up at him. “You’re really nice sometimes.”

“Absolutely not,” Volo denies. “I’m just too selfish to keep to myself. See you later, fox girl.”

=#[o]#=

“Lovely place you have here,” Volo immediately comments as soon as the door opens. “Vacation home? I hear Undella Town is beautiful in the summer.”

“It’s a timeshare,” Cynthia corrects. “Caitlin saves me a spot. What are you doing in Unova, jii-san?”

Volo’s smile pulls at the old scar on his lip. “Can’t I just visit my little champion for once?”

“Absolutely not.” Cynthia opens the door anyway. “I have tea ready. Get in before the paparazzi notices you’re here.”

Even before Cynthia Sinjoh became the Champion of Sinnoh, her grandfather never visited her for normal reasons. Sure, he was a frequent and beloved presence in her life, but he was also immortal, and that always made things a little… weird. Even though they both worked in historical fields. ( Especially since they both worked in historical fields.)

“Iris called the other day,” Cynthia casually reveals as she hands off a mug of black tea. “Bomb threats on her grandpa’s house and all that. There goes girl’s night.” She blows on her own steaming cup. “Pretty understandable, with her uncle going missing on top of it all, but it’s the strangest thing. Apparently his twin started hanging out with a weird guy who looks exactly like you. And you’ve been pulling in some very specific requests from the Sinnoh Natural History Museum lately.” Her black nails tap patiently against the ceramic. “What did you do?”

Volo laughs sadly. “There it is. There’s a reason you’re my favorite.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on this time, or is this going to be like that time you had a panic attack after my dad put up an Arceus shrine for Snowcrown?” Cynthia flatly asks. “Absolute worst way for me to find out you have C-PTSD, by the way. I was ten. I thought you just hated Snowcrown for no reason.”

Volo silently takes a long, contemplative sip of his tea.

“Ingo Tamadensha is Fox,” he finally says.

Cynthia’s first thought on hearing that is that a lot of Hisuian historians just lost a bet right now, because ‘Last Sneasler Warden Before the Celestica Reunification Secretly a Time Traveler’ probably wasn’t on a lot of people’s bingo cards. Her second thought is that her great-grandpa had been a plane ticket and train ride away for the last ten years and she never got the chance to meet him.

Grandpa Sinjoh told his kids and grandkids to be grateful for the family they had. He didn’t get to have that growing up. He was given up as a child to live for a religious order, and eventually he lost even that. By the time he was a teenager, he had a roof over his head and not much else.

But he had Fox. A man who was never Volo’s father, but was, quite literally, Volo’s old man. Someone who would never share Volo’s name, but would have been somewhere between suspicious grandfather and loving uncle to every child that came after him. The picture in the Sinnoh museum of the Sneasler Warden is a copy because the original is hung up on the Sinjoh family wall.

He was immortal. He could have outscreamed Arceus itself. He was a ghost 150 years old.

He was 30 in 2014.

(He was a train ride away.)

“Gods, it’s so awkward, isn’t it?” Volo jokes. “When you were born, his parents probably hadn’t even met yet! It’s so silly.”

He laughs. His head ducks into his hand, fingers disappearing under his hair as it swallows his face. He laughs. He laughs. He laughs. (He’s crying.)

“I waited so long,” he sobs. “I waited and waited until I finally started telling myself I’d just killed him.”

“We could have just visited him,” Cynthia whispers to herself. “Why- why didn’t we just go see him? We all knew how important he was to you, we- we would have loved to meet him! I would have loved to meet him!”

“Because Ingo Tamadensha wasn’t Fox,” Volo tells her. “He wasn’t Fox until the exact moment he disappeared and forgot he was anything else.”

“Why did you tell me this?” Cynthia sadly asks him.

“Because I want him to be with his family,” Volo simply says. “And when he decides he never wants to see me again, I at least want you to know where to find him instead.”

Chapter Text

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

Although I hope to recruit More Members still to our Survey Corps, with the addition of Rei we can begin supplementing our Land Surveys and Map Making with Natural Research of local Pokemon. Of course, we need not start at the Very Beginning. These last 2 years have proved Immensely Fruitful in interviewing the Nuevo-Celestica Clans for their Plentiful information on the Pokemon of this vast Hisui.

=#[o]#=

“Laventon-hakase!” A Pearl Clan silk weaver waves him over. “Come and see! It’s time for the Silcoon spinning.”

Laventon stares at the circular machine with a skeptical look as a few attendants sort Silcoons from Cascoons in a large basket beside it. “I’m not a man of textiles expertise, I’ll admit, but I recall this is quite intensive. How do you find the time to spin such volumes of fabric during your nomadic ventures? I’m curious how you afford to spare the labor.”

“Why would labor have anything to do with it at all?” The silk weaver opens a slot in one of the Silcoon laden machines, taking out a long metal rod attached to the larger device by a piece of twine. “The silk retrieves itself.”

The weaver hoists the rod into the air, shaking a bell in their other hand. As if on command, a large flock of orange wisps zip down through the air, their electric currents pulsing with mirth as they disappear into the rods. Down the rods, down the twine, down the machines they go, until the hollow round things vibrate with a life of their own. As the lid is opened, Laventon sees an internal engine rotating the Silcoon baskets at incredible speed, loosening the impenetrable cocoons into delicate fibers.

“Oh my gods, you have textile automation.” Laventon’s voice pitches with an incredulous shout. “HOW IN THE WORLD DO YOU HAVE ELECTRIC ENGINES?”

“Eh?” The weaver tilts their head. “The Rotoms are everywhere to use. You can put them in your spinners, in your looms, in your butter churners. You can’t really train them, so it’s not very practical, but it’s easy when you want to save some time. Does your country not have this?”

“This is the first time I’ve even heard of a pokemon that can inhabit human machinery,” Laventon excitedly relays, “much less operate it! If you could teach other people how to make engines like this, the amount of labor that could be saved in so many fields would be practically unfathomable! Why, you’d be rich just parting with a few Rotoms yourself for study!”

The weavers glance at each other, then back at Laventon.

“How rich?”

=#[o]#=

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

My dear Assistants A---- and Rei have reported a Great Wealth of data for various Obsidian Fieldlands Pokemon in a relatively short amount of time. I do Appreciate their work ethic, but I have some Concerns. Not with the Quality of their data, but what it Represents.

They are reporting plentiful Pokemon almost directly outside the Fields Camp, including Bidoof and Shinx. Bidoof should be in the Rivers, and Shinx should not be outside their Prides, much less out in the open! Additionally, an Abundance of Drifloons are appearing in the night just outside of the camps. Something has Displaced these and many other Pokemon in a short amount of time, forcing them towards the coast.

Usually, I would first suggest a Wildfire or Weather Phenomena of some kind, but no such thing has occurred, and the locations of Distortion Bubbles do not match the endemic habitats of these Pokemon. 

Either a Plague of sorts is brewing, or a Greater Predator has made itself known.

=#[o]#=

Miki from the night guard asked them to check Prelude Beach for a Drifloon that’s apparently been a little too fascinated with the village children. It’s been trying to play with them as the sun goes down, staying out later and later, and now there’s a boy, Taki, who only goes home right as the village gates close for the night.

Akari’s heard stories of this kind of thing before. Drifloon love children more than anything, but it’s a dangerous sort of love. If a child is too unhappy at home, too unnoticed, the Drifloon try to spirit them away. But Taki never seemed unhappy before, and the Security Corps won’t be reasonable about a stolen child, no matter how well-intentioned the kidnapper.

Don't worry! Cyan assures Akari, detecting the anxiety under her human mask. If the Drifloon does anything to you, I'll eat it!

"If it does anything to me? Shouldn't it be scary if a ghost is trying to attack you?"

Cyan stares at the ground. Well it's not scary if it's not happening to me.

The docks at Prelude Beach are threadbare at best. Few ships stop here at any regular basis, and the ones that do are greeted with little more than a single small building holding the tools to smooth out their landing.

They find Taki gently holding a Drifloon’s tendril in his hand. “You gotta let go,” he whispers. “You know you gotta let go, don’t you? The gates are about to close!”

“Taki!” Akari calls out. “What’s going on?”

The little boy startles in place, a scared look growing on his face. “Hey! Um- I wanna go home now. But Drifloon won’t let me go! Can you help me, please?”

“Can do.” Akari moves to separate them, but Rei suddenly shoots his arm forward. 

“No,” he whispers.

Akari frowns. “The Drifloon is practically holding him hostage. We can’t let that happen!”

Rei shakes his head and points at the entwined limbs in front of them. It’s not Drifloon that isn’t letting go, it’s Taki.

“I’m sorry,” Taki mutters. “I know it’s wrong. We’re scaring people, aren’t we?”

“No.” Rei walks towards the two, his hands clasping to hold Taki and the Drifloon together. “This isn’t wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re partners now, aren’t you?”

“Huh? With a Drifloon?” Taki stares at the tendril in his hand, and then back to Rei. “But we were just playing!” His words turn quiet. “At first. But sometimes, it feels like being with another kid. Or like I’m another Drifloon. Like we’re the same thing, but different.”

“That’s what having a pokemon partner of your own is,” Rei explains. “There’s nothing wrong with that at all!”

“But- but they’re never gonna let a Drifloon inside the village!” Taki protests. “And even if they did, I don’t think they’d let me just take one home.”

“I’ll make them,” Rei promises. “Come on. Let’s go right now.”

And Akari watches Rei lead their motley little crew back to the gates- the Rowlet on his shoulder, the inseparable Taki and Drifloon, Akari and Cyan following close behind. Miki, of course, is baffled at the sight. She’s reasonably resistant to letting a literal ghost into the village walls. And what does Rei do?

He just looks at her. Silent. Waiting. That empty silence echoes all around them, and it feels strangely like judgment.

Miki lets them in without another word.

It turns out Taki’s parents couldn’t care less that his first pokemon bond is a Drifloon. The fact that he bonded at all is still a miracle to his scarred, battered elders, so they celebrate it, even if they do want to call Laventon later for some proper advice. The Drifloon is named Luna, and… things have turned out nicer than expected. A bit weirder than where Akari thought it was going, but it’s still nice.

All the while, the strained, silent judgment never leaves Rei’s face, even as he curls up on his dorm’s doorstep.

“You were, uh- you were pretty smooth back there,” Akari starts. “With how you explained Taki’s partner to him. I guess you’re a bit more experienced than most people here, huh?”

“Sure,” Rei tersely allows. “Traveled a lot. Saw a lot of pokemon. So many… friends… in my life.”

A sigh.

“All I did was say stuff other people know!” he finally bites out. “I’ve never actually had a partner before.”

“Really?” Akari sputters. “The other day you got a Shinx to eat out of your hand just so Toshi could see what its ears looked like! Pokemon love you!”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Rei sadly scratches at his Rowlet’s feathers. “I mean- I really want to. I wanted to, I’ve always wanted to. But it just didn’t happen. Y’know?”

And once again, he says one little thing and means another. I didn’t have a partner. I never did. I wanted to. I never got the chance.

(I never had a choice.)

“Oh.” Akari looks down at her feet. “I’m… sorry. I think.”

Rei smiles. “It’s fine. I’ve had a long time to get used to it.”

It was the last thing he said for days.

=#[o]#=

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

Warden Mai tasked the Survey Corps to remove an Alpha Kricketune that had invaded her Lord’s seat of power. While the event itself was Ultimately Harmless, it fills me with Great Concern much in the same way Earlier Events have.

Whatever is Amiss in the Fieldlands is of a great enough size to displace not only normal Pokemon, but Alpha-class creatures. I shudder to think of what they consider to be a Predator.

=#[o]#=

Volo rides towards the new Heights camp on his Arcanine, an easy smile on his face. “If it isn’t my favorite customers! Have you been making good use of my secret back strike technique in your studies?”

“I don’t know, Rei.” Akari leans towards the younger boy, a muffled snicker bubbling in her voice. “How was that back strike technique?”

Rei pinches a set of tweezers inside the delicate hollow workings of a new pokeball. “You stop that.”

Akari’s smile widens unnaturally across her human face. “De-le-le- woooooooop,” she ominously whispers.

Rei throws the unfinished pokeball into the ground as he breaks down with laughter.

“What is this?” Volo asks. “Why is this funny?”

Akari waves her hands choppily through the air. “De-le-le-WOOOP!”

“Akari, are you haunted?” Volo pleads. “Are you fucking possessed?”

“DW- WOOOOOOP.”

“You used to be my customer.”

Professor Laventon, the only person in the camp with any human compassion left, sighs with the weariness of a long-suffering father. “There was an alpha Kricketune with a very… distinctive cry.”

Volo blinks. “I didn’t know Kricketunes could come in alpha sizes. I didn’t know they could do that.”

“I’m not quite sure myself, but-”

“SHIT FUCK FUCK SHITFUCK, ALPHA RAPIDASH, GET THE FUCK DOWN!”

Volo grabs Rei and Akari by their collars, hoisting them up onto his Arcanine, whose mane rises defensively as the charging mare approaches. The gigantic horse barrels after the heels of an unfortunate Security Corps soldier as she reflexively flees towards the camp’s radio to call for backup. The mare stops for a moment as it registers the presence of Volo’s Arcanine, burning eyes flitting with indecision. Rapidashes are infamously violent in the face of perceived threats, but they are still prey animals. Will she risk facing an Arcanine’s fangs, kicking her delicate legs into its voluminous wall of fur?

No one gets to find out. Laventon’s Dewott is finally disturbed from its neverending slumber, lazily standing up and blinking at the Rapidash that woke it. It yawns, then spits a spiteful Bubble attack directly into the Rapidash’s eyes. The Rapidash flinches wildly, darting away from the sudden sensation, and once the Dewott judges its foe will not return, it goes back to sleep.

Damn. Okay. That really just happened.

Volo decides to ignore the fact that he just grabbed Rei and Akari on instinct and sets them unceremoniously on the ground. Sure, he’s known Akari for a few years, so she wouldn’t think it’s weird, but Rei probably would. It’s not like they know each other.

Well. Rei doesn’t know Volo. Volo does know Rei. He found the kid’s papers in Ingo’s fallen train, after all. But that's about it. Volo knows just enough to confidently say Rei's another time traveler, one favored by the gods, but that's no basis to build a relationship on. What, is Volo expected to walk up to this child and go how do you do, fellow faller?

No! Absolutely not! That's creep behavior. Sure, he should probably bring it up at some point, but give the kid a few more weeks. The last thing Volo wanted when he first fell was people treating him like an anomaly for things that used to be normal, so he's going to at least try and be reasonable about it. Even if he did steal some of Ingo's old battle scripts for the sake of mimicking something familiar to Rei. It worked out, so it's fine.

"Has anyone seen Professor Laventon?" Akari asks.

"If he's run off, he can't have gone that far," Volo assures her. "He doesn't strike me as a sporting type."

"Yeah, you'd think." 

One of the soldiers trudges over to the radio, slapping it a few times as he takes the speaker into his hand. "Heights Camp calling all channels. This is Heights Camp calling all channels. Do we have a visual on Professor Laventon? Over."

The radio crackles. 

"Snowfields reporting to Heights Camp," the Professor answers from the other side. "If it's not too much trouble, could the Captain pick me up? I am so, so cold right now."

A sigh ripples through the channel.

"Galaxy Hall to Snowfields. I'll send Abe-chan your way."

=#[o]#=

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

WHY ARE THERE SO MANY BUG-TYPE ALPHAS? THIS HAS TO BE VIOLATING SOME SORT OF NATURAL LAW. UNTIL I SEE ANY EVIDENCE OTHERWISE, I WILL CONSIDER THEM ENEMIES OF GOD.

=#[o]#=

Ronin wasn’t a Dartrix when he set out with Rei this morning. But there is a very startled Dartrix on Rei’s shoulder, matching the shell shocked look on his face when he finds Akari and Laventon’s dinner table at the Wallflower.

“Oh, fascinating! The regional changes have set in earlier than I expected! I can already see some autumnal coloration on Ronin’s leaves-” Laventon suddenly blinks and straightens as he takes in Rei’s appearance. “Are you quite alright, my boy?”

“Alpha Heracross.”

“A what?” The bowl of dumplings Akari was sliding towards Rei screeches on the wooden table as her hand comes to a stilted stop. “How are you alive? Are you alive?”

Rei opens a pokeball, leaving a small, pathetically adorable Drifloon to float freely around his head. “David.”

Laventon furrows his brow as his Polteageist pours another cup for him. “I- it’s not that I cannae believe you, but can I ask how this happened? You’re holding a level 5 Drifloon in front of my tender eyes and alleging it bested such a beast?”

“My good friend David Ghost-Flying.” Rei’s hand shakes as he places a rattling Ultra Ball on the table, labeled quite thoroughly as containing an alpha Heracross. “He rose 15 levels in one fight and ascended beyond this mortal plane. He is impervious to all forms of physical attack and I love him.”

Laventon takes in Rei’s appearance. His scuffed clothes, his worn shoes, his…

…his torn scarf.

The Survey Corps scarves aren’t just swathes of warm fabric. They’re psychic Focus sashes, made to sacrifice themselves in place of the wearer’s body. And Rei’s scarf is torn, right across his neck.

“Do you need to go to the medical ward, my boy?” Laventon gently asks. 

“It’s fine,” Rei dismisses. “I’m- I’m gonna take a nap.” He ducks his head onto the table, using his arms as a pillow. “I’m gonna take a nap right here.”

=#[o]#=

The Novel Misadventures of a Hisuian Professor of Pokemon Studies:

There was no new predator in the Fieldlands after all. No new Predator. No, this is something far Older than us.

Far older, far worse, far more Frenzied.

=#[o]#=

“No human intervention?” Laventon curiously questions. “Truly?”

“Indeed! The Temple of Sinnoh, and the quarry that sourced its stone, consists entirely of rock-cut architecture rendered through pokemon moves. Only the paintings and relief carvings show any method exclusive to human craftsmanship.” Volo nods to himself. “Thus, the age old question- was the Temple an effort directed by humans, or a sole invention of pokemon themselves?”

“Supposing it were pokemon alone, it would suggest a psychic coordination of unprecedented scale,” Laventon points out. “Though I suppose in theory a Slowking could achieve such a feat, but the architecture observable to the Celestica ruins is undeniably human in its aesthetic- unless it’s possible the human architecture here was influenced by pokemon in the first place, in which case-”

Volo laughs lightly. “I should have been more clear that this was an entirely philosophical question. The Sinjoh Celestica often posed it to themselves as a meditation exercise, you see. The Temple was ancient even to them." 

“INJURED PARTY FROM THE HEARTWOOD!” A guard calls out. “INJURED SECURITY CORPS FROM THE HEARTWOOD! INJURED DIAMOND CLAN CIVILIANS FROM THE HEARTWOOD! REPEAT, INJURED PARTY FROM THE HEARTWOOD! CLEAR THE ENTRANCE AS MEDICAL CORPS PERSONNEL RESPOND!”

The doors of the Galaxy Hall suddenly burst open, the faded pink uniforms of the Medical Corps spilling out into the street like burst innards and bleeding towards the front entrance of the village. The guard tower’s bell starts ringing at a violent pace, forcing a path open in Jubilife’s human traffic just in time for several groups of harried soldiers to limp into view.

The blood isn’t as red as Volo thought it would be. On those red uniforms, in the spring afternoon, it dries and sours and cakes as if it were thrown into a slow fire. Sickly brown, tarnishing black with viscera, ink drawn into perfectly carved wounds. And it is perfect. Wide, gaping, and clean as no tooth or claw should ever be. Scissors against fabric, knives through butter, axes through wood.

…A perfect axe through the world’s most imperfect wood.

