#silverlining.pdf

“I must ask you to leave.”

Crunch. Crunch.

“You are no longer welcome in the Galaxy Team.”

A heavy breath, two, three, clouds of steam emitting from their mouth.

“Consider yourself banished from the village until you can explain why these calamities keep befalling our good people.”

A shiver, a shudder, stiff arms moving to try and get any semblance of warmth. Their hands were ever so slightly turning from red to blue. They couldn’t take out their pokemon.

None of them remained except for one.

“No – until you’ve restored our world to its rightful state and proven your innocence beyond doubt!”

Their partner’s ball rattled, sensing something wrong. They ignored it. The cold winds made their eyes tear up, and their body was subjected to another aggressive bout of trembling. Their next breath came up short, making them let out a series of wracking coughs. The pokeball at their hip shook harder.

Our good people…

They never were one of them, were they? Never one of their people. Nothing else explained why they’d be thrown out like this, forced to survive off of scraps and try to solve… whatever this was. They didn’t know how. It didn’t matter.

Blowing into their hands did nothing. Their breath was hardly warmer than the chilled flesh. The crunching of their footsteps was loud, and they knew that the Icelands were probably one of the worst places to allow caution to slip.

It was too cold for them to care.

It was a mixture of the cold and the fatigue that got them caught unawares.

There was a mighty hiss behind them, followed by a strange, unnatural sound. Teleportation, their mind told them, but they were too slow. Their sluggish turn only got them a slash from a furious Haunter, searing across their side like it was nothing more than butter. It knocked the breath out of them, and they fell backwards into the snow.

A trembling hand came to hold their side, where the gash had opened and begun to bleed. They couldn’t feel their hand or the gash.

Adrenaline washed through their veins, and they tried to back away, to run.

The Haunter was quicker.

It shot them in the back with a weaker pulse, knocking them back into the ground they’d tried to scramble up from just seconds before. Their pokeball rattled violently, but… she couldn’t help them. Not now. It was best to leave her in her pokeball, where she was safe.

They rose again, struggling, their back and side burning and their whole body shaking. They can’t die here, they can’t. They aren’t done!

A few more staggering steps away from the Haunter rewarded them with a scratch – a Shadow Claw, their mind supplied uselessly – across the full of their back. It slid deep. Their whole body stuttered, finally collapsing as the Haunter gave another attack to their weak legs.

On the ground, they stared up at the Haunter, its red eyes appearing hazy in their delirium. Ah… they thought, mind moving slowly, this is it, isn’t it?

They felt their side shake as the lone pokeball on their waist burst open, a shadow appearing over them with a snarl that only registered seconds after the fact. They blinked, static creeping towards the edges of their vision. Samurott gave a yell towards them, but they knew that she would be better off without them.

As their pokemon leapt at the Haunter, both of their shapes turning into colors, they felt… they felt anger.

Our people. Our people. Our. Our. Our.

Not you.

Never you.

White on blue on purple began to fade to black. The red in the snow began to freeze.

As the faint breaths exhaled from their mouth slowed, they found themself feeling only the cold fury of unjust hate accompanying them.

Why? What did I do to deserve this? Why? Why? W…h…y…    w…

— x — x — 

Samurott leapt over her trainer’s prone form, a protective growl over their behalf hardly even phasing the Haunter. This… the Samurott felt a sudden pit in her stomach, this Haunter is strong.

Its eyes gleamed with malice, and it did not speak to her. The blood on its spectral claws dripped into the disrupted snow, and Samurott had never before been consumed with such fury. Her trainer was hurt, and it was because of this. This beast.

She launched at it with a roar, claws and horn trained on the Haunter. It was a stupid attack, she knew, fueled by emotion over logic, but… but… her trainer could not command her. Samurott could fight on her own, yes, but it wasn’t nearly the same as fighting in tandem with her partner.

It easily dodged to the side, launching a Shadow Ball at her as she passed it. It connected, sending her careening with a pained shout. She blinked, and it was close to her, and it was only by the grace of Sinnoh that she narrowly dodged, the following attack grazing her flank and sending static bolts of pain along her spine.

Samurott turned quickly, conjuring one of her Dark blades. Without letting the Haunter get too far from its position, she darted forward with a Ceaseless Edge attack. It gave an enraged cry, flinging her away from it with a weak, reflexive Thunder Punch. Still, she gave an answering cry of pain, shivering at the feeling of electricity arcing through her veins.

As they both shook off their respective super-effective aches, Samurott looked to her trainer to check on them.

The otter pokemon stopped short.

They weren’t breathing.

The world’s turn ceased for her, at that moment. This… no, no, it couldn’t be real. They’d come this far. They’d crossed the lands on foot, they’d been through the literal end of the world together, they’d, they’d…

They… they were… dead. Their partner, their trainer, at her side since she was an Oshawott… dead. Dead in the snow. Alone. Exiled. A l o n e.

For Samurott, it was like her heart had stopped beating alongside theirs.

Slowly, so slowly, she turned to the Haunter.

And she charged.

The two exchanged blow after blow, Dark blades cutting deep into spectral essence and Electric punches charring blue skin to black and red. A few Shadow Claws here, cutting deep in the way that only fiercely strong pokemon could, a few Aqua Tails in return there.

By the third Thunder Punch she received, Samurott knew that she would not be leaving this fight alive.

By the fourth, she’d resolved to take the Haunter with her. She was already dead. How could she live without her partner? The least she could do was avenge them.

It was a final Ceaseless Edge that had done the Haunter in, the look of shock in its red eyes as it faded into dust satiating the rage in her soul.

All at once, her ambition leaked out of her, and she swayed, falling to the side before catching herself with a stagger. Oh… she blinked, her vision swimming, I’m dying.

The pokemon’s legs gave out, and she fell hard onto her chest and chin. A pained keen left her, but… no. Not yet. She… she had to…

Slowly, painstakingly, Samurott dragged herself across the ground. Behind her, splotches and streaks of red blanketed the ground, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. No, what mattered most was getting to that blurry blot of red and blue she knew was closer than it felt.

Samurott only allowed herself to rest when she’d reached her trainer, her hind legs no longer moving to help drag her heavy body. Every movement increased the weight, but she forced her forelimbs to give her one last push.

As she laid her head on her trainer’s still chest, the snow around them an abstract painting of red and white, she let her eyes close. It’s okay, she told them in her head.

I’m here now.

— x — x — 

“Where. Are. They?” Irida hissed, staring Volo down. She was easily much shorter than him, but he felt intimidated all the same.

“I told you, I don’t know! They weren’t in the Fieldlands, nor were they in the Coastlands or the Mirelands. They can’t have gone to the Highlands, and the Icelands have been weathering a snowstorm for over a week!” Volo snapped back, frustrated. Everything was going wrong. The kid was nowhere to be found, and the Red Chain couldn’t be completed without them. The situation hadn’t worsened, not yet, at least, but no one knew how long it would last.

“They are a child, one who is alone in the wilderness!” Irida yelled, exasperated and incredulous in equal measure. “Every second we aren’t looking for them could be a second closer to their death, Volo. We’re failing them.”

“You think I don’t know that, Lady Irida?”

“Okay, enough.” Adaman stepped between the two. “Look, if we’re going to find them, we can’t be arguing. We don’t have time for that. Kamado is already onto us as is, and we’re lucky he hasn’t intervened.” Certain he had their attention, he continued. “Volo. You said you had combed the Fieldlands, the Mirelands, and the Coastlands in their entirety, right?”

“Correct,” the merchant exhaled, “the only places we haven’t been able to search up and down have been the Highlands, due to their proximity to the anomaly, and the Icelands, due to the snowstorm.”

“Irida.” She looked up from where she’d been taking a few, deep, steadying breaths. “Would they have gone to the Icelands?”

“I…” The fellow clan leader stopped, thinking for a long moment. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility. There are hot springs there that they could have tried, and it’s possible they had thought to shelter in one of the ice caves.”

“Okay. Okay.” Adaman rubbed his eyes. “...Okay. We’ll go to the Icelands. Irida, I know we have our differences, but would you allow me into your domain to help search? I want them found just as much as you do.”

Irida blinked at him. “Of course. This takes priority, no matter whatever strife we have or have had. The storm should be letting up, so–”

“And what, exactly, are the three of you planning to do?” Irida and Adaman flinched at Kamado’s angry tone, but Volo just leveled him with a glare. “Retrieving the child, the fugitive, with some futile attempt at subtlety?”

Irida was the first to speak. “The. Child.” She enunciated each word, “the child that you sent into the fucking wilds to die. You expect any sane, rational person to stand idly by while you’re responsible for their death?”

