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Chapter Text

He thinks there might have been a train crash.

It must have been, right? 

Even though that doesn’t make any sense. 

But what else could it have been?

Even though the Nimbasa trains are completely automated.  

Had the computer failed? No, no, the car would have still had a manual terminal. He would have been able to intervene. And even if he hadn’t, what about the sensors on the track? The rail staff at the terminal would have known something was wrong, they could have activated the emergency brakes!

Even though there hasn’t been a train crash since they took charge of the station.

(How else did he get here, then? What is this place?)

Even though the trains are physically incapable of reaching a derailing velocity without being overclocked. 

Unless there’d been an electric type pokemon on board, but there hadn’t. (Had there?) He’d been on the old Single Train, one last loop before it headed back to the roundhouse in Anville Town. It was already running late, but there was a passenger on board, they needed to-

-to…

…he can’t recall.

There was a passenger. And the train was nowhere to be found, he- he’d gone up the mountain, hadn’t he? To try and get his bearings, see where the car could have derailed. It hadn’t done any good- the scenery wasn’t like anything in Nimbasa, let alone Unov…

Un…

…where did he just come from again?

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.

Why did he go climbing a mountain in the first place? Without his pokemon, no less? The sun is starting to set, why didn’t he think to bring Chande- Ch-

-his-

He feels like he’s forgetting something.

“My name is Ingo Tamadensha,” he mutters to himself. “I am- I am 30 years old. I’m the Subway Boss of Nimbasa City. I have a pokemon team with Chandelure, Klinklang, Excadrill, Boldore, and Haxorus. My Haxorus knows Earthquake and-” Ingo laughs lightly to himself. “My brother hates it.”

My brother.

“Emmet Tamadensha is my brother. My twin brother. My little brother. He’s the other Subway Boss. We’re a two-car train!”

His name is Ingo Tamadensha. There is a passenger missing. There’s been a train accident. He needs to find his brother. 

“It’s fine,” Ingo whispers as he walks down the snowy slope. “I didn’t forget. It’s fine.”

He has an adopted niece. Just the one. From the dragon village in Johto, the one his mothers came from. She has a Haxorus, just like him, and she’s- she’s a Champion! A league Champion for two years and counting! Him and Emmet always laugh when they see-

-when they-

-he can’t remember what her name was.

He can’t even remember what she looks like.

Ingo takes a shuddering breath. He needs to get down from the mountain. He is… simply not operating in optimal conditions! He was in a train crash. His body is just going into shock.

He needs to find the passenger. He needs to find his brother.

But the mountain doesn’t seem to end. All he sees is more snow, more rocks, more slopes.

He needs to find his brother. He needs to remember how to find his brother.

“My name is Ingo Tamadensha, I’m 30 years old, I’m- I’m the-”

His train of thought stutters to a weak, rusted halt. He doesn’t know what he was trying to say.

He watches the sun sink into the jaws of the highlands, its dying light coaxing twisted shadows to leap from the sparse trees. His coat has long been weighed down by the frozen damp of snow- at this rate, keeping it close to his body will probably make him freeze even faster, and the rest of his clothes aren’t faring much better.

Ingo wraps his arms around himself and realizes, dimly, he’ll probably die before he remembers why he can’t stand to part with his coat.

He keeps walking.

His name is Ingo Tamadensha. Icy cold burns his breath, and frost clings at his eyelids as he fights to keep them open. He’s been derailed. He needs to find his two-car train.

His fingers shake when a gust of wind nearly blows off his hat.

He feels like he’s been walking for his entire life.

Something bumps into his leg. He looks down. A white Zorua with a cloudy, red-tinged mane stands on its hind legs, short claws sinking into his coat while it sniffs at his pockets. He lets his hands follow the baleful yellow eyes of his new companion, and finds a small bag of crackers.

“Oh, I- I see,” Ingo stammers, trying to keep his shivering voice in check. “You simply want-t-t-t to refuel. I d-don’t see why not.”

(At the rate he’s going, it’s not like he’ll be needing food much longer anyways.)

He kneels behind a rocky outcrop to shelter them both from the wind. The kit’s warm tongue scrapes for crumbs on his hand while he dares to scratch lightly at its soft ruff between its ears. As soon as it runs out of food to look for, it jumps up at his knees.

His shivering hands lightly wave the Zorua’s paws up and down. “These are very unsafe driving conditions for your class of vehicle. It would be much safer if you took public transport.”

The Zorua yips happily. He gently picks it up, resting its fluffy body inside the meager shelter of his coat.

“Thank you for riding the- the- the- the Nimbasa City Subway. Please stand clear of the automatic doors when they close, stow your luggage, and secure any pokemon passengers.” Ingo tips his hat. “All aboard.”

They should take temporary shelter somewhere before trying to continue to their destination. As much as it terrifies him to rest, the kit in his arms shouldn’t travel too far from its pack’s territory.

Ingo is the conductor. The Zorua is the passenger. Passenger safety is the number one priority.

He finds a tree. He curls around his passenger in the hollow of its wood, turning his coat towards the harsh winds.

Ingo is the conductor. He must ensure the safety of his passenger.

Ingo Tamadensha, he whispers to himself. My name is Ingo Tamadensha.

Ingo Tamade sha.

Ingotamadesha.

Ingotamade

Ingotama        a

Ingo ta m a d

I ng o tttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt-

Chapter Text

Nakkara doesn’t bother to turn around to check who enters her home. She knows the footsteps of every one of her clan members by heart- and a Warden, most of all, deserves to be nothing less than known.

“Warden Itachi. It’s unusual to see you back so soon.” He prefers sitrus with his chestoberry tea, Nakkara recalls. She makes sure to grab a few slices while the tea boils. “Did something happen in the Highlands?”

Itachi sighs and lowers his hood, pushing graying lavender hair away from his lined face. “There haven’t been any recent attacks, but all the pokemon have gone silent since the last surge- and not in a good way. Even my Lord Sneasler grows troubled when we scale the mountains.”

“Since the last surge,” Nakkara neutrally repeats. “The surge you found that strange man in.”

Three days ago, a tear opened in the skies of the Alabaster Icelands and spat something out. Unusual, but only one of many sporadic occurrences that have become far too normal as of late. When Nakkara had bid Itachi to investigate, he’d only found one thing near the crash site- a pale worn man being hauled by a Zoroark like a corpse.

Many things fall out of the rifts. These swollen red gashes in the almighty Sinnoh’s back crack like thunder, leaving foreign plants and pokemon in their wake. But only ever that.

It’s never spat out people before.

“He’s what I’m here for, actually,” Itachi admits, sitting down on the floor across from her. “Calaba said he was showing signs of psychic damage.”

“She would have given him up for dead if your Lord hadn’t insisted,” Nakkara notes.

Itachi’s stern face almost quirks into a dry smile. (Almost.) “I’m aware. So you’d forgive me, surely, if I asked after his condition. Is he alright? Is he-” His voice trails off. “-salvageable?”

A cruel question, but necessary. Poison can be given antidote. Burns and bites can be healed. Even if treated late, such things are survivable. Manageable. But the mind is more fickle than the body, and far more fragile. Even a feeble Chimecho could render someone deaf and mute under the right conditions.

“Calaba complained about him speaking in tongues before he started muttering anything close to Sinoan, but he still possesses his faculties. He’s only worn out from the cold.” 

She pauses. 

“He’s very odd.”

“Ah, yes,” Itachi flatly says. “The man who fell out of the sky speaking tongues is odd. An unprecedented turn of events.”

“Warden.” Nakkara moves the kettle away from the fire, pouring the tea into sitrus laden cups. “He’s odd.”

Itachi’s stern face freezes. “How so?”

“His face hardly changes expression,” Nakkara starts. “Everything we asked about him was met with utter confusion. He looks baffled by the most basic human things, and when I asked for his name, he hesitated. No one faults you for your kindness, Itachi, but… you know Zoroarks can mimic even human speech.”

Itachi’s hands curl into his tunic. “Surely you can’t judge the poor man’s humanity in so little time.”

“He seems harmless for now,” Nakkara concedes. “But the clan will need to make a decision about him soon. I expect you to be there, and I expect you to be rational about it. Don’t let your compassion cloud your duties.”

Itachi bows his head. “I understand, Lady Nakkara.”

“Thank you.” Nakkara smiles. “Now, enough of that sordid business. Have some tea. I remembered your favorite.”

=#[o]#=

There’s a Zoroark man in Mother’s house.

All thin and ghostly. Even with the warm Pearl clan clothes he’s been given, even with the torn coat and hat he practically fought the other villagers to keep, it doesn’t hide how thin he is. Skin the color of faded paper, silvery hair bunching up like a Zoroark’s mane on the top of his head and framing the sides of his narrow face. His pale eyes stare at Irida from across the room, glowing from the fire of the chimney.

Fox-faced, Palina had good-naturedly surmised. Inhuman, Calaba had warningly spat.

Mother says no one really knows what to do with him. The idea of letting a strange creature roam free in the village feels dangerous, but Zoroarks are notoriously pack protective, and they hold strong grudges- if they throw him out, it might risk the wrath of other wild pokemon.

He doesn’t seem very dangerous to Irida, though. He just seems lost.

“Lady Nakkara is not here, miss,” the man suddenly says. “Her train has departed temporarily to another station! She expects to be back by dinner.”

“I know,” Irida responds. “She’s my mother.”

His eyes brighten. “Oh, I see! Yes, now that I think about it, you look very much alike!”

His expression hasn’t moved one bit, but he sounds so much more… animated than Irida expected. And a little loud.