A Rapidash trails after the last of the Diamond Clan casualties, bearing Lord Adaman on its broad back. Adaman, slim and sharp faced, with a mouth suited for smiling and eyes suited for sleep, was known among the clans- and the Ginkgo Guild- for being a gracious host and a soft-handed leader.

“WHERE IS IRIDA?” he shouts. “WHERE IS THAT APOSTATE PEARL? ANSWER ME!”

His lax hospitality is gone now, buried under a gaze as hard as stone. His fine jewelry, his wild waving hair, the loose comfort of his gold stitched coat, none of this can muffle the way his voice rumbles with an inhuman roar, eyes glinting with an uncanny shine as his mount paces angrily along the path. His head bows like a man possessed as his gaze swivels through the crowd, a wounded dragon daring something to challenge him. 

A divine shepherd of Sinnoh, indeed. 

Akari peeks her head through the Wallflower doors, Rei’s uneasy face visible from close behind. “Why is Adaman outside? What’s going on?”

Volo and Laventon stand up from their table in an instant, shielding the doorway from the ongoing parade of carnage. “Get back inside!” Laventon orders. “There’s been an accident. Don’t gawk.”

“But-”

“INSIDE, NOW!”

Akari fearfully shuts the door, and Laventon’s face crumples with relief.

“I’d join them myself,” the Professor halfheartedly quips, “but I have a feeling the Commander will expect me to be aware of this whole mess.” His eyes flick back uneasily at the road, a stilted sound wobbling in his throat as he catches sight of a cut splitting open someone’s mouth. “Oh, gods, all the anatomical studies in the world couldn’t temper my soul for this.”

The Commander himself, going against the desperate current of injured human bodies, descends down the Galaxy Hall stairs, face tense as he raises a hand to slow Adaman’s pacing. “Do not let history cloud your judgment, Adaman. The Pearl Clan camps far from the Heartwood. Do not reignite hostilities with a people whose only recent slight is disrespect.”

“To disrespect me is trivial,” Adaman hisses. “And to cling to a false Sinnoh is a trifle.” His voice growls with rage. “But to PERVERT OUR KAMI LORDS? FELL MY CLANSMEN? WHAT CHARITABLE EXCUSE AM I MEANT TO SWALLOW AS LORD KLEAVOR LAYS WASTE TO THE FORESTS HE IS CHARGED TO PROTECT?”

“Please, for Jubilife’s sake if nothing else, at least wait for Irida to defend herself-”

As he watches the two men argue, Volo’s blind, branded eye watches divine spite pour out of the gathered victims’ wounds. He raises his head, to the crack he bid Giratina place in the sky so long ago, and watches that same exact light churn and spark within.

And Volo has that thought that only blackout drunks and amnesiac Wardens are supposed to have.

Did I… did I do THAT?

Chapter Text

Although urban Rotom populations currently exist all around the world, they are actually native to the Sinnoh region, and did not spread out of their original range until the 1870s, when international studies began to refine the original Rotom engine theory already historically employed by the Nuevo-Celestica-

Emmet’s smile flattens as Andel’s lamp nudges into his head, again, turning his gaze away from his reading- again. “What is it, dear?”

A single hashbrown floats towards him, already pre-toasted with ghostfire.

Emmet sighs. “I suppose I was due for maintenance anyways. Thank you, Andel.”

Andel rocks, the way he always did when something pleased him, but there’s a stressed hum in his cry. Ever since that brief moment with Ingo that Victini granted them, Andel’s been hovering over Emmet nonstop. Fussing and chirping constantly, but never breaching that final barrier and saying something to Emmet outright.

Emmet tries not to feel annoyed by that. Andel wasn’t like the Jackies- Ingo was the only person he ever talked to, and now that’s gone. Emmet can get a sense of what Ingo’s other pokemon are going through, but not Andel. He doesn’t know what’s going through that ghost’s head at all, he doesn’t know Andel at all. 

Ingo was the only bridge they had. Perhaps that’s the real ghost between them both.

…Gods, has it really only been five days? Five days since Emmet saw his brother and wasted half of that precious time just holding him when they could have gotten more information. Has it really only been five days?

The diaries, Drayden’s house, Skyla, the talks with Volo, packing up his office. It feels too large to have been only five days, it feels too small to have already been five days. 

28 days since Ingo Tamadensha fell through time.

Supposedly Emmet looks happier, as of late. What a terrible thing to say. Depot Agent Ramses nearly punched the Galarian reporter who spoke of it on Emmet’s way out. Which is great, because otherwise Emmet would have beat them to it.

Or maybe not. It might be just the early morning talking. He’s been so irritated this morning. He woke up crying for no reason, and then he somehow electrified the coffee pot, and now his legs have started aching as if he’s walked for miles. Then there’s all these cuts on his hands and arms. Disappearing as quickly as they occur, but always persistent. And he’s hungry. Absolutely unreasonable operating conditions.

“I ran the math with Cilan again,” Volo goes on, continuing a train of thought Emmet doesn’t remember hearing before. “And what we heard from Ingo only confirms our original 1:156 ratio, so on his end it should be the first half of 1872 right now. This does come with some good news and bad news. Good news, we’re going to have lots of thorough Jubilife records starting around this point. Bad news is why, because that’s when the frenzies started and-”

Elesa’s staring at Emmet again. He knows she is. He should ask her to stop, but what, is he supposed to tell her to stop worrying? Stop worrying. Stop worrying about him. Stop worrying about the stares, the exhaustion, the lapses, the medical details Interpol isn’t quite certain enough on to bother them about. Stop worrying about the mail, asking for clarifications and interviews, stop worrying about the Nimbasa district asking Emmet to update Ingo’s paperwork in case something unexpected occurs.

Volo’s still talking. He’s been talking for a good few minutes. He’s showing Emmet something on his laptop again, and Emmet can’t read a word of it. He’s so tired. Why is he so tired? It feels like he just woke up and the only thing he can think about doing is crawling back into bed and falling asleep forever.

Suddenly, he feels the desperate need to be doing anything else. Be anywhere else but right here, right now, with his shaking hands and dizzy eyes and aching body. The chair feels impossibly high, the room feels impossibly small as he stands.

"Emmet, you're-"

"It's fine," Emmet might have said to Volo's voice. "It's nothing, I just- I feel a little light-headed, that's all, I just need some…"

His vision dances as he half-trips out the door, the concerned voices fading into background noise as he wanders into the hall. He leans against the nearest wall and breathes. Breathe, breathe, breathe. The air is sharper than it was, and his vision starts to clear.

Oh. Andel's here too. Probably followed him out here. Wild. Emmet goes down the elevator, and Andel keeps following, all the way to the entrance of the apartment.

"Please don't," Emmet murmurs. "You've been through enough. I can't let you keep worrying about me like this."

Andel rocks with denial.

"I wish I could hear you the way nii-san did," Emmet wistfully confesses. "I don't understand you at all, and- I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't give you that."

[Please,] his own voice echoes back through the apartment intercom. [I- worry--- about- You- like this- You've been through enough.]

"Is that you, Andel?"

[I'm sorry.]

"No, no, it's not your fault." Emmet rests his hand on Andel's glass body. "You've been trying your best on these suboptimal tracks. There is nothing to forgive."

A cloud of frost escapes his breath- in Nimbasa July. For a moment, Emmet is waiting at the station entrance to a frozen Opelucid City again, waiting for a death announcement that never comes.

[nii-san- nii-san-]

Andel holds out one of his candled tendrils, as if asking Emmet to take it. The landscape outside the door is a vast, rocky highlands, covered in the lingering death shroud of a fading winter sun.

"If I go with you," Emmet slowly asks, "will we see him again?"

[Try--- your best on these- tracks.]

Far away, some high sound wails in the distance, but forever distant it stays. The ghostfire dancing in front of his eyes is present, real, and alive.

Emmet opens the door and lets Andel walk him into the Hisuian snow.

Chapter Text

“Look who’s being punctual! Finally realized you’re wasting almighty Sinnoh’s precious time bowing to a sham?”

“There you go again, insisting on your false image of almighty Sinnoh as a ruler of time! My people follow the true almighty Sinnoh- the font of all creation and ruler of space!”

“HA! You could have all the space there is and still not know what to do with it.”

“EXCUSE ME? Are you really suggesting that you make better use of your time than we make of vast Hisui’s space?”

“Better than some! It’s a miracle you showed up on time, O mighty leader of the Pearl Clan. I worried you’d get lost in the pointlessly vast space you’re so fond of and never show up-”

“Can I get a Castelia cone?” Rei tiredly mutters into his food as the two clan leaders shout in front of the Galaxy Hall. “Can I please get a Castelia cone?”

Akari snorts. Ingo used to mutter the same kind of nonsense under his breath when she would get riled up with Volo.

…Exactly the same, actually. Akari’s never heard anyone other than Ingo say that. Wait, that’s really weird, actually, why would Rei know those phrases when him and Ingo have never met?

Could this be another secret family resemblance? No. Surely not. That would make too much sense. How old is Rei, twelve? Ingo's had amnesia for twelve years. Is that long enough to have a secret twelve year old boy? Maybe Ingo was the Zoroark of some odd human father before a terrible accident separated them. Or he just stole a man's identity. Old Zoroarks steal the identities of dead human relatives sometimes. That's a thing that happens.

Definitely.

Probably.

Maybe.

“Oi!” Bagin slaps his hand on their table. “Professor Kamado wanted you two in his office yesterday. Get a move on before he uses us all for sumo practice.”

“In a minute,” Akari dimisses.

Bagin chuckles. “That’s what they all say.” He turns to Rei, elbow knocking into the wood as he leans on the table. “But anyways, Commander aside, you know what I’m here for, kid. You got your tab?” Rei slaps five coins on the table, which Bagin takes with a sharp nod. “Next slot is a thousand ken. Pleasure doing business with you.”

Akari squints suspiciously at Rei as Bagin walks back into the Galaxy Hall. “What was that about?”

“He gives me tumblespace slots,” Rei explains.

“One at a time?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Oh. Is Bagin charging Rei per slot? And making it more expensive each time? Huh. Akari wonders if she should tell Rei that Bagin gave her 60 whole slots for 100 ken. There’s no way Bagin isn’t doing this precisely because Rei asked how much he charges per slot instead of asking for the whole thing at once. Akari should tell Rei what’s happened.

But she’s not going to. This is funnier. Besides, Rei can’t possibly keep going past what, 15 hundred ken per slot? Surely he’ll catch on to the joke by then. Surely.

“No reason,” Akari deflects. “What do you think Kamado wants us for? I imagine it must be something to do with-” She gestures vaguely at the spot the clan leaders once occupied. “- all that, but I don’t know what we’d have to do with it.”

“Why were they fighting?” Rei asks. “That man was shouting earlier. Did the lady do something wrong?”

“The Diamond and Pearl Clan… grudgingly co-exist at the moment.” Akari shrugs. “Apparently, things used to be less peaceful. That’s why they wear those super obvious uniforms, actually! A lot of the adults still remember when the two were at war, and they never really got over it.”

“The uniform thing is pretty weird.” Rei tilts his head. “You know a lot about the clans. How’d that happen?”

Akari barks out a loud, nervous laugh and claps Rei across his shoulders. “Well, the boss is waiting for us! We can save this whole talk for later!”

=#[o]#=

“What do you intend to do about that Kleavor, Commander Kamado?” Adaman presses. “He may be descended from a warrior of almighty Sinnoh, but look at the mess he’s causing! We can’t sit back and let him rage on!”

Kamado sighs. “You do get right to the point, Adaman.”

“Time wasted is lost,” Adaman tersely replies.

Kamado leans back. “Well, tell me- what would you have us do? Kleavor is a precious kami of the Pearl Clan, is he not?”

That’s precisely the point. Adaman can’t interfere directly where a Pearl Clan kami is concerned. As infuriating as it is, as horrific as the casualties are, Adaman must ultimately admit this is not Irida’s fault. False Sinnoh or not, it would not be within her power to drive a kami mad or bid it to attack Hisui’s people. If Adaman were to force the Diamond Clan to resolve this, the two clans might end up back at each other’s throats, just like they used to be.

And maybe Irida’s too young to remember what the last war looked like, but Adaman is not. He remembers the reason their children are forced to wear these clan sigils on their chests. Righteous anger is a terrible thing, and the only thing war can give stupid old men is twitchier trigger fingers.

“Even folk of the Galaxy Team have been wounded, haven’t they?” Adaman points out. “Someone’s got to do something here.”

“Who, then?” Irida challenges. “Would the Diamond Clan have the Pearl Clan bring down one of its own honored nobles?”

“I don’t believe I said that.” Thought it, maybe.

“You might as well have said it, you fool!” Irida snaps. “Look, we don’t even know what drove Lord Kleavor into such a violent frenzy.”

Adaman kneads his forehead against his palm. “I’d like to know that myself. This is a first as far as my clan knows, too.”

Kleavor is among the most fearsome looking kami in Hisui, but the current Lord was the most gentle of them all. That’s how the clans could trust such a young boy like Lian to act as his Warden in the first place! Lord Kleavor was so careful, so kind, that he could not stand to raise his axe at another living creature for violence’s sake, not even at his worst.

He... was careful. 

He was kind.

Perhaps Adaman is only mortal, but he cannot fathom the kindness in trying to slay the people who only questioned why Lord Kleavor began to fell his own forest.

Kamado’s steely gaze turns to the door. “Ah. There you are. Rei and Akari, members of our Survey Corps. Their skills will be of some use to us in assessing the situation as it develops.”

Adaman’s quite familiar with Akari, at least in passing. She’s been the professor’s child in all but name these past years since Jubilife’s landing, often acting in his stead to gather information in the wild as the man himself interviewed clan elders. Rei, however- Rei is a new face, but oddly familiar. The miraculous boy who fell from the sky speaks Sinoan with a distinctly Hisui accent, and his greetings, his terse nature, they skew distinctly Diamond in nature. Hisuian, but not in a way Adaman recognizes. Hisuian, in a way that does not yet exist.

Adaman wonders what Irida would say if he were to point out this foreign child has seen the roar of Time. At the very least, Lord Wyrdeer expressed a fondness for Rei, according to Mai’s account. This one, out of all of the Galaxy Team lot, has a spiritual touch to him that this disconnected village has only just started to recover.

“Hello again, little Laventon,” Adaman extends to Akari. He takes Rei’s hand into his bandaged palms. “And it’s good to finally meet you, stranger from the rift! I’m Adaman, leader of the Diamond Clan.” He rolls his eyes. “Timewatcher Adaman, the Golden Scarred, if you want to be formal-”

Rei audibly suppresses a snort.

“But that’s a mouthful. Just call me Adaman.”

“This is the one from beyond the rift? The space where almighty Sinnoh resides?” Irida straightens, a cold look settling over her young face. “I am Irida, leader of the Pearl Clan! Caution and foresight are my watchwords- which is why I have trouble believing such a tale. Could you really have passed through that rift?”

Just like her to be contrarian the moment Adaman extends his hospitality. She does realize Adaman can still see her undisguised interest, doesn’t she? Adaman and Kamado both. He can see the commander’s eyes flitting back and forth, gauging their reactions to this new presence.

“I have a proposition,” Kamado decides. “Why not send these two to study Kleavor before deciding what must be done?”

Oh. That’s what he’s playing at. Kamado sent for Rei and Akari, but he only mentions it when Adaman and Irida take interest in Rei. He wants to see if Rei’s novelty can be leveraged- dangling a sacred traveler in front of them like a shiny toy, waiting to see if the Eevees will bat at it. It’s shameless, but Adaman will allow it. He is quite interested in seeing why this wayward Diamond descendant has been flung here, of all times.

Irida scoffs, casting an unimpressed eye over Rei’s form. “The professor’s assistant I can understand, but him? You’d send this stranger, who supposedly fell from the rift, to study Kleavor? This newcomer with no experience?”

“Says the leader with almost no experience,” Adaman mutters under his breath. “How many years did you wear that crown on your head before the elders started letting you make the decisions you were approving?”

“Being a good leader isn’t a matter of time!” Irida hisses. “It’s a matter of embracing Hisui’s vastness without fear!”

Adaman claps his hands together. “Well then, there you have it! If how new you are doesn’t matter, then let’s give the boy his chance.” He levels a friendly squint towards Kamado. “I’m sold, Commander! Let’s try this your way!”

Adaman watches Irida’s posture stutter before she calms herself. Perhaps he’s being cruel to her. She took the position too young to earn it, and they both know it, but he does hate having to wrestle around her wounded pride because of it. Eighteen years old to Adaman’s twenty-six, and she still walks around like the crown will slip off her head any second.

“Come on now, Irida,” Adaman encourages, “this should be fun. It’ll be a good chance to see how good these Galaxy folk are, with all their weird ways- putting pokemon in those strange balls and what have you.”

Irida spares a perturbed glance at Akari’s collected pokeballs. “That whole practice bothers me! Almighty Sinnoh made Hisui vast so pokemon could live freely throughout. We’re meant to stand alongside pokemon, not count ourselves above them!”

“We do not use pokeballs out of a desire to control pokemon,” Kamado corrects. “Only so that we can live together. Allow us to show you what we can do.” His stern eyes turn to the Survey Corps, and their backs straighten. “This is your mission. I order you to study Kleavor and help us find the truth of this situation!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Hai!”

=#[o]#=

“Why do you always do this?” Irida asks.

Adaman raises a prim, blue brow. “Hm?”

“You- you tricked me! You insulted me to my face and turned my word against me so that I would be forced to agree with something you knew I would not abide!” The soles of Irida’s okobo dig against the ground. “Are you honestly so petty that you would humiliate your fellow Celestica in front of our allies?”

“You humiliate yourself,” Adaman retorts. “You know how defensive the Commander is of his brood, and you decided it was a good idea to belittle one of his recruits to his face?”

“He was about to let a stranger into Lord Kleavor’s midst!” Irida protests. “A child, no less!”

“A child directly selected as qualified to investigate, accompanied by someone we do trust,” Adaman wearily points out. “Must you always cling to your clan pride before you think about how your words will affect both our peoples?”

“At least I have clan pride!” Irida snaps. “At least I don’t constantly bend and grovel to whatever the next foreigner or rusty elder wants!” She scoffs. “But I shouldn’t expect anything less than you. What would a failed Warden know about real devotion?”

Adaman’s eyes narrow with disdain, bandaged arm shaking as he looks down at Irida- dainty Irida, Lustrous Lady Irida, small, perfect, unblemished Irida. Sheltered from labor because the Pearl Clan couldn’t stand the thought of bringing Nakkara’s legacy to ruin. Not even for something as little as chopping her own firewood or learning how to swim.

Adaman watches this young girl talk about clan pride without a single callus on her hands, and it makes his scars ache.

“You could not understand the scope of my failures,” he growls. “I pray, Irida, for all our sakes, that you will never know the meaning of real devotion.”

=#[o]#=

The short assembly following Irida and Adaman’s visit is more a formality than anything else.

Kleavor, Lord of the Woods, has fallen into madness, attacking his own forests and any person who trespasses them. The animals who called his forest home are being driven out by his frenzy, invading the surrounding lands. If this continues, the ecological balance of the Fieldlands will take months, if not years, to recover. With the cooperation of the clans, Kamado proposes sending forth the Survey Corps to secure the safety of Warden Lian and make sense of Lord Kleavor’s behavior. Then, and only then, is there hope of putting a stop to this.

The vote passes with ease. Laventon, Rei, Akari, and Captain Zisu’s selected Security Corps soldiers depart for the Heights camp tomorrow.

Kamado takes a deep breath as he looks out at the gathered party.