Adaman followed shortly after. “Irida is right. You sentenced them to death. There is little time to debate, here. We need to find them.”

Kamado stared at them for a good, long moment. His hands clenched and unclenched, suppressed rage clearly indicated through the action. He looked as if he were deciding whether to punch them or to let them go.

“I admit I acted somewhat rashly.” Volo waited for the ‘but’. “However–” ah, there it was, “– I retain the opinion that they are in no way innocent in this endeavor. They’re an outsider, and…” the Commander weighed his words, before deciding that they needed to be said. “Perhaps it would be best if they perished out there. Maybe that would fix it.”

Volo had hardly blinked, but Kamado had somehow ended up on the ground holding his nose and Adaman was now standing above him, shaking his hand as if it hurt. Ah, well. Volo could hardly blame Adaman. Irida looked seconds away from doing the same herself, even.

“Do not ever–” Adaman began, his tone clipped, “insinuate that someone’s time should be cut short before it is due. I have let many things slide on your end, Commander Kamado, but I will not be so lenient this time. Are we clear?”

As Kamado stood, still holding his nose, something like begrudging respect flickered in his eyes. Arceus above, Volo thought, does this man only respond to violence?

“We are clear,” Kamado responded, and Volo had to hold back a laugh at how nasally it was compared to his normal voice. Definitely broken, then. “I will not stop you, but there is one condition to my approval of this fool’s errand.”

“State your terms,” Irida folded her arms, the sleeves of her robe swishing with the movement.

“I must accompany you on this search. If the child has not solved this on their own by now, clearly they can’t do it alone. As much as I distrust them, the longer the situation goes on the more risk we take onto ourselves. I do not want to risk my people any more than I already have.”

Both parties stared at each other for a long, long moment. Volo felt almost as if he could see electricity between Adaman, Irida, and Kamado, neither party wanting to budge.

“We’re wasting time,” Adaman finally said with a frown. “Fine. Get your nose splinted and meet us at the gate.”

Volo had to bite his tongue to not outwardly smile at Kamado’s expression, clearly miffed at being ordered around like a grunt.

— x — x — 

The creation of Rei was slow.

It started with an absence of pain.

Something told them that they should feel hurt, that they should be in agony, but it was all muted. They felt only the whispers of wind gliding across their being.

They next started to develop sight.

Around them was nothing but a white landscape, although red glinted in the sun when they looked at the right angle. Below them, they thought they could see blue, but they could not move to check what it was.

Next came the sensation of hearing.

Wind roared in their ears, and the distant sound of pokemon could occasionally join their new auditory senses. For some reason, they knew they did not like one of the cries in particular.

After they could hear, they found they could move.

They could not travel far, yet, their legs far too weak, but they could move their head and their limbs around for small periods. The blue they had seen was some four legged pokemon – why did their chest hurt looking at it? – and a bipedal shape that made them nauseous to behold.

They didn’t look at either shape for long.

The culmination of the being known as Rei was the return of their rage.

All at once, they felt an all-encompassing hatred, though they knew not what for. It overwhelmed them, filling their small body and overflowing into the snow. What had caused such rage? Why did they feel so much spite? They could hardly move from the shapes they existed close to, so how could they feel this angry?

Rei did not know how long it took to calm themself down, but they managed to force the anger to the back of their mind, a simmer instead of a rolling boil.

Their relative peace did not last long.

“&@%#?!” A voice in a garbled language cried out in the distance. It was… familiar.

Two more voices, both equally familiar, joined the call. They repeated the same thing, over and over. Was it a chant? A name?

Rei next noticed that there were four sets of footsteps but only three voices.

Behind them, unrecognizable but understandable voices chirped up.

“Friend?”

“Sibling?”

“New.”

They turned, seeing three creatures behind them. They were taller than the creatures, but the three of them didn’t seem surprised. Perhaps it was common to be different sizes.

“You.” The third one, who had stepped forth, addressed them. “Zorua. We, Zorua. Still look like old self, a bit. Will fade with time.”

The other two… Zoruas, she’d said, had approached. They looked at the bodies next to Rei. “Are sorry,” the first frowned, “becoming… never happy affair.”

The second nodded, “is sad. But family, we are,” she smiled at them. “Alone once, not longer. But… people come. Danger.”

Rei looked at their… claws? Hands? They were white, tipped with black, and it almost reminded them of frostbite. Rei did not think about how they shouldn’t know what frostbite was. “Hear them.” They said, voice rough, “familiar.”

The third, which seemed the oldest, came up next to them. “Want to see?” She asked, although it did not feel entirely like a question. Rei nodded, the wisps of their body flickering slightly. “You cannot meet them. Cannot move. But we… we lead. They come. Meet you.”

Rei looked at her, long and steady. “Thank you.” All three nodded, and scampered off together.

— x — x — 

The Zoruas did not take long, Rei noted. The people must not have been far.

As they flanked the new Ghost’s body, the oldest Zorua came to rest in a defensive position next to them. The other two watched, wary, but did not move to an aggressive posture yet.

The first person Rei spotted was pink.

She wore a pink and white attush robe, a flute on her hip and a red hairpin in her blonde hair. She had bracelets, they saw, but they then registered that the woman looked… devastated. Her hands covered her mouth, her eyes welled with tears, and her legs shook as if they’d give out.

Next to her, a man in blue had a bandaged arm held to his face. His eyes were wide, and he looked as if he’d be sick. Clear despair swam in his eyes, already full of tears, but the rest of his expression was blank with utter shock. He, too, looked as if he could fall over at any moment. The pink woman collapsed into his side, and he held her shoulders fiercely just as she held his side.

Something told Rei that they held no anger towards these two. All three – four? – Zoruas turned, then, to the man clad in black.

Rei felt their wisps flare, glowing red with their rage, and their claws of frostbite clenched into fists. Him.

The eldest Zorua bared her teeth at him, and the other two rose to all fours. Rei felt flashes of memory, all of them only serving to madden them more, their fury once again overflowing from their short body.

Our people…

Never should have trusted them…

Banished…

Your fault…

Could die…

Knew they were…

The two younger Zorua darted around the man – Kamado, their mind hissed – and tugged on the other humans’ robes. Even the Zoruas knew their brethren did not want innocents hurt. They did not know why they knew. They did not care to find out.

Revenge was important to their species.

Family was even more important.

Rei and the elder Zorua stared at Kamado.

“…  &@%#?” He asked, faintly, in foreign syllables.

Deep breaths. In, out. In, out. In, out.

That’s it, Rei. Don’t take it to heart. In, out. Calm. Smile. Nod.

“Thank you, Rei. I sure am glad you popped out of the sky! You’re such a help around here,” the woman smiled at them, ruffling their hair.

Their chest tightened, and they forced out a laugh, nodding along with her. In, out. In, out. Stay positive. Put on a brave face.

Rei wasn’t sure what, exactly, they’d said to end the conversation. The woman seemed happy enough, though, so they turned away and kept a small smile fixed to their face.

Careful, now. One step, two, three, four. One after the other. Not too fast, not running, don’t run from them. Walk with purpose, too slow and they’ll request something. Remember to smile. You’re here because of Kamado’s grace. Be grateful.

A wave to Ress, a smile, a noncommittal answer. He seemed to accept it. In, out. In, out. No outbreaks. This is not the last time you will walk through this gate. A reach for the flute. A tune.

Wind.

— x — x — 

Braviary didn’t know what to think.

He was called upon frequently, the Celestica Flute’s unique melody for him becoming commonplace, even in his distorted perception of time. This instance should have been no different. Instead, when he alighted on the ground with his back already inclined for his charge to clamber on to, he paused.

They… did not look their normal self. He couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps it was the Steel-y nature in which they walked, or the not-quite-there look on their face. They paused, and for a moment, Braviary wasn’t sure if they’d get on. Just to be sure, he nudged them with his head – gentle, but insistent. The jolt they let out made his eyes narrow, but he held back judgment, at least for now.

Obediently, but slowly, they slid a leg over his back, and then settled with their arms around his neck. If their fingers dug into his feathers more than usual, Braviary would pretend not to notice.

A few beats passed with Braviary not taking off, waiting for them to make a request. Usually, even if they weren’t talkative, they had a series of taps or tugs they’d perform in order to tell him where to go. No such command nor touch followed. Instead, static, rhythmic breathing ruffled his feathers ever-so-faintly.

Ah. Braviary was not well equipped for this, was he? Sabi rarely had moments like this, strange as she was. How does one deal with an upset child?

He wracked his mind and produced… absolutely nothing.