“You don’t have to shout at me,” Irida giggles. “I’m right here.”

The man loudly slaps his hand on the wooden floor. “I DEEPLY APOLOGIZE!” He pauses, thin brows frowning, and continues in a quieter voice. “I will… try to adjust.”

“Nooo! It’s nice! I promise.”

The man’s impassive face stutters, and his piercing stare dims slightly. “That’s very kind, miss. If I must be honest, you’re probably the only one who thinks so.” His hands catch on the metal buttons of his long dark coat. “I won’t bother you with the details. The conductor should not bother his passengers with unprofessional matters. Especially a passenger so young.”

Irida’s cheeks puff with spite. “I’m not a child! I’m six years old!”

The man stares at her silently.

“You listen to me, mister Zoroark.” Irida points demandingly at his face. “I am the heir of the Pearl clan! You will answer my questions! I, uh- I command it!”

The man raises his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

“I’m the conduction now! I said so!”

The man’s expression softens, and he puts his hat firmly back on his head, as if he were just about to leave on a journey. “If you insist, Lady Irida, I will escort you to your destination.” He lets out a huffing breath and holds his hands together. “Your family has so many questions about me, but I can’t seem to answer them, no matter how hard I try. And even when I do, they seem… disappointed. I wish I could do more, but… I can’t.”

Irida stares at him in surprise.

The man fidgets under her scrutiny. “You did ask. Perhaps I shouldn’t have indulged.”

Irida rests her hand on her knuckles. “I did not expect a Zoroark to have so many problems.”

The man points at her, arm held out at a disconcertingly straight angle. “There you are with that Zoroark talk again! I heard the other villagers saying it too. Is your clan really convinced I’m some sort of pokemon?”

“You do act very strange,” Irida insists. “And you look like a Shiny. Even your eyes glow.” She squints at him. “Can you prove you’re not a pokemon?”

“I-” The man holds his finger up, and frowns. “Oh, dear. I suppose I can’t. It doesn’t sound right, but I don’t know enough about myself to argue.” He lets out a huffing sound, almost like a laugh. “Bravo, Lady Irida. You’ve bested me.”

“The elders don’t like Zoroarks because they’re wicked to people,” Irida says. “But you’re nice, aren’t you? I think they’ll let you stay.”

“I hope so, Lady Irida.”

Chapter Text

In Ingo’s defense, he just wanted some apricorns.

The Pearl clan leaves him to his own devices most days with nothing but a knife and vague instructions to try to be back to one of their yurts by nightfall, as well as keeping his distance from anyone in the Diamond clan.

Whatever that means.

And while he’s sure that the Pearl clan are all lovely, lovely people who wouldn’t let him starve- they did give him warm clothes and a place to sleep- he doesn’t want to bother them any more than they’re comfortable with. 

Besides, he doesn’t really mind being by himself a lot of the time. The company of humans feels… strange. Or maybe not the humans themselves. Something in their body language, the unclear things they leave unsaid, and the- the eyes. Those staring eyes. Whoever Ingo used to be before, this skin-crawling feeling he gets when people make him look at them feels like an old friend.

(Maybe he really is a Zoroark.)

So he’s just- he’s just going to wander around for a bit. He’s proving to have an uncanny sense of direction, and he’ll probably need to get a lay of the land anyways. A land with lots and lots of food! Like apricorns!

It’s strange, though. All the apricorns he sees around here are brown, and every time he sees one, he feels surprised. Like he’d expected something different. Maybe apricorns look different, wherever he comes from.

He is from somewhere different, apparently. None of the other humans recognize him, and he supposedly fell out of some… tear in the sky that opens to somewhere else. Somewhere else that has different apricorns.

Like… red. Or white. Red and white? Red and white and round- that feels right, for some reason. Not that it particularly matters. An apricorn is an apricorn.

Ingo hooks his foot into a knot in the tree and leans on the branches, knocking speculatively on the brown shells of the fruits.

Something quietly chirrs to his right. He looks down, finding a squat, root-like pokemon looking up at him with small eyes, green fronds reaching up towards him out of a faded white body.

“Snover, the Frost Tree pokemon.” Ingo blinks. “How did I know that?”

The Snover waggles its white shaggy head. “Snooo!”

Ingo adjusts his perch and puts his hand on one of the apricorns. “Did you want one?”

The Snover insistently slaps the trunk of the tree. Ingo frowns, looking at the other branches, and finds a Combee hive resting dangerously close to his face.

“I see! Your legs are too short to climb for it.” Ingo adjusts his hat with thought. “Couldn’t you just use Leafage?”

The Snover stares at him blankly.

“Leafage. Like-” Ingo takes a few apricorn leaves in his hand and flicks them away. “But on the branch.” He points to the base of the hive. “I think you could do it!” A pause. “Unless you don’t know how. Or you’re not old enough. Or I don’t know what I’m talking about-”

Before Ingo can gaslight himself any more than he already has, the Snover shoots a flurry of leaves out of its hand, jostling the hive out of the tree.

As well as Ingo. And several ripe apricorns.

Ingo lies on the ground before chuckling and clapping his hands together. “Bravo! Your talent has brought you to the destination called victory!”

The Snover toddles over to his prone body, seedy eyes looking down on him with concern.

“I’m fine, little friend! Besides, we both got what we wanted. You’ve dislodged many fine apricorns.” He looks back up at the tree. “Though perhaps we should leave something in return for the honey so as not to upset the…”

A trio of yellow, hexagonal shapes slides into view, suspended on buzzing wings.

“COMBEES!” Ingo enthusiastically shouts. “WE APOLOGIZE FOR DECOUPLING YOUR HIVE SO ABRUPTLY! I UNDERESTIMATED THE CALIBER OF MY FRIEND’S STRENGTH!” He shakes some grains in his hand, freshly retrieved from the box on his belt. “Is this an acceptable refund?”

The Combees stare at him for a moment before gingerly eating the grains.

An uneven giggle starts to well in Ingo’s mouth. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He’s lying on the ground like a fool, surrounded by apricorns, feeding Combees out of his hand. Somehow, this makes more sense than everything he’s said or done since he first opened his eyes in this land.

Maybe he really is insane.

He sits up, grabs his hat from off the ground, and starts to put the fallen apricorns into the basket he left by the tree’s trunk.

The Snover waddles after him, honey stuck on its mouth as it watches him collect fruits.

“Do you want some fruit, too?” Ingo offers. “You did end up doing most of the work, after all.”

The Snover looks into his eyes for a bit before rubbing its hands vigorously on its belly. Several white berries fall off of its body, rolling onto the ground.

Snover, the Frost Tree pokemon. In the spring, it grows berries with the texture of frozen treats around its belly.

Ingo’s eyes soften. “Thank you, my friend! You’re strong and kind.” He pats the leafy foliage on its head. “I hope you grow up to be as big as a mountain!”

=#[o]#=

“Miss Calaba! I have a gift for you!”

As Calaba turns around, the stranger presents a cloth full of snoverberries. 

“I was looking for apricorns, but I also found these!” the stranger brightly explains. “So I thought you should have them!”

Calaba gently takes the berries from his hand. “How did you get these? It’s very dangerous to approach an Abomasnow’s children.”

The stranger raises the brows on his impassive face. “I thought the Snover was my friend, so it was.” He tilts his head in a bashful way. “I don’t really understand it myself. But that’s what happened!”

Calaba hums. “These can be quite expensive, you know. You could keep them for yourself.”

“But you are always carrying different plants and fruits,” the stranger insists. “I do not know why you do this, but it must be important.” He closes her hand around the berries. “And I only wanted apricorns. So they’ll be much more useful for you.”

What a strange man.

“I never found out your name,” Calaba realizes.

“I am Ingo.” His eyes dim. “And that is all. I don’t know much more than that.” His sharp-eyed stare snaps back into place. “The berries are very sweet! If you like them, I will see if I can find more.”

Ingo straightens up, re-adjusts his coat, and walks off with his basket.

(Perhaps it won’t be so bad to have a Zoroark around, after all.)

Chapter Text

“See, look.” Iscan leans forward on the saddle of his Lord Basculegion and points at the shore. “There he is again! I told you there was someone wandering around on the beach.”

Palina lets herself surface just a little more out of the water, hand bracing at Basculegion’s side. “Oh! That’s Ingo. He lives with the Pearl clan.”

Iscan moves Basculegion to pace slowly through the water. “I’ve never seen that guy around before. Is he one of your herd drivers or something?”

“Itachi found him in the icelands, apparently.” Palina pushes up onto Basculegion’s saddle, leaning close with a whisper. “Calaba thinks he might be a Zoroark.”

Iscan startles, head darting between her and the faraway man on shore. “Almighty Sinnoh! And you’re all just letting him live by your camps?”

Palina’s purple eyes squint into her teasing smile. “Are you worried about me, Diamond clanner?” She dramatically leans against Iscan’s broad back. “At any moment, I could be vanished into the night by the wicked beast in our midst!”

Iscan sputters, face growing redder by the second. “Absolutely not! I’m just- uh- worried about what this may mean for the Diamond clan! Within my duties.” He coughs awkwardly. “As Warden to a kami Lord.”

Palina lets out a musical laugh. “Oh, don’t be a scaredy Skitty! Zoroark or not, Ingo’s very polite. Look, I’ll prove it!”

“Lina, don’t-”

But it was too late. With a burning kiss on Iscan’s cheek, Palina leaps back into the water, swimming as seamlessly as a Floatzel. 