“Listen to me. The Galaxy Team has come to the Hisui region as a group of outsiders. Some might even call us interlopers. We mustn’t do anything to threaten our relations with the Diamond and Pearl clans. Understand?”

As everyone nods, Kamado turns to Laventon, and the professor suddenly straightens in a way Akari has never seen him do before. His brows are set, his face is grim, and the friendly nervousness endemic to his voice is gone.

“As you’re all aware by now, Kleavor is a mighty thing. Nigh invincible, even! The previous deployment tried throwing pokeballs at Kleavor when they were attacked, but…” Laventon drags a weary hand over his mouth. “It seems he’s a far tricker opponent than even those most aggressive species.”

Cyllene’s severe eyes rake across the room. “I’d like to be perfectly clear on this point. This mission will put you in extreme danger. Though we do not plan to engage in combat, Kleavor will not grant us this same courtesy. Do all of you believe you can handle this?”

Does Akari think she can handle this? This mission of spying, and prying, running away from danger? The stakes are certainly bloodier than she’s used to, but… the stakes have always been bloody, one way or another. The cost of failure has always been death. This new mission, to survey a frenzied god, is no different from the dangerous game she’s been playing for her entire life.

Akari nods her final assent, and silently wonders what drives Rei to do the same.

=#[o]#=

Emmet Tamadensha haunts the Warden of the Coronet Highlands like a ghost.

Maybe less than a ghost. A ghost, at least, could be seen, heard, touched, and touch the world in turn, but not Emmet. Emmet only watches. He watches what his brother has become.

It's selfish of him to be upset over the echoes.

Ingo wakes at twilight, because the world is too bright and there's nowhere inside to go. He slaps the doorway of a yurt, blindly feeling for a light switch that does not exist, ghostfire floating around his head like a lantern as he claps a wooden bracelet on his wrist where his XTrans used to be.

He calls the scarved pokemon his Depot Agents as they patiently wait for breakfast. There’s a rack of mold presses arranged in alphabetical order, the way the waffle makers are back in their Nimbasa home. An Alakazam rocks his head back and forth, as if it could chase away the distant fog in his eyes.

“Isadore, I understand your concerns, but I am not in need of sick days-” The focus snaps back into Ingo’s eyes as his head careens away from the Alakazam’s claws. “Hello, Aza. Is Mac stealing your food again?”

Aza blinks serenely in response.

“You are very kind, but you musn’t let him. I portion these things so you can refuel properly.” Ingo lightly bats a Machoke’s snout with a spoon. “Agent, I understand you’re a growing young man, but this is inappropriate workplace behavior. Do you need your lunch break adjusted to prevent another incident?”

Honestly, Mac, that’s the third time this week. Emmet walks through Ingo to stand at his right, finger wagging in a scolding manner. We’ve been letting you off with FAR too many warnings for such a repeated infraction.

“If you continue this behavior, we will be forced to feed you separately,” Ingo warns, as if continuing Emmet’s statement. “And we both know that is a suboptimal outcome.”

Verrrrrry suboptimal! Emmet echoes. You are better than this!

Mac snorts at the table, eyes averting with guilt.

“Please direct any further accommodation concerns with your nearest Subway Boss before sharing resources with other Agents.” Ingo’s voice peters off as his eyes flutter shut. “The Unovan Rail Union website has a… full list of… required… workplace…”

A Gligar snaps its claws right next to Ingo’s ears, startling him awake.

Caffeine withdrawal isn’t a good look on you, nii-san. You should stock up on chestoberries soon.

“I really should restock soon,” Ingo unwittingly agrees as he pats the Gligar’s head. “Thank you, Li.”

Ingo’s not talking to Emmet, not really. That would require Ingo knowing Emmet’s even there in the first place, and… he doesn’t. He hasn’t noticed, in the days since Emmet started haunting him, that there is another person finishing his thoughts, commenting on his distracted musings.

Emmet got used to it faster than he thought he would. It’s like when they were kids, almost. There were days when their mothers’ deaths suddenly felt a little too fresh and it sewed one of their mouths shut with grief. It was then that the other would fill the silence, taking up half of a conversation that would never be finished in earnest.

“Warden!” Something knocks on the yurt’s wooden frame from the outside. “You alive in there?”

That voice, it sounds verrrry familiar, Emmet notes. Nii-san, do we know him?

“Do I know you?” Ingo dutifully echoes.

“I know you, that’s for sure!” the voice responds. “It’s your good friend Volo with another timely shipment from the Ginkgo Guild!”

Ingo’s eyes brighten as he pokes his head out the entrance curtain. “Ah, so it is! My young passenger Volo! What business do you have with this station today?”

By the Twins, that’s Volo? Emmet’s eyes widen as he paces around the tall young man entering the house. Goodness, he looks like Champion Cynthia at this age. He frowns. Wait. Volo Sinjoh. Cynthia Sinjoh. I may be stupid.

Ingo huffs, gently patting Volo’s arm as he leads them all further inside. “Please stop growing,” he bluntly orders. “My database cannot keep up with your continued maintenance updates. Your voice changed again.”

“It’s entirely out of my control, Warden,” Volo chuckles.

“Die, then.”

Emmet barks out a harsh laugh. 

Ingo cracks an egg over a bowl of rice, stirring it vigorously with spices and other small fixings. Emmet remembers Drayden making something like that on tired mornings before sending them off for school.

"That's not necessary," Volo protests. "I'm not one of your Lady's kits."

"Then stop growing." Ingo rocks on his heels, watching Volo finally relent and accept the food. "I see no signs of having left the Highlands as of late. I expect Lady Sneasler's new litter has kept me busy."

"How is her litter doing?" Volo asks. "She lost most of the last one, if I recall."

Is that why she was so anxious the other day? Emmet's brow furrows with sadness. Goodness. No wonder.

"She was sick last spring and could not produce milk on schedule," Ingo sadly clarifies. "But she seems to be doing better this time! Irritable, perhaps, but better. How have things been on your end?"

"Nothing too exciting," Volo dismisses as he takes in large mouthfuls of rice. "But Lord Kleavor's started attacking people in the woods, apparently."

Ingo frowns sharply. "That can't be right."

"I saw the injuries myself," Volo insists. "No one can travel in the forests until it's been resolved. Sordid business." His chopsticks fiddle with a small scrap of herbs. "Akari was asking about you, by the way."

Ingo's hand twitches. "Why would Ms. Shou be asking about me? She doesn't have any reason to."

Volo waves his hand as he sets his bowl back with the others. "Ah, it'll come back to you eventually. I'd stay and chat, but I want to get Gaeric's order in before tomorrow. See you soon!"

With that abrupt goodbye, Volo practically runs outside.

He's very polite, Emmet comments.

Ingo starts the rest of his twilight hours wandering on a set route, carving runes into trees until he finds a Magnezone loitering by the riverside.

"Mag-nee, what brings you here? Angel I can understand, but-" The Magnezone throws a wet Barboach at his face. "Ah. I understand perfectly. We must move at once."

Ingo throws off his coat and moves to the water, pointing out different fish for the Magnezone to grab.

Drayden never took us fishing, Emmet recalls. He kept saying he would, but he never got around to it. We should do that when you get back. Emmet leans back and stares up at the sky. Or we could go feed pizzas to the eels in Chargestone Cave again. I miss that.

Emmet doesn't know why he even bothers talking to someone who can't hear him. He's probably beyond deluding himself at this point.

=#[o]#=

"Give a Tynamo a pizza and he'll eat for a day," Ingo mutters under his breath as he puts a Barboach in a wicker basket. "Teach a Tynamo to pizza and-" his hand goes slack, a dumbfounded look growing on his face. "What the fuck am I talking about?"

Ah, you know how it is. You can teach a Tynamo to pizza but you can't make him drink.

A stilted wheeze stutters out of Ingo's mouth as he leaps to his feet. His head snaps this way and that, but there's… nothing. There's nothing there.

That's unusual.

He thought he heard someone.

“Emmet?”

Chapter Text

Lady Fujihara had a majestic Galarian Rapidash she took for riding. Its tall and svelte body was buried under a voluminous mane, a fae energy hidden in its thin violet horn and uncanny blue eyes. The lady would often bother the kitchens to treat her precious mount with fresh fruits and sugar candies.

Akari had ridden that Rapidash once, when her leg was hurt in a carriage accident. Lady Fujihara simply nudged her onto its saddle without a word and led them away by the reins from the crash. She’d held her head high then, uncaring what the world would think of her reckless kindness, because Akari Shou was like family, and no family of the Fujiharas would be forced to walk on a lame leg.

Was. She was like family.

She wonders what Lady Fujihara would think of her now, sitting side saddle on a Wyrdeer’s back. She’s gotten so much better at keeping up appearances, even when her body has to sling across the saddle like a travel bag to stay mounted.

Laventon, despite having an actual human body, is doing worse than Akari in this regard. Some childhood incident planted a deep seated fear of riding most hooved creatures, so he clings fearfully to his Wyrdeer's strong neck, hands shaking despite the exceedingly gentle pace of his mount.

Rei's probably having the most interesting time of all, though.

At Adaman's request, Warden Mai lent out the guards of the Diamond Clan's Stantler herd to ferry the Survey Corps into the unsteady terrain of the Heartwood. She'd made a little game of it, letting people pick their own Wyrdeers. Everyone picked the largest, most beautiful ones, until Rei was left with the last- a large nosed, knobbly kneed thing whose gnarled antlers looked like shell shocked eyes.

That was Lord Wyrdeer, it turns out. The others were his wives.

Something beeps incessantly in Rei's satchel. Akari sees Rei take out a small, white and gold tablet with strange words dancing on it before sighing and putting it away again.

Damn. Almost makes Akari wish she could read. (But not that much.)

"So!" Akari awkwardly starts. "How was breakfast?”

“Toast,” Rei tersely replies.

“With what? Butter, jam? A little sandwich?”

“...Toast.” 

Rei has two conversational modes- vaguely unhinged child impervious to all forms of attack, and utter fucking milksop who eats toast-toast for breakfast. Akari never knows which one she’s going to encounter when she gets Rei to open his mouth. And Akari’s hoping she heard this wrong. She is hoping there’s more to this, and Rei did not, in fact, eat two pieces of dry, crunchy, crumbly toast for breakfast. She desperately combs through the psychic weave of his words, and finds nothing.

Toast and nothing.

“Oh yeah, I was wondering.” Rei turns to Akari with a new spark of interest in his eyes. “When do I get to join the union?”

“The what?”

“Y’know,” Rei presses. “The Galaxy Team union. What kind of benefits do you guys have? You gotta have dental, right? I’m mostly just hoping you have eye insurance, my contacts are getting pretty old.”

“Why would we need insurance?” Akari wonders. “Commander Kamado pays the whole Medical Corps.”

“You guys already have universal healthcare? Neat!” Rei frowns. “Wait, if you guys don’t need dental, then what kind of union benefits do you have? Is it room and board? How are we paying rent?”

“Rei, what language are you speaking?” Akari pleads. “What in the Bound God’s name are union benefits? What even is a union?”

“Y’know! The thing that lets us burn Kamado’s house down if he stops paying us!” Rei squints. “Or cut off his head. I’m not sure. I never did get to that unit of Kalosian history.”

“Stop talking about beheadings!” Laventon calls out from behind them. “What is this, the Reign of Terror? We’re on the clock!”

“I will unionize the people,” Rei darkly whispers. “The divine right to rule is nothing but a throne of lies.”

This is a twelve year old boy.

“Hold it!” A soldier raises their hand as the group approaches a Bibarel dam along the waters. “There’s a move active here somewhere.”

“Can you detect what it is?” Laventon asks.

“No, but we’ll have to be careful anyways. Looks like the dam’s flooded.”

Rei dismounts Lord Wyrdeer and creeps slowly towards the dam. He sticks his hand in the flooded water, and it comes back out with scales.

“That’s not a flood,” Akari realizes. “That’s a move, get back!”

Rei backs away from the shoreline as it bubbles and writhes. A wall of water pulsates along the river, rising, rising, rising- or it was going to, at least, before Rei threw an apricorn past the wall, hitting something on the head. Akari can make out Warden Lian’s white hat as the flood subsides.

“Who are you?” Rei asks.

“Who are you? ” Lian indignantly fires back. “I’m Lian of the Pearl Clan- Warden to Kleavor, Lord of the Woods!”

Laventon clears his throat. “We-”

“I’ve already deduced that you’ve come here to meet Kleavor,” Lian interrupts. “I’m right, aren’t I?” He crosses his arms, eyes closing with satisfaction. “Of course I am! I can see it so clearly. After all, the powerfully awesome Kleavor has become… even more awesomely powerful! Perhaps that strange lightning the other day was almighty Sinnoh’s divine power-”

Akari can already see Laventon taking notes. Wonderful.

“-but whatever it was, it struck my lord and left him imbued with awesome might.” Lian’s hand twitches around his pickaxe. “So I must turn you away, even if it pains me. It’s too dangerous for you to meet Kleavor right now.”

“That danger is precisely why we must see him!” Laventon presses. “How else will we understand the nature of your Lord’s rage without examining it in its entirety!”

Lian lets out a nervous, barking laugh. “Such earnest desire! I’m struck by your passion! But I’ve been told in no uncertain terms by Irida that I am to let no one near Kleavor!” A Goomy slithers behind him as he raises his hands again, water pulling at the shore around him. “I will fight you off myself if you insist. Withdraw now, while you still can!”

He must be around Rei’s age, if even that. His slate grey eyes are honest and eager to please, but his words thrum with undercurrents of anxiety. He is stalling. He is bluffing.

Unfortunately for him, Akari has met much better liars.

“Well, we’ve been told in no uncertain terms to either reach Lord Kleavor or take you for questioning,” Akari explains. 

“You don’t even realize- I’m turning you away for your own safety!” Lian shouts. “Do you troublemakers have no good sense?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Laventon helpfully answers. “We’ve a great many things, but sense is not among them!”

“Please, you can’t stay here! If my Lord finds us he'll-"

"Try to kill us?" Akari presses. "Like he did the Diamond Clan? Like he did to the Security Corps who came for them?"

A loud, hollow noise shakes the treeline. Clicking and cracking and snapping and rattling. The sound of axes, the sound of falling trees.

“It’s not his fault,” Lian insists. “Please don’t hurt him.”

“Tell us what we need, and we won’t have to.”

Lian lifts up his Goomy, steels his breath, and crosses the dam. Akari lets out a tense sigh as a smaller Security Corps soldier brings Lian up to share saddles. Laventon stiltedly steers his Wyrdeer by Akari’s as they make their way back to the Heights camp.

“Perhaps that was needlessly harsh, Akari,” he mutters. “We did not need fear to reason with him.”

“It was for his own safety, wasn’t it?” Akari defends. “If he stayed with Lord Kleavor, he would have gotten hurt, too. Sometimes you need to be harsh to help people.”

Laventon hums uneasily, but says nothing.

Irida of the Pearl Clan is waiting for them at Deertrack Heights. Akari did not expect to see her here- she had been tricked into agreeing with this whole operation after all, and she knew it. Perhaps she changed her mind on the affair. Or she does not want to be seen going back on her word. Either one is equally plausible. With the Diamond Clan camps’ current migration monopolizing the areas closest to Jubilife, Akari isn’t as familiar with Irida’s ways. Everything she knows comes from Ingo’s meandering anecdotes and Volo’s trade gossip, but these tales paint a very different picture from the young woman who exchanged such petty words with Adaman. The Irida the Pearl Clan knows is somber, pious, fiercely protective of her people, and when Akari watches Warden Lian’s eyes soften with relief at the sight of his leader, she decides some of it must be true.

“I do intend to aid you as much as I can,” Lian sadly relays to the Survey Corps, “but my point still stands! It’s too dangerous to meet Kleavor now. The only welcome you’ll get if you approach him is a flurry of devastating blows!”

“Every pokemon has their irritable moods,” Laventon encourages. “What did you do in the past when Lord Kleavor was disagreeable?”

“He’d never stay angry for long. A nice heaped helping of his favorite foods, served up with respect by his loyal Warden- that’s me of course- is usually enough to please him and soothe the prickliest of moods.” Lian takes off his hat, morosely fiddling with its brim. “But even I, Kleavor’s loyal Warden, can’t get close enough to give any offerings now- not with the way Kleavor is rampaging and running amok. I don’t know if there’s anything outsiders like yourself can do.”

“The ancestors of Kleavor, Wyrdeer, and their cohort drew on almighty Sinnoh’s own power to protect pokemon and people alike,” Irida soberly recites. “It’s by their grace that our clan, that any of us, still live in vast Hisui today.” She respectfully inclines her head towards Lian. “As you say, Kleavor’s grown even stronger, but that strength poses a problem for us.”

“This new strength is not his own,” Lian asserts. “Ever since that lightning struck the Grandtree Arena, he’s been brimming with a golden light that practically burns to the touch.”

Irida hums with thought. “If he was indeed struck by that lightning… could those bolts have been sent by the false Sinnoh that the Diamond Clan bows to?”

Laventon furrows his brows with confusion. “I thought you held each other’s gods to be nonexistent. How could a false Sinnoh have the power to do anything?”

“The false Sinnoh is very real, Professor,” Irida clarifies. “A shadow born out of Sinnoh’s first light, cast into darkness for its corrosive nature.” She clasps her hands. “Kleavor means so much to our clan. I’d hoped we could bring this situation under control ourselves, not throw our hands up and ask some outsider for help, but we must save the dear Lord from this frenzy. Every moment it continues, the danger only grows.”

Lian’s face falls at Irida’s words, but only momentarily. He turns to Rei, a harsh determination settling anew on his face. “I know you. You’re the stranger from beyond the sky. You aren’t of the Galaxy Team, but you live among them. Tell me, could they really fix all this? Could an outsider find a way to quell our lord’s frenzy?”

“We have to, don’t we?” Rei quietly answers. “We’ll figure something out. There’s nothing else we can do.”

=#[o]#=

“No pokemon behavior is purely malicious,” the professor mutters to himself, tapping the spines of his books. “Every unnatural action is the extension of a natural one. So what of Kleavor’s frenzied behavior is natural?”

“Should I tell him he hasn’t actually been reading his books?” Rei asks. “He’s just staring at the spines.”

“He has a lot of the books memorized,” Akari explains. “He only needs to read the titles to remember most of it.”

Laventon’s blunt fingers scrape the thread of one of his research journals. “The Pearl Clan bids Kleavor’s brood to gather timber, but this is not without cause. The old growth forests in the Fieldlands are carefully maintained to keep plentiful forage, with controlled burning practices and-” His hand pauses. “-controlled burns, wait-”

He lurches away from his bookshelf, disturbing his Dewott as he leans against the couch. 

“Akari, what was that one incident you noted in the Nature’s Pantry grove at noon? The one with the- with the- there was a-”

“Lord Kleavor attacked an apricorn tree after seeing it drop spoiled fruit,” Akari recalls. “And then he threw a tantrum around the other trees afterwards, shaking the branches.”

“And the Diamond Clan group he attacked, they were harvesting dead wood.” Laventon’s hand drops. “It’s disease. Lord Kleavor is acting as he would if the forest were diseased- destroying infected trees and preventing the collection of too-dry wood. Something of the frenzy, or- or- or in the root cause of it, has eroded his ability to distinguish between healthy and dying!”

“We won’t be able to reason with him,” Akari points out. “He’s too panicked, and the field tests prove psychic communication won’t get past his energy barrier. Not even Captain Zisu’s that good.” And neither am I.

“Divine or otherwise, this is only an advanced manic state, Akari.” Laventon taps his foot into the ground. “Panic is costly. Costly to the mind, costly to the body. Our only solution is to exploit his madness until it wears him down entirely.”