Sneasler had kids, didn’t she? Ursaluna, as well. Although, Ursaluna lived in the Mirelands, and that’s where a Settlement was, wasn’t it? If the child didn’t want to be in the Village, perhaps the Mirelands, and by extension, the Icelands, weren’t the best choices. Braviary took flight, feeling as if he’d lingered by the Village too long.

At random, the Lord picked a direction and flew towards it. Possibly the Fieldlands? No, that was awfully close to the Village. It was hardly half an hour’s flight, at best. That left the Coastlands and the Highlands… well, if Sneasler was in the Highlands, perhaps it’d be best to chart his course there. Maybe she’d know how to communicate with them. Basculegion was remiss when it came to humans, in most cases. At least the Lady liked people.

A slight angle to his wings, and he turned towards the Highlands. Unlike most of his flights, though, his mind stayed on his passenger.

Rei was a kind kid, not demanding, and they even gave him cake treats on rare occasions. They’d fended off both Sinnohs with relative ease, gone toe to toe with rampaging Lords, and almost filled that book of theirs. What had rattled them so? What had brought them to him looking much like a freshly evolved Steelix, hardly holding it together long enough for him to take to the skies?

As their grip tightened in his feathers and their form shook against his back, he felt lost, perhaps for the first time in decades.

— x — x — 

Sneasler stiffened marginally next to Ingo, who was dutifully relighting the torches in Wayward Cave. A glance in her direction awarded no response, so he lit the final torch before returning to her side.

“Lady Sneasler?” Ingo started, his natural lack of volume control startling her from her zoned-out state. He lowered his voice, if only a bit, but the clear confusion in it spoke volumes. “What’s the matter? Has something switched tracks?”

She grunted, then gestured towards the exit. Her claws clacked together once, followed by two more rapid clacks. They’d developed a means of understanding one another – or, rather, for Ingo to understand her better. Sneasler herself had picked up on his metaphors quite quickly. “‘Leave, and I’ll take you to it?’” he double checked, just in case, and she grunted again.

By the time they’d exited, she looked slightly more agitated, and rather than waiting for him to get on her back or simply walk , she tossed him over her shoulder and made for the Stonetooth Rows. Something had her alarmed, and she wanted him along for it? This was certainly abnormal. Lady Sneasler wasn’t as agitated as when Lord Electrode had been frenzied, nor as when she first wanted him to meet her kits, but it certainly was up there. Just what had happened?

Despite his confusion, Ingo did not protest nor squirm. When his Lady was like this, she was single-minded – that, and he trusted her. If she could help it, harm would not come his way. With the speed of both familiarity and perceived necessity, they’d gotten to the Stonetooth Rows in little more than twenty minutes, thirty one seconds. She looked back and forth across the peaks, looking for something, he was sure. She’d not put him down, though, so he was privy to a view of the Rows upside-down.

Before he realized it, she’d found her target and was running towards it – them? He was pretty sure there were two colors on the brown of the earth. Ingo was unceremoniously set on the ground, and he looked to Sneasler. Even if he wasn’t expressive, she was quite adept at understanding his minute facial changes.

Only his brother had been able to do that, previously.

He shook the thought off quickly. As valuable as the scraps of memory were, something far more pressing was at hand. The Lady held up a claw, then clacked them once. No danger. Quiet.  

With little else to do, he kept his mouth shut. Ingo watched her carefully as she approached a Braviary with… a person? Yes, undoubtedly. It wasn’t abnormal to see people riding pokemon, but it was something usually only done by the Wardens. No bracelet adorned their wrist, one of the only things he could see, so that eliminated the possibility. Strange.

Sneasler and the Braviary – was that Lord Braviary? – spoke lowly, his Lady’s frown growing deeper with each passing minute. She kept glancing at the bundle on Braviary’s back, making Ingo divert his attention to them. They seemed to be shaking, if slightly, and made no move to remove themself from the bird’s back. As Ingo thought about it, the bundle did look somewhat familiar… at least, the sleeves did. It wasn’t a Galaxy uniform, nor a Clan uniform, which meant…

On Braviary’s back, Rei hardly said a word as Sneasler helped them down, mindful of her clawtips. Their eyes were downcast, even as they gave Braviary an appreciative stroke. Sneasler led them over to him, as Braviary lingered for one long moment. His gaze was fierce, full of care and rage alike, watching Rei walk like a soldier to their grave. He met Ingo’s eyes, and despite the feeling of crawling Ingo felt at the eye contact, he dared not look away.

Take care of them. Braviary told him, taking flight at last. I will not tolerate any harm coming upon my charge, regardless of the perpetrator.

When the Lord was far enough away, Ingo looked back to Rei, who was now close to the stone on which he sat. Sneasler’s frown had not abated, but she sat them down next to him. Their limbs moved like a Shuppet, or perhaps a Golett – not quite acting of their own accord, instead puppeted by another force. A twinge of concern wormed itself into his chest.

He’d never seen Rei like this. They’d always seemed positive, eager to battle, eager to help, eager to connect with those they met and make friends. They had even managed to befriend Ingo, who had kept to himself beyond Melli, Irida, and Sneasler, the latter being the only one he contacted with relative frequency. Now, they were quiet, hardly responding to his Lady’s gentle prodding.

Ingo looked to his Lady, gesturing softly to get her attention but not startle Rei. She came closer to him, and he tried his hardest to speak quietly (which, in reality, probably was a normal or close-to-normal tone of voice). “Let me try. Emmet had days like this.”

Neither of them commented on the name. It wasn’t the time, nor the place.

“Hey, Rei?” Ingo knelt next to them, and then sat. The two would be there for awhile, he knew. “Do you want to talk? You can shake your head, if you want.”

A period of silence followed, where Rei stared at his shoes and he stared at their hair. A few times, they’d open their mouth, only to close it again. A similar aborted movement would sometimes follow with their head, as if they wanted to shake it, but couldn’t decide whether to or not. That was okay. There was no train to delay here, no course to reroute. It was just Rei and Ingo, with Sneasler keeping close watch nearby.

Finally, they cracked out a “yes,” before rubbing their hands. It seemed to be a nervous tic. Ingo couldn’t blame them. “I… it’ll take awhile. I don’t know where to start, and, and.” A frustrated sigh escaped them, seemingly involuntarily. “I’m having trouble with my words.”

“That’s okay, dear passenger.” Ingo nodded slightly, “the two of us have no set destination at the present moment. It’s just us and Lady Sneasler. We have as much time as we need.”

“Okay. … Okay.” The kid nodded, and Sneasler looked relieved. For a moment there, neither of them had thought they’d get a response.

“Let’s proceed to Lady Sneasler and I’s dwelling. It’s not far, and it’s out of the way. It’s a fine stop here, but something tells me there’s inclement weather.”

Instead of voicing their response, Rei just gave another nod.

— x — x — 

The dwelling was rather nice, Rei thought.

It was in a decently sized cave and tunnel system, seemingly dug out by Sneasler herself, lit by small torches. The area Ingo and Sneasler led them to was cozy, with a pile of various leaves and blankets alike serving as Sneasler’s bed and a few more cushions and blankets littered around for Ingo. It was on one such cushion Rei sat. It was surprisingly warm, as well. Cozy , their mind supplied.

“I will not press you,” Ingo told them, and they could tell he was putting in an effort to lower his volume for them. They appreciated it, despite normally the shouts being easy to handle. Something about the day felt wrong, and too much stimulus spelled trouble. On some level, the man seemed to understand that and adjust accordingly. “It is in your own time. Sneasler may come and go, depending on the timeframe, but I have a considerable amount of resources here. Do not push yourself.”

Rei nodded, again, and felt almost as if their head was a toy bouncing to and fro. Their companion didn’t seem to mind.

They were unsure how much time had passed when they worked up the nerve to speak again. The cave was darker, but that could mean anything. “I didn’t mean anything to them,” they blurted, finally. Ingo started a bit, not expecting the break in the quiet, but turned to them attentively from his spot by the teapot. “I… when I arrived here, they didn’t trust me at all. Kamado-” their voice cracked at his name, “-and Cyllene took a risk allowing me in, probably without the town’s approval. I had to pass an exam, yeah, but it was simple. I feel like you’d understand how easy catching some baby pokemon is. But everyone there was suspicious of me. Even Kamado.”

Ingo gave them a long, neutral look. They appreciated the lack of pity in it. “I was similarly distrusted upon my arrival at this station,” he agreed.