Iscan drags his hand over his blue cropped hair. “She’s utterly careless, my Lord. One of these days she’s going to get us both in trouble.”

Basculegion snorts before speeding towards the shore, powerful body leaving a harsh trail of red mist in the water.

“Oh, not you, too!” Iscan desperately holds on to the handles of the saddle. “Why do you always take the opposite of my advice? I’m supposed to be your liaison, you know!”

Iscan lets out a shout as Basculegion leaps into the air.

“Am I too young? Is that it? Is seventeen just too inexperienced for the likes of-”

Basculegion stops just short of the shoreline with a roaring halt, water spraying as Iscan is bucked onto the beach.

Iscan wipes the sand off his tunic, looking up at the lanky figures of Palina and… Ingo, was it? Ingo looms over Iscan, pointing bluntly at the Diamond clan embroidery of his clothes. “That’s unusual!”

(Wow. That man has horrifyingly pale eyes. He really does look like a Zoroark.)

“Now you know what Diamond clan clothes look like,” Palina brightly says to Ingo. “Try to stay away from them.”

Ingo’s resting frown twitches as he looks between the two of them. “You are not following your own safety guidelines. I feel as if there’s some sort of trick happening here.”

“We’re on Prelude Beach,” Iscan quickly says. “It’s neutral ground.”

“Besides, we’re both Wardens,” Palina adds. “Iscan is, at least. The current Arcanine Warden hasn’t retired yet, so I’m still technically in training.”

“This is a high traffic station, then.” Ingo fidgets with his basket. “I will make sure not to disrupt future passengers.”

Iscan scratches his face. “What are you doing around here, anyways? I’ve seen you coming in and out of the area for a while now.”

Ingo is silent for several seconds.

“Slowpoke tails,” he finally says.

“Slowpoke tails,” Iscan repeats. “Just the tails?”

“They fall off by themselves, you see. Slowpoke use their tails to bait fish pokemon.” Ingo stares off into the distance. “And they’re hiding something delicious, I know it.” 

Palina snickers. 

Ingo blinks. “I honestly thought Palina was doing the same, what with her diving suit. I suppose I shouldn’t derail myself with assumptions.”

Palina waves her hand. “Oh, if only. I just do surveys for the fishermen sometimes.”

“I also do surveys with Basculegion!” Iscan pipes up. “And check for storms.”

=#[o]#=

Ingo does not not hear a single word of Iscan’s very thoughtful explanation about storm surveying. 

He’s certainly trying to! He’s definitely, at some point, going to ask Iscan to explain all of this again, because he actually feels a bit bad for not paying attention to something that the broad young man is clearly so passionate about. Especially since Iscan is friends with Palina. Palina is nice! She talks about Shellder pearls, and that’s very interesting.

But he stopped processing words the exact second Iscan said Basculegion.

Basculegion. It’s… definitely a word! A word that almost sounds familiar, but not. It’s almost kind of unsettling. He should know how he knows this, but he doesn’t.

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know anything.

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t know anything.

(And there’s nothing he can do about it.)

So instead of having an active existential crisis, Ingo’s going to do something productive! Like try to comprehend the weird pokemon word Iscan said.

Bascu… legion. Legion of Bascu. Bascu. He knows that word. Bascu Bascubascubascubascu

Basculin, the Hostile pokemon. Red- and blue-striped Basculin are very violent and always fighting. They are also remarkably tasty.

So then this is a… regional variant of Basculin? No, no- an evolution. A divergent evolution that does not exist in his memory. It’s much larger than he thinks it should be, and it has a flatter face, as well as a pronounced hump of muscle in its back-

“-ngo- Ingo, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to pet the fish,” Ingo decides, already leaving his jacket on the shore. “Goodbye.”

“Sir, the Lord Basculegion is large enough to eat you alive,” Iscan wearily points out.

“Then I died as I lived. Petting the fish.” 

Ingo walks into the water and stares into the Basculegion’s vibrant glaring eyes. But it’s not really upset, is it? Its fins move lazily as its lithe body anchors itself against the current, perfectly unbothered by his presence.

He sticks his hand into the water.

The Basculegion nudges its snout into his hand.

“This is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me,” Ingo says, his frown not moving an inch. “I’m going to stand here for six hours.”

“Please don’t,” Iscan whispers. “He’s my ride home.”

“Far be it from me to bar a man from his destination, then.” Ingo leans down and looks Basculegion in the eyes. “I am going to find you and feed you so many Slowpoke tails.”

Chapter Text

Diamond or Pearl, all clans of Hisui are Celestica.

The Celestica people are pastoral nomads, tied to herds of Wyrdeer and Ampharos. They forage and plant farms for themselves, but crops are left to grow on their own, to be returned to when the path of the herd so favors it. The herds must graze, and the Celestica must follow. They bundle their yurts on the backs of Rapidash, and bid their Eevee to drive their herds to greener pastures. 

Nothing is built to last in Hisui- nothing but the free land granted to them by the almighty Sinnoh, and the stone ruins of those that came before them.

But the Wardens might come close.

Though it is done for their people, the duty of the Wardens is first and foremost toward their kami- to the pokemon bearing the bloodline of those first sacred ten, touched by the thousand hands of Sinnoh to aid mankind in its stead. The Wardens, for their Lord and Lady kami, have cast away the nomadic path that raised them in favor of being the anchors of the Celestica. They stay in fixed territories, moved only by the whims of their kami or wherever their aid is required.

Itachi, Warden to the Lord Sneasler, tents his home in the Coronet Highlands, nestled against the cliffs that edge the Primieval Grotto. It’s not where he spends most of his days, but Sneasler prefers to nest in the caves and cliffs.

Still. Not the most accessible place in Hisui. It gets a bit lonely.

It used to, at least.

“WARDEN ITACHI!” Ingo’s voice booms across the clearing. “MY TRAIN IS RAPIDLY APPROACHING YOUR STATION!”

Itachi looks up from his tea, watching Ingo approach his camp at incredible speeds. Riding a Magnezone. While being chased by several Heracross. Holding a basket perfectly level to his chest like his life depends on it.

Business as usual for the Pearl clan’s resident overfriendly amnesiac, then.

Itachi is about to question whether or not he should move out of the way when Ingo blows out a shrill whistle and the Magnezone stutters to a screeching halt in mid-air.

“Emergency brakes successfully deployed! Now commencing safety checks.” Ingo opens his basket and produces a single sleepy Cherubi. “The passenger has been safely conveyed to its destination.” He gives the Magnezone a hearty pat on its broad back. “Bravo, my friend.”

Ingo deposits the Cherubi on the ground and presents the Magnezone with a small slab of rock salt.

Itachi raises his brows. “Those things actually eat?”

“Rock and steel-type pokemon favor salts and mineral deposits,” Ingo mechanically recites. His brow twitches and he scratches his head. “It feels right, at least. I’m not a reliable conductor in any field of expertise.”

“Stop cutting yourself short,” Itachi lightly scolds. “You clearly used to have something in your head before it all got hollowed out.” He sips his tea. “Also, there’s a Heracross trying to grab your back.”

Ingo finally, finally notices the giant insect that’s almost his own height and pushes back against its branching horn with his thin hand. “Passengers should stay behind the yellow line at all times and take care not to approach the driver’s cab.”

The Heracrosses click their tiny mouths at Ingo, yellow eyes staring pleadingly at him like a gaggle of children.

Ingo frowns. “It’s the Cherubi heads, isn’t it? Your type tends to like the fruits that come out of other pokemon.”

A Heracross offers him a comb of honey while another offers some apricorns.

“For shame,” Ingo dramatically intones. “You all think you can buy me out with apricorns and honey?” A pause. “Well, you can. Come on, let’s have a look.”

One incomprehensible negotiation later, Ingo stows the apricorns and wraps the honeycomb in some nanab leaves.

“You know, it’s strange nonsense like that that’s making people think you’re some kind of pokemon,” Itachi flatly reveals.

“I’m a businessman.”

“You’re an insane man is what you are.” Itachi laughs roughly. “But you haven’t died yet, so you’re probably doing something right.” He pats the fallen log next to him. “Come on then. What’s Nakkara want this time? I’m wagering she sent you my way.”

“Paper mostly. Some medical supplies, too.” Ingo sits down and nervously taps against the wood of the log. “But I am not here for lady Nakkara. I- I would ask to see your Lord Sneasler, if that’s alright.”

Itachi raises his eyebrows. “What for? Do you need to go into the mountains?”

“No, I was just thinking of giving him some lunch.”

“Some… lunch,” Itachi slowly repeats.

Ingo hunches in on himself. “I was derailed from my original tracks. You and your Lord chose to save my life, and I am- I am aware that others in your position… would not.” His loud, animated voice goes quiet. “I am aware that you have been told this was a mistake.”

“Do you think it was a mistake?” Itachi bluntly asks.

“Never!” Ingo insists. “Even without my memories, I’m glad to be alive. I am grateful to be alive. But I understand that my life reflects on you. And your Lord. And I can never thank you enough, Warden Itachi, but-” Ingo lets out a long, frustrated sound. “-I cannot speak to Sneasler. And he cannot speak to me.” Ingo tilts his head. “However, I think the language of food still counts for something.”

Itachi’s frown softens into a worn smile. “Well, if you’re set on it, I think my Lord will appreciate the gesture regardless.”

=#[o]#=

The thing is, pokemon can’t hurt.

They can be dangerous, yes. They can claw and bite and punch. They can maim, and in unfortunate situations, kill. But it doesn’t hurt. 

Not the way humans can.

