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The settlers arrive in Hisui in waves. The first ones were from Ransei to the south, not completely unfamiliar, for the coastal wardens had met their fishermen a good few times while patrolling the waters. They’ve traded with the clans before, and their languages, by now, share enough vocabulary that communication with them is technically not difficult. They find a peaceful patch of grass in the Obsidian Fieldlands, and set up a small settlement of their own; Jubilife, they call it. Far away from the heart of the clans, they make a little life of their own, and soon become part of the landscape.
The Pearl Clan, the Diamond Clan, and the Ranseians. In Irida’s memory, these are – have always been, the people who live in this space Almighty Sinnoh crafted, though the elders speak of a time, before she was old enough to remember, where there was only the clans and never the outsiders. From two to three, a simple, lasting balance, until the people of Ransei are not the only visitors upon Hisui’s soil.
The next wave of settlers comes, a few years later, from much further away; Ransei has relations with many other countries, far, far away, across the sea, and when the people of Ransei decided to step foot into Hisui, so did those of these other countries – Kalos, Paldea, Galar, completely unfamiliar and new. Their people are tall and broad, and speak in completely foreign tongues. They move into Jubilife, with the Ranseians, and with them their own strange practices.
One of these settlers is a man, an Angus Laventon, with the title of ‘Professor’; which, as the settlers explain, means he knows a lot, like the sages and elders in the village. While he researches Pokèmon, mostly, he also talks about a lot of other things; stories from his homeland of Galar, folktales and legends of valiant ‘knights’ and kindly ‘saints’.
One of these legends in particular especially enthralls the children of the clans, who frequently gather in the professor’s office to hear his tales, and Irida is no exception. A story about a winter night, one marked with celebrations across the sea, occurring near, but not quite on, the winter solstice.
“On Christmas Eve, Santa Claus brings gifts for all the good children, and coal for all the naughty ones. He rides across the sky, in a sled pulled by Stantler –”
“Why not Wyrdeer?”
“ – maybe they’re Wyrdeer. They move so quickly to deliver presents to all the children of the world, it’s rather hard to see.” The professor explains, with a warm smile. “And then, he enters each and every person’s house, and places gifts in their stockings (“He means socks,” an older girl from the Diamond Clan, Mai, whispers to some confused children) – though, if one did not own a single stocking, he would still bring gifts for them nonetheless. And then, when he is done, he leaves, as quietly as he came, so he would not disturb anyone from their merry sleep.”
“Wow…” The children chatter excitedly among themselves, the prospect of gifts – from a magic man from the heavens! – igniting a spark.
“But of course, you ought to be good children before that! For Santa Claus doesn’t give presents to bad children, only coal.” Professor Laventon reminds them.
“I’d love to have some more coal, it’s freezing back home…” Another child from her clan mutters. Gradually, the children disperse, back to their daily activities – helping their parents with their work, or returning to their games, or finding another settler to watch. Not Irida, however. She’s finished her homework for the day – made sure to do it before coming to listen to the professor’s stories with the other kids – and she doesn’t have parents to help.
“Professor Laventon?”
The tanned man turns to her, the fluff on his hat bobbing slightly. “Yes, Irida, my girl?”
“Could you tell me more about Santa Claus, please?”
“Of course,” he replies gently. “Here, have a seat. What would you like to know?”
“Hmmm…” she hesitates. “...What does Santa Claus look like?”
“Ah, are you planning on staying up to see him? I used to do the same, when I was a young lad! Brings back many jolly memories, it does!” He chuckles. “Well, he always wears a bright red coat, lined with white fur, and black boots. His hair is white, and he has a rather full beard. His cheeks are rosy and warm, and his laughter is full and loud – quite the merry fellow he is, that Santa Claus.”
Irida nods seriously, paying rapt attention to his description. “And how should I address him when I meet him?”
“He is a jovial, friendly chap; simply ‘Santa’ or ‘Santa Claus’ ought to do the trick. But if you’d prefer, some call him Saint Nicholas.”
“And where does he stay when he’s not travelling the world?”
“Far, far in the north,” the professor replies, “he stays in a very cold place, making his toys and caring for his Pokèmon, who think him a wonderful friend.”
She nods in understanding. “He’s just like me, then. I think I know Santa Claus better now. Thank you, Professor!”
Laventon smiles down at her kindly. “It was no trouble at all, my girl. If you find yourself with any more questions, you’re always welcome to ask. I am a man pursuing knowledge; it’s always a pleasure to share what I do know. My door is always open.”
***
“You really believe Santa Claus is real?”
Irida glares at the older boy – Adaman, his name is, one of the prospective future heads of the Diamond Clan, and also, in her opinion, a rude, loud oaf. What she thinks about beyond her studies should not be his business.