Rei took a deep breath. “I… I wanted them to like me. I was alone, you know? Alone and an outsider. So when the townspeople started talking to me, and asking for help, I jumped at the chance. I thought, ‘hey, maybe if I help around and pull my weight, it’ll help my case.’” They let out a bitter laugh. “And I really thought it worked! For months I did stuff for the townspeople and helped quell the Nobles. Cyllene told me on my first day here that I could die out in the wilds. Them taking me in was a blessing, and I thought that blessing had borne fruit, that I belonged somewhere. The Clans seemed to like me, and I thought I’d made friends. Family, even.”

Another long pause. They could feel a burning behind their eyes and a lump in their throat, and while they knew logically that Ingo wouldn’t judge, a traitorous voice told them that he’d throw them out all the same. They felt a nudge to their hand, and they jerked back reflexively. Ingo jumped a little, as well, two cups of tea in his hands. “Sorry, sorry,” he spoke quickly and forgot to regulate his volume, but corrected himself just as fast. “Should’ve asked before. You weren’t responding, I… made tea?”

His clear awkwardness drew a choked laugh from Rei, and they accepted the cup, blowing on its contents before taking a sip. “Thank you.”

The two sat in silence for another undefined period, each drinking at their own pace. Ingo looked contemplative, or at least they thought so. He was hard to read when he wasn’t talking.

“I was blind.” Out of the corner of their eye, they could see Ingo glance up at them. His gaze returned to his cup, though, likely in effort to not stare or overwhelm them. “The requests, the friendliness, all of it. It wasn’t acceptance.” Rei took a deep breath. “They were just using me. Making the most out of the situation. They never wanted me there. It didn’t matter that I ate with them, talked with them, worked with them, nothing. None of it mattered. What I had thought was something was really just wishful thinking.”

They bit their hand to stop the choked sob that tried to force itself from their throat and squeezed their eyes shut. They couldn’t show weakness. Not where others could see. Not now, not now, not now. In, out, in, out, inoutinoutinout.

“Rei? Rei.” Ingo’s voice broke through their mantra. “Hey, Rei. I’m going to touch you, okay? I need you to breathe.” They glanced up, and Ingo rested a hand on their shoulder. “Breathe with me, okay? In, one, two, three, four. Hold, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Out, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Okay? Let’s do it again.”

They weren’t sure how long the two of them sat and counted, but when they felt less like they’d run a marathon in heels, the two had returned to sitting side by side. “I don’t want you to force yourself,” Ingo began, quieter than they’d heard him be yet. “I want you to be able to talk about it, but don’t work yourself into a panic attack trying to get it all out at once, okay? It’s ultimately up to you what you say and what you don’t. I’m just here to listen.”

Rei rubbed their hands before quietly agreeing. They accepted his offer for more tea, if only to have something to hold on to while they gathered their thoughts. By the time the tea (bitter, but refreshing. Rei idly thought to themself that they must have not had tea, Before ) was ready, they’d somewhat composed themself. “I still want to talk,” they said resolutely, “if I don’t say it now, I never will.”

Ingo seemed to accept that, reclaiming his seat nearby them. “So long as you take breaks when you need them,” he acquiesced.

“I will.” They confirmed, and continued their story, “I, well. The sky went red. And I was exiled.” Ingo’s eyes turned sad, at that. They knew he had a similar experience, if devoid of the details. “When I was leaving… Kamado said he’d known not to trust me, and that I only wasn’t in chains because of my service. That I caused it.” That got a wince out of their companion. “The townspeople agreed. They said they’d never trusted me, I was always an outsider, I should never have been admitted. After everything I’d done, all the friendships I’d thought I’d made, all of it , gone in minutes.

“I was bitter. I was angry. But most of all… I was hurt. I had nowhere to go. I sought out the Diamond and Pearl clans, but they couldn’t help me. Not explicitly, at least, lest Kamado start a war with them over it.” The vitriol in their words left unhindered, at last. It had festered for far too long. “I wasn’t angry with Adaman, nor with Irida. They have people to care for. They came to help me later. But Kamado . He… he represents all of it, to me. I can’t look at him the same way. I can hardly look at him at all.”

Ingo nodded, understanding borne of similar experiences weighing upon his shoulders. “I… well, I’m sure you know I, too, was derailed from my typical Warden’s tracks. It wasn’t as cruel, for me, as I never was close with those of Jubilife. But seeing the way they treated someone kind enough to help strangers in the first place, let alone after they’d been driven from house and home.

“I came back from visiting Lady Sneasler to the red sky. By the time I realized what the town had done, I was en route to the Training Grounds. The way Zisu had looked at me despite our many days training together… it is not one I’ll soon forget.” Ingo looked down at his tea, idly swishing the liquid back and forth in the mug. “I tried the Pearl Settlement, as well, but they could not accept me. They directed me to Lady Sneasler. Lady Irida was furious, she wanted to barge into the Team’s headquarters and take him on herself, but… I am one man. One part of a small whole… hardly a part at all, as an outsider. Even some of the Clan felt indifferent about my exclusion. So… I had Lady Sneasler. Lady Irida visited me, but I laid low here. It… wasn’t too different from before, really. All I could do was hope that you’d found somewhere.” His grip tightened on the teacup. “It wasn’t my proudest moment. I apologize.”

Rei hummed. “It’s okay. I… someone helped me. They took me in. They worked with me, as did Adaman and Irida, to fix things.”

“The fact that you fixed things at all is remarkable, Rei. You had no reason to. Your kindness truly shines in your actions.”

Rei frowned, but they knew Ingo was nothing but honest if he could be. Especially with them, they’d found. Amnesiac solidarity, they supposed. “You know, the chef tried to kill me.”

Ingo choked on the sip of tea he had just started to take, setting the cup down to cough. They patted his back. He didn’t say anything, but the ‘what? ’ was written so clearly on his normally inexpressive face that they couldn’t help but laugh.

“Beni. He’s a ninja, I suppose. Kamado did too, but that’s not as funny.” Ingo hadn’t managed to lose his what the hell expression, yet. “But, yeah. After… everything… with the Sinnohs, they just. They just took me back. They brought me back into the Village as if they hadn’t left a fucking fifteen year old out in the wild to die . They threw a festival , for Arceus’ sake.”

“So…” Ingo’s frown finally made its reappearance. “A ninja chef tried to kill you, and then the Commander tried to kill you, and then two gods tried to kill you, and then they threw a party like nothing happened…? Am I summarizing that correctly?”

For some reason, the utter bafflement in Ingo’s tone was what broke the Camerupt’s back, so to speak. They’d not spoken to anyone about the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, as no one from the town could truly understand how stupid it all sounded – not even their friend nor Laventon would truly grasp it. Tears sprung forth like a deluge, finally bypassing the lump in their throat to allow them a full sob .

Awkwardly, Ingo patted their back. He was better at the talking part of comforting, and less so the actual act , and it showed. The thought just made Rei cry harder, the relief of finally being able to let it out with someone who could understand it overtaking them. They knew it wasn’t pitying, just awkward, and that was so, so, so much better.

Rei had to have cried for awhile, but their friend hardly moved beyond to get them a couple of handkerchiefs to clean their face with. The release of emotion made them exhausted , but they wanted to finish. “I– I’m good now,” they finally managed to say, taking a deep breath. They took a few more for good measure, accepting the water Ingo provided them with.

“I went back and they talked to me as if they hadn’t left me for dead. As if they hadn’t yanked the carpet out from under me. As if I hadn’t been betrayed the second something looked off.

“But… I couldn’t… I couldn’t say anything. At first, there was no time to think about how I felt. Then it was all so fresh and even thinking about it got me worked up to almost hyperventilating. And after that it was too late. Too much time had passed, Rei, why are you still dwelling on it? Aren’t you grateful? ” The spite that dripped from their final word surprised even them.

Sneasler, who had just returned from checking on what Ingo apparently (secretly) called the “sneaslings”, approached them. Perhaps it was instinct, perhaps she was unnaturally perceptive, perhaps some combination of the two, but Sneasler took Rei’s head in her carefully turned away claws and rested their forehead on hers. A deep, throaty hum, much like a purr, stemmed from her throat, and Rei relaxed into her makeshift embrace. Even if Sneasler couldn’t hold them fully without risking their health, she could still convey care. It was, somehow, exactly what they needed.

— x — x — 

The kid seemed to be all out of tears, Sneasler noted as they relaxed into her hold. Instead, it seemed like the wind had been taken from their feathers, and they simply held onto her like a lifeline. A sharp spike of fury washed over her, carefully hidden by the purr she let out. Ingo seemed to notice, anyhow – her Warden was extremely perceptive, at times.

Gently, she rocked the child, allowing them to fall asleep against her soft fur. It had been a long day for them, she knew. Braviary was probably plucking his feathers while preening, he’d seemed so concerned, and she finally understood why.