Because if a pokemon bites, it does it for a reason. It is upset, it is hungry, it is scared. Pokemon are honest with their intent, or at least open. Humans are different. Human minds are different- they have all these thoughts and feelings and wants and expectations, slathered invisibly over their words, their postures, their gazes.

It’s always the eyes that confuse Ingo the most. Like Joltiks crawling in his skin. (Joltik, another word he knows but doesn’t recognize.) Too open. Too… nuanced. 

So often unable to see any nuance in himself.

At least with a pokemon, Ingo knows what he’s looking at. None of the unspoken guesswork of humanity that he can never get quite right, no matter how hard he tries. The best Ingo can manage in that regard is making himself scripted, consistent, predictable. It seems to encourage others to treat him in kind.

Even still. Maybe it hurts, just a bit, that Ingo can only confidently say he has any friends if he counts the pokemon.

Not that he counts the companionship of wild Hisui less than those of humans. It just feels strange. It feels like this was not the way things were Before.

Something approaches him from behind. Ingo turns his head and sees a Sneasel sniffing curiously at his cooking fire.

Sneasel, the Sharp Claw pokemon. A smart and sneaky pokemon. A pair may work together to steal Eggs by having one lure the parents away.

Before, Sneasels had dark fur and white paws, and their head feathers were red. In Hisui, they have pale bodies and ashy purple extremities, punctuated by the dusty lavender of the sparse feathers breaking out of their fur.

But their sharp hooked claws have stayed exactly the same.

This Sneasel in particular must be one of the Lord Sneasler’s kits- the other families keep their distance from the Lord’s nest. And going by the feather length on the left ear, this is a female. Ingo wonders if this makes her a young Lady.

A young Lady. Ingo snorts to himself.

“I---!” Ingo shouts. “I---, you get down from there, young lady!”

A young girl in a flowery pink dress sticks her tongue out as she climbs the tusks of a Haxorus. “It’s my dragon and I’ll climb if I want to!”

“That’s mine and E----’s, don’t crowd her face like that!” Ingo pinches his brow. “By the Twins, I swear, if you go and hit your head, you can explain it to D------ yourself-”

“Snea!”

Ingo blinks harshly as the young Sneasel’s hooked claws tug on his coat sleeve. “My apologies, young Lady. I appear to have derailed myself.” He drags a worn hand across his face. “I probably just need something to eat.”

Ingo removes the lid from a small bamboo steamer, revealing a bed of rice that he promptly cracks a Blissey egg into, stirring it into the hot food to cook it before adding tamato and pep-up grass. The Sneasel’s nose twitches as she nudges her face into Ingo’s hand.

“Absolutely not,” Ingo refuses. “It’s spicy. You would perish on the spot, and then what?”

The Sneasel pouts at him, a shrill whine slowly building in her throat.

There are two possible tracks here. Ingo feeds the child the spicy food and gets mauled by her father when she starts crying…

…or he doesn’t feed the child, and gets mauled by her father when she starts crying.

(Guess he’ll die.)

“Alright, maybe just one bite.” Ingo holds up a single finger. “One.” It’s a good thing he’s taken up a habit of collecting nanab leaves to store the honey that pokemon give him sometimes. It makes for a good spare plate.

Surprisingly, the young Lady dives into the food with gusto. Maybe she’s got an adventurous palette for her age. Maybe she was just verrrrrrrrrrrrrry hungry. (What an odd way to phrase it.) Either way, she wants more. Ingo huffs softly and simply nudges the whole container towards her. He can find more food later.

=#[o]#=

Itachi rides back with Lord Sneasler to his yurt, and finds Ingo sitting around with one of the Lord’s kits in his lap, waggling its poisonous claws like the arms of a doll.

(“Baby,” Ingo conversationally asserts in a language no one in Hisui can recognize. “Pointy baby. You’re a fluffy pointy Lady. Evil.”)

It’s the first time Itachi’s seen him smile.

Chapter Text

Melli is thirteen years old when he becomes Lord Elektrode’s new Warden.

It’s a very ceremonious occasion. He spends weeks embroidering the flowers of the Coronet Highlands onto his clothes. He fusses day and night to make sure his Warden bracelet will fit just right.

It is a great sacrifice to become a Warden. To become Warden is to cast away the herd, the nomadic lifestyle of his own people, in order to anchor his kami. But it is also a great honor. All the more honor still, that he is to be stationed in the Coronet Highlands, the highest altitudes of Hisui- the closest place on this earth to ever reach the almighty Sinnoh.

…Melli is not the Diamond clan’s first choice. 

Melli is a Mareep wool spinner from the Obsidian Fieldlands, with no family and no connections. Ideally, he would have never been chosen at all. But when he is twelve years old, the person who would have become Elektrode’s next Warden loses her hand to an alpha Ursaring, and Melli is the only person who comes close to having the right amount of electrical resistance to replace her.

Melli spends a year in the Crimson Mirelands, the heartland of the Diamond clan, learning how to be second best.

His only friend in this new reality is Adaman, 15 year old son of Culli, the Diamond clan head. Adaman is everything that Melli the wool spinner is not. Well kept, well dressed, well spoken, well bred. 

Adaman makes the effort to teach him new hairstyles, help him make finer clothes. The other clan members whisper that he does it out of pity- or worse still, to keep Melli from shaming the Diamond clan with his incompetence. Melli, for both their sakes, ignores the speculation and decides to just be grateful for all the help he can get.

Adaman becomes like a teacher. Perhaps even like a brother.

The night before Melli departs for the Coronet Highlands, Adaman tells him a secret. His older sister Mai was trained to be Culli’s heir all her life. Adaman was meant to learn the ways of the Wyrdeer herd and one day be Warden to the Lord Wyrdeer.

But when Mai escorted him to be presented to the Lord, Wyrdeer chose Mai. The heir of the Diamond clan was claimed by the duties of the kami, and Adaman now had to shoulder a duty he was never intended to take.

Adaman was second best, too. The new Warden Melli realizes that for both their sakes, he is not allowed to fail.

Melli tries his best. Caring for Lord Electrode is a relatively simple task- keeping the wooden shell of his body well-sanded, making sure the temples are dry, relaying the offerings that both clans give to him. 

Melli finds himself with a lot of free time. He familiarizes himself with the pokemon in the area, and becomes comfortable with the Lord’s growing clutch of Voltorbs. He slowly, steadily learns every inch of his Lord’s domain.

Fires have started to appear in the Wayward Caves.

Melli had ignored it at first. Fire type pokemon aren’t exactly rare, and plenty of the ghosts and dark types endemic to the caves can seem to glow under the right conditions. But the fires have been moving. Multiplying. 

Melli and Skuntank fearfully venture into the Wandering Caves and see glowing eyes watching them in the darkness.

“You’ve seen the Fox, then.”

“Fox?” Melli repeats. “Is there a pokemon here I haven’t encountered yet?”

Itachi, the Pearl clan warden of Sneasler, laughs drily. “Depends on who you ask, really. Ingo’s an alright man, but on Sinnoh he’s a scary thing to see in the dark. Bless his heart.”

“Well, his… foxfires are disrupting the caves! Think of all the nocturnal pokemon who have to deal with those blinding lights.”

Itachi frowns. “I do wonder why he’s been doing that in the first place. He’s usually disturbingly attuned to the needs of pokemon. There must be some pressing reason.”

Melli hums. “I don’t care for it.”

The Fox- or rather, Ingo- turns out to a rakishly thin man with a fox-like face and pale eyes. He’s smaller than Melli thought he’d be- he’d have to look up to meet Melli’s eyes.

Not that he does. The closer Melli gets, the less intense Ingo’s gaze becomes. His piercing stare slides out of focus, tunneling in the general direction of Melli’s Elektrode bracelet.

“You have been removing the safety lights,” Ingo says in lieu of any greeting. 

“Pokemon live in those caves, you know,” Melli irritably points out. “You can’t just light the whole place up like a festival.”

Ingo points between two torches, arms held out straight as wooden boards. “Safety regulations dictate that all emergency light sources should be at a maximum of fifteen feet apart in order to minimize loss of visibility in the event of individual light failure.” 

“Safety regulations,” Melli repeats.

Ingo blinks at Melli. “Yes. So that no one becomes derailed while passing through.” One of his hands abruptly points down, creating a perfect right angle with his arm. “And all safe routes must be clearly conveyed.”

Melli looks down and sees rows upon rows of sticks jammed into the ground, creating a grooved pathway.

“This is a very winding cave!” Ingo shouts. “And it is full of pokemon who do not want to be disturbed! It would be in their best interests if all passengers were able to leave as safely and swiftly as possible.”

He’s trying to help. A bit loudly, but… sincerely. Just because he cares.

Just because he could.

Melli thinks about how long it must have taken for Ingo to place that path, never intending for anyone to know he’d done it. Utterly thankless work.

Melli supposes that’s not too different from what a Warden does, in the end.

“How’s about this?” Melli offers. “You can keep your torches, but I’ll be the one placing them. I know the pokemon here better than you do. I can place these where they won’t disturb anything.”

Ingo tilts his hat. “I suppose that’s more effective than trying to do it by myself. My thanks, Warden.”

It’s two days later, when Melli has readjusted the torches, that he realizes.

That was the first time anyone called him Warden.

Chapter Text

There is no single grand moment that Ingo the Fox joins the Pearl clan.

There is no celebration. There is no spoken agreement. There is hardly even a conscious realization it happens at all.

He wasn’t, and then he was.

Pearl clan encampments start to know him by name. Lights are left on when he is away, waiting to guide him back. People still draw back when he shouts on accident, but less so. Some even shout back.