“With what, Professor?” Akari shakes her fist in the air, as if preparing to throw something. “They’d never let us sacrifice the forest for a theory like that. And it’s not as if we could lob spoiled apricorns at his head until he faints.”

Akari watches the gears start turning in Laventon’s head.

“Professor- Professor, you stop that- that wasn’t an idea, don’t turn it into one-”

Chapter Text

“I’m calling them Laventon balls.”

Akari drags a weary hand over her human face.

“Laventon tea-time balls, if you will.” Laventon hoists up a small teabag laden with honey, Silcoon meat, and yes- spoiled apricorn flesh. “I had Warden Lian leave out a few for testing, and our theory was correct. In his frenzied state, Lord Kleavor has an extremely instinctual reaction to sensory stimuli. He chased after our concoction with great vigor and reacted quite violently to actually touching it. Even a single one can prove an invaluable bait.”

Kamado nods sternly. “I’ve already radioed the Heights Camp. We’ll begin putting fortifications around the high ground of Grandtree Arena. Warden Lian will direct Lord Kleavor’s kin to herd him inside, and from there-” He takes a deep breath. “From there, the war of attrition begins. We need to avoid injuring the kami as much as possible, but we are permitted to do anything it takes to exhaust him.”

He taps his finger against his crossed arm.

“Rei. The lightning that struck Kleavor came out of the Mount Coronet rift the night after you arrived. Do you know anything about this?” Rei mutely shakes his head, and Kamado hums neutrally. “Very well. We can’t expect the two events to be correlated, I suppose.”

Akari raises her hand to speak. “Can I just- can I just go on the record real quick?”

“Sure,” Kamado allows.

“I’m not calling them Laventon tea-time balls,” Akari says. “That’s a bad idea and you should feel bad.”

“Why do you always insult my artistic vision?” Laventon sadly wonders.

“Ah yes, Laventon’s balls,” Akari mutters to herself. “Let’s go fight god with Laventon’s balls. We’ll just throw Laventon’s balls at it because it hates Laventon’s balls specifically!”

“Well alright,” Laventon finally concedes, “you don’t have to wear it out! We can call it something else like… bait. Or balms.”

“Balms,” Rei whispers. “Balm balm-balm-balm balm.”

So the plan is going great. Mostly because it doesn’t require Akari or Rei to be doing any proper battling, just sniping Lord Kleavor from as many angles as possible while the Security Corps works with Lian to keep the frenzied lord in a small area. 

Everyone and their grandma knows Akari cannot aim to save her life. But she is agile, and she’s managed to bribe some wild Stantlers into casting illusory terrain in the arena. It will help keep Kleavor contained, and most importantly, it will cover her own use of illusions when she has to run support. Lord Kleavor doesn’t need to know how many soldiers there are, or how many things are actually firing at him.

And speaking of firing. When Akari checks Rei’s tent at the Heights Camp after lunch, he rolls out with a fat taketake wood tube slung across his back like a rifle.

“If you want a gun, you could just ask Captain Zisu,” Akari says. “I’m pretty sure they brought extra this time.”

“Don’t need one,” Rei denies. “Had Anvin help me put this together so David can help me shoot balms. We used to make these kinds of things at school.”

Akari sifts through the surface memory of small children firing topos and sootfoot out of Flying-type powered tubes. “Are you sure that thing’s gonna work?”

“Worked the first time I tried it!” Rei rummages through the supply box. “I just need more Revives this time around, I think. Ronin and David don’t have any super-effective moves and Ronin’s 2X weak to rock. Hopefully Kleavor doesn’t crit this time.”

“We- we haven’t even moved Lord Kleavor to the Arena yet,” Akari confusedly points out. “Why are you talking like we’ve already lost?”

“It’s fine, I’ve been watching him for a while. I’m starting to get his attack pattern.” Rei’s voice drops to a mutter as he sorts through his satchel. “Maybe some more ethers, too. If this goes on too long, we’ll run out of stamina again-”

Ronin clacks his beak in Rei’s face.

“We’re alright, friend,” Rei assures, combing his hands through Ronin’s asymmetric crest. “I’ve got a good feeling about it this time.”

Akari can see the hints of the place Grandtree Arena once was, when it was young. She sees it in the buried marble tiles, in the moss eaten pillars, the echoes of this sacred ground that has been willfully swallowed by nature. And it is willful. The stone shrine made to house Lord Kleavor’s offerings is as intact as the day it was first carved, the wooden stairs towards it are fresh and well-set, the flag that heralds the presence of this god in miniature is bright red, flanked by lanterns. It takes time and constant dedication to keep even this! 

There would be no grand tree to erode this Arena if it was not placed there by design.

It’s a far cry from the sterile stone constructions of Galar, but there is a morbid beauty to it, a memento mori of human monuments. What a shame to see it covered in these ramshackle wooden walls, crawling with nervous soldiers like a dying colony of Durants.

Warden Lian cocks his head and places his hand on the fresh earth. “They’re coming! Take your positions!”

The humans scatter behind the wooden wall as Kleavor’s brood approaches, bearing Pearl Clan drivers on their backs. They scatter into the trees with frantic, top-heavy gaits, even as the Pearl Clan signals the panels of the wall to open.

There is a sound. There is a humming, buzzing, screeching sound, grinding against itself as the ground shakes. A cracked, weighted shape of blinding golden light leaps through the air with a refined and deadly grace, axe clipping a tree as it finally falls into the Arena. 

And thus summoned was Kleavor, Lord of the Woods.

Akari sees his wings, aged and torn from disuse in the face of his earthen strength. Their echoes scream with agony against his back, vibrating with his movements as he lurches forward. He charges towards a wooden panel, axe raised to tear it down, and that is when Akari’s Stantler friends step forth, turning the cramped space into a vast hollow, covered in trees and uneven stone. Lord Kleavor bashes his head fruitlessly into a barrier he cannot see, chips of black stone falling off his carapace like shrapnel.

The people move like a startled herd. Each one has their part, their role to play, but nobody is immune to the sheer terror inflicted upon them. The Pearl Clan is perhaps the most affected- they know of Lord Kleavor’s kindness, his gentleness. This is anything but.

The kami charges. His golden chitin gleams like sunlight as he dashes forwards in a wild panic. They know he cannot see through the illusion, cannot aim with any intent, but there is nevertheless a soldier in his path whose wooden shield is unsteady in their hands. Akari moves to call out, but Rei reacts faster than her, launching a spoiled apricorn directly past Kleavor’s line of sight with impeccable- or at least very lucky- aim before running off towards the Grandtree itself. Once Lord Kleavor is distracted, Rei scampers up the tree like a mad Skwovet, his Drifloon clinging to his makeshift cannon like a backpack as he rises.

Rei lobs off another shot as soon as Lord Kleavor gives up on the unseen source of rot, but it’s not quite soon enough. The Lord spots Akari, cornered and alone. As much as she knows her isolation is an illusion, for a moment she believes it to be real.

So she reacts like any normal person would to mind-numbing terror, and pulls a face at Lord Kleavor while blowing a raspberry. Whether or not that actually helps distract him is irrelevant.

She runs like mad, letting her illusion falter ever so slightly. The Stantlers she bri- hired will ensure it appears as if their own illusion is what’s causing the imperfections. She sends a silent request to them, and a doppelganger appears beside her before splitting off in a different direction. Lord Kleavor pauses for a moment, confused, until the real Akari shifts her illusion to that of a Boltund. 

"Our girl's got the right idea!" Captain Zisu praises. "BREAK THE WALL!"

Lord Kleavor goes for the fake and rams head-first into the ever-shifting barrier, giving Rei the perfect opportunity for another shot. He ignores the fake Akari's apparent peril and reacts the split second the Lord is vulnerable, as if he knew exactly when he’d hit the wall. Of course the random child has the reflexes of a trained soldier, why the fuck not? Akari doesn’t let this bother her, and instead repeats her previous trick in reverse. When Lord Kleavor sees Akari and a “Boltund” he starts towards the latter- and instead of being stopped before his target, he slices hard into midair, making him stumble. Akari doesn’t even look to see if Rei’s taken the shot or not.

This repeats again and again until Lord Kleavor is no longer rushing, no longer charging. He’s barely certain enough to put one foot in front of the other, for fear that the very ground might give way. He’s tiring. They’re winning. They… they might be able to do this.

A shot lands directly on Lord Kleavor's face, and his blind rage becomes fear. He thrashes without rhyme or reason, axes digging fruitlessly into the ground as he shakes his head. Somewhere in this terrified, senseless dance, his body collides into the Grandtree itself.

Maybe Rei thought he could get a luckier shot. Maybe he just couldn't hold on. Either way, he falls from branch to root, winded body too stunned to get up in time, and Kleavor's blind axe falls-

=#[o]#=

Rei Shirohoshi wakes up in a tent in Deertrack Heights two hours before he never died. The shrine shaped pendant under his pillow bruises into his hand as he clutches it.

He takes a wheezing, rattling breath.

What did we learn?

I shouldn't have taken that shot, Rei thinks to himself. I didn't know how he would react.

And now you know not to repeat it.

Rei nods.

You had the ability to start again from a later stage, but I see you have chosen not to. May I ask why that is?

I really thought I could do it this time. I really, really did.

It was not your fault, dear. You did very well.

I… I made sure Akari didn’t get hurt this time, Rei summarizes. And my aim got better.

I notice you did not use your pokemon to quell him.

I don’t care what Adaman or Kamado or anyone says. We shouldn’t hurt the kami. It isn’t right.

It was strange to see Adaman in person. Timewatcher Adaman, last leader of the Diamond Clan, first duumvirate of the United Celestica. The first and last oracle of Dialga in nearly a thousand years. Rei remembers seeing the image of him and Irida plastered on temple walls like watchful saints, shepherds of enlightenment under Arceus.

He’s so much younger now. So much more mean. For all his easy smiles, he ran verbal circles around Irida- and Irida, this was Irida? The Spacerender who walked the length of the entire world, whose visions of the stars predicted the surfaces of planets science would not verify until decades after her death, whose insistent integration policies later enabled Sinnoh’s Rotom age. How had she ever been so close-minded? So frightened? So- so- small?

Small enough that Adaman felt the need to go behind her back one last time, and challenge Rei, his distant future clansman, to best Lord Kleavor himself. And for what? To protect her? Wrest this last piece of control?

Unknowable as Arceus is, the divine mandate to seek all pokemon cannot include conquering them. What good would it do his people to judge their gods under his power, as little as it is?

You would have more power if you utilized your human talents. The pokemon you surround yourself with could be fierce allies if you allow it.

Rei shakes his head. I won’t hurt him.

He is already in pain, dear. You cannot change this. You can only change what methods prolong his suffering.

…

…I know, Celebi, Rei finally concedes. But it still feels wrong.

=#[o]#=

So the plan is going great. Mostly because it doesn’t require Akari or Rei to be doing any proper battling, just sniping Lord Kleavor from as many angles as possible while the Security Corps works with Lian to keep the frenzied lord in a small area. 

Everyone and their grandma knows Akari cannot aim to save her life. But she is agile, and she’s managed to bribe some wild Stantlers into casting illusory terrain in the arena. It will help keep Kleavor contained, and most importantly, it will cover her own use of illusions when she has to run support. Lord Kleavor doesn’t need to know how many soldiers there are, or how many things are actually firing at him.

And speaking of firing. When Akari checks Rei’s tent at the Heights Camp after lunch-

-he isn’t there. Akari looks around and finds him rifling through the Max Revives and ethers in the supply box. Ronin climbs on his shoulders while David loiters around a taketake tube that’s been slung across his back like a rifle.

“I was thinking of doing something different this time,” Rei says.

“This time?”

“I know I said I was gonna take him from the trees,” Rei explains, “but now I’m thinking we don’t want time for his attack pattern to change phases. He’s suffering like this. We need to wear him down as fast as possible, right?”

Akari frowns. “Okay. What are you thinking?”

“I’ll be with you on the ground!” Rei smiles. “It’ll be easier for you if someone else is helping draw his attention, right? We can have the Stantlers switch out who’s real and who’s not.”

“But you’re not as fast as me,” Akari points out. “If you get hit, it’ll take you way too long to get back up.”

“Counting on it,” Rei decides. “If I don’t get hit, I don’t get hit. If I do, I’ll turn into a Rock-type-”

“-and his hits won’t work properly on you again,” Akari realizes. “Okay! I get it now. We’ll clear it with Captain Zisu and go from there.”

The Captain was delighted to hear about this new aggressive plan. Laventon was not.

“That’s far too dangerous,” he immediately protests. “As your superior, I will not allow it.”

“You let Akari be down there by herself!” Rei points out. “Why am I different?”

“Akari’s not a h-” Laventon drags his hand over his stubble, letting out a wordless growl of discontent. “Akari is an… older young woman, and thus her decisions are her own. But at your age, I’m afraid I must take some responsibility for your actions, especially if they put you at risk!”

He was about to say she isn’t human. And it’s true- she’s not, and he can’t have meant anything bad about it. He’s just worried about Rei. Still, the way he said it felt… weird. Akari’s going to have to think about that later.

Akari can see the hints of the place Grandtree Arena once was, when it was young. She sees it in the buried marble tiles, in the moss eaten pillars, the echoes of this sacred ground that has been willfully swallowed by nature. And it is willful. The stone shrine made to house Lord Kleavor’s offerings is as intact as the day it was first carved, the wooden stairs towards it are fresh and well-set, the flag that heralds the presence of this god in miniature is bright red, flanked by lanterns. It takes time and constant dedication to keep even this! 

There would be no grand tree to erode this Arena if it was not placed there by design.

It’s a far cry from the sterile stone constructions of Galar, but there is a morbid beauty to it, a memento mori of human monuments. What a shame to see it covered in these ramshackle wooden walls, crawling with nervous soldiers like a dying colony of Durants.

Warden Lian cocks his head and places his hand on the fresh earth. “They’re coming! Take your positions!”

The humans scatter behind the wooden wall as Kleavor’s brood approaches, bearing Pearl Clan drivers on their backs. They scatter into the trees with frantic, top-heavy gaits, even as the Pearl Clan signals the panels of the wall to open.

There is a sound. There is a humming, buzzing, screeching sound, grinding against itself as the ground shakes. A cracked, weighted shape of blinding golden light leaps through the air with a refined and deadly grace, axe clipping a tree as it finally falls into the Arena. 

And thus summoned was Kleavor, Lord of the Woods.

Akari sees his wings, aged and torn from disuse in the face of his earthen strength. Their echoes scream with agony against his back, vibrating with his movements as he lurches forward. He charges towards a wooden panel, axe raised to tear it down, and that is when Akari’s Stantler friends step forth, turning the cramped space into a vast hollow, covered in trees and uneven stone. Lord Kleavor bashes his head fruitlessly into a barrier he cannot see, chips of black stone falling off his carapace like shrapnel.

The people move like a startled herd. Each one has their part, their role to play, but nobody is immune to the sheer terror inflicted upon them. The Pearl Clan is perhaps the most affected- they know of Lord Kleavor’s kindness, his gentleness. This is anything but.

The kami charges. His golden chitin gleams like sunlight as he dashes forwards in a wild panic. They know he cannot see through the illusion, cannot aim with any intent, but there is nevertheless a soldier in his path whose wooden shield is unsteady in their hands. Akari moves to call out, but-

Rei whistles sharply and Ronin flies towards Lord Kleavor, sharp quills dislodging from his body as he flaps his wings. None of them find purchase, but they chip away at Lord Kleavor’s rocky face, irritating him enough to stumble. By the time he raises his head again, the soldier is gone. Rei hoists up the tube on his back, and David shoots an apricorn laden balm through it, right towards Akari.

The Lord spots Akari, cornered and alone. As much as she knows her isolation is an illusion, for a moment she believes it to be real.

So she reacts like any normal person would to mind-numbing terror, and pulls a face at Lord Kleavor while blowing a raspberry. Whether or not that actually helps distract him is irrelevant.

She runs like mad, letting her illusion falter ever so slightly. The Stantlers she bri- hired will ensure it appears as if their own illusion is what’s causing the imperfections. She sends a silent request to them, and a doppelganger appears beside her before splitting off in a different direction. Lord Kleavor pauses for a moment, confused, until the real Akari shifts her illusion to that of a Boltund. 

"Our girl's got the right idea!" Captain Zisu praises. "BREAK THE WALL!"

Lord Kleavor goes for the fake and-

-right as he hits the Security Corps’ ever-shifting barrier, Ronin strikes him again, as if the Dartrix’ little feet alone is pushing him back. Akari, newly covered by the Stantler’s illusory terrain, takes the opportunity to trigger a pitfall at the kami’s feet, and as he stumbles on the unsteady ground, Ronin strikes him in the heels.

Oh. Oh, that’s what Rei is playing at. He’s using Ronin to cover for the traps and moving walls, and in doing so, creating the illusion that Ronin- a little bird that should be Kleavor’s prey- has become a formidable, unrelenting predator himself.

Every time he chases the scent of rot, every time he strikes the walls, every time he stumbles, Ronin is there to watch him falter- and even when Ronin isn’t, Akari makes sure it looks like it. And soon enough, the bird’s squinting, ever-watchful gaze is enough to make Lord Kleavor shrink back, distrustful of even the ground he stands on.

The frenzied golden light starts to flicker with exhaustion. It’s not fading away, but it’s gotten farther than Akari expected on a first try. The soldiers draw back the wall during the lull, and Akari and Rei take the chance to fall back, breathe, regroup with the others.

“He’s slowing down, but the light’s not letting up,” Akari notes. “Now what?”

There’s an unreadable expression on Lian’s face as watches Lord Kleavor struggle to stand on shaking limbs. He braces his hands on his knees and starts walking into the Arena.

Laventon’s hands hover nervously. “Wait, wait- Warden Lian, what are you doing?”

“Ending this.” Lian smiles sadly. “It’s only right. It’s my job, after all.”

His boots crunch silently into the rock-scattered soil.

“Hello again, my lord.” The kami’s wings screech with feeble warning, and Lian raises his hands. “It’s alright! It’s alright. No more tricks now. It’s me. Your most loyal Warden Lian. Do you remember?”

Lord Kleavor’s wings slow, settle, moving laboriously with the heave of its abdomen.

“You are very ill, my lord. We’ve been trying to help you all this time.” Lian raises his arms up towards Kleavor’s mandibles. “Will you let me see you?”

Lord Kleavor’s head dips down, down, down, until it reaches Lian’s hands. He breathes, once, and his limbs finally collapse from underneath him, stony body settling into the earth as a crumpled heap of limbs.

Lian lets out a shaking sigh, and looks up at Rei. “You came out of the sky, stranger, same as the storm that stole Lord Kleavor’s mind. You can’t have sent this, I know, but- but can you send it away?”

Rei stiffens. “I don’t know. I don’t know what it’ll do to him.”

“It will end his pain. That is all I ask.”

Rei creeps towards Lian, towards Lord Kleavor’s bowed head. The confidence he had earlier is gone, swallowed by fear and hesitance and- and something strangely like guilt. He holds up his arm, as if asking for permission, and Lian resignedly nods.

A hand meets Lord Kleavor’s head, and the sky turns white with the light of Judgement.

Chapter Text

"Kleavor still acted like himself, in a way," Lian explains. "The observations the Survey Corps reported were all things Kleavor would do if his own free will, but only during times of crisis. It was as if the frenzy perverted his sense of duty until our strange friend from the sky tore it out of him."

"Not quite the frenzy itself," Irida corrects. "The boy removed the thing that enabled Lord Kleavor frenzy in the first place. Some strange wellspring of power, condensed into a plate of stone."

Calaba raises an eyebrow. "How do you know he hasn't removed the kami's power entirely?"