It was not often that Sneasler felt a protective rage for humans. Once, it was for an earlier Warden of hers, a sickly girl whom she guarded more fiercely than any others before her. The next time was for Warden Ingo, a man who’d grown on her like stubborn moss, and was likely the first Warden she’d bonded with in a true fashion. And now, for this small, fragile child, who had saved the world twice over and likely would again.

The child had hurt no soul, displaying no brutality even towards those they defeated. They harbored no resentment for the Clan Heads who turned them away, nor for those who stood idly by whilst they were forced from the only home they remembered. Only the perpetrator of the banishment held their ire, when Sneasler knew she’d have already torn the population to shreds by the time they had the chance to utter the word exile .

This simply wouldn’t do. No kit of hers would remain passively in harm’s way, no matter how feeble they were (and humans were so, so feeble, she mused). Her Warden looked at her, as they both knew what she was thinking.

He could not argue, though. He’d say he didn’t want to wake the child, but they both knew better.

Shortly after the sky went red, Ingo had found himself at the Training Grounds.

He wasn’t quite sure what drew him here. Perhaps it was seeking familiarity, both in the atmosphere of a battling arena and in the presence of a friend. Perhaps it was the feeling of wrongness he felt when he had passed the townspeople, previously ignored in favor of his set destination. Or, perhaps he was simply drawn there, the comfort of routine and a sense of purpose putting the steam in his engine.

Truthfully, the red sky had him rattled. He’d never seen something like this before, and despite his limited frame of reference, he figured it was safe to say that he hadn’t before, either. Although, to be fair, it was likely no one had seen something like this before. The town certainly felt tense, even with Ingo being as dense towards social cues as he was, and a collective anxiety would explain such an abrasive air about the Village.

The steps up to the dojo were worn and familiar, the ground remaining unchanged even as its opposite twisted in kaleidoscopic patterns. His habit of keeping his eyes trained somewhat downward did not spare him from seeing the dark look flitting over Master Zisu’s face, as he had risen his gaze to focus on her hair, as was polite.

A spark of confusion flickered in his chest, the tension of the town finally registering in his consciousness. The strange looks he’d mostly ignored, the hostility crackling within the air, the oppressive silence that met his arrival… what had he missed, in his typical habit of going full speed ahead?

“Master Zisu!” Ingo greeted boisterously, deciding to keep his typical routine and greeting. In a way, it was a desperate grasp for normalcy, a not-so-silent plea to her for peace. He knew not what sort of peace he reached blindly for, but something was amiss. “Hello!”

“Warden Ingo.” Zisu looked at him directly, then, pinning him in place with her gaze. Her tone was cold, her voice firm. She had never been so… shut off, as long as he had known her (which, he supposed, wasn’t long. But for him, it had been a decent chunk of time). A smile had not graced her face even once, he realized, and the lines of tension in her brow had never faded,

After a long moment where Ingo waited for her to explain herself, or say anything, really, he spoke again, softer. “Zisu? What is going on?”

A bolt of rage flashed across her face, wiped away quickly enough that Ingo could almost convince himself he’d imagined it. There were other emotions there, as well – pain, disbelief… strong enough that he, in all of his socially inept glory, could pick up on it quickly. He felt the oppressive air sink lower onto his shoulders, deepening his slouch, if minutely. “You have a lot of nerve showing up here, Warden Ingo,” she finally said, her words carefully measured and clipped. None of her usual fiery passion fueled the words.

“What do you mean, Master Zisu?” His voice returned to its normal volume, and the departure from the quiet inquiry seemed to frustrate her even more. The confusion in his voice was impossible to hide, and he didn’t bother to.

“You–” Zisu began, the fire behind her words rekindling, but before she could continue, a distant shout from Kamado silenced her. They both turned, and the utter puzzlement Ingo felt only increased as he witnessed Kamado marching up the stairs like a soldier to war, followed closely by the Clan Leaders.

What the fuck was happening?

Irida looked… he supposed the best word was grim, but he couldn’t gather for the life of him why she’d look like she was approaching her terminal station. Adaman didn’t look much better, but he was easier to read, his emotions less suppressed than Lady Irida’s in the moment. Where she looked as if she were to face an alpha Steelix barehanded and knew she could not win, Adaman had a cold fury swimming in his eyes. It reminded him of someone, of bloody fists and a manic smile… as he sought to latch onto it, the memory danced away, as if taunting him. Even in such a dire situation, his memories played games.

Kamado, however, looked murderous. It was clear he was the source of Adaman’s fury when, with little prompting, the man’s fist was bunched in his coat – hands off hands off hands OFF – and lifting him to force him to look him in the eyes. His skin crawled. Kamado did not know of Ingo’s aversion to eye contact, but in that moment, he knew that the Commander wouldn’t care. “Warden Ingo of the Pearl Clan. Explain yourself.” He all but growled, poorly contained fury lapping at the edges of his tone.

“Commander Kamado!” Lady Irida shouted, and – his brain had a brief lay-by. Shouted? Lady Irida rarely raised her voice in the presence of Clan members. She’d told him that it made her seem younger than she was, petulant, and she couldn’t afford to have a lapse in maturity, not in her position. “Unhand him. Now.”

“So you side with the outsider, Lady Irida? The traitor?” Kamado did not unhand him, but his gaze had left Ingo’s eyes, and that was a small victory.

“Your claims are unfounded, Commander.” Her voice took on a scathing air, and it was becoming clearer with every passing moment that there was a lot of context absent on Ingo’s end in this exchange. “First the child, and now my Warden. Watch your step, Kamado.”

The air took on a dangerous aura, neither Kamado nor Irida willing to budge. He knew it probably wasn’t the best time, but Ingo felt completely, utterly uncoupled from this conversation. “I deeply apologize, Commander Kamado, Lady Irida. If I may… what, exactly, is this about?”

Kamado’s angry eyes returned to his, and Ingo regretted speaking up. “The sky is what this is about, Warden Ingo.” The reasoning for Kamado’s emphasis on ‘Warden’ escaped him. “What did you do?”

“What did I–”  Ingo, in his shock, allowed his voice to rise well beyond even his normal loud volume. “What did I do? As in, you think I caused something to happen to the sky?”

The Commander’s grip tightened in his already tattered collar, and Ingo had the faint thought of I hope he doesn’t tear it before his mind caught back up. “You and them,” the pronoun was hissed through gritted teeth, and Ingo assumed he was referring to the child, judging by how he was acting with him, “you dropped from the sky. Both of you. You may have been here for a couple of years yet, and them for some odd months, but you two are the variables.”

“The– the variables?” Ingo interjected, incredulous. The situation was dire, yes, but dire enough to drive the Commander mad? Truly, what was happening?

“Do not interrupt me, outsider.” At the silence that followed, he continued, “You came through the rifts. Amnesia is an awfully convenient excuse for a spy, would you not agree? You come through the rift first, gather information on our Clans and our Team, and bide your time for your companion. You gain our trust, pretend you don’t remember a thing beyond your name. You aggravate the nobles. Your companion quells them. An efficient setup.”

“Commander Kamado.” Irida’s hand came to Kamado’s wrist, the one holding Ingo’s collar. She squeezed, and Ingo knew she was much stronger than her appearance would suggest. Even so, Kamado only winced, returning his gaze to her. “I will not ask you again. You will remove your hands from my Warden now.”

Perhaps it was the cold steel in her voice and eyes, or perhaps simply wanting to avoid another incident, but Kamado loosened his hold enough for Ingo to step back a couple of paces. His foot tapped rapidly in an attempt to calm himself down, even if only a slight amount. Lady Irida remained next to him, arms crossed, allowing no room for argument.

Undeterred by the change in position, Kamado continued. “If not a spy, which I am not certain we can rule out, you most certainly are a catalyst. You are not innocent in this whole affair.”

Ingo opened his mouth to defend himself, but for once, he found his voice abandoning him. Was he some sort of spy? Surely he would know if he were a spy, no? Could he be some sort of… sleeper agent? Is that what they’re called? But he would know if he made the Nobles frenzied, he was sure! … Would he?

Kamado took his silence as damnation. “He dares not defend himself. Lady Irida, he is your Warden, but this is a matter of dire importance. On behalf of the Galaxy Team, I am offering my official advice that he should not be allowed to continue his duties. I ask of you: release him into our custody. We will keep him contained. He can’t hurt anyone with us.”

“No.” Lady Irida’s answer was swift and firm. Kamado frowned at her. “And I know you will threaten diplomatic standing with the Pearl Clan. But you will not be imprisoning one of my finest Wardens. This is non-negotiable.”