See, despite the loneliness in his heart, he was never alone. He never had any family in the Pearl clan, and no one considered him a friend. No, no, something far worse starts to happen.

They simply get used to him.

It becomes normal to find him falling asleep under Torterra trees, or half-buried under someone’s Mareeps. It becomes normal to find wood suddenly chopped, or a Rapidash unexpectedly brushed. People begin to expect his random off-loads of foraged foods, preparing things to give him in return.

They get used to him. He’s odd, and they get used to him.

He gathers Slowpoke tails for stew. He teaches children how to harvest Snover berries. He crafts hollow toys for Eevees out of apricorn shells, and he can carve pokeshi dolls of almost any pokemon people could ask.

It’s becoming normal to find him animatedly conversing to pokemon in a language they can’t understand. It’s becoming normal for small pokemon to simply join people’s households by virtue of being carried in by his arms. He has a small collection of Alakazam spoons now, and no one is brave enough to ask where he got them.

There is no one moment he proves his usefulness. No singular resolution that gains their trust. He simply becomes a part of the scenery around them- slowly, surely- until they realize that they can no longer imagine a Pearl clan in which he does not exist.

(The way that someone cannot imagine a train station without its conductor.)

His hair is starting to grow longer. The inevitable beginnings of a beard threaten to take hold on his face, but never quite follow through past a light scruff. The red stripes that line the cuffs and tail of his foreign black coat are starting to fade under Hisui’s unforgiving sky.

Someone says he looks handsome with his hair tied back, and the Pearl clan learns what his laugh sounds like- booming like an Arcanine’s bark, jarring and raucous and so unabashedly alive.

(They learn he smiles with his eyes.)

By the time Itachi asks to step down as Sneasler’s Warden, Ingo has belonged to the Pearl clan for a year.

“If I were able, I would serve my Lord and my clan until my dying day,” Itachi insists. “But I am not. I’ve accumulated too many injuries over the years. Just last week, I could barely leave my tent from how badly my leg was acting up.” A deep breath. “My body is tired. And my Lord is, as well. For the sake of our station, it may be time for both of us to pass down our mantles.”

Calaba raises an eyebrow. “Has an heir been selected?”

“Directly from his mate’s latest litter,” Itachi assures. “She has already undergone harness training, she just needs to be evolved. Preferably with her new Warden.”

Nakkara nods. “A wise choice. It would create a strong bond.”

“Indeed. And the one I wish to appoint is someone the young Lady favors.” Itachi turns to his left. “Ingo. Who do you think that might be?”

“GAERIC!” Ingo confidently shouts.

Gaeric, a strong blue haired man not much younger than Ingo himself, pulls his tunic hood over his head and wheezes with laughter.

“I thought it made sense!” Ingo defends, waving his arm up and down. “He’s Warden training, isn’t he?”

“For Avalugg!” Gaeric laughs. “And I’ve been initiated for like, nine months already!”

“Ah. Forgive me, my friend.” Ingo stares off into space. “I may not know much.”

Gaeric just laughs again.

“It’s you, Fox,” Itachi smiles. “You’re the only choice.”

Ingo frowns. “I’m very sorry to hear that!”

“What is there to be sorry for? The reason you’re the only choice is because you’re the best one.”

And Ingo knows that the Pearl clan finds him odd. His fearlessness towards pokemon, his odd turns of phrase, the hollowed memories that leave him with migraines and tears from dreams he cannot understand. But none of this is mutually exclusive to the fact that Ingo is a good man, and they have come to care for him. To know him. And they have realized, slowly, that Ingo is suited to a life of service.

It is the way he always looks for something to help with. How he always collects more than he needs, on the off-chance someone else may need it more. His casual kindness to both human and pokemon. How could the Pearl clan not notice it, after living with him for a year? 

But most of all, how lost he looks sometimes, when he has nothing to do.

There is no gift or family that the Pearl clan can give that will fill the hollow of his mind. Perhaps it will remain this way for the rest of his life. And he knows it. They do, too.

But they can take a lost train car and give it new tracks.

They can give him a life of service.

Itachi explains, patiently, what will happen next. Ingo will not need to be trained- his compulsive helpfulness has seen him through every task Warden Itachi ever did, and he half raised the Lord’s kits himself. There is no need to teach Ingo what he has already learned by virtue of being himself. 

Itachi removes the wooden bracelet from his right wrist, and places it on Ingo. The Lord Sneasler carries his final passenger to the base of the Coronet Highlands.

Itachi hands him a bone flute.

“A Celestica flute. If your Lady opens her heart to you, she will hear its call from any distance.”

“What should I play?” Ingo asks.

Itachi considers the question for a moment. “Traditionally, the Wardens try to make their melodies distinct. Something that reminds them of their duty and the bond they share with their kami.”

Their duty.

Their duty to scale the Highlands. Their duty to clear all paths. Their duty to ensure the safety of their passengers so that they may reach their destination.

In the hollow mind of Ingo the Fox, some unseen clockwork clicks back into place.

His posture snaps straight. He takes a deep breath.

For the first time in history, a high piercing sound of a train whistle shrieks twice through the heart of Hisui.

And the Lady of the Highlands answers.

A towering Sneasler’s long legs roll in a two-legged gallop through the snow, the hooked blades of her hands moving in ambling arcs with her swinging arms. A long, iridescent feather, shining with purple and bright pink, trails off her left ear.

Lady Sneasler stares down at Warden Ingo and lets out two shrill barks.

“It’s you,” Ingo breathes out. “My young Lady. You’ve grown up so much!”

To think this was once the Sneasler kit that would knead the cuffs of Ingo’s coat and steal his spices. Lady Sneasler leans down, flaring her poisonous claws, and gently nudges Ingo’s face with her hands.

“Yes, it does seem like we’ve switched places,” Ingo lightly comments. “Now I’ll be the one who rides on your shoulder.” He turns to Itachi and the former Lord Sneasler. “What happens to you now?”

Itachi lets out a harsh laugh. “I think the two of us old men will retire to the camps. Properly tent the yurt somewhere easy, carry firewood and berries instead of people. But today, there are two Pearl Wardens in the Highlands. Me and my Lord would like to ride by your side one last time.”

Ingo looks up at his Lady. “Would you allow it?”

Sneasler simply kneels down, leaving her harness within reach.

“That’s as good an answer as any.” Ingo climbs onto his Lady’s back and points out into the Highlands. “ALL ABOARD!”

Chapter Text

Five years ago, the Celestica clans were at war.

As far as wars went, it was pretty tame. It only ever lasted a few years. But the war itself was, bluntly, symptomatic of a larger problem.

There’s a reason that the Celestica people are two different clans.

Long, long ago, they were one people, who sailed onto the land of Hisui seeking communion with their god, the almighty Sinnoh. They sent two priests to the top of Mount Coronet…

…but each priest saw a different Sinnoh.

One saw a dragon as beautiful as a shining pearl, creating the vastness of space. The other saw a different dragon, its skin like brilliant diamond, its roar pouring out of its mouth as a flowing river of time. Both priests, each convinced they were the only one to see the truth, accused the other of falsehood. 

Under the strain of this uncertain Truth, the conviction of their Ideals shattered into two clans- a Pearl believing in the Sinnoh who created space, and a Diamond who believes Sinnoh created time. And so the Diamond and Pearl clans roam the vast island of Hisui, together yet separate- two parallel currents that can never stand to mix.

This latest war was but one of many conflicts that colored their history together. Nothing new has been said or done. But it is a fresh, barely healed wound, left untouched for the fear that it might open again.

And Wardens cannot wed other Wardens.

And yet, and yet, and yet.

Pearl Warden Palina of Arcanine and Diamond Warden Iscan of Basculegion seem to have fallen in with each other, regardless. At the very least, they’re very good friends. Much closer than most people from opposing clans would dare to be.

Ingo doesn’t really get the whole almighty Sinnoh thing. He tried to talk with the other Wardens about it, he really did, but then Calaba and the Braviary Warden started having a debate, and then the debate turned into an argument, and it just-

-it just felt bad. The great clash of ideals in pursuit of an unknown truth. Something about the two things in conflict made Ingo feel incredibly uneasy.

Perhaps that’s why he gravitates more towards Palina and Iscan’s situation instead. They live with the Truth that they cannot have a life together- not openly at least- but the Ideal of their love lives on, in whatever shape that love is.

Of course, as a Warden and Pearl clan member, he can’t exactly step in. Any indication that he’s found them out would be met with denial at best and panic at worst. They’re far too young to be subjected to that kind of uncertainty. He’s going to have to be unobtrusive about his support.

Subtle.

He can do subtle, right? Definitely.

=#[o]#=

S--l-’s eyes light up as she points to a large circular machine starting to light up the darkening sky. “Oh, the Rondez-view! I’ve never gotten to ride it at night before!”

E-e-- turns to Ingo and E----. “Each car seats four. Wanna go up?”

Her long hair extensions start to whip about her face while she looks around nervously, holding Sky--’s hand.

(And E--sa said it wasn’t a date.)

Ingo turns to his -------, the barest hint of a smile daring to break on his face. “Oh dear! You’re looking a bit pale, E----! Are you doing alright?”

E----’s smile turns sharp as a playful squint enters his eyes. “I am E----! And I have suddenly remembered I’m deathly afraid of heights!” He lifts a dramatic arm over his face. “Just the sight of it makes me want to DIE!”

“Oh, how dreadful!” Ingo shouts. “We must tend to you right away!” He points at a random point in the street market. “Perhaps with some supersized Swirlix puffs!”