“You don’t?”
“Of course I don’t. The settlers say all sorts of things, but not all of them are true.” He plops himself down beside her, barging into her space on this cliff completely uninvited. Rude. “If Santa was real, there’s no way he would’ve missed our people. I’ve never received any gifts from weird magic old men on the winter solstice, ever, and I’m three years older than you.”
“Maybe you aren’t a good enough person for Santa Claus to ever give you presents.” Irida retorts, “did you check your door for coal lately?”
“Well, did you get any presents last year?”
She huffs, and folds her arms sullenly. She doesn’t have an answer to that which wouldn’t concede anything to Adaman.
“Exactly.”
“Urgh, whatever. We’ll see when Santa gives me gifts this year and not you, because you’re mean.” Irida mutters.
“And we’ll see when you don’t get any gifts either, because Santa isn’t real.” He replies, and she bites down the urge to just kick him over the edge of the cliff. She is not going to start another war between the clans over whatever this idiot believes. The elders wouldn’t like it.
***
On a cold, quiet night, near the winter solstice, Irida is tossing and turning on her mat, unable to sleep, when she hears something – the screams of a man, far, far above her.
It’s the fastest she’s ever gotten out of bed, as she bolts out of her tent, looking up at the sky above. A golden streak of light burns across the night sky, at its head a figure, a black silhouette in the glow. The light is streaking towards the Coronet Highlands, so she quickly pulls out her flute to summon Lord Braviary for an urgent ride, sparing no second – not even to wake her Eevee, still slumbering peacefully in her tent.
As she touches down on one of the lower cliffs, the screams having long faded away, she immediately catches sight of the person in the light, now lying unconscious in the snow. A few Sneasels clamber up over the edge of the cliff, as she watches – Lord Sneasler’s strongest kit, the anticipated future Lady Sneasler, leading a swarm of her siblings up the mountain, seemingly also curious about this man who had landed in their domain.
A man, riding across the sky. The thought which had been consuming her for the last few months, since she heard Professor Laventon’s stories, burns brighter than ever. She approaches the prone figure, and looks him over carefully.
White hair? Check! No beard, but maybe he cut it off.
Black boots? Check!
Red coat with white trim? …Well, his coat has a lot of red on it, and white lining, even if there is also a lot of black, so… check!
Irida can feel her heart pumping. Take that, Adaman! Santa Claus is real, and she just found him!
…Though, he’s unconscious, and most likely badly hurt; perhaps in great pain, from how furiously he’s frowning. She can’t see any injuries, but a fall from that height isn’t going to leave anyone unscathed. Also, he’s lying in the snow in the deep of winter. She can’t just leave him here and wait for him to wake up.
So, she turns to the Sneasels, a few of whom are by now poking and prodding inquisitively at the sky-faller. “Excuse me, but… could you help me bring this man to shelter? Please find the nicest cave to put him in! He’s a very, very special guest.”
The Sneasels agree, in a cacophony of chirps, and pick the unconscious man up. It takes nine Sneasels to carry him, the Noble Heir at the helm; he’s very tall, like the Galarians.
“Thank you!” Irida calls, and quickly rushes after the horde of Sneasels, already thinking about what else she should do. Find a Blissey to heal Santa Claus, for one, and then… find him a nice blanket so he won’t be cold? There’s really a lot…
***
The first thing Ingo sees, as he opens his eyes, blinking away the haze of fatigue, is a wide-eyed little girl staring at him intently.
“Hello, Mr. Santa Claus!” She says, cheerily.
“Wh – I’m sorry?! ” The words take a while to register. His head hurts, as he tries his utmost to think; to process, just what situation he’s woken up to; to remember, just how he arrived at this station. Yet his mind is drawing a blank. He feels his frown deepen as the little girl continues on, visibly a little shaken, but still steady on her tracks.
“You’re Mr. Santa Claus, right? I-it’s nice to meet you! Sorry this cave is a little scary, I thought it would be best to get you out of the snow first –”
Okay. Cave. They’re in a cave, a rather cold one, and a child is calling him Santa Claus. Even in his foggy, addled condition, he’s pretty sure that is not his name. He knows who Santa is, at least, and he most certainly is a person other than him.
Ignore how he got here for now. He can traverse these carriages one at a time, starting from the one thing he knows.
“...Excuse me, young miss,” he cuts the excitable girl off, apologetic, “but I do believe you may have the wrong person.” It happens a lot to him, he knows. He’s frequently mistaken for… whom? Certainly not Santa Claus. That one’s new. He thinks.
“Oh. U-um, do you prefer the name Saint Nicholas? Sorry!”