"Lord Kleavor weakened afterwards," Lian admits, "but he has since begun to recover. His load was lightened, not stolen away."

Calaba huffs. "I hope that outsider knows the weight of what he's done."

Irida has thought much the same, when she first heard the news. But when she came to the aftermath of the Grandtree Arena's battle herself, she did not find an inhuman beast, a prideful foreign conqueror. Surrounded by relieved clansmen and celebrating soldiers, Irida found a little boy kneeling in front of Lord Kleavor's offering shrine, tears sullying a stolen piece of the gods as he prayed for forgiveness.

She does not know what Rei Shirohoshi is. Whether he is some product of almighty Sinnoh's divine space, the Celestica child of another world, or something else entirely. Perhaps he is all of these things, or none at all.

But no stranger could shed such tears over anything Hisuian.

"Do not reduce him to an outsider," Irida gently orders. "He mourned his actions as any one of us would in his place."

“And now you’ve invited him to dinner!” Gaeric’s smile is warm, but his eyes are cautious. “I applaud the hospitality, Irida, but don’t tell me you plan to induct him after one tenuous act of the gods. We can’t adopt every talented stranger that walks into our camp.”

Palina looks off to the side. “We kept Fox.”

Ingo, who up until this point had been staring off into the larger clan gathering with an oddly haunted expression, snaps his attention back to the wardens with a jarringly mechanical sharpness. “SACRED DANCE OF THE DRAGONS, WE WERE IN THE MIDDLE OF A MEETING, I am-” His voice lowers as he continues to speak. “I do apologize for this grossly unprofessional lapse of attention - ”

Gaeric firmly claps the other man’s back. “Give yourself space, warden brother. You are with your friends in the Pearl Clan! We know your mind does not drift for nothing. What caught your eye so strongly?”

Ingo frowns. “I- Hmm. A relevant observation for our current tracks, but to discuss it would derail us from our desired destination at the moment. I will speak to Irida later.” His meditative pencil scrawl of triangles comes to a close as he thumbs to an older page of his book. “I am familiar with many details of the stone plate retrieved from Lord Kleavor’s frenzy. Have we examined it before?”

“It shares the same divine nature of the kami when examined with a spiritual touch,” Calaba reaffirms.

“Though we could not touch it for long!” Lian points out. “Only our friend from the sky could hold it in his bare hands at length, and even then it began to turn his body to stone.” He adjusts his hat. “It did him no harm, though. He says this is natural to his inherent Ability, and I’m inclined to believe him-”

“And now it is in Irida’s custody!” Ingo finishes for Lian. “Yes, I can recall now. You did not wish anyone of the Galaxy Team to guard a clan artifact.” He frowns. “Strange. There’s no reason for me to have forgotten something so recently important.”

“It was also covered in ancient Celestica writing,” Calaba explains.

Ingo’s eyebrows raise over his flat expression. “Oh, never mind then, that makes perfect sense.” 

He then failed to elaborate.

“Have you sought out almighty Sinnoh?” Palina asks. “What does it have to say about these developments?”

“When I attempted to commune with it,” Irida hesitantly reveals, “I felt… anger. A pained annoyance that I have not felt from it before. As if space itself was attacked by this frenzy. I saw large bursting bubbles and skittering insects, and I saw… I saw the false Sinnoh. I saw the shadow of Time.”

“Are you alright?” Lian asks. “Did it hurt you?”

“No, not at all,” Irida assures. “But the false Sinnoh stood there watching. Time watched as Space suffered.” She turns her bracelet over in her hands. “Adaman will not heed my warnings, I think. He will accuse me of inciting war.”

“He’s right to fear it,” Gaeric concedes. “The last one is still too recent. Neither of our clans would survive it a second time.”

“Even still, the Diamond Clan’s worship feeds the false Sinnoh!” Irida stresses. “It may be a passive observer now, but what if it takes advantage of almighty Sinnoh’s weakness? The fabric of the stars could fall to ruin!”

“Could fall to ruin,” Calaba emphasizes. “We do not know the scope of this frenzy’s aftermath just yet, or its relation to the almighty Sinnoh. It may never happen again.”

“I feel as though it will,” Ingo bluntly says. “I do sincerely hope that there are no further accidents, but we are encountering a protocol oversight of utterly unprecedented scale. The divine nature of Lord Kleavor’s frenzy suggests a vulnerability present in all other kami. It is our minimal responsibility to watch our charges more strictly in the future in case this happens again, even if it requires quarantining them on earliest suspicion. We may not control our kami, but we cannot let them endanger the human lives they are charged to protect.”

Irida and the other Wardens stare silently at him. His hard gaze wavers with nervousness.

“I sense I may have overstepped,” he murmurs. “As much as I have tried to understand the gods of this land, there is still much that escapes me.” He pushes down his hat as he lowers his head. “I admit my own selfishness in this regard. I can have no true loyalty to the Sinnoh that brought my lost soul to you. But the- the state of Lord Kleavor that Lian had described, it concerns me greatly. I cannot stand the idea of such a thing happening to my lady undetected.” Ingo’s grip shakes on his hat. “I would understand if my priorities seem untrustworthy to you-”

Gaeric’s stony expression crumbles into a wobbling smile, bubbling with snickers, before he finally lets out a booming laugh. 

“Even the thorniest members of the Diamond Clan know you love Lady Sneasler more than the almighty itself!” he shouts. “That’s precisely why you’re trustworthy!”

“Do you even realize how refreshing it is to have someone who can’t slide back into our old feuds like everyone else?” Palina wonders. “Even after all these years, you haven’t learned a speck of hatred. I’m quite jealous of that.” Her gloved hands soothe through the young Lord Growlithe’s fur. “As much as I yearn for peace, there are days I find it hard to love the Diamond Clan’s vitriol.”

There is something sharp and fragile in Ingo’s voice as the slightest smile enters his eyes. “I am grateful, then, to be so valued even for the things I lack.” The expression drops from his face as he claps his hands. “But back to the matter at hand! I still suggest close monitoring. We must move with speed, but not with haste.”

“But what about the Diamond Clan?” Irida asks again.

Palina waves her hand. “That’s not for us to tell you what to do with! False Sinnoh or not, us Wardens aren’t the ones who should be making decisions about the people. That’s you- you and the rest of the Pearl Clan.”

“I’ll still be at the next clan meeting as a member of the clan,” Gaeric assures.

“I will return to the Mirelands,” Calaba reveals as she nods her head. “I need to consult the old writings there to see if there are any historical precedents for the frenzies. But I will be available as an elder, should you need it. We may not always be here as Wardens, but we will be here.”

“Then there is nothing more to say.” Irida stands and bows her head at the gathered Wardens. “Thank you for answering my summons. I leave you to enjoy our shared space in peace.”

Now she must attend to dinner. Leppa season is just starting, after all, and with Lord Kleavor restored to his rightful state, the Pearl Clan is free to continue a plentiful Paras hunt. With so many of the heartier fruits not ripening until summer, they’ll be relying more heavily on pokemon for sustenance in the early parts of the year. On top of that, it’s been harsher these last few winters having to share resources with Jubilife Village while they build their farms, and Irida doesn’t want anyone to go hungry because of it.

Especially not a guest.

=#[o]#=

“I suppose you must be more used to the Galaxy Team’s cooking,” Irida comments, watching Rei’s chopsticks apprehensively poke a leg of Starly meat. “Compared to the soldiers’ food, we must seem far more eclectic.”

“It’s- it’s not that!” Rei stutters. “It really does look good. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen stuff like this. It’s just- um- my Ability, it- it makes me change types all the time. And, uh- sometimes those types have really different… tastes.”

“I see! Your diet changes due to different moves?”

“Depending how hard the move hits, I guess,” Rei allows. “But- mostly I-” He swallows nervously. “I’m sorry, I really can’t eat meat! I know it’s not bad, but I’ve been made of feathers and scales and fur so many times that it just feels wrong to eat all these dead things that used to be made of the same stuff as me.”

Rei knows it’s ungrateful. He knows food is harder to come by in Hisui than it is in Sinnoh’s future, he knows no one here can afford to throw things away, and something had to die to put food on this table and he shouldn’t disrespect that, but he can’t stare at a Starly without remembering the air in his bones, he can’t look at a Paras without remembering chitin interlocking on his skin, the irrational thought of that's your dead body, that's your dead body-

"I understand completely," Irida says. "Our Abilities and moves can give us heightened connections to particular pokemon. Of course that would only be compounded with an Ability like yours. What about pokemon foods that did not require slaying? Cheeses, eggs, milk?"

"I think those are fine," Rei answers. "I've never been good at cooking eggs, though."

"I'm sure someone wouldn't mind teaching you!" Irida assures. "Outsider or not, no one would want you to get sick from not eating properly."

"I know," Rei sighs. "Laventon keeps telling me it's not a bother. I just hate being wasteful. We’re all supposed to pull our own weight in Jubilife, and I’m really trying, but- it’s hard to say I’ve earned my lunch when it comes with so many extra steps, I guess."

“You know,” Irida casually says, “Our Highlands Warden Ingo is much the same way.” She points out into the crowd at a distant silver haired man, the black sleeves under his clan tunic a stark contrast against his paper pale skin. “He’s a Shiny. If that wasn’t enough, he always seems a little sickly on top of that- very thin, very meticulous. But no one thinks less of him for needing something different, you understand. He’s found his own way of doing things. You might talk to him sometime, ask how he manages his food.”

“Maybe. Thanks.”

Rei can’t make much of the man’s features. His puffy hair and torn dark hat obscure his face from behind. He doesn’t seem too short, as far as Hisuians go- he’s almost taller than a lot of the older adults, even- but the tunic is almost a little too large for his frame, and his wooden bracelet hangs so loosely off his wrist, jostling about with the angular movement of his hands. 

The only Shiny human in Hisui. Something about that feels so lonely, and Rei doesn’t know why.

The Warden turns away from Lian, pencil gesturing in the air around a scarved Alakazam who hovers over his shoulder like an oversized Chatot. His head shifts, and Rei sees long sidelocks framing a thin, foxlike face, capped off with a torn hat wearing a Unovan rail badge, and a gaze suddenly filled with indescribable rage, sadness, horror as the Warden's shaking eyes find Rei’s face. A sound dies in his mouth. His chest heaves.

A Mamoswine wagon passes between them. Before Rei can go around the other side, the Warden is gone. Nothing but the fearful ghost of his eyes remain.

The ghost of the man Arceus stole away from Single Train 001.

Chapter Text

There may not be a GinkgoCo for every Hisui street corner yet like there is in Sinnoh, but the Ginkgo Guild is still going strong- and Volo, for better or worse, is the face Rei most often sees from it.

He’s one of those ‘born in the wrong century types’, Rei thinks. This towering teen with swooping blond hair, always waiting for the next chance to run off to the next Celestica ruin unless someone can trick him into chatting about ancient Hisuian religion or challenge him to a friendly fight. If only it were a century later, he’d just be a kid. A high schooler in the late stages of his pokemon journey, snapping pictures of every historical monument he can find. A college student with an internship, eagerly drowning himself in research papers. A storefront clerk waiting for his lunch break, wondering if he can get away with starting a battle in the break room.

Maybe he’d be a Champion. Maybe he’d be a professor. If only it were a century later, Volo the Ginkgo Guild merchant could have been anything.

But it’s not a century later. He doesn’t get to be any of those things. He gets to be a Ginkgo Guild merchant.

“Akari, have you heard about this?” Volo’s large boots dig into the ground as he stomps towards them, irritation visible in his eye. “Because I certainly hadn’t! I don’t understand how Tao Hua’s horrid little- little embargo is even allowed! Is this legal? It can’t be legal, the Commander wouldn’t possibly allow it-”

“Your face looks bad,” Akari bluntly says. “Did someone shoot your entire family? You sound like they did.”

“I was having a good day,” Volo starts. “A great day, even. I come into Jubilife so I can exchange spring stock with the general store. And what do I find?”

“The man who works at the general store?” Rei asks.

Volo sputters with shock. “Well, yes- why the fuck wouldn’t he be there? But I don’t know if he’ll be there much longer at this rate. Tao Hua’s opened his mid-spring stock by refusing to cede the general store’s share until Choy resigns.”

“Why does that matter for you?” Akari wonders. “Just trade with whoever comes after him.”

“I can’t just-” Volo groans. “Look. I have a trade going with Choy. He can get anything he wants from the Ginkgo Guild’s off-season stock if he pays in pokeballs and potions. Because we need those! I’m the only person in the guild who has an actual team-”

Rei frowns. Volo has a team? Weird. He’s never seen it before.

“-and the rest of the guild has pokemon for utility, not battle. They need pokeballs to protect themselves from wild pokemon, especially with the mass outbreaks still happening in the wake of Lord Kleavor’s frenzy.” Volo’s hands whip around wildly as they punctuate his words. “If Choy gets replaced with someone else, that trade deal collapses. No pokeballs for the guild. I’ll have to lend out my pokemon as bodyguards, and that leaves me with no protection of my own to do outpost deliveries.” He laughs like a broken man. “My monthly productivity is in shambles.”

Rei didn’t know Volo had a team. He just thought there was the Togepi and Arcanine. Actually, now that he thinks about it, most people in Hisui don’t have teams at all. They just have one as their partner. Sure, Volo just said he needs them to protect himself for solo deliveries, but Rei sees ten pokeballs holstered against the guy’s backpack. Most modern trainers cap at six! What on earth would Volo need ten pokemon for?

“You mean you’d actually have to make all your fur babies do their jobs for once,” Akari snarks.

“I will not sully my beautiful children with the sinful labors of this world,” Volo hisses. He looks down at Rei. “Before you ask, yes, I have a problem. I’m a starving single father with ten children and one day there may be more.” He shakes his head back and forth. “Maybe I will have to just manage with whoever comes after Choy. It’s not ideal, but I can’t imagine what else to do at this point. Tao Hua’s far beyond being reasonable at the moment.”

“Oh, yeah!” Akari mimes rocking her head in her hands. “He’s always complaining lately about tearing my hair out looking for hearty grains.” Volo squints at her and Akari scrunches her face. “I always have to run back and forth to get laboratory stuff from the guy in the Supply Corps basement. For such an old man, he sure likes to talk a lot.”

Volo hums. “It’s about that time the Diamond Clan returns to the Mirelands fields, so it wouldn’t be hard to reroute a few things. Perhaps if I could secure a trade deal for him- really twist his arm with something he needs more than his current distaste for Choy.”

“Ooh, can we come with you?” Akari asks. “Ever since Kamado let Adaman borrow them, those Agriculture Corps workers won’t stop bragging about the fields. I wanna see what the fuss is about.”

Rei tilts his head. “What’s so special about the Mirelands?”

“Lady Liligant blesses the fields every year to make all the crops grow big and delicious!” Akari excitedly explains. “And the farmers who work on it say the energy spreads to them, too! They can work all day and never get tired! Apparently it’s extra strong this year.” She sticks out her tongue. “I’ve never gotten to see it before. I was too sick the first spring, and then I was too busy the year after that.”

Volo lets out an exaggerated sigh. “If I must. And only if you help me talk to Tao Hua afterwards. He likes children better than me.”

“I’m older than you,” Akari says.

“You are… visibly smaller than me,” Volo points out. “You barely come up to my chest.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Akari refutes.

“It means I’m obviously older than you!”

Akari leans towards Volo, an indulgent look on her face. “Are you, though?”

“If you’re older than me,” Volo points out, “you don’t get to have discounts on Bonn’s candy anymore.”

“Wait, nO-”

=#[o]#=

Bugwort is a potent healing herb so strong it could stitch a shattered bone in a matter of days- and so bitter that no wild pokemon would eat it unless they were on the brink of starvation. Humans, however, are nonsensical enough to have more abstract tastes, especially when it comes to medicine. Powdered bugwort has a long shelf life when paired with a few sprigs of Tangela.

It also happens to be so aggressive in this dense form that eating more than a few straight spoonfuls of it will terminate a pregnancy before it even quickens, so Calaba has some concerns when Ingo requests powdered bugwort for the fourth time this month.

That’s fair. Ingo would much rather tell Palina to get the herbs herself instead of having him ask for something he doesn’t want or need, but here they are anyway. Sure, he doesn’t care how many women Calaba thinks he does or doesn’t sleep with, but he’s starting to run out of creative excuses.

First he joked that he wanted to punish one of Lady Sneasler’s husbands. Then he said he just wanted to feel something, or he liked the taste, or forgot why he was asking and was following through just in case. And then, after asking Zisu if she was alright with it, claimed it was because Zisu would make a terrible mother. Ingo’s pretty sure he peaked at that one. There’s no way he’s topping that.

"You do know you'll render yourself infertile at this rate, don't you?" Calaba asks.

"Good!" Ingo shouts. "My bloodline ends with me! I would be an unfit father to anyone resembling me in the slightest!”

Calaba stares at him skeptically for a long moment. Like she’s expecting him to elaborate. Like she’s worried about him.

He wants to tell her to stop. Stop worrying. Stop worrying about him. Stop worrying about the stares, the exhaustion, the lapses, everything he was almost getting better at before the skin-crawling words in the sky came back to him. He’s not any worse than he used to be. It’s just like what he was when he fell. Feverish and disjointed and barely alive because someone came across his shambling corpse in the snow, alone, alone alone alone alone-

Ingo forcibly shoves a spoonful of bugwort powder in his mouth. It’s dry and bitter and it scrapes his mouth like sand.

Calaba raises her hands with surrender. “Alright, Warden. I won’t pry. Do with it what you will.”

She’s going to tell Irida he’s been acting erratic again. They’ll keep him in the camp away from Lady Sneasler when she needs him to be there for her kits and he’ll have nothing to do but sit around with his own thoughts and that will just make him act worse until everyone is convinced he won’t be fit to act as Warden-

Do not break. Breathe. Breathe, bend, return. This paranoia is a distasteful thing to direct at the people around him or himself. It is only a panic induced by memories robbed of context. Take a moment to think about this- is anything in such a catastrophic destination plausible?

Calaba stepped away because she respected his silence. She knows to do that, most anyone in the Pearl Clan does. His initial isolation was due to fears of a Zoroark attack, not anything in his behavior. He has been a Warden for over a decade now. If anyone was going to deem him unfit for these ebbs and tides in his mind, it would have happened long before he was appointed for the role.

It is fine. Everything… is fine. 

Except for the bugwort taste in his mouth. That is not fine. That is- that is hellish, actually. By the Twins, that’s awful.

-name of the wartorn SWORDS OF JUSTICE, WHY WOULD YOU do that? That hurt! 

“Oh, that’s what this is,” Ingo numbly notes. “Pain. Fascinating. I’ll have to remember bugwort does that next time.”

Nii-saaaaaaaaaaaaan. Couldn’t you have at least tried to keep that to yourself? I didn’t even know you could Pain Split sensory overload! That’s not nice.

“She challenged me,” Ingo insists. “It was the only course of action.”

She stared at you.

“The only course of action.” Ingo stares out past his cap. “Besides, you’re one to talk, E-”

Emmet. (Emmet Tamadensha, standing across from him, lichtenberg scars crawling up to meet sleepless eyes under a white hat, a white coat, an unrecognizable smile that could never belong on Ingo’s face, yet belonging to him all the same.)

Emmet. E---- Tama--s-a, (               ), scars crawling up to meet sleepless eyes under (         ) an unrecognizable smile that could never belong on Ingo’s face.

Emmet (           ) could never belong on Ingo’s face.

(Emmet?)

=#[o]#=

“Why are you sneezing so much?” Rei asks.

Akari sucks in a breath, only for it to be forced out of her all over again. “Why are you chewing on a straw of grains?”