E---- hooks their arms together. “------- dearest, how do you live with your genius?”

“The same way you live with yours!” Ingo jokes. “In style!” He starts to march. “All aboard!”

E---- mockingly salutes the two girls as he walks off with Ingo. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do!”

“Oh my- come back here, you smug street Meowths! You’re not cute!” E--sa shakes her fist at their retreating forms. “I’m making you guys pay for dinner after this, I swear on the Dragons-”

=#[o]#=

Warden Ingo’s starting to become a bit of a problem.

Oh, it’s not anything against him. He’s very sweet, under his vaguely ominous exterior, and he clearly loves his Lady Sneasler more than anything. It’s nothing that Ingo does that’s a problem.

It’s just that Itachi, the previous Sneasler Warden, was less… present. Less around. And Ingo, despite being incredibly active with his duties, somehow manages to be practically everywhere.

And he knows things. Stuff, even. Stuff and things!

This is starting to make Palina a bit nervous, because if he keeps knowing things, he’s eventually going to know something that costs Palina her job.

Namely, that she’s probably a bit more friendly with Warden Iscan than is appropriate- both for their positions as Wardens, and as people from two different clans. And sure, Ingo doesn’t seem to understand the animosity of the Celestica clans, even after a year of living among them, but that’s precisely why Palina can’t count on him to be reasonable about it.

If he can’t understand what makes it wrong, how can he be expected to keep quiet about it?

So for now, Iscan and Palina have agreed to be a little more lowkey.

It’s. Uh.

It’s sure going.

“So!” Iscan awkwardly starts. “Nice day, huh?”

“I saw some Spheals by the beach earlier,” Palina says. “It was very cute.”

Behind them, Ingo suddenly lets out a gasping wheeze.

“By the Twin Dragons!” He feebly clutches his head. “I’ve been struck by one of my terrible MEMORY MIGRAINES!” He collapses back into his Lady Sneasler. “Oh, my young friends! Go on without me. I will languish in my Lady’s company until my strength recovers. By myself. In the view of this very lovely sunset.”

He pulls his hat over his head.

“My train is utterly nonfunctional. I am in shambles. I will surely be in no state to recall anything you say or do in my presence for the next few hours. I hope nothing strange or illegal happens.”

His hat has been pulled all the way down to his nose. His mouth is the only thing that’s visible. His entire face is nothing but mouth and hat, which combined with his thin frame and increasingly ratty black coat, makes him look like an incredibly eccentric rod puppet.

Iscan and Palina stare at him incredulously for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Take all the time you need,” Palina giggles. 

“We’ll-” Iscan stifles another laugh. “We’ll make sure nothing strange happens.”

“Nothing I can prove, anyway,” Ingo teasingly points out. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

Iscan’s laughter trails off. “Thank you. Really.”

“My job is to ensure the safety of all passengers during their journey,” Ingo quietly says. “Not judge whether their destination is right or wrong. If this is what your destination entails, I will forget the details as many times as you need.”

Chapter Text

Ingo could have said he knew a decent amount of things about Warden Gaeric. 

He’s about the same age as Ingo. He’s married, and has two children- Edric and Aldric. He likes climbing.

Ingo had made the assumption that was about all he would ever need to know about Warden Gaeric. Unfortunately, after becoming a Warden himself, and thus seeing Gaeric a lot more often, Ingo has learned a few more things against his will.

First off, Gaeric not only enjoys climbing, he also enjoys jumping off of cliffs. (That had been a fun heart attack and a half to witness.) Second, the moment Gaeric is far enough away from civilization, he tears off his tunic like it’s a war crime to wear it and parades around shirtless at any given opportunity he has. Which leads into the third.

Oh, the third.

This man has carefully shaped his chest hair into the literal actual Pearl clan symbol. The entire time Ingo’s known him, he’s just… had that. There.

The whole damn time.

(Words cannot describe.)

“Hey, Fox, my eyes are up here,” Gaeric snarks.

“THAT-” Ingo’s eye twitches as his words quiet. “That’s-”

He looks pleadingly at Palina.

Palina nods. “Yes, it’s weird.”

“THAT’S UNUSUAL!” Ingo shouts.

=#[o]#=

“Why do you walk like that?” A three year old Lian asks.

Ingo looks down at the child. “Like what?”

“Like a-” Lian swings his arms mechanically. “Vzz, bzz, vrrr. Like the Probobo.”

“Probopass,” Ingo automatically corrects.

“Probobo,” Lian teasingly insists. “Why are you so Probobobobo?”

“I-” Ingo stops in place, his perfectly paced march coming to a halt. “I have always walked like this. I think.”

“Are you gonna stop?” Lian innocently wonders.

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“Okay!”

Lian starts marching after Ingo, swinging his arms the exact same way.

=#[o]#=

Ingo turns to the Diamond clan member behind him on Lady Sneasler’s harness. “Remember to keep your noise at a respectable volume so as not to disrupt the other passengers.”

“Other passengers?”

Ingo opens his coat, revealing the Eevee sleeping inside his pockets.

=#[o]#=

Calaba holds up a firm berry with a thick blue cap and pale, segmented underside. “This is a chestoberry. Their flesh is pale, and they have long, grassy leaves. We mostly keep them as provisions for our Rapidash. It gives them energy when they’re exhausted or struck with sleep by pokemon attacks.”

Ingo leans down to inspect the berry. “That sounds incredibly useful! Does it work on humans?”

“Oh, yes, but it’s very strong,” Calaba clarifies. “Just one or two berries can fortify a whole pot of tea.”

Ingo’s eyes shift with a thoughtful expression. “Just one?”

“Yes. When we want to use it on our other herd animals, we usually break them up into very small cakes-”

Ingo proceeds to make direct eye contact with Calaba as he consumes three chestoberries at once, skin and all.

“Sinnoh will look upon your soul and hesitate with fear before casting you into hell,” Calaba bluntly decides.

=#[o]#=

“GOOD MORNING, WARDEN!” Ingo shouts as he approaches the Moonview Arena. “I have collected several stray passengers! It seems they rolled down the mountains by accident, so I am here to return them to their rightful station.”

“Ah! Thank you, Warden-” Melli stops and frowns. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

Ingo- who currently has his coat stowed in his basket, holding two sparking Voltorbs with only his thin tunic sleeves to protect him- looks back at Melli, confused. “I don’t follow.”

“You’re holding electric pokemon with your bare hands,” Melli stresses.

“Oh! That!” Ingo looks down at the Voltorbs. “It doesn’t hurt all that much. I think I’m used to it for some reason.”

Melli hums. “I would still recommend some thicker sleeves on your clothes if you want to repeat that. Or a pair of gloves. The static can still make your arms go numb, even if you don’t feel it. I know from experience.”

“I should ask Palina where I can get some gloves,” Ingo distractedly says.

“The Arcanine warden?” Melli asks. “She wears diving gloves. They won’t last on you, what with all the climbing and wrangling you do all the time.” 

“That’s unfortunate. Hers look very familiar. I think I used to wear gloves like that before…” Ingo’s expression grows distant. “...before. It must have been a very long time ago.”

(Melli decides to get an extra pair of gloves the next time he travels back to the Diamond clan.)

=#[o]#=

“-and I was thinking. Even though none of the pups receive Sinnoh’s blessing until the Lord chooses to step down, they still share the Lord’s temperament and receive some basic training, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste. Perhaps the two of us could convince Nakkara to allow some Arcanine as guards for-” Palina stops. “Ingo? Are you listening?”

Ingo cracks open an eye. “You want to train Arcanines.”

“You look like you’re about to fall asleep where you stand,” Palina points out. “And you’re letting your Lady Sneasler groom you like a kit.”

Ingo stares off into space while Sneasler holds him in place, broad bristled tongue raking through his hair. “You would have me stop her?”

“Fair enough. Anyways, I think even just Growlithes would be a good deterrent against wild pokemon with proper training.”

Ingo hums. “Hisuian Growlithe need a lot of supplement minerals, though. And you’d have to think of the food costs to feed even just one Arcanine. They’re very large animals.”

Palina clucks under her breath. “You do have a point.”

Ingo looks off to the side. “I wouldn’t want to step all over your plans! It’s your idea, not mine. I’m sure you can make it work.”

“I want your input, though. You have a very good sense of pokemon!”

Ingo’s head retreats into his coat collar like an unsettled Turtwig. Snealser, apparently interpreting this as spurning her affections, forces him to stand up straight again and wraps her clawed arms around his body, grooming him even more fiercely than before.

Ingo stares at Palina with dead eyes. “Warden. Help me.”

Palina, having been subjected to similar treatment from Lord Arcanine several times, smiles at Ingo sweetly. “No.”

“Betrayal.”

Chapter Text

It’s fishing season for the Pearl clan when they settle their encampments in the Cobalt Coastlands.

The fishermen uncover their boats to once again chase the bounty of the sea- red round Magikarp, whiskered Barboach, chewy Octillery, meaty Basculin. Out by the shore, others collect Shellder and Gastrodon.

The kami of the Pearl clan are with them in a rare moment of convergence, felling timber and ferrying heavy loads. Most importantly, they protect the clan while the humans are in transit, in that vulnerable limbo where their herds are readjusting to the scenery and their yurts are not all settled.

It’s a wonderful time of year to collect Slowpoke tails.

It’s a very nice meat. Very soft. Very… something. And it’s the same something every time! It’s a bit of a chore to smoke and dry it, but it’s consistent. All the other meats have to worry about hard bones, or having the wrong amount of fat, how young or old the animal is, and on and on and on.