Kamado opened his mouth, and then shut it. He took a deep breath, and then two more for good measure. When he had composed himself, he opened his mouth once more. “I propose a compromise, then.” Irida gestured to continue. “Exile. Much like with the child.”

They were exiled? Ingo thought faintly, blinking slowly as the gravity of his words set in. Exile… that’s… better than imprisonment.

Irida looked as if she were to object, so Ingo stepped in. “My apologies for interrupting you, Lady Irida, but I believe the Commander has offered a reasonable compromise for the options at hand. I cannot allow my safety to come above those of my Clansmen. There will be no Trolley, here. I can accept exile.”

Before his Leader could interject, Kamado steamrolled her. “He agrees. The matter is settled.” Kamado took this moment to look at Ingo, mercifully allowing him to gaze at his (frankly ridiculous) mustache. “Warden Ingo. No, just Ingo.” Somewhere deep in his heart, Ingo felt a twinge of grief at the removal of his title. It felt like losing something twice, but he knew he’d only held this title once. “If we see you out there, if we think you culpable for this? You will be arrested. No question. Say your final goodbyes at the gate.”

It was like a blur, going from the Training Grounds with the disdainful stares of Kamado and Zisu to the gate, guarded by Ress, who looked… surprisingly sad, given the context. Adaman and Irida accompanied him, the former a surprise. It was possible he was there to support his fellow Leader, of course, but his clenched fists betrayed his distress over the situation. How odd.

“Ingo… I…” Irida started, her voice choked. Having known her as long as he had (as long as he could remember, more like), Ingo could tell she was blaming herself. It was a difficult situation on either side of the tracks, he knew. “I’m sorry, Ingo.”

“Lady Irida.” Ingo looked at his Clan Leader, really looked at her. She was disheveled, her eyes tinged red with unshed tears. Her shoulders had a resolute set to them, but they quivered ever so slightly, holding back what was likely an onslaught of emotion. A Clan Leader must be dignified in public, he knew. “I made this decision. It is no failing of your own, nor is it something that you would be able to control.” Although his voice was loud, it belied his sadness, his confusion… he had always been better at voicing his emotions. Irida seemed to understand him, though. For that much, he was grateful. Grateful for everything, really.

“You should… seek out Lady Sneasler.” Irida took a deep breath. “In the Coronet Highlands. Not many Galaxy Team members go there, and no matter what Kamado says, you are still her Warden. Only your Noble or your Leader can deem you unfit.”

“I cannot go to the Settlement.” It was hardly a question. Both of them knew that.

“...No.” Irida clenched her fists and unclenched them, releasing some of the stress. “But I will check on you, much like I’ll be checking on the child. I’ll bring some supplies. I know you can care for yourself, but they don’t hurt.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Ingo’s voice had a smile, the warmth and gratefulness he felt for his Leader shining strong even in the dire situation they found themselves in.

Adaman piped up from where he’d been observing, close enough to hear but far enough that they’d had relative privacy. “If you need anything, anything at all. I’ll kick Melli’s ass into shape and have him help you. As catty as he is, he likes you.”

That got a soft snort out of Ingo, and Adaman finally smiled. It wasn’t until that moment that Ingo realized that he looked strange without a smile or a pompous air.

Ingo liked him better smiling, he decided.

He turned back to Irida, sensing that this was the true farewell, at least for that moment. “Lady Irida. I know I will see you soon, but in the event of a derailment… thank you. For everything you’ve done. I cannot express how welcome you have made me feel, nor the gratitude I feel towards you. I know I have little frame of reference, but I can say that I have not had a better friend.”

Lady Irida truly had to hold back tears, then, he knew. She came forward and embraced him tightly, and Ingo found he did not mind it coming from her. He held her back just as fiercely. For a Clan that valued space, a breach of it was sacred. “I wish you… what was it? You’ve said it before. Eight and … and…”

Ingo wasn’t quite sure how long he’d been in Hisui.

Seasons in the Coronet Highlands and the Alabaster Icelands were strange. It was strange to him that they were strange, considering he had no prior frame of reference, but such was life.

He’d found there was a long, long period of cold, followed by intermittent temperate days, and perhaps a month of true warmth and floral growth. His only measure of time was the passing of the sun over the land and the phases of the moon — Irida had told him how to keep better track of it, perhaps not to the accuracy of the Diamond Clan but a passable attempt, but it didn’t stick too well.

Keeping time with the moon suited him just fine, though. Besides that, he seemed to have a very accurate internal clock, even as the day’s lengths and weather’s whims changed on a dime. The moon’s peak coincided with his estimates, for the most part, as did the sun’s.

The thought brought him some comfort. ‘I’ve still got it,’ he’d think, followed by ‘… what’s ‘it’?’

At any rate, time was an enigma for Ingo. Days had passed, weeks, months… he’d begun to lose track. The passage of the day’s hours were easy enough to follow, borne of habit and practice, but the months swiftly blurred into one another, especially as his new duties as Warden proved to be relatively uneventful.

It was one such day Ingo found himself hunting for Pecha berries, his Lady’s newest litter taking a liking to them. Lady Sneasler wasn’t at all picky, but her children tended to be a little more grumpy if they didn’t get their favorites for every meal.

He didn’t mind. Working with his hands was pleasant, as was working alongside his Gliscor. It had a familiarity to it, although he wasn’t quite sure why.

Ingo wasn’t sure of many things, it seemed.

“Emmy, could you get to the top of the tree, please?” He called over, the Gliscor’s head bobbing in affirmation shortly after.

The basket they’d borrowed from Lady Sneasler was halfway full of berries by then, and Ingo figured they could head back once Gliscor gathered the last of the Pecha berries from the tree. Its purple head poked up above the branches, but it seemed to notice something, giving an alert chirp.

Ingo turned, not quite sure as to who he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t Melli of the Diamond Clan. His usual sour expression deepened, but Ingo pretended not to notice. That just made Melli look even more disgusted, which he took a bit of joy from. Not that he’d ever tell.

“…Ingo.” Melli grimaced, “I was sent to fetch you. Give Lady Sneasler her berries and meet me by the twin rocks at the bottom of the slope.”

Before he could say anything, Melli turned and marched away, resolutely not looking back at Ingo.

Gliscor alighted on the ground next to him with a few berries in its claws. “Rather strange,” he remarked, and it chirped in agreement. “Well… we’d best hurry up then, right, Emmy?”

- x - x -

“Adaman made me come and get you because Irida wants you,” Melli grumbled as he and Skuntank led the way towards the Icelands, “I’m not doing this because I want to.”

“Alright,” Ingo accepted easily, not too concerned either way. Melli winced at his volume, but didn’t complain. Yet. He wondered what Irida wanted, though. It wasn’t like her to send someone else after him, usually she came herself.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Melli continued, “but you’re not important enough for me to waste time on.”

“Okay,” Ingo said simply, knowing that his one word answers annoyed Melli more than any argument could. Needling him was something to help pass the time, and besides, his reactions were funny.

“Ugh, you’re insufferable,” yep, there he goes. Melli stomped ahead, Skuntank trotting faster to catch up.

- x - x -

Ingo opened the entryway to Irida’s home, Melli shivering behind him, mostly thinking he’d be there for some sort of Warden business. That would explain why the other Highlands Warden was accompanying him.

Instead, a couple strands of confetti popped close to his face, and he startled, taking a step back. In the dwelling, Irida, Gaeric, and the other members of the Pearl Clan (and even a few Diamond Clan members, too) gathered together, a raucous cheer coming from each of them as he entered.

“Happy birthday, Ingo!” Irida tugged him inward by the sleeve, aware of how averse he was to sudden touch, “or, kind of birthday.”

“Lady Irida?” Ingo responded, forgetting to manage his volume in his surprise. She didn’t seem to mind.

“I know we don’t know when your actual birthday is, but it’s been a year since you arrived!” His Clan Leader smiled at him, gesturing at the dinner they’d prepared with berry tarts as a dessert. “We thought we’d celebrate!”

“I…” Ingo paused, the emotion in his voice surprising him.

Had it really been a full year? A year since he’d fallen from the sky, not a single memory to his name? A year since Lady Irida had taken him in? Had it truly been so long?

He felt that there was something important about birthdays. Something important about his birthday, something he was forgetting.

… Now wasn’t the time to worry about that.

“Thank you,” he said finally, the tiniest ghost of a smile gracing his face. And he meant it.

- x - x -

Somewhere far, far away, a man clad in white lights a single candle.

He stares at it for a long time, watching it burn down its wick, but he dares not blow it out.

The Chandelure at his side drifts closer.