“Rye showed me how to do it.” Rei moves the straw around in his mouth. “If you chew without eating it, it turns into gum. It even gets a little sweet!”

Akari sneezes again, rattling her body inside her human form like a wepear stuck in a tube.

“You’re still sneezing,” Rei helpfully points out.

“It’s not my fault! It’s- TCHOO! There’s all this stupid dust everywhere!”

“You can go home, you know,” Volo points out. “Neither of us are forcing you to be here.”

“I will not.”

Adaman turns away from a fieldworker and back to the three of them. “I gave you lot masks before you could come over here, didn’t I? Why’s little Laventon sneezing up a storm?”

“I- uh- I think mine’s broken,” Akari excuses. “Can I go get another for me and Cyan?”

“I don’t see why not. Go throw away your old ones while you’re at it, we don’t want to recycle anything that’s torn.”

Akari quickly sneaks over to where the cloth masks are kept, snatching one of the Eevee sized ones to put on her real face. There. Finally she can breathe without all that flying up her nose. It was so gross she was practically vibrating in place.

“How can you stand that without a mask?” Akari accusingly asks Rei. “You’ve been sitting in the open this whole time and you’re perfectly fine.”

Rei shrugs. “I didn’t stick my face into a pile of drying grains.”

"I wanted to make sure the grains were good enough for Volo!" Akari insists. "The seeds need to be super bravo in order to make Tao Hua happy!"

Volo chuckles. "Well then, did it pass your inspection?"

Akari points to one of the older bags. "That one smells the nicest. I think it'll stay fresh the longest whenever Tao Hua gives them out for planting."

"We should get him some more pop pods!" Rei adds. "He said he's gonna run low soon."

"And sand radishes! He loves making pickles!" Akari recalls.

"It's my job on the line, not yours," Volo points out. "Neither of you need to be going the extra hike on my account."

"Yeah, but then you'd be sad and pathetic," Akari bluntly says. "Who's gonna get me ice cream when you're too busy doing bodyguard work?"

Volo's polite smile actually softens for once. "Fair enough."

=#[o]#=

There’s a floating psychic creature that sits inside the Warden’s home for no reason, stalks him constantly, and continuously demands his attention. Depending on who the Warden were to ask, this unfavorable description would either apply to Aza or Emmet, but the Warden’s not really in an asking mood right now, and besides, Aza has bigger problems- like the fact that the Warden’s noticed the Emmet-thing.

Somewhere in the world, there is- or was- an Emmet. The murky waters of the Warden’s mind will turn up a man that shares his face, his house, his life, his work. But wherever that place is, it is beyond Hisui’s reach, and has been for years. The likelihood that Emmet would return, right as the Warden is newly anxious and lonely from the fox-child’s absence, is absurd to the point of delusion. This ghost magic thing only wants to prey on the Warden’s cracked mind like everything else able to glimpse it.

I’m not a thing, the haunting whispers. I am Emmet.

The Warden throws a pokeball through its body.

Rude.

This is not the first psychic stray to be enamored with the Warden, drawn to the weight of his command and the frayed tapestry of divine words whispering in his mind. But that magnetism inevitably turns to fear. Most creatures able to delve that deep end up attacking him on reflex to try and purge the memory of that cursed whisper. The Warden always survives, of course- it seems that very whisper, or at least what followed in its wake, has rendered his mind too alien to break in mortal ways.

But he still breaks. It is painful to watch him pick up the pieces afterwards. Aza does not want it to happen again. Even still, there is no psychic shield that can protect the Warden from the pain of something using his brother’s face.

I’ve been here all this time. Why did you only see me now?

“Very sound question!” The Warden turns to Aza. “Have you been hiding him from me?” he calmly asks.

Would it upset you if I did?

“Yes, it would,” the Warden distantly answers. “I would be very upset.”

Aza looks off to the side. I did no such thing. This spirit is too weak to manifest for long on its own.

Andel did his best, the Emmet-thing protests. He is verrrrry strong to have carried me all this way.

“Andel,” the Warden echoes. His face shifts with a sudden sadness. “Oh, blood of the dragons, Andel. Is he with you? Is he alright?”

I still feel him with me. I suppose that must be why my car feels similar to a Ghost-type in your friend’s eyes. But he doesn’t want to come out when Lady Sneasler is near. I think she might be too powerful.

Aza snorts sharply. A likely story.

“Let him be,” the Warden orders. And it is an order. His voice is soft, but his tone hardens like steel. “I will deal with this for myself.”

But-

“I’m tired, Aza. Please.”

=#[o]#=

Five days in Unova have been two years in Hisui. Five days later, Ingo is someone very different from the melancholy but content man Volo described- these snapshots Emmet gets to see are lonely and anxious, even when they are happy. 

Ingo rocks ghostfire around their shared space like Andel’s lantern. He’d been happy enough with Ominous Wind when it first came to him, but Emmet knew he’d been disappointed, if only for a while, that he could not share the beauty of Andel’s fire. Emmet wants to ask about it, ask about what changed to make this possible, but the words coagulate in his throat, too heavy to escape him.

Because the Alakazam was right. He’s a weak spirit. How can he have a meaningful conversation when any word could be the last thing Ingo hears from him for hours, days, weeks? What can Ingo say, unable to know if or when Emmet will be present enough to receive it?

Ingo lies in bed, patting the Gligar sitting snug against his chest. Emmet lies across from him like it means anything, and this entire endeavor feels like a mistake. At least in that train car beyond time, they could hold each other, even if only in desperation. The most Emmet can do now is lean his ghost against Ingo’s body and hope that will be enough.

Five days later, Emmet got to see Ingo again. 

Five days later, he still feels like he lost.

“Stay as long as you like,” Ingo finally murmurs. “It’s nice to talk to you again.”

I don’t know if we’ll ever have the time, Emmet admits. I don’t know what to say.

“Then don’t,” Ingo bluntly offers. “We don’t have to say anything at all.”

It feels like a waste.

“To share one track again is not a waste,” Ingo insists. “I missed you dearly.”

A silence, and then.

You promise? Emmet half-whispers.

“My two-car train, I have missed the thought of you more than you can possibly know.” 

The fire around them fades as Ingo closes his eyes. He falls asleep, slowly but surely, one arm outstretched as if he could have held onto his brother’s hand even now.

Emmet decides he’ll have to count that as a win.

Chapter Text

"If this is about that time I said I'd fight you for Iris, I want you t' know that was a joke. She's a good kid, but it was a joke."

Drayden laughs loud and clear like a dragon's roar. "Oh, in Ideal's own name, of course not! Would I take you all this way just for a duel?"

Alder hisses out a breath. "See, I thought not, but-" He makes a vague motion with his hands. "I would hate to get caught slippin' 'fore Benga comes home, y'know. He's set himself out for a hard pokemon journey."

Drayden huffs. "Not too hard, if you're so eager to find new apprentices." He elbows Alder hard enough to make them both sway. "Even if it was a joke."

"Listen, Dray, I didn't know your people's apprenticeships were in the family, that's all!"

"That's what you said when I caught you trying to sponsor my boys in their League days," Drayden goodnaturedly ribs. "Try again."

Alder hems and haws for a good minute or so, hands fiddling with the pokeballs slung across his neck like prayer beads until Ronnie starts looming threateningly from behind, Volcarona wings hanging like a halo of shame.

"You raise," Alder awkwardly starts, "good kids."

Drayden raises his eyebrows.

"You've got a good strong head on your shoulders, alright? Of course I like your kids." Alder runs a rough hand through his hair. "I like you."

“I distinctly remember you facing me down for your final selection, saying you’d leave us all in the earth while you swallowed the sun. Whatever happened to that man, Champion Alder?”

Alder’s smile turns sad. “You know what happened. My wings burned out.” He softly pats Ronnie’s smooth face. “I wanted to fight the world and everything, but Vesper was the one who wanted to take me there. You remember how she was.”

Drayden chuckles. “The League started telling you to use her last so your fights would actually be fair.”

“Ah, you could have taken her,” Alder dismisses. “I believe in you.”

“That’s not a question I need to know the answer to, old friend, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Drayden turns to the roadside, voice carrying down the green hills. “IRIS! Do you know where we are?”

“UHHHHH-” Ten year old Iris twirls in place, dancing to herself as she inspects her surroundings, before pointing up at the castle embedded in the Eindoak mountains. “The Sword of the Vale?”

“And what’s under the Sword of the Vale, child?” Drayden presses. “What does such a blade dare to stopper on that great dragon’s spine of a mountain?”

Iris’ eyes widen. “Dragon’s blood.” Her hands flap with nervousness. “Unova has the dragon’s blood too? But I couldn’t feel it before!”

“The dragon’s blood is everywhere,” Drayden explains. “But it’s different between regions, you understand. The dragon’s blood of Johto has a different song than the one that flows here. But it is here.”

Drayden wanders off the road, hand raised like he might reach out for Iris himself, but never quite touching as he comes closer.

“I know you don’t live with me because you want to,” he softly says. “But I would like to do right to you, as my father did to yours. We will never share our blood, but I can give you the blood of the earth I stand on, and make it yours. Would you allow it?”

Iris says nothing, but she takes Drayden’s outstretched hand. He gets down on one knee, leaning his towering frame until his head brushes against her knuckles. His other hand touches the ground, and for a moment Alder sees something pulsate in the earth like roots, a living motion radiating through the grass like the raised hackles of a Stoutland.

“I felt it,” Iris whispers. “I could feel it this time! I can feel it again- thank you, thank you, thank you-” She breaks their little ritual by wrapping her small arms around Drayden’s shoulders before running off towards her Axew. “AGGIE! IT CAME BACK!”

Drayden watches her leave, a tender fondness in his eyes that lasts exactly as long as it takes for him to notice Alder is still watching. He stiffly stands and punches his chest like it will reclaim his professionalism.

"I'll run it over with her again when she's older, but it'll do for now. I'll be able to find her through communion, wherever she roams in this region." With that, he turns his hand to Alder, just as he did for Iris. "Your turn. Get down here."

What. “What?”

“It’ll be easy enough to add you in after Iris,” Drayden insists. “Won’t have to do the whole ritual twice.”

“I barely even know what you did!” Alder sputters. “Or what I did, honestly. This is family business, Dray, why am I worth wrappin’ up in that?”

“You’re here,” Drayden bluntly says.

“Victory’s burning star, tell me how you really feel,” Alder mutters to himself.

“Everyone knows you don’t stand still, Alder. You could be anywhere else right now. But you’re here.”

“Because you raise good kids,” Alder reflexively jokes.

“Iris does love you dearly, and the twins don’t shut up about you when they spot you on the subway,” Drayden admits. “I’d like to know if I can find you, the next time you can’t stand still.”

Alder scoffs. “Y’know an XTrans number would do just fine. Isn’t that what all the kids are into these days?”

There’s a despairing note when Drayden laughs. “Alder, you know I can’t stand phone calls. I don’t want to feel run over by a Bouffalant every time I want to tell myself you’re alive. I actually like you.”

Oh. Oh.

“Well, when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound so bad.” Alder reaches out with his hand. “Alright then, Dray. Come and find me.”

=#[o]#=

When Emmet Tamadensha, faller echo and CST chain of missing person case Ingo Tamadensha, is admitted to a Nimbasa City pokemon center for a spontaneous head injury and blood loss, it is rational to keep him away from public eyes. It is rational to dispatch the Interpol researchers assigned to his case as soon as possible. It is rational to ensure every nurse, doctor, and emergency medical technician involved has their silence enforced.

Time travel is history’s open secret. To pretend otherwise would not bring comfort to the human understanding of the world- it would only weaken it. But the methods and aftershocks involved are a frontier that the international community agrees can never be touched. There would be so few ethical ways to proceed, and the consequences of failure are as ephemeral as a Vivillon’s wingbeat. As small as a falling leaf, as vast as the end of the universe.

So it is rational for Emmet Tamadensha to keep the details of his time-flung twin a secret. For his dutiful, service-driven mind to agree to these conditions, even if it pains him. That is the coldest, kindest truth there is.

But Truth without Ideals begets only cruelty. Law executed in perfect rationality can do nothing in the end but forget its humanity.

Subway Boss Tamadensha is a kind man suited to a life of service. So was Drayden. He was 29 years old, a dragon master content to be nothing else, when his twin sister died and left two little boys in his arms.

Drayden had always towered over Cassandra, so he knew he couldn't have expected much different from her sons, but they were so, so small. It was a cultivated effort to make himself a dragon for their sakes, to turn his size into something that would shelter them instead of frighten them. He told himself it was only for a while. He told himself one day they’d be large enough to fight the world, and in some ways, they were.

But Cassandra was small, and her sons were no different. Subway Boss Tamadensha is a kind man suited to a life of service, and he still hasn’t outgrown Drayden’s arms after twenty years.

Emmet’s not a child. He hasn’t been for a long, long time, and if he’d been placed next to anyone else, he’d be a respectable size. When Drayden taught Ingo and Emmet the ways of the dragon’s blood, he hadn’t just done it for their sakes- not just to give them a shared tether beyond flesh and blood. He did it because no matter how much they grew, the world is larger than they could ever imagine and they will always be smaller. He can’t stand the idea of losing something so precious again.

And then Drayden gets a phone call. He has to tell himself that a phone call won’t be the end of the world.

(Not all phone calls. And yet somehow, always, a phone call.) 

“Mr. Tamadensha? This is the Nimbasa Pokemon Center calling. You were listed under Emmet Tamadensha’s emergency contacts when he was brought in critical condition earlier this afternoon. We can’t tell you much else about the situation right now unless you’d like to come in yourself, but we’re doing our best to stabilize him-”

Drayden turns off his XTrans and tries to remember how to breathe.

A worn cracked hand rests on his arm. “What’s happened, Dray? Talk to me.”

“I need to go-” Drayden viciously shakes his head as he stumbles away. “I have to- I-”

No time for a train, and certainly no time for a taxi. He whistles sharply for his Salamence and climbs up her broad back, letting her blood red wings ferry them to the sky.

He can’t remember if he’s been to this center before. He can’t remember if that matters. His legs numbly carry him over the sea of Audino and Chanseys rushing to assist their doctors, Rotom possessed carts transporting ethers to restore healing moves. Drayden finds Iris confusedly talking to guards in front of a door- there are guards at Emmet’s door, why on earth would there need to be guards?

“Jii-san. You’re here too, huh?” Iris crosses her arms, an irritated look on her face. “They dragged us all this way and now they won’t even let us see him.”

One of the suited guards sighs. “If it were up to us, neither of you would have been called here. Besides, he’s not even conscious at the moment. There’s no point-”

“I’m allowed to see if he’s breathing, aren’t I? What are you people doing here anyways? Why do you get to say what happens to my uncle-”

There's a Twin Dragons shrine right there. Snug against the wall. Drayden could just check. He presses his hand against the wood, searching for where Emmet is on the other side and-

-and there's nothing. There's nothing.

"Where's Emmet?" Drayden quietly asks.

The guard frowns. "He's right behind the door, sir."

"No, he's not. Where is he?"

"Sir, we don't have time to-"

"I DON'T HAVE THE TIME OR THE PATIENCE TO HEAR ANOTHER ONE OF YOUR DAMNED EXCUSES!" Drayden shouts, a deep growl rolling in his voice. He sees a familiar blond haired doctor open the door, and his blood boils with rage. "Oh, and it's you."

"Yes! Me!" Dr. Colress cheerfully confirms. "Good to see you again, Mr. Tamadensha. I haven't run into you since-" He lets out a sharp hum as Drayden's hand slams into the wall behind him. "Stop that. There’s no need for recklessness, we’re in a place of healing."

"You made my boy lie to me," Drayden's voice shakes out. "He lied for weeks, for you, because you said he would be fine, and now he's- "

"Only mostly dead," Colress gently interrupts. "And certainly not lying on my orders. I’m only a researcher, after all.” His golden eyes turn to Iris with a detached friendly interest. “Hello, Champion Tamadensha. I don’t believe we’ve met. I am a scientist. My name is Colress. The focus of my research is the power humans can bring out of pokemon, and as such I’m well studied in human psychic phenomena. Interpol recently tasked me with monitoring Emmet’s case.”

Iris rolls her eyes. "Oh, I’ve heard of you. I live in Opelucid City too, you know. Don’t tell me you used the Kyurem Cannon to pad your resume.”

“My past research projects are not relevant at this time,” Colress dismisses. “But rest assured, Interpol finds me far more useful with a budget than a prison sentence.”

“Interpol,” Drayden wearily echoes. “We’re not going to be learning anything honest today, are we?”

“Would you like to?” Colress asks.

“Is- is that allowed?” Iris wonders.

“Oh, most certainly not!” Colress cheerfully reveals. “I’ll say I had to follow pokemon center patient policy. Consider it my personal exercise in ethics. Come inside.” He flits his hand dismissively at the guards. “And you can go report to Anabel as much as you like, I never actually agreed to the extent of that privacy policy in the first place. It’s impractical at best and cruel at worst.”

Emmet is the only patient in this room, but the space around him is so filled it feels claustrophobic anyway. An Audino’s tendrils prod his chest while it sniffs a bandage crawling up the back of his head, and Ross is strewn across his lap like a depressed blanket, morosely snuffling at the oximeter attached to his finger. A Beheeyem turns away from a monitor as Colress approaches.

“If it’s any consolation,” Colress starts. “Well, probably not, but if it is- the condition the twins are in is so novel to medical science that Emmet was allowed to name it.”

"He named it something stupid, didn't he?" Iris immediately guesses.

Colress stares blankly at her for a moment.

“Would you like to learn more about the Chad Stasis Twin effect?” he finally says.

Iris snorts.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Excellent!” Colress joins the Beheeyem at the monitor. “You see, when counting humans among pokemon, our psychic entanglements are unique. While this is mostly only apparent in how we interact with other species- consider, for example, how we bond with pokemon partners- such phenomena can also occur with other humans. A human as close to your very soul as your partner is, forged by a singular lifelong connection-”

“-like with a twin,” Drayden finishes.

“When the case was handed to me, I ordered a broad search of anecdotal data reporting similar phenomena. It would seem that phantom sensations, mirrored movesets, and even shared injuries can manifest when individuals of a shared blood and psychic bond are suddenly separated.” Colress tents his hands together. “However! All of these prior cases had minor effects and happened over a much shorter period of time- hence why they were so easily ignored at the time they occurred. In the case of our Tamadensha twins, though, we are working with an unprecedented time scale.”

“Is a month really so unprecedented?” Drayden skeptically asks.

“Our sense of time here isn’t what’s driving the worst of it,” Colress corrects, “it’s Ingo’s. When he left Single Train 001, he arrived at the Sinnoh region around the year 1860. We have the historical record to prove it. And further research does show that he eventually returns to 2014- therein lies our problem.”

Iris frowns. “Why would that be a problem? Him coming back here is a good thing, right?”

“Eventually, perhaps,” Colress concedes. “But the fact of the matter is, much of Emmet’s body is operating at 156 times its normal rate in order to stay synchronized to Ingo’s timeframe- from separation to inevitable return. We’re extremely lucky that the temporal displacement has halted Ingo’s aging process on his end, or Emmet here would already be in his biological forties.”

Drayden pinches his brow. “Time travel. No wonder Emmet couldn’t say anything. Interpol keeps that knowledge in a black box when they can help it.”

“And I suspect,” Colress adds, “if it isn’t presumptuous of me to say so, that he did not want to share with you how dire his brother’s situation was unless he absolutely had to. From what I can tell, he’s a very kind man who hates to cause others trouble.”

“So why is he only hospitalized now? Has his body finally overstrained itself?”