A tail is a tail. No bones (hah!) about it. 

At this point, the rest of the clan is starting to think Ingo’s squeamish about hunting. But he’s really not! (He thinks.) He just… doesn’t really see the point of having other meats if this one does just fine. It’s incredibly intuitive.

…Less so to his clanmates. Everyone seems confused when he tries to explain it. The older ones, they get very concerned about his lack of variety. The younger ones think he has boring tastes, eating the same things over and over again.

And he does not lack variety. He does not. He makes sure to put lots of different herbs and fruits in the cheeses he makes to share with pokemon friends, it’s not his fault they coincidentally make for such great provisions they’re basically the only food ever. Calaba is wrong- him finding that little wooden mold for making perfectly uniform blocks was the best thing to ever happen to him.

(And sometimes, he even gets adventurous, and adds a different spice to his rice!)

What I do. What I say. Always the same. Is that really so wrong?

Maybe he can get a different mold press. One of those cute ones shaped like a fish. That’ll really up the variety. It would be a very enriching shape for the more carnivorous pokemon.

Ingo looks out at the beach, watching children playfully chase Wingulls along the sand. The squat bodies of the birds toddle on the ground, oversized wings flapping awkwardly with lazy evasion attempts.

(Hopefully the children aren’t carrying any food on them. Wingulls are merciless about handheld snacks, and Pelippers even more so.)

But the inevitable never happens. The birds suddenly take flight, soaring further inland. And not just the birds- Krabbys scuttle away from the shoreline, Shellders and Gastrodon start rapidly burying themselves underground.

Ingo looks out into the water. In the distance, two titanic serpentine figures are circling each other inside a steadily increasing whirlpool.

And the water of the coastlands is getting sucked in.

Ingo takes a shaking step back. He knows this. He remembers this.

He remembers loud roars and thunderous cracks, water that would disappear in an instant before it rises and rises and rises, holding onto someone with a face like his, sinking together as they watch droplets leak from spiderweb cracks on glass-

“INGO!”

He flinches as Gaeric’s hard hands clap onto his shoulders. “W-Warden- Warden, it’s-”

“Tsunami. I know.” 

“This shouldn’t-” Ingo’s words struggle to form, ideas clashing against each other like rusted brakes. “Warden Iscan checked- he would have told us-”

“And he did. He’s a good kid. But this isn’t natural.” Gaeric’s haunted eyes scan the coastline. “We’ll only have a few minutes before the wave comes back. The boats are too far from the shore, they have to fend for themselves. I need you to shout back to camp. The rest of us aren’t loud enough.”

Ingo steels his breath and climbs Lady Sneasler’s harness. Passenger safety first. He forces a piercing sound out of his Celestica flute, and Sneasler tears across the coastline.

“TSUNAMI INCOMING! GET TO HIGH GROUND!”

Gaeric quickly mounts Lord Avalugg. “ABANDON CAMP! HEAD TO VEILSTONE!”

Ingo grabs the children from the shoreline, setting them onto Avalugg’s broad back. The entire settlement is in panic- people scrambling to put emergency supplies onto Rapidashes, Glaceon and Flareon packs nipping frantically at the heels of the Ampharos herds to force them in motion.

“Where’s Palina and Arcanine?” he hears Calaba ask.

“There’s no time!” Kleavor Warden Augur shouts over the chaos. “We need to clear the path now!”

Ingo and Sneasler scale the sheer cliffs by the slopes of Veilstone Cape, watching for things that Kleavor can cut down from the path while Calaba and Lord Ursaluna manipulate the earth to cobble together flood walls. Avalugg is carrying as many people and heavy loads as he can, while Gaeric leads a Rapidash carrying an injured person.

(Fire and rock types are weak to water. Ingo hopes Palina and her Lord Arcanine will be alright.)

Slowly, the amount of people rushing up the path begins to dwindle. 

“Where’s Nakkara?” Ingo asks.

Warden Augur frowns. “She was leading the evacuation, wasn’t she?”

Ingo shakes his head. “I didn’t see her pass by. Not even in the end.”

“Hmm. Maybe she just got lost in the crowd. We’ll have to loop back with the others and-”

Her words fade into a creeping static as Ingo looks out into the rising waters. A large ribbon of red and white flounders helplessly next to a piece of shattered driftwood.

Irida.

Ingo puts his fingers to his mouth, whistles, and jumps onto the incoming Empoleon before he hits the water.

=#[o]#=

It’s too much.

The water, the sound, the cold, the screams. But just this once, Ingo can put his oddity to use.

Spheal, the Clap pokemon. This Pokémon’s body is covered in blubber and impressively round. It’s faster for Spheal to roll around than walk. There’s plenty loitering about in the Coastlands, and they’re buoyant enough to be used as floating lifelines for the people he finds stranded in the water.

Tangrowth, the Vine pokemon. Tangrowth has two arms that it can extend as it pleases. Spheals are good floaters, but poor swimmers. The Tangrowth on the shore can make up for the difference with its reach, grabbing them towards high enough ground that humans can take care of the rest. He chooses to trust that the Pearl clan can carry out the safety checks he does not have the time to do himself.

He is a conductor, and he must find his passenger. 

Irida never liked swimming. Palina tried her best, but the little Pearl clan heir didn’t like the wet cold, and she was too impatient to sit through the song and dance of drying off afterwards. Ingo can hope that she’s beating the odds, but he can’t count on it.

He can worry about the roar in his ears later. He’s done everything he could. He started the evacuation, he cleared the path, he’s going back for as many stragglers as he can.

And that’s the Truth. He tried his best.

But now is a time for Ideals. And his ideal, in this very moment, is a small thing. So, so small.

One life. Just one life. One life, and nothing more.

Please.

By the time Warden Ingo the Fox finds Nakkara’s daughter adrift in a broken basket with a fainted Spheal, his voice is too strained to call for help. 

So he gathers them into his basket, the same way his Lady would ferry people across her back, and he climbs to Veilstone Cape himself.

When he makes it to the top, his clanmates relieve him of his passengers. The other Wardens tear into him for his recklessness in Sinoan too fast for his worn out mind to understand.

He lets Lady Sneasler carry him away like everyone else, watching with hollow mind and hollow eyes as the tsunami devours the coastland alive.

Chapter Text

The Pearl clan encampment, for the first time in six years, enters the heart of the Diamond clan’s camp in the Crimson Mirelands.

Hisui belongs to no one, but there are treaties to uphold. The clans were supposed to keep a respectful distance from each other’s camps. To do otherwise bordered on an act of war.

And no one wants that.

Culli steps out of the Diamond camp to demand an audience with Nakkara, and he doesn’t get one. He gets Warden Palina with two shivering Growlithe pups, no Arcanine in sight, and an eight year old Irida wearing her mother’s clan headdress.

The Diamond clan quietly opens its camp to its neighbors. The Wardens of both clans come together and bid their kami pokemon to help rebuild the homes and food stores that the Pearl clan have lost.

Adaman is sixteen years old when he meets Ingo the Fox the first time.

If it hadn’t been for, well, everything, maybe the man could have been just another Pearl clanner. But the man’s definitely a Shiny- he’s more than pale, he’s practically silver, and his eyes have an uncanny glow in the dark that looks ominous on his impassive face. Not… unheard of in humans, but something that stands out in a crowd.

And then the clothes he wears on top of his clan tunic. A black hat with a strange symbol, and a dark fraying coat hemmed with fading red stripes.

There are whispers, in both clans, that he is something other than human. A strange overfriendly Zoroark with a fascination for both humans and pokemon, wearing foreign clothes he can’t stand to part with.

Perhaps he is wearing the face of a human he knew once. That is why he hoards his clothes, they’re all he has left of them.

Adaman’s not really sure what he thinks about all that. Warden Ingo is friendly enough, at least, even if he has the mildly unsettling talent of being able to get any pokemon to eat out of his hand. Including Adaman’s Leafeon.

“You’ve been harboring this stranger, knowing he might not be human?” Adaman hears his father shout. “For all we know, he could have been behind the tsunami himself!”

“It was two alpha Gyrados in a territorial spat,” Warden Palina wearily points out. “We all saw them, and Warden Iscan can back us up.”

“Besides,” Warden Calaba sternly adds, “would you have us cast out someone who risked his own life alongside his fellow Wardens on that day? Someone who saved Nakkara’s daughter?”

There’s a frustrated, drawn out noise. “Of course,” Culli finally says. “I understand. Just- what a mess. A clan head and a kami lost in one day with no replacement in sight.” 

Adaman looks at the girl next to him. How old is Irida now? Seven? Eight? Adaman realizes he doesn’t know. He looks at this little girl, drowning in clothes she won’t grow into for years, sitting at his side with the clan heads and wardens. He watches her try to school her overwhelmed, lost expression into the face of someone who’s supposed to be here.

He can’t even bring himself to find it funny.

All he can do is take in the sight of Irida, half his age, wearing a headdress that she should have been too young to even touch, and feel a sense of deep, terrible sadness.

(A wiser man might have called it grief.)

Chapter Text

Drayden hates phone calls.

He hates getting phone calls. No one ever calls him with good news. Good news is never urgent! These days, people would rather send ‘text messages’ on their XTrans, or do those newfangled video calls.

Pure audio? If someone wants to voice call Drayden Tamadensha, that means they’re too urgent to text and don’t want to look him in the eyes for whatever they have to say.

Never a good sign.

“Is this a Mr. Tamadensha in Opelucid City?”

