Chapter Text
Ingo belonged in Hisui. He spent the last two and a half years laying that track for himself and was determined to maintain it with the same meticulousness required to upkeep a web of convoluted lies.
His name was Ingo. He was a respected member of the Pearl Clan and warden of great Sneasler. In Jubilife Village, he conducted Pokemon battles and assisted with training. He became known as a guide for lost passengers throughout vast Hisui. His talents with Pokemon were praised and valued, and he’d made a number of new partners who were eager to battle by his side. He met many people. He made many friends.
Ingo belonged in Hisui. It was his home now. It had to be.
He repeated it all like a mantra every morning, but still a thick fog would come to settle over the tracks to Ingo’s future, hampering him with uncertainty and doubt.
There was nothing remarkable about the day it all began; Ingo went through his usual rounds according to schedule and with few detours, then proceeded towards Sneasler’s den in the heights of Mount Coronet. About the only thing bothering him was a chill scraping at his bones, though with the sun glowing gently behind a thin drape of clouds, Ingo decided it was likely the result of his own recent aversion to sleep rather than the soft breezes tugging playfully at his old coat. He would have to rest soon, but for now the aches in his joints have yet to become unbearable enough to make scaling the cliffside too unsafe.
Ingo didn’t make it to the den that day.
As he pulled himself up to a reasonably flat stretch of land—still close to the base of the mountain—he found Sneasler watching his climb with a cool, discerning gaze before she hissed with tangible disapproval. Confused, Ingo tried to move closer and received another warning—a grating click of sharp, venomous claws.
He was fully alert now, though when he looked around, Ingo didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.
“Is there something amiss, Sneasler?”
The great Pokemon’s eyes stayed locked to Ingo as she crouched into a battle-ready stance, growling. The fur along Sneasler’s arms bristled as Ingo’s thoughts frizzed with panic.
Despite the rational part of his brain begging him to back off the obviously angered Pokemon, Ingo took another tentative step forward. There was simply no way Sneasler would attack him for no good reason. He was her warden, though