Colress rolls his eyes. “Our historical consultant failed to inform us beforehand about a severe injury Ingo would sustain in 1872. It appears Emmet is sharing the burden of it. And now we can’t investigate the actual event further until Emmet completely stabilizes. Observer’s paradox might kick in and kill them both otherwise.”

Drayden stares at Emmet’s unmoving body. As he looks off to the side, he sees Andel, hanging in the air like flotsam in stagnant water, small electrodes attached to its lamp.

Colress follows his gaze. “Ingo’s partner pokemon became unresponsive when Emmet initially collapsed. Ghost pokemon can attempt to consume their partners’ souls on death out of panic or grief, but that doesn’t seem to be the case here. Our Chandelure friend has never shown possessive behavior over Emmet, even in Ingo’s absence, and we would be picking up higher energy readings after soul absorption, not lower. In all likelihood it’s entered a trance state in an attempt to save Emmet’s life.” He tilts his head. “That’s about all we know at the moment until he regains consciousness on his own. Is there anything else you want to ask?”

Drayden shakes his head.

“Would you like me to leave the room for a while?” Colress offers. “It won’t cause any trouble. I’ll need to explain myself to the agents anyway.”

“Yes, I- thank you.”

And Colress leaves, just like that, ushering the Audino and Beheeyem out with him. Drayden and Iris are left staring at the empty vessel that should have held Emmet Tamadensha.

“You felt it too, right?” Iris nervously asks. “He’s not in there. Is that how it’s supposed to feel when people are unconscious?”

“It’s not,” Drayden answers. “Even during comas, it doesn’t feel like this.”

Iris squeezes Emmet’s hand.

“I’m gonna get us some snacks,” she decides. “Something sweet and trashy and stupid. And you have to eat some of it, okay? I’ll cry if you don’t.”

Drayden chuckles. “I’ll do my best.”

It’s only when Iris leaves that Drayden realizes how uncomfortable the chair he’s sitting in is. Small and plastic, grabbed in haste to accommodate for his unexpected presence. 

He wonders who called the ambulance. It must’ve been Elesa. Emmet had been staying at her house- because things were so busy, because it was only supposed to be a little while, because nothing was supposed to be wrong. Gods.

Drayden should text Elesa that he’s here. He doesn’t know if he has her number. He’s never needed it. He could ask Clay about it- Clay would have all the Gym Leader’s numbers. Or Benga, the new Dragon gym leader. Benga would make more sense. They keep in touch more often. That’s something productive to do. That’s better than just sitting in a tiny, uncomfortable chair next to a body he keeps having to tell himself isn’t dead.

“I think I caused a bit of a panic runnin’ Faron through the street like that, but I can’t say I regret it! A Bouffalant ain’t as fast as a chargin’ Salamence, y’know.”

Drayden looks up to find Alder peeking his head through the door.

Right. Right, he was having lunch with Alder before all this. The world still spins whether he remembers it or not.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Drayden manages.

"It's fine, I promise!" A short laugh. "I wish you'd explained yourself 'fore you left, but I understand why you didn't." Alder's eyes settle on Emmet. "Is he gonna be alright?"

“He’s alive.”

“That’s good,” Alder decides. “Are you gonna be alright?”

Of course Drayden’s going to be alright. What sort of stupid question is that? He’s always alright. No matter what happens, he turns out better than anyone else around him.

When his siblings could no longer fulfill their duties, he lived to raise their children. When Team Plasma came to freeze Opelucid to the ground, he tore his way out of the ice. When Ingo went missing with Single Train 001, Drayden held fast so Emmet could fall apart. When Cassandra was born small and pale, Drayden was born large and strong, strong, strong. A greedy, unyielding dragon born lucky, born tearing good fortune out of the hands of others.

Born lucky. Born to live. Born to hold things close to his chest and watch them die.

Drayden buries his head in his hand and quietly sobs.

It feels hollow, somehow, to think about anyone else but his child at a time like this- and Emmet is his child, one way or another, him and Ingo both. But that has always been his nature, reflexively looking back when the future is in front of him. Always aware of what has already been taken from him, always aware of what he has taken from others.

(Always aware that if fate had standed the idea of him being born a little smaller, maybe Cassandra could have held her breath a few minutes longer.)

"Gods," Drayden whispers to himself.

A crooked smile breaks across Alder's face. "Well, Reshiram's busy learnin' to steal bread last I checked, so I guess I'll have to do. What are we prayin' for?"

"I hate phone calls," Drayden mutters into his palm. "I want them to pass away."

"Eh, I could probably stand to do some terrorism," Alder jokes. "We both could, I think. Between the two of us we've saved the region at least twice. How many destroyed telephone lines is that worth, you think?"

"At least eleven. Maybe even twelve."

Drayden finally brings himself to look at Emmet again, and Alder silently follows suit, settling down in the same kind of stupid tiny plastic chair he's in.

"He's still smiling," Alder notes. "Even like this, he's smiling."

"That's just his face," Drayden dismisses. "He's always been like that."

"Takes an effort to smile, though." Alder leans his head against his knuckles. "Where's he gone, you think?"

"What's the point in wondering?" Drayden asks.

"Maybe he's got something worth smiling about," Alder dares. "Maybe he went somewhere nice. I hope he did."

Drayden doesn't say anything in response. He just clasps their hands together, waiting for Iris to come back.

I hope so, too.

Chapter Text

“Brycen just confirmed the last wave of evacuations has finished riding Axew to Icirrus,” Ingo reports. “That leaves the next in your care. We’re rerouting the Axew ATOs to transfer all further passengers at Driftveil and Patrat.”

“Good!” Clay’s rough voice crackles with underground static. “Has Team Plasma tried to breach the subway yet?”

“The Kyurem Cannon blasts have sealed the Opelucid central station entrance entirely,” Emmet answers. “If they intend to enter, they have not yet done so.”

“One,” Ingo tersely corrects. “One attempt. They snuck in with some evacuees two hours ago and were disposed of accordingly.”

Emmet’s hand stills over the control panel. “You told me they turned themselves in.”

“The ones that were left, yes.” Ingo types out a quick command, and an Axew bound train reroutes itself to the Audino line. “These are not appropriate tracks for our current conversation. We must not derail ourselves. Mr. Yakuno, how do you expect us to proceed?”

“We’re sendin’ in supplies and ground support, and we’ll be picking up Brycen’s icebreaker team on the way. Are you meetin’ us there?”

“We will assist you in person however we can,” Ingo assures. “Departing from call.”

Ross’ flippers curl defensively around Emmet’s shoulders as he stares at Ingo, smile turning stiff.

“You told me they turned themselves in.”

“The ones that were left, yes,” Ingo repeats.

“You did not act as their judge.” Emmet’s words are more of a plea than a statement of fact, and they both know it. “My brother would not hurt someone.”

“They are alive,” Ingo quickly says. “They will return to their rightful destination in a timely manner. They only- it was a necessary detour. They were going to harm the other passengers.”

“And their pokemon?” Emmet presses.

“The trainers issued a command. Mine was louder.” A ghostly wind snakes around Ingo’s coat, arms shaking as one of Andel’s tendrils clamp down across his sleeve. “I would not lie to you. There was no other way.”

Emmet hums flatly.

"Mercy to the misguided cannot come at the cost of their victims," Emmet decides. "I would not have been upset if you had hurt them to protect our passengers, but I would have been verrrrry sad to see my brother forced to use his strength for such a terrible thing."

"Truth be told," Ingo slowly admits, "when I had done it, I was not thinking of the passengers at all. Only that they had the gall to flee here when Drayden cannot."

Emmet's smile spasms. "He has not been found?"

"If he had escaped the city, he would be with us right now." A long pause. "Perhaps- perhaps he is late."

Emmet squints. "Or dead!"

Ingo's shoulders stiffen as he recognizes the lifeline for what it is- the chance to argue for something he cannot quite convince himself is true. A well worn set of tracks for the both of them, but perhaps he will find it welcome nonetheless.

"Traffic is terrible at this time of day," he mutters. "He's only late."

"Dead," Emmet insists. "He's been run over by a luxury car."

"If Drayden collided with a car, the car would be the one in pieces," Ingo corrects. "He's late."

"He stepped on a Snom and it stabbed him through the foot," Emmet deadpans.

"A Snom?" Ingo flatly echoes. "In Opelucid City, at this time of year, localized entirely under Drayden's foot? Are you suggesting Snoms migrate?"

Emmet's smile widens. "Perhaps it rafted here. Or it was carried over the ocean by a pair of Alolan Swellows."

"There are no Swellow populations in Alola or Galar," Ingo points out.

"That's just what Big Birdwatching wants you to think," Emmet ominously hisses.

"He's forgotten to shave," Ingo decides. "He trimmed his beard while the city froze over."

"Too late," Emmet denies. "It's overtaken his entire face and blinded him. He walked into a wall and shattered all his bones instantly."

Ingo tilts his head. "He feels like the type to sleep through a snowstorm. He's done it before."

Emmet dramatically curls his hand upwards like talons. "He's been assassinated. In a mind fight. "

"Absolutely not." Ingo blinks. "Obviously he's returned to his true form as an avatar of Reshiram. He has become more powerful than we could possibly imagine."

"Nii-san, I'm supposed to be the one telling blatant lies here," Emmet complains. "Late Or Dead doesn't work if we're both being ridiculous."

"You're being ridiculous," Ingo jokingly complains. "You never let me do anything."

Emmet hisses mockingly like an irritated dragon. Ingo hisses back.

Archie toddles up to the central control station and screeches, because Archeops are flock animals and he just wants to be part of things.

Emmet wheezes out a laugh.

"Kawaii, ne?" Archie croons as he tilts his head.

"Ka- waii!" Ingo praises. "A-ru-chi!"

"Kawaii," Archie whispers to himself.

=#[o]#=

Kawaii, Emmet whispers to himself as a murder of Murkrows flies over the Highlands. Ar-ru-chi.

“It seems they’re heading for the Mirelands,” Ingo notes. “That’s quite odd for this time of year.”

Your clan mates mentioned the spring harvest was approaching, didn’t they? The Honchkrows must be hoping for scraps.

Ingo raises his eyebrows. “Ah, were you present for that conversation? My apologies, ei. You were not visible to me at the time.”

It’s alright, nii-san. We do what we can. I am still glad to be here.

Ingo realizes suddenly that Emmet never told Ingo how he got here. Only that he’s here. Emmet mentioned something about Andel- Andel, who will not show himself even now. And then there are the circumstances of the arrival, rendering Emmet into a feeble spirit, unable to anticipate where and when he’ll be perceivable next.

Emmet is many things, and a sore loser most of all. He would not be so impulsive as to charge towards an unknown destination without charting a proper route to victory. He would not appear in Hisui bearing so many unanswered questions, such little knowledge of his own method of travel, so few contingencies to cover for their unpredictable radio silence. Ingo suspects, distantly, that Emmet may be lying about how voluntary this current situation is, even if only to himself.

For now, Ingo will have to accept that. He’s lying too, after all.

He doesn’t mean to. It’s been a long time since Ingo’s needed to explain the holes in his mind, and it only took him a few months to become very, very good at filling in the gaps. It did not…

…it did not occur to him that he may not have always been like this. That once upon a time, he did not need to guess. And how could he have known? He’s forgotten being anything else. But this means Emmet has never known a version of Ingo that was able to forget so much. And as long as he haunts the Highlands like a constant reminder, he may never find out the empty spaces he is filling with his presence.

Ingo should tell Emmet. He’ll have to eventually. But that is a confession twelve years long, and Ingo will not say such hurtful things without knowing for certain they can both be there for the aftermath. With the way things are now… that is not a route either of them can guarantee.

So Ingo will say nothing. And neither will Emmet. Until they can truly be together again, this is the best they can do.

“Lord Electrode’s warden usually finds me by now,” Ingo notes. “We are both responsible for the torches of Wayward Cave. He adjusts them to accommodate the wildlife inside, and I go back to make sure visibility is still up to standard.”

Melli, was it? Emmet asks. The tall one with pretty hair like Elesa.

Ingo’s mouth ticks upwards. “Maybe not quite as pretty. But regardless, his sudden delay concerns me.”

Perhaps he is late.

“Or dead,” Ingo responds, not knowing why.

Waylaid by a Rapidash herd, Emmet offers.

“Tripped off a cliff and gored directly on a Stantler’s rack,” Ingo insists.

He’s gotten his mouth stuck on topomochi and refuses to be seen in public, Emmet giggles.

“A Pearl Clan traditionalist finally choked him to death with his own hair. It’s the perfect crime.”

He burned his tongue on a hot spoon.

“That’s the second food one you’ve said in a row, Emmet.”

I miss food so much, Ingo. I’m living through you vicariously.

“Should I be eating portions on your behalf?” Ingo suddenly wonders. “Would that help?”

Oh, please don’t.

Emmet's awfully blasé about being disembodied. In a way that makes Ingo wonder if he has a body to return to in the first place. In a way that makes Ingo wonder if Emmet's died. He should ask. He should say something.

(He can't.)

He can't ask, because then Emmet might answer. Because maybe he did die, and Ingo wasn't there. Late or dead, late and dead, you're too late and now he's dead-

A disjointed noise falls out of Ingo with a violent flinch as Melli’s pokemon toddle into view.

Oh my, a Skorupi! Emmet nods with appreciation. I see Melli’s a man of culture as well.

“You can’t call every man with Bug-types a man of culture,” Ingo admonishes.

It worked out with Burgh, Emmet insists.

Ingo frowns. A distinct memory flashes through his mind of Burgh’s XTrans contact name being ABSOLUTELY NOT in Emmet’s device. “Did it work out?” he skeptically asks.

“Who are you talking to?” Melli asks as he comes into view.

Ingo quickly pulls two shiny Sneasel kits out of his coat pockets. “My son Sningo and his brother Snemmet.”

Melli squints. “Are they not both your sons? Why is Snemmet not given the son title?”

Ingo stares directly at Emmet’s apparition. “I don’t like him.”

Emmet flips Ingo off from behind Melli’s shoulder.

“I feel this encounter has occurred off-schedule,” Ingo directly says. “Is something amiss with Lord Electrode?”

Melli quickly shakes his head, long locks of hair whipping about his shoulders. “Oh, perish the thought. My lord is too hardy to be felled by the likes of a mild springtime! I only need to recruit your hardier pokemon for a quick task. There’s a dead Steelix on Sonorous Path.”

Ingo’s expression sharpens with alarm. “You don’t suppose it was shot, do you? The Galaxy Team soldiers have firearms.”

“There haven’t been any Galaxy Team excursions here since the snow melted,” Melli reminds him. “You warned them about the Onix tunnels yourself. We’ll just need to move the body before it blocks the road.”

Ingo nods and gestures for one of Lady Sneasler’s more sturdy bodied mates to approach as he stows his pokeballs. “Then I will ferry us to your destination. All aboard!”

The highlands are disconcertingly quiet as they make their descent. The Ryhorn herds that should be grazing here are absent, and no Heracross emerge to pluck tender young berries. Any pokemon he does detect are scurrying in the Onix tunnels, burying themselves under the snow. The only ones out in the open are Chimechos, blissfully swinging off of tree branches.

Dead Steelixes smell like rock salt. Rock salt and rich, rotted animal fat, dessicated flesh buried under a hundred layers of earth and still forcing a heady aura of iron past the throat. There is no wound on its body, no disease, nothing that could justify its demise. Just a rusted, frothy salt foaming out of its thin nostrils, jaw tensely locked around its swollen tongue.

It drowned to death. It drowned on dry land, in the middle of digging out the air tunnels that should have prevented the melting snow from ever posing such a risk in the first place, and the shallow claw marks sunken into its sides tell Ingo this Steelix only made it to the surface after its death.

The Sneasler snuffs distastefully at the corpse as Melli and Ingo dismount, wandering away from the site as soon as possible. Aza emerges from his pokeball and places a delicate paw on the Steelix's head, a perturbed expression on his face.

"You have a better grasp for ghosts than I do, Warden," Melli admits. "Could a Perish Song do this?"

Ingo's eyes follow the length of the Steelix's body. "The sound wouldn't carry underground. Perhaps an alternate route is to blame. The lunar kami have caused sudden deaths before."

"I thought so too, but there's no reports of night terrors." 

"Perhaps I could ask Lady Sneasler to look over it?" Ingo offers. "Lord Electrode is a greater deterrent of threats, but my lady has the better nose between them. She may have a better understanding of what's occured than either of us."

Melli rolls his eyes and plugs his ears. "If you must."

Ingo takes a deep breath and lets a piercing whistle fly from his flute, summoning the Lady of the Cliffs. He sees the telltale golden light of her approach as she manifests past the trees, but it… doesn't diminish as her mortal shell materializes. It intensifies, coalescing in wrathful eyes that ignore Ingo entirely as they fixate in Melli.

"That's unusual!" Ingo loudly decides. He pulls Melli down by the shoulders and forcefully tucks the hood of the young man's tunic, forcing the long purple hair out of view. "I suggest you depart the highlands quickly, warden."

"What the-" Melli sputters as he pushes his jostled hair out of his face. "What was that for-"

"THIS IS NOT A REQUEST! LEAVE THE STATION AT ONCE!" Ingo points sharply at Melli and his gathered team. "AZA, WASSHOI!"

Aza clangs his spoons together and Melli vanishes.

Please tell me you didn't throw him off a cliff, Emmet begs.

"I just needed him out of the way," Ingo elaborates. "It seems our lady is unusually irritable at the moment."

He straightens his back, one arm bent as he curls his hands, and stares down at his makeshift claws as she draws near. There is a low hiss in her breath as she sniffs the air around him, eyes wary for any further intruders.

"Daijo, my lady. Daijoubu." He leans towards her as her snout pushes at his hair, his hand bracing gently against her cheek. "Our cars are undamaged. There is no danger here."

She insistently rubs her face into his, the way she would for her kits when trying to scrub the scent of a hostile thing off of their bodies. She must've taken Melli for an intruding male Sneasler- she's been so much more sensitive to her litter this year.

But she's always trusted Ingo to take care of such intrusions himself, and she's never reacted like this- fuming with divine rage, traces of gold ichor running under her skin as Ingo smooths down her hackles.

She doesn't seem ill. She's displaying far too much vigor for that to be the case. But she does appear manic in some way. An unnatural, zealous energy seems to course through her body, and Aza's nervous expression only confirms its presence. An internal engine running so hot she would attack a human to release it, even if by mistake. 

…Like Lord Kleavor's frenzy.

No. No, surely not, not to her, not her. She's already calming down, he cannot assume something so drastic.

(But she's never been so angry before.)

It doesn't matter. Frenzy or not, Ingo is still her warden. If he must carry her through these tracks, then so be it. He will make sure no human life is hurt by her mistaken hand.

Until this rage subsides, no station can take hold in the Coronet Highlands again.

Chapter Text

“REI!” Akari waggles Shimmer’s paws. “My son evolved into a Luxio! He’s going to break so many bones and-” She stops and actually takes in what Rei’s doing. “Wow, that is the largest Sliggoo I’ve ever seen.”

“This is my friend Artax,” Rei says, like that explains anything.

“Okay, and? Where did you even get Artax?”

Rei sits up from the massive, steel shelled back of the alpha Sliggoo. “He was just rolling around on one of the little islands in the Mirelands. I thought it was really weird he was big, so I took him back. How do alphas grow that big, anyways? It doesn’t make sense.”

“The Professor said they don’t grow,” Akari corrects. “It’s what happens to pokemon when a space-time distortion forms on top of them. It bends their size. They shrink back to normal when they die.” She sticks her tongue out as she thinks. “He sent some papers back to Hammerlocke about it, and they think alpha pokemon get exposed to psychic radiation, too. That's how they can know really weird moves."