The Coronet Highlands was an easy place to escape to, all things considered. The pokemon there were used to him, and Melli, along with those of the Survey Corps, had left to engage in the festivities. The climb was simple, as well, ease of practice allowing him to scale the smaller crests of rock in search of a place to sit. His flute clicked against his hip, seldom used.

Despite this, Sneasler sat next to him, her head feather brushing the ground. In the distance, lights glittered up into the sky, their noise faint to them but surely cacophonous to those below them. She seemed curious — fireworks must not have been something the clans used often.

Fireworks… had they said that’s what they were called? Ingo’s mind chased the lingering traces of the memory, but it slid through his grasp easily and swiftly. Trying to hold onto these moments of clarity was like trying to capture a breeze, both fleeting and elusive. The frustration that followed was swift, as well, leaving just as quickly as his brief moment of clarity.

Alas, he knew better than to try and force recollection when his subconscious had decided firmly against it. That just gave him a headache, and today was to be a day of celebration. Even if he wasn’t keen to participate in the festival itself, he could appreciate the sentiment of it, and enjoy himself in his own way.

His Lady gave a questioning chirp, pulling him from his reverie. Her claws clicked together, her usual way of conveying alright? Sneasler had a particular knack for reading Ingo’s moods, a skill most of those he spoke to had yet to acquire.

“Yes, My Lady, I’m quite alright,” Ingo nodded at her, voice quieter than usual. She didn’t look convinced, but Sneasler was, at heart, kind. Unless necessary, she wouldn’t push him. They fell into companionable silence, watching the fireworks paint the sky with light.

From where he sat on one of the slopes of the Coronet Highlands, the soft glow of the village merged into a warm, lantern-like blur. In all honesty, he liked it better from a distance. Ingo had never quite clicked with the townspeople, with few exceptions. He was too loud, inexpressive, and had odd mannerisms and phrases. An outsider, both among Jubilife citizens and Pearl clansmen.

Here, in the Highlands, with only Sneasler and the other pokemon to keep him company, he was just Ingo. Not Warden Ingo (Sneasler had moreso adopted him, if anything), not the Pearl Clan’s charity case, not a strange man who fell from the sky. Just Ingo.

“They’re called fireworks,” he started, breaking the quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sneasler glance at him and back to the fireworks. “Made up of gunpowder, primarily, with little bits inside to make patterns. Usually, they’re used in celebrations.”

Of all things to remember, Ingo mused, of course it would be a fun fact about something small. He’d always had a good memory, though, particularly for mechanics and pokemon battles. Before he realized it, his mouth had opened again.

“Fireworks were always too loud for me. My brother felt the same, so we usually would stay in the subway where it was quiet or head out to the Drawbridge to watch.” A long pause followed, where Sneasler stared at him in surprise and Ingo realized what he’d said. His typical frown deepened, if marginally, but the wisps of memory skittered away from his reach.

Careful of her claws, Sneasler patted him on the shoulder. She was one of the few he allowed touch from, another one of his odd, outsider quirks. There were, of course, people who acted like him — quite a few, in fact. But even amongst them, he felt lonely, as his topics of interest were foreign and strange. How could one explain what a train was when he, himself, hardly even knew? Ingo knew the shape, the sound, the feel, but when he moved to explain, the words abandoned him. Instead, he was left to fumble, the feeling of longing in his chest growing stronger with each attempt.

He couldn’t not try, though. Some deep part of him resonated with the concept of them, like they were a passion. His coat and hat, tattered as they were, elicited a similar feeling. Ingo couldn’t bear to part with them.

Irida, at the very least, understood. She took no offense when he donned his coat and hat over the Pearl Clan’s garb, instead smiling and showing him around the settlement. Irida was one of the few who didn’t make him feel othered, who accepted him with his loud outbursts and his strange ramblings. Most of all, though, she didn’t make him feel crazy.

Upon dropping through that rift with few memories aside from his name, the traces of him that remained were clung to like a lifeline. Without them, who was he? His staunch refusal to suppress any of his natural tendencies stemmed from this desperation, this need to hold onto himself. As such, he was loud, he moved strangely, and his vocabulary made little sense to anyone but him half of the time.

Despite all of this, Irida took him under her wing, guiding him to Lady Sneasler, who in turn adopted him into her arsenal of children (all of whom were, of course, Sneasels. Ingo didn’t know what to think about that). They both listened. They didn’t understand, but they listened.

It was cold.

It was so, so cold.

The air bit into his skin, the coat around his shoulders unable to combat the force of the blizzard. He did not know where he was, or how he got there. He just knew that he had to keep walking. If his engines were to stop, they would freeze.

Nothing around him looked familiar, but it was difficult to draw conclusions too quickly. The gales and snowdrifts obscured much of his vision. The black of his coat was caked with white, and he had long since taken his hat off to hold on to. It did nothing to protect him, and something told him he didn’t want to lose it.

Wind whipped past his ears, and he’d long since stopped feeling pain in them. A stray thought told him that a lack of pain was certainly a bad thing, but he couldn’t remember why.

He couldn’t remember much of anything at all.

— x — x — 

By the time he’d found a cave, his body had started to give out.

For some reason, despite the bladelike gusts of wind still making his eyes tear up, he’d stopped feeling cold. First a lack of pain, and now a lack of cold? The man knew not why alarm bells rang in his head, but they told him to seek shelter rather than continue his steady (stumbling, slow) pace through the snow. Behind him, he saw that his footsteps faded into nothing, rapidly covered by the accumulating snow.

In his alcove, the man curled in on himself, hiding his frozen ears in his collar and tucking his frozen hands back under his armpits. Since his shivers stopped, he forced himself to move, even if it was only an awkward shuffle of limbs. Keeping a functional engine was essential, of course.

It would be nice if there were something warm here, though. His skin still felt cold to the touch, at least to his own. It wasn’t like someone could check.

His memory offered the impression of cold, purple flames, but an inquiry over what it meant faded away like the wisps of its subject. He felt his exhaust sputter, though, his eyelids growing heavy and limbs feeling like thick metal.

The allure of sleep was strong, but he knew that if he slept he would not rise again. Still-stiff hands and rigid wrists drew his coat tighter. Logically, it should probably be removed, as the snow caked onto it would surely melt. The prospect of removing it set his teeth on edge.

The coat stayed on.

Sitting there, in that small, out of the way cave, the man’s consciousness flickered in and out. He didn’t let himself fall unconscious, not fully, but sometimes he would blink and the world would have shifted outside. His breath produced small clouds, but it was shallow, and the space between them was far too long.

By the time the sun was rising, or, rather, when the cave began to regain some light, the man was beginning to accept that he’d die here. Alone, in some random cave in some random tundra in some random place . Would anyone miss him? Did anyone even know that he was gone?

No. He would die in the snowfields, wouldn’t he? Forgotten and unknown. If he didn’t know who he was, why would anyone else? If he didn’t know where he was, how could anyone find him? A hollow pit formed in his chest.

Before his acceptance of his untimely (he thinks, at least. He doesn’t feel old, whatever that would feel like) death could progress further, something blotted out the light to his shelter. Slitted eyes were most of what he could make out through the shadows cast by the sun and cave’s walls, but they looked to belong to a small body.

It squinted at him as he stirred, sitting further upright to look at it. A chirp met his ears, cutting over the static that had occupied his senses. It wasn’t until that moment that he had noticed it, but appreciated its absence nonetheless.

The creature at the entrance stared at him for a long moment, seemingly deep in thought. The man was too tired to move, let alone make any sort of response to the… question? that the creature had asked him. After a few moments, it retreated from the entrance, and he assumed that it left.

A small huff escaped him at that. Well, at least something knew he had lived.

A few hours later – or maybe minutes? the sun’s light remained, but from where he sat, he could not tell its position – the creature returned, its silhouette once again shrouding him in darkness. Behind it, though, was a much larger shadow. While he was too tired to try and move away from it, his eyes widened, and he reached for his hip, ready to send out – … send out… what?

The stall of his controls allowed both shadows to come closer, although the second hardly fit. The first, which upon further inspection appeared to be a Gligar, came directly up to his side. He wasn’t sure why he recognized it, but, not privy to his thoughts, the Gligar seemed to size him up. Behind it, the other pokemon squeezed itself in. A Blissey, was it?

The two exchanged some words, the Gligar gesturing wildly back and forth. It bumped him with the back of its claw, and the Blissey chastised it, judging by how it made a face. She looked to him, then, care in her eyes. Those eyes closed as she focused, a soft pink emanating from her body. As the Gligar didn’t move out of the way, no fear thought to enter the man’s mind.