“...No, that’s also not my name. I am the – the –” He struggles to find the words; it’s a well-rehearsed script, he knows, the words are at the tip of his tongue, but he’s truly forgotten what to say. After stuttering for a few moments, he finally settles on, “my name is Ingo. I am most certainly not the Santa Claus you speak of, young miss. My deepest apologies.”
“You aren’t?” The child before him sags in disappointment. “But… you fell from the sky, and you look a lot like the stories said, and you’re also really loud like the stories, and…”
He can’t help but feel rather sad, too, seeing this young girl’s hopes dashed. Though, the first part of her statement…“Perhaps – pardon me, young miss, but what did you mean by my having fallen from the sky? I remember barely anything of how I arrived here. Ah, and – I have not asked for your name yet, my apologies. That was rather impolite of me.”
“Oh, umm…” She hesitates, a little nervous. “M-my name is Irida! There was a golden light travelling across the sky, and you were in it, then you fell and landed here in the Coronet Highlands! I found you in the snow, so all the Sneasels and I brought you to this cave because it’s even colder and wetter outside. Then I found a Blissey so your injuries could be healed, and we sealed up the cave so no snow would come in, and also so you wouldn’t leave immediately because this cave is scary...”
“Hold, pull the brakes – whatever do you mean, all the Sneasels?”
Irida nods, perhaps now more emboldened. “…Well, maybe not all, but a lot of Sneasels! See?”
He pushes himself up, pain shooting through his frame as he unfurls his limbs. Looking around, not without a wince, he sees the Pokèmon now, crouching around the edges of the small chamber – recognisably Sneasels, but he’s pretty sure no Sneasel is supposed to be this… purple.
“They’re venomous!” The girl adds cheerfully.
And they’re encircled around the two of them; he’s surrounded. Trapped. Not to mention… “You sealed the entrance off to prevent my escape?”
“Mm-hm! Because I thought you were Santa Claus and I – I really, really wanted to talk to Santa, so I couldn’t risk him leaving before I could talk to him…I guess that was really selfish, now…” she confirms, a tinge of guilt in her voice as she trails off. “I’m sorry.”
And Ingo can’t bring himself to feel particularly angry at this child, even despite this whole situation – despite literally being captured by her tiny self and too many Sneasels, held in this dark cave. He was (probably) a child once, after all, and children have all sorts of strange ideas. Which includes this previous notion that he is Santa, apparently.
“Kidnapping and trapping people is generally a bad thing to do, young lady, even if it’s someone you hope to talk to. It scares people and keeps them from going where they’re supposed to be. I hope you realise that.”
“I do. I’m super, super sorry!” She bows, blushing with shame and guilt.
“...It’s alright. So long as you don’t do the same again – though, in this situation…” he thinks back to what else Irida had mentioned, “you also healed me, and kept me safe from the elements while I was unconscious. So, thank you.”
“I-it’s alright! You weren’t really injured that badly, actually, and the weather outside isn’t that bad – though, this cave is a lot warmer…”
She stares at him, seemingly pensive, before her eyes widen. “Wait! You were mostly okay after falling from really high in the sky, and you said you don’t remember how you got here – how much do you remember, Mr. Ingo?”
“...Almost nothing. Not of my past, and especially how I ended up in the sky to fall down here.” He’s scoured his mind, searching the tracks in vain, and he has yet to find any trace of his carriage of memories, even after waking up for a while.
At his response, Irida beams, the light returning to her eyes. “Which means you could still actually really be Santa Claus!” She exclaims excitedly. “It’s just that you don’t remember it. Because I don’t think a lot of people have white hair, a loud voice, red clothes, black boots and come from the sky –”
“No,” he holds up an aching hand, stopping her in her tracks. “I’m quite certain I am not Santa Claus, even without other knowledge of who I am.”
“But how are you so sure?” The little girl presses.
“Because –” And then he makes an emergency stop, before the words can rush out of his mouth. For Irida is looking up at him with so much hope, so much innocence in her eyes.
He isn’t Santa; it would be a massive lie to say he was, not to mention it would be extremely difficult to keep that charade up. But the other thing, that easy reason he was about to say…
How is he supposed to tell a young child that Santa Claus isn’t real?
“Because Santa is – well, I must’ve heard about him quite frequently back where I came from, so we are definitely two different people.” He finally decides to say, which seems to satisfy the little girl, though she now seems quite deflated, the gleam vanishing from her eyes yet again. Alas, either way, he would’ve had to dash her hopes; it’s not a good feeling.
“Ah, if I may, young miss Irida – I’m sorry for having let you down. You brought me to a safe place, away from the snow, and treated my injuries. I hope you didn’t do it just because you assumed I was Santa?” He asks, and Irida shakes her head.