"Whack." Rei pats Artax's soft bodied head. "Don't die, Artax. It'll be so weird to watch you deflate."

Artax trills.

Akari frowns. "Why would you have to worry about that? Pokemon tend to live as long as their humans do, don't they? That's a human psychic ability."

"I told you, I don't have partners. I just have friends. I mean, you're the same way, right?"

Akari scoffs. "What? No. I have Cyan! We're so partners."

Treasure hunting partners! Cyan adds, knowing full well Rei can't understand a word coming out of his mouth.

"And besides," Akari continues, "you're not the only one who can catch unusual pokemon. I caught Curry just fine the other day!"

"Oh yeah, that shiny Graveler," Rei recalls. "I guess he does look like a big ball of curry." He frowns. "Did you have to catch a shiny, though? I'm pretty sure Miller just asked for a regular Ground-type to plow his fields."

"Yota wanted us to catch that shiny Ponyta," Akari insists. "I'm just covering all the bases here. Besides, Shinies tend not to do well in the wild. The Professor wants more catches so we can study their structural differences properly before they succumb to natural causes."

“Physical differences? I thought they just looked different.”

“Yeah, there’s some structural stuff in their skin and bones?” Akari uncertainly answers. “It can make them more brittle, and even without that they tend to be more vulnerable to predators, or aren’t properly recognized by their own species. It takes a lot of work for them to make it to adulthood.”

Briefly, Akari wonders if Ingo is doing well. She decides not to think about it.

“If you want to ask more questions, take them to the professor,” Akari finally dismisses. “The sun will be going down in a few more hours. We need to be on the lookout for that pokemon in the fields.”

The Crimson Mirelands- or at least the humans making use of it- had been having a very fortunate spring at first. Despite Lord Kleavor’s earlier deforestation of the neighboring Obsidian Fieldlands, the Mirelands themselves were flush with greenery and fertile flowers thanks to Lady Lilligant’s lively dance. The land was so plentiful, in fact, that grazing pokemon did not even need to fight humans over the growing crops. Hunters and carrion eaters grew so fat that they didn’t even look at the clan herds.

But lately, pockets of air in the earth have been bursting into flame. When the Pearl Clan scours the mirelands for minerals in the lakes, they’ve dredged up bones more than iron. And at night, a lone shadow now descends upon the Diamond Clan’s rice fields, trampling the hearty grains before they can be harvested.

“It has to be something alpha sized,” Akari asserts. “Nothing around here can fly and leave that big of a crop circle in the ground. I’m thinking we have Shimmer use Thunder Shock to ground it, then have Ronin go for it while you throw the pokeballs.”

"Why am I always the one throwing things?" Rei asks.

"My dear junior recruit, I need to have some flaws!" Her hand splays against her chest. "We can't all throw apricorns at a god's face for the greater good."

Rei snorts with laughter, and Akari tries not to be bitter about it. There used to be a time when Akari was the sole pride of the Survey Corps, and Rei hadn't changed that- at first. But then he had the better throwing arm. He had the fearlessness towards pokemon that no one else had. He could catch three, nine, twenty-seven specimens in a single day. And then Lord Kleavor's frenzy happened, and this lost child from the sky ripped the madness right out of the kami's head.

Somewhere along the way, Akari stopped being the only character that mattered in her own story. It stopped being one Zorua pup against the world, with no time to think about anything else. The cast expanded.

The story started being Professor Laventon. It started being Jubilife Village. It started being Hisuian Zoroarks. It started being Rei.

Akari Shou has to learn to live in a world where she's no longer the only thing that matters to her.

"Sun's getting low," Rei observes.

Akari nods, shaking a modified perfume bottle as she extracts it from her bag. Stealth Spray, like the Focus Sash fabric of the Survey Corps scarves, is another affectation of human magic, able to muffle a presence with psychic energy. She holds her breath and mists the air around them, blinking heavily as she forces herself to adjust. The shapes of Rei and his pokemon become vague blurs of sight, sound, even smell. If she didn't already know he was there, he would be totally invisible.

Even more so as they duck under the crops, disappearing into the tall grasses as they stare at the sky.

The haggard, half-dead thing that crashes into the field is an alpha Honchkrow unlike any Akari has seen before. Only the strange thin tail and central girth of the wings retain that iridescent Murkrow black- the bulk of its body is dark as coal, while the belly and wingtips are snow white.

Such a thing could not survive long enough in the Crimson Mirelands, not long enough to become an alpha. The only place these stony, snow dusted feathers would belong is the Highlands. What on earth is it doing here?

Please, it croaks, breath heaving through a curtain of ravaged, wounded feathers, please, listen, I can still be of use to you, why won't you listen, please-

"No potions," Akari quickly says as she notices Rei rummage through his bag. "If we force her body to heal like this, she'll die. We need- do we have sitrus? I think I have one, let me see."

She breaks open the berry's thick skin in her hands, holding a segment of the flesh towards the Honchkrow's beak. It opens its mouth again, and Akari hears the memory of a Murkrows' court, of angry beaks and traitorous claws, of a hunger so deep it robs the strength from the strongest wings, of birds drowning with full bellies and maddened lungs, the choking rattle of let me breathe, let me breathe, IT'S INSIDE ME, I CAN'T BREATHE-

"Shh. It's okay. Try to eat this." The Honchkrow laboriously swallows the meager morsel, and Akari stiltedly pats the sea of broken feathers on its breast. "Good girl. Blaidd, can we put her to sleep?"

Blaidd nods past his mop of hair, shyly putting his hands on the Honchkrow's head. Its futile resistance collapses into a heap of limp muscles, pollen-caked fluid spilling out of its nare in coagulating waves.

"I'm gonna stay here," Akari decides. "Go and radio Doctor Alec. And-" She lets out a breath. "-tell the Professor we need to look for dead Murkrows."

Chapter Text

Anatomy of a dead Murkrow in a bog:

Coronet Highlands coloration. Perfectly preserved. Belly full of undigested carrion. Eyes swollen. Lilligant pollen in its lungs.

Anatomy of a dead Murkrow in a tree:

Coronet Highlands coloration. Feathers shining, muscles strong. Starved to death after a period of plenty. Lilligant pollen in its lungs.

Anatomy of a dead Murkrow in a rice field:

Coronet Highlands coloration. Tongue bloodied. Beak brittled. Feathers broken from aggressive plant growth, crushing its body long before it died. Lilligant pollen in its lungs.

Anatomy of a dead Murkrow:

Lilligant pollen in its lungs.

Lilligant pollen in its lungs.

Lilligant pollen in its lungs.

Lilligant pollen in its

Anatomy of a dying Honchkrow:

Her name was Nevermore and her murder of Murkrows was 27 strong. Winter had been survivable, but it was harsh, and spring was not as plentiful as expected. And then she saw a great murder from the Cobalt Coastlands heading for the Crimson Mirelands.

The earth has grown fat! their Honchkrows cried. The prey has gone mad! Come! Come! Come and see, it will be a feast beyond your dreams!

She had joined her murder to theirs, promised there would be enough to feed them all. And it was as they said.

The prey has gone mad.

As the animals fed on the new growth of spring, a manic vigor sunk into their bones, turning them fearful and wild- and this suited the Murkrows, who waited until the weakest of the infected began to wither from terror, from exhaustion, from self-imposed starvation. But when the Murkrows sunk their beaks into soft, pollen-ridden flesh, its frenzied sweetness began to flood their lungs until they lost the strength in their wings.

One by one, the murder of Nevermore began to fall. One by one, the murder of Nevermore began to die, until she was surrounded by strangers. Strangers with frenzied lungs. Strangers with nowhere else to go. Strangers who were running out of food. Strangers who decided it was not worth feeding a sickly oversized Honchkrow who could not muster the authority to protect them, much less command them.

And so the other Honchkrows bid their Murkrows to have court with this interloper. To drive their beaks and claws against her feathers with whatever strength or weakness their heart desires, and leave her fate to the skies.

Lord Adaman’s face pales as he hears Akari’s translations. He pulls the Diamond Clan away from the fields immediately. The harvest is abandoned, and the Pearl Clan’s iron furnaces stay unlit. Any human that passes through the Crimson Mirelands must cover their face, and force their pokemon to do the same. The clan camp, out of season, is forced to move to the Obsidian Fieldlands.

The air becomes so fresh it chokes. Pollen sways like gentle dancers on the breeze, swirling over the bodies of the dead, churned with the excitement of Beautiflies drinking their fill of blood as plentiful as nectar. Fish and frogs flee the infested water, creating protective bubbles in the air around themselves, and Combee hives overflow with poisoned honey.

In the chaos of the evacuation, a tablet in the Solaceon ruins goes missing. With a member of the Diamond Clan being the most likely suspect, Warden Calaba refuses to accept Adaman’s help. And she certainly doesn’t take kindly to Warden Arezu for alleging Lord Ursaluna has become frenzied, especially after it turns out he’s taken ill alongside many of the other pokemon of the Mirelands. All of this is understandable- Kamado certainly thought it was when explaining it to Rei- but that still leaves a big problem on their hands. Calaba had been in the middle of translating old texts about the kami, and the missing tablet was part of a cipher needed to do it. There could be crucial information about the kami and Lord Kleavor’s frenzy that they’re missing at this very moment.

If that wasn’t enough, ever since that whole thing with Lord Kleavor, people from the clans have been weirdly into the idea of fighting Rei as a kind of religious experience, to brush against the power that felled a kami. The fact that he extracted some kind of artifact from Lord Kleavor isn’t helping either. Now the two prevailing theories are that he’s blessed by almighty Sinnoh or sent to usurp it.

They’re only half right. He was sent by Arceus, but he sure wasn’t blessed. The only favor Rei is getting comes from Celebi, and she made it very clear that was happening in spite of the Original One’s designs, not because of it.

When Volo cuts through this new fervor asking to hang out, Rei leaps at the chance to leave it all behind. Volo’s battles are actually fun, and he’s brought along a new pokemon this time- a fat hungry Gible eagerly snapping at Ronin’s ankles whatever chance it can get. And that’s all well and good, but Volo’s started dropping hints about something when they hang out like Rei knows what the fuck he's talking about.

"You know, I wrote some of these scrolls myself back in the day," Volo says as they sort through shelves of wooden slips in the Solaceon Ruins. "You can see my handwriting on this one."

"What's it about?" Rei asks.

"Old pokemon wielder duels in Moonview Arena," Volo says. "It's a shame they don't do that anymore."

"I'm sure Irida and Adaman must have had a good reason," Rei offers.

Volo's brow twinges and it turns his smile strange. "You really don't know much about history, do you?"

Rei shrugs. "Didn't get the chance to."

"I could help you!" Volo offers. "I know where all the old sites are, see. I can even read the text there! Some places are more difficult to reach on foot, of course, but I'm good friends with the Warden of the Cliffs, so he takes me anywhere I like.” He taps a finger to his hat. “Even if exploring ruins doesn’t interest you, I should still introduce the two of you some time. You seem like someone Ingo would like.”

Ah. The man from Single Train 001. “He didn’t seem to like me the last time we ran into each other,” Rei admits. “He was kind of scary, actually.”

Volo chuckles. “I promise that’s just his face. You’d find the three of us have a lot in common, if you got to know him.”

“He hates me,” Rei insists. “I can guarantee he hates me.”

“He’s just got a bit of a- a-” Volo hums to himself. “Rest-ing bitch face desu,” he says in uncertain Galarica.

Huh. That was modern Galarica right there.

…Guess the phrase ‘resting bitch face’ is a lot older than Rei thought. It’s not like he knows a lot of Galarica himself outside the isms older kids would learn off the internet.

Bit of a Buneary hole to be thinking about in an ancient library, the intricacies of modern language. What are they even doing in a library, anyways?

“Did Calaba say we’re actually allowed to be here?” Rei asks. “I feel like we aren’t.”

“Some bandits pillaged the Solaceon Ruins and made off with a fragment of the wall engravings,” Volo explains. “Have you not heard of the notorious Miss Fortune sisters? They’re a trio of bandits that have hit even us Ginkgo Guild merchants more than a few times!” His voice lowers. “Not the kind of regulars I like to have, let me tell you.”

“What’s that got to do with us?”

“Mistress Calaba is doing everything she can to regain the fragment, but at 99 years old…” Volo sucks in a breath. “It’s a bit harder for her to chase leads all over the place. So what do you say, kind sir? Why not help find the fragment for the warden?”

“You want me to do it for you, don’t you?” Rei flatly guesses. “Akari said you hate making your pokemon do actual work.”

“I’ll be happy to lend you a hand!” Volo insists. “Those sisters swiped my wares too, and I’m no Ginkgo Guild merchant if I take that lying down.”

Rei silently stares at him.

“Ginter’s making me do it,” Volo quickly says. “As the only merchant with a full team, I’m the one tasked with repossessing our stolen goods. Usually we don’t bother chasing thieves, but those supplies are for the Obsidian Fieldlands evacuation. Non-negotiable stock, as it were. So I’m suggesting the two of us split the duty, hm? If you can keep the sisters distracted on arrival, I can secure our goods and our cipher fragment. Two Starlys in one stone!”

“Alright,” Rei says. “It can’t take that long, right?”

=#[o]#=

“Ugh, that took way too long!” Clover complains from the top of her Abomasnow. “So not worth it!”

“Maybe if you hadn’t grabbed a piece of the wall on your way out, it wouldn’t have taken so long in the first place,” Coin mutters at her side.

“Gimme a break! I panicked! I didn’t want us to get in trouble for knocking over one of the carvings!”

“Which got us chased by the Galaxy Team,” Coin continues for her. “And now we’ve lost our entire stash we got from the last Ginkgo Guild job earlier.”

Clover puffs her cheeks. “Don’t make fun of me!”

Coin looks off to the side. “I’m just saying what happened.”

Charm lifts her head up from the river, wiping the last bit of makeup off her face. “Don’t fight, girls. We got food in our bellies with more to spare. That’s good enough.”

“All that food was supposed to be for the spirits,” Clover uneasily points out. “I know you’re not from here, Charm, but that was… that just felt wrong.”

“The dead aren’t here to punish us either way, and we need to eat.” Charm leans against her Gengar, looking up at Coin. “How long until the Warden makes his rounds?”

“With his eyes, he’s lucky to even wake before noon,” Coin recalls. “In the camp, he’ll go out earlier to socialize, but out here? He won’t dare leave his yurt until the sun starts to sink.”

“I TRY TO WAKE MYSELF UP AT ELEVEN, ACTUALLY!”

Charm and Clover startle at the shape that drops down from the trees. "Don't sneak up on us like that!" Clover cries out.

"I live here, wayward passengers," the Warden bluntly says as his ragged coat settles. "You are the ones sneaking up on me, if anything." 

"It's a free world, isn't it?" Charm lightly challenges. "Anyone can pass through the holy highlands as much as they like."

The Warden's eyes practically glaze over as Charm speaks, coasting apathetically over her features before focusing on the haphazard remains of Coin's Pearl Clan tunic. "Oume?" he calls out, voice softening. "What are you doing here? Did Irida send you?"

"She never sends me, kitsune-oji," Coin corrects. "I just come here sometimes with my friends."

As far as the world needs to know or care, Omatsu, Otake, and Oume are gone- only Charm, Clover, and Coin remain. But as long as Coin keeps answering to her old name, Warden Ingo will always remember his young clan kin before any ambition of the Miss Fortunes.

(Damn that old fox for never getting the memo.)

"You all must have had a prodigious commute to be here at this time!" The Warden laughs wearily, swaying slightly on his feet. "Goodness. I wish I had your energy this early in the morning."

"You're usually out later than this," Coin notes.

"Ah. I must have lost track of time. No wonder my eyes are in such sore need of maintenance."

Clover frowns. "Are you okay-"

"If you wish to rest your engines here, I'm afraid I must reroute you," the Warden apologetically insists, ignoring Clover's question entirely. "The Coronet Highlands have become an inoperable station."

"We need to travel through here to get to the Icelands," Charm points out. "There's no other way unless we want to take the long way around."

"Not to worry, passenger!" The Warden sharply points upward at the Alakazam floating over his head. "Aza can process your ticket for transfer. Where are you headed?"

"Hibernal Caves," Coin answers, "but why are you-"

The world stutters, and the sight of the Highlands disappears into ice and snow.

"Rude," Clover mutters under her breath. "Doesn't he usually like talking our ears off?"

"Mostly mine," Coin quips. "Your Diamond Clan leftovers make him shy."

"They do not!"

"Is he always that… terse?" Charm asks. "I heard he visited Jubilife when I lived there, but I never had much free time in the Construction Corps."

"No, he's never like that," Coin reveals. "Not to anyone in the Pearl Clan at least. I think we should bring it up to Warden Gaeric. Something's wrong."

A warning note enters Charm's voice. "Coin, that's dangerous."

"I don't want the only person stupid enough to care about us to die in the mountains because no one was paying attention!" Coin snaps. "And the Wardens don't care about mortal laws, anyways. He's not going to turn us in."

=#[o]#=

“Well now I have to believe you,” Gaeric says as he opens the flap of his yurt again. “I just had three girls telling me about getting forced out of the Highlands the same way you did.”

Melli lets out an offended noise. “Would I lie to you, Gaeric?”

Gaeric shrugs. “What can I say? You love to complain. It’s just as likely he got irritated with your sorry ass and removed you from the conversation. He’s blunt like that sometimes.”

“When Ingo doesn’t want to be somewhere, he leaves,” Melli points out. “He doesn’t make other people leave.”

Gaeric considers the point and nods. “Fair enough!”

“It was quite concerning, honestly! He’d called over Lady Sneasler to come look at the body, and then he suddenly got this horrified look on his face.” He stares at Gaeric’s utter non-reaction and frowns. “I feel like you should be more worried about this.”

“He’s been acting odd for a decade now, and he’s still doing just fine,” Gaeric dismisses. “Go check on him yourself if you’re so worried.” 

Melli’s abject disappointment in Gaeric must be showing on his face, because Gaeric sighs loudly, dragging a callused hand over his beard.

“Melli,” Gaeric starts, “it’s not that I don’t care about what you’re saying. But I’ve known the ins and outs of that man a lot longer than you, and if his head’s actually knocked itself out of place, the last thing he would want is some barely recognizable strangers hovering around and asking if he’s alright. He-”

Gaeric lets out a loud breath.

“No. Warden or not, I’m not going to talk about this with someone from the Diamond Clan. Lord Avalugg and I will see you back to the Highlands and you can sort this out with Ingo yourself.”

By the time they make it to the edge of Whiteout Valley, Melli manages to convince himself it might have been nothing after all. Gaeric had been so vehemently defensive over the idea of anything being amiss with Ingo that Melli almost feels bad for bringing it up in the first place. He doesn’t know the whole history of Ingo’s induction into the clans, but he’s heard… talk. Especially from the older members of the Diamond Clan. The decision to keep him alive, much less appoint him a Warden, was controversial in more conservative circles. Maybe Melli is seeing things because he’s predisposed to. Maybe he should try not to worry.

The Steelix’s body has been moved. Ingo is watching Melli’s approach from the Celestica Trail.

Melli can’t tell where his pokemon are. He can’t see them. Ingo doesn’t acknowledge their absence. But Melli can hear them behind the trees and stones, feel the watchful weight of their gazes. The Warden who commands them doesn’t look like he’s slept since Melli left.

“Are you afraid of gods?” Ingo suddenly asks.

Melli raises a prim eyebrow. “I fear almighty Sinnoh as much as the next person, but our kami are shepherds, not hunters. Why do you ask?”

Ingo clicks something in his hand. Those odd capture balls from the Galaxy Team, an inverted facsimile of an Electrode’s image.