It struck him, as the balm of a Soft-Boiled move washed over him and warmed his very core, that pokemon were not dangerous. This did not seem like news, to him, but the scrap of memory, of growing up with them and becoming friends with them, was cherished all the same.

He opened cracked lips, his throat dry but feeling better than the frozen desert it was before. “Thank you,” he managed to say, his raspy voice catching on the ‘a’. Feeling his limbs once again obeying him, he rubbed his throat. “Thank you,” he tried again, this time much louder, and nodded, satisfied.

The Blissey smiled at him, giving a soft cry. She patted his head, then turned around and left as quickly as she had come. The Gligar, though, stayed next to him. It turned to him and gave an inquisitive chirp.

“Yes, Gligar?” The man asked, looking down at it. He was rather tall, he noted, at least compared to the Gligar.  He hoped that he didn’t appear condescending, and then wondered why he had hoped that at all. No matter.

The Gligar seemed to think for a moment. With both a communication barrier and the man not knowing much about pokemon beyond what his body seemed to remember on its own, he knew he wouldn’t be able to understand it well quite yet. Somehow, the Gligar seemed to pick up on his mixture of confusion and regret. It took to the air, gripping his arm in its claws, and tugged.

The thought of his coat tearing made him feel nauseous, so he stood quickly. After a moment of swaying and the Gligar flitting around him nervously, he steadied himself. “You want me to follow you?” He asked, and the Gligar gave a happy cheer. “All aboard, then!”

— x — x — 

Berry trees in a tundra were probably not the weirdest thing he’s seen, but considering he couldn’t remember the weirdest thing he’d seen, they’d have to count.

The Gligar took him to it, even getting the berries down for him so they could feast together. It dumped the bundle of berries on the ground unceremoniously, eating just as quickly as it landed.

Berries were probably not the best thing he’s tasted, but considering he couldn’t remember the best thing he’s ever tasted, they’d have to count.

— x — x — 

The man and the Gligar were fast friends.

It had been six days, four hours, and fifty two minutes since the man had been healed by the Blissey. They walked together, ate together, and camped together, and despite the lack of pokeballs (he somehow remembered pokeballs and not his own name. he wonders if that says something about who he was), the pokemon remained by his side.

It was midday when they had first found an alpha pokemon.

The man had not known what an alpha even was , but his partner seemed to be more flighty than usual as they traveled together. So far, they hadn’t found any people. Was this area uninhabited?

They’d slipped underground, trying to find a place to shelter from the incoming storm. The ice caverns weren’t the most fun places to be, frigid and slippery as they were, but it beat the wind, and the two didn’t have time to find a better shelter. Gligar seemed even more nervous, somehow, and the man had the sneaking suspicion he’d been wrong to think that his pokemon was nervous about the storm.

That sneaking suspicion became a deadly certainty as Gligar shrieked, a responding roar making his blood run cold. He turned, Gligar floating in front of him as a makeshift defense, and… that was… the Garchomp was huge .

It easily almost reached the height of the ceiling, and its fins seemed to be the size of Gligar itself. As it lowered its head, the man could see that not only were its eyes of unnatural shade, they held an equally unnatural rage , as if their very existence had caused it great injustice. The man hadn’t even the chance to move before it lunged at the pair.

The man rolled to the side, hands scuffing across the frozen ground harshly. His hat flew off, and the feeling of his heart dropping overrode the sting of his shredded hands. Gligar darted towards it, snatching it before it got too far. Even in its short time with its partner, it knew how much his strange garments mattered to him. The man breathed a sigh of relief, and only managed to dodge the next hit on reflex.

It hissed, swinging again, its angry eyes threatening to flay him alive should he stop moving for another second. The man, on a subconscious level, knew that he had never encountered a pokemon so aggressive before, even in his past life, as he’d taken to calling it. What was wrong with this Garchomp? No younglings were nearby to defend, nor was there traces of a nest. Living up to its name, the pokemon shifted into eighth and bit the air next to his arm. A tiny bit of his sleeve was nicked by the teeth, but the queasiness that brought was swiftly ignored in favor of another rapid dodge.

How could he get away? It wasn’t letting up. It had already gotten in the way of his escape once, cutting off the route to the lighter slopes. The only other way out was a steep, slippery ice embankment, and Gligar wasn’t strong enough to carry him out.

Narrowly avoiding a slash that would have gutted him, the man’s mind raced. This wasn’t sustainable, he was tiring fast. Every dash and dodge depleted his negligible amounts of fuel, and each hit got closer to hitting its mark. Escape was hardly an option, but neither of them could take on an aggressive Garchomp, let alone one quite larger than others of its species.

In a desperate effort, Gligar, still holding his hat, swooped towards the Garchomp, slashing at it with its tail. A line opened on the Dragon’s cheek, and it paused, slowly turning towards Gligar. The man blinked, and in seconds Gligar was knocked back against the icy slope behind its companion with a merciless Outrage.

“Emmy!” He called, worried, and he felt the air grow colder as the Garchomp turned back to look at him. Cold fury blazed in its eyes, the blood trickling down its face seeming only to enrage it more.

Less than a week after he’d gotten here, he would die, he thought faintly. His first day, he’d had the same thought, but his first day he wasn’t facing down a Garchomp with unusually bright eyes, one that used its overwhelming size to its advantage. He hoped Gligar got out, at least. It seemed to be unconscious, but maybe the Dragon would forget about it.

Another dash to the side, this time nicking his side underneath the coat. His shirt tore, and a sharp pain followed, the cloth rapidly turning red around the site of the gash. The pain was soon overridden by adrenaline, though, and the man staggered away from the beast.

The blood only served to aggravate it. Ah , he thought, my death will be a painful one, then.

Their dance continued, the blood seeping from the man’s wound dripping onto his black pants and then to the icy ground beneath them. A jab here, a scratch there, most of them missing their mark. The frenzy made his aggressor less accurate, it seemed, driven by a mad bloodlust that would only cease when it slaughtered its target.

As he attempted another dodge, the blood loss seemed to get to him.

He stumbled.

The tear of fabric pierced the air, louder than any angry Dragon’s roar. The scrap of black and brown cloth hanging from its fin drew his gaze immediately, and the static around his vision increased. The sound of the ripping echoed in his ears, and he knew that the ringing was not from any wound he’d received.

Below the rip in his coat, another wound welled with blood, and even the adrenaline could not cover the spear of pain that lanced through his whole body at the hit. An anticipatory hiss came from the Garchomp, which approached as he shakily stepped back.

Two steps back, three.

Gligar was still unconscious.

Four steps, five.

His back hit the wall.

He slid down in front of his companion. At least he could hide it.

There was blood on the ice.

His vision started to blur.

Blue-white on white on blue.

The last thing he saw was a flash of bright pink.

— x — x — 

“... think … up?”

“... uns– … seems to… …cover.”

“... … … Nasty. … angry, something made …”

“Wait, it s… king up, a b…”

“Sir? S… Hey, sir.”

The man slowly became aware of a hand waving in front of his face, blinking blearily. Something slept next to him, he noted, a weight at his side on the… surface that he laid on. In front of him were two women, one wearing a white and pink attush and the other, who was clearly older, wearing a simple white and pink uniform.

Something about the word uniform made him feel a vague yearning, but it was rapidly ignored as the younger woman nodded at him. “Okay, you seem cognizant enough. Can you talk?”

The man’s frown (ever-present, it seemed) deepened. The first human contact he’d had since… well, since he could remember, and he was completely blanking on what to do. A stray thought said that this feeling wasn’t new in any regard. “Y…yes?” He finally said, his voice still somewhat raspy.

“Good!” She smiled at that, “do you know where you are?”

“...No,” he responded after a long moment, “I know I'm somewhere cold, and that we’ve been moving around quite a lot. We… Gligar!” His pokemon’s name came out as a shout, startling everyone in the room, including himself. “Gligar, it– it was with me, it–”

“He’s perfectly fine, sir, don’t worry,” The older woman gestured to his side. Ah. In his narrowed focus, he’d neglected to check next to him, even though he knew something was there. No matter. The sense of relief that flooded through him was strong, and though it did not show on his face, he felt that the women understood.

“Sir, do you know your name?” The younger woman – he really should get their names – asked him, turning his gaze back to her.

He paused. The answer should have been a quick ‘ no ’, but something had stopped his tongue from forming the word.

“No, his name is ___o. I am _____.”

A white to his black.

“_n__, don’t forget to heal up your pokemon before the next battle!”

A smile to his frown.

“I___, have you seen my coat?”

Who was it?

“I__o–”  

Who was he?

“In__–”

Who is he?

“In_o–”

No, that’s right, he’s–