“I would’ve done it for anyone. Leaving someone who needs help in the wild like that is just wrong. What if something worse happened to them because you didn’t bother to help?”
“That is very kind of you. Bravo. With that, well – I may not be Santa Claus, but if there is something you were hoping to ask him for, I aim to give you those promised gifts. Consider it as gratitude for saving my life,” he offers gently.
To which, the young girl tenses, and looks away sadly. “...It’s okay, Mr. Ingo. I was going to ask for something only a magic man from the heavens like Santa Claus could give me.”
“And what would that be?” he questions.
“I… I was going to ask Santa to bring my mother back to life.”
Oh.
“Mother died six months ago. She was really ill. I miss her a lot. I didn’t really get to spend much time with her, but she was really strong, and really wise, and super important in my clan. She was the Lord of the Cliffs’ Warden. I can’t fill the same space she once did, and I wish she was still here to teach me how. I wish she was here to hug me and tell me stories. I - I w-wish…” She sniffles, eyes brimming with tears, shaking, before the sniffles turn into sobs.
Ingo isn’t experienced with children; and yet, as he reaches out to Irida awkwardly, he instead finds himself caught in a tight hug in response, one which he returns cautiously; patting her back rhythmically as she cries.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he finally says, as she calms.
“It’s alright. You weren’t the one to kill her. But that’s why I really, really wanted to talk to Santa. Because I don’t think anyone else besides Almighty Sinnoh (the deity of this place, he infers) could bring her back, and Almighty Sinnoh doesn’t revive dead people ‘cause it’s ‘against the laws of nature’.” Irida replies, resigned. “Though, maybe Santa Claus wouldn’t be reviving the dead, either, because Almighty Sinnoh would be in charge of him and everyone else.”
He frankly doesn’t know how to respond; to this young child who has already seen such grief in her short life. “I – my apologies if this is rather insensitive, then, but was there anything else you were going to request from Santa?”
“... I had one more idea. In case Santa Claus couldn’t bring people back to life.” Irida pauses, uncertain, “but it’s also something a human can’t do.”
He motions for her to go on, which she does, hesitantly. “I… I wanted a father for the solstice.”
“A father? As in… a dad? A papa?”
“Yes. I’ve never had a father before, only a mother.” She explains. “According to the elders, it’s abnormal, because everyone else has a father, so I also want one so I won’t be alone and feel weird when all our families gather for festivals.”
Oh, this poor child. He stares at Irida, and her red-rimmed eyes, and he can’t bear to bring her any more disappointment. Though, fortunately – it’s insane. Unrealistic. But he can, technically, actually grant her wish, so she may not walk away from all this empty-handed.
“Actually, I think this request of yours is possible, though I fear you would not like how it would be fulfilled.”
“How?”
He meets her hopeful gaze, and he knows he is already well and set on these tracks – if she agrees to his outlandish suggestion.
“I don’t remember having any other commitments, or anywhere else I’m supposed to be. I’m not sure why I arrived here, but I do wonder if it was fate in a sense. I have no other duty to answer to, so, if you are in need of a father, I…”
“You’re really offering? You… you’re gonna be my father?” She asks, desperation, shock, but also… happiness in her voice.
“If you’ll have me. I don’t have any memory of being a dad before, but I aim to be the ideal father for you, to do my utmost in caring for you as if you were my own blood -”
“Yes!” Irida reaches over, wrapping him in another embrace. For some reason, he feels something damp at the edge of his eyes. “Yes, I really, really want you to be my father! I want a cool father from the sky! Um… what should I address you as?”
“‘Dad’ works rather fine.” Ingo says, trying his utmost to keep his voice calm. “Now that it seems things are settled, shall we head out of this cave and back to your home? It would be rather difficult for me to be your father remotely.”
She smiles, and tugs on one of his hands, dragging him towards what appears to be the blocked entrance; a Blissey and a group of purple Sneasels immediately springing to action, removing rocks and sticks and clearing the way.
And, when they both step out into the morning sun, he looks over the snow-covered cliffs at this unfamiliar land – Hisui, his new daughter tells him is its name, and she rambles on adorably about everything she knows of the land, the space of Almighty Sinnoh. They will have to depart for her village shortly, for she wasn’t supposed to have been sneaking out at night to begin with.
Before they leave this station, however, Irida seems to have one last word to say.
***
“Take that, Adaman, you oaf!” Irida shouts towards the Crimson Mirelands, triumphant. She’s been a good kid ever since Professor Laventon told her of this legend, barring sneaking out this one time. And now, it’s paid off.
“Santa Claus is real and he gave me a dad for the solstice!”