“You have reached Dragon Master Drayden Tamadensha of the Opelucid City Dragon Gym,” Drayden dully confirms. “Bite the bullet already. What do you want?”

“This is the Castelia City police department. I’m sorry, but we’ve found your sister.”

Drayden stills. “I’m sorry?”

“There was an unexpected Thundurus-Tornadus event five days ago. Search-and-rescue has confirmed 79 dead so far, including a…” There’s a sigh on the other end. “A Mrs. Cassandra Tamadensha and her wife, Willow Tamadensha.”

A chill starts to creep up Drayden’s arms. If they found Cass and Willow, have they…

“Did you find anyone else?” Drayden quietly says.

“Two boys around nine years old, albinistic Shinies. Twins, it looks like. We found them near the… Tamadenshas. But there wasn’t any identification on them, and they haven’t talked. We were hoping you could identify them for us.”

Oh, thank the Dragons.

Drayden lets out a worn breath. “My nephews. Ingo and Emmet. I suppose I’ll be picking them up?”

“That would be for the best. They’ve been transferred to the Driftveil pokemon center, you can get the details there.”

The train ride from Opelucid to Driftveil feels like ages. Maybe it is. Castelia’s a big city. Things must be crowded from everything getting wrecked in the storm. 

It’s only when Drayden is already in Driftveil, standing in front of Ingo and Emmet’s hospital ward, that he realizes this will be the first time they’ve met him- at least in their memory. They can’t have been older than five, the last time he saw them.

He opens the door regardless.

=#[o]#=

Ingo pokes his head out of the entrance of the yurt, a surprised expression crossing his face. “Lady Irida! I wasn’t expecting you.” He looks up at the sky. “It’s very late. You should be sleeping.”

“You should be sleeping,” Irida insists.

“Absolutely not. I need to finish making this cheese so I can dry it out tomorrow.” Ingo opens up his door anyways. “It’s cold. Come inside.”

Ingo’s home is very minimal. Not in the sense that he had few things, but in the sense that it did not have much lived in. Berries hang from the rafters while a pot simmers with stew, and a Flareon lies curled up under a drying rack of Slowpoke tails. And of course, the berry and herb laden curds of cheese all lying in a row, getting pressed into Ingo’s wooden molds.

A place of work rather than a home. Though, perhaps, that is simply how Ingo made it his home- through work. Ingo gives a passing pat to Lady Sneasler’s large head, his short thin body clambering over his kami’s long gangled legs before sitting cross-legged over the fire.

“How have you been, miss?” he asks while he fusses over his task. “We haven’t talked in some time.” A pause. “I do apologize for that. Acting as Warden has been… consuming. Rewarding, but consuming.”

“The elders want Palina to stay with the camp and help me,” Irida reveals. “Some of them even want her to be the clan head instead.”

Ingo frowns. “And pull her away from the young Lord Growlithe?”

“That’s what I said!” Irida kicks her feet out. “But they’re all making a fuss about how I’m too small to do anything. And Palina’s taller and prettier and smarter, and Mother likes her.” She curls up with a loud huff. “I don’t know why we have to do all this. We should be trying to find Mother. She’s in charge, not us.”

Ingo’s pale eyes widen, suddenly. “Irida, didn’t anyone tell you?”

=#[o]#=

“We know what happened,” Ingo says, looking at his brother. “We saw.”

“Mama and kaa-san threw us out the water,” Emmet whispers to Ingo, “and mama said to hold onto nii-san.”

“Don’t look back. Don’t let go. Don’t close your eyes.” Ingo pokes at the paws of the Audino checking his heartbeat. “They told us to wait. But then the rescue people moved us here!”

“Mama must be verrrry worried,” Emmet adds. “She doesn’t like it when we go out of town.”

The nurse spares an apologetic look in Drayden’s direction before turning back to the twins. “Boys, we talked about this. Your mothers have passed away.”

“They passed us!” Emmet parrots to Ingo. “That means they got off the wrong train!”

Ingo nods. “Kaa-san is very bad with directions. It’s probably going to take a while.”

The nurse sighs. “It’s been like this since they transferred,” she explains to Drayden. “They talk at each other instead of to anyone else, and they don’t seem to really register the situation even when people explain it to them. We don’t know if it’s the shock or something else- they do show strong signs of some kind of developmental disorder-”

“Could you leave me alone with them for a while?” Drayden softly interrupts. “Just… let me talk to them for a bit. I need to discuss some… things do to with them going forward.”

“Of course.”

The nurse and her Audino leave the room. The two boys have climbed into the same bed.

Drayden sighs and sits in the chair at their bedside, trying to make himself look a little bit smaller. “Do you remember me? I’m Cass’ brother. I’m your oji-san. And… you boys are going to have to stay with me for a while.”

“Why?”

=#[o]#=

“Irida,” Ingo slowly starts, “Nakkara has died.”

Irida looks up at him, eyes wide. “No! She’s not old enough. You have to be as old as Calaba before you die!”

“Everybody’s train is different.” Ingo huffs when he sees Irida’s confused head tilt. “Every living thing is made up of so many moving parts,” he haltingly elaborates. “And it’s true that age is a common way for those parts to break down, there can be other ways. Sickness, injury. There are as many names as there are ways to die! When everyone was leaving the Coastlands, your mother got hurt, and… now she’s gone. She cannot return to our station.”

=#[o]#=

“Emmet.”

“I am Emmet!”

“It is midnight.”

“Lampent woke me up,” Emmet lies. “He was shining in my face.”

“That doesn’t wake you up,” Ingo immediately retorts. “Eelektrik accidentally shocked you last week and you went right back to sleep.”

“Happy birthday,” Emmet tries instead.

“Oh.” Ingo blinks. “We’re twelve years old now.”

“Oji-san said our placement tests went through,” Emmet excitedly whispers.

Ingo, despite it all, feels a little excitement as well. “Then we can really-”

“-go on our pokemon journey right out of Trainer school!” Emmet flaps his hands. “We’ll finally get out of this dorm!”

“Elesa will be out of school, too!” Ingo realizes. “We can finally take her to Nimbasa City!”

“FUCK YOU, OPELUCID ACADEMY!” Emmet shouts. “THE NIMBASA BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN!”

Ingo snickers, shoving a pillow over Emmet’s mouth. “You’re going to wake up Director Martha again!”

“You’re the one who gave her a heart attack because you let Elesa sleep over!” Emmet fires back.

“And now the delinquent Tamadensha twins are about to elope on a journey with young innocent Ms. Strika to the uncultured south,” Ingo dryly quotes. “The shock! The horror! If our dear mothers could see us now!”

Emmet’s smile trails off. “Yes. If only.”

Lampent hovers behind Ingo, blue flames casting his analytical stare in a sharp glow. “This isn’t about the journey, is it? Not really.”

“Do you think it’s my fault they’re not here?”

“Our mothers?” Ingo’s flat expression falls. “Emmet. We were nine years old.”

“Don’t look back. Don’t let go. Don’t close your eyes.” Emmet’s smile wobbles. “Nii-san. I looked. They saw me watching them.”

Ingo goes still.

“I watched them trying to get above the water. I watched them until they stopped moving.” Emmet curls his legs up in front of his chest. “I can’t stop thinking about it. Maybe if I just listened to them and didn’t look, they would still…”

=#[o]#=

“It’s my fault,” Irida sobs. “I couldn’t swim.”

“No- no, that’s not your fault,” Ingo softly says. “It just happened! That’s not your fault, that’s not anyone’s fault.”

=#[o]#=

“But what if it is?” Emmet asks anyway.

=#[o]#=

Ingo stares at Irida for a moment.

“Even if it was,” Ingo finally says, “you would still be my good friend Irida, who I love very much.” His worn hand rests on Irida’s pearlescent hair. “I would never be upset with you.”

“You promise?” Irida says in a very small voice.

=#[o]#=

“I would never hate you,” Ingo promises. “Not now, not ever.”

Emmet smiles sadly. “Cus you’re my two-car train.”

“And that’s the Truth.” Ingo holds his brother’s hand on his twelfth birthday, and he almost smiles. “You’re my two-car train, and I will never let you go.”

=#[o]#=

“Do you understand?”

Irida nods, tears still welling in her eyes.

“Good,” Ingo decides. “That’s a start.” He pulls an Eevee out of his coat. “Now, would you like an Eevee in these trying times? The herd driver Flareons just had another litter.”

Irida giggles softly, taking the small pokemon into her hands. “Is it gonna be another Flareon?”

“Only if it wishes really, really hard,” Ingo jokes. “That’s what’s so special about them, you know. They can choose who they want to be.”

The Eevee rolls around happily in Irida’s lap.

Ingo chuckles. “I think someone’s going to follow you home today.”

Chapter Text

Emmet clicks his pocketwatch again.

It just happened! That’s not your fault, that’s not anyone’s fault.

He stares silently at the security footage on his tablet. The same way he’s been staring at it for the last hour.

Even if it was, you would still be my brother. I would never hate you. Not now, not ever. And that’s the Truth.

Emmet Tamadensha rewinds the footage of the Axew train line. 

He watches Single Train 001 disappear between Icirrus and Opelucid. 

He watches his brother step on a train at Gear Station and never come back.

He clicks his pocketwatch, rewinds the footage one last time, and watches his two-car train disappear.

You’re my two car train, whispers a promise eighteen years long, and I will never let you go.

Subway Boss Tamadensha makes a phone call.

“Nimbasa City police?” Emmet hears himself say- distantly, like from down a far-away tunnel. “I need to file a missing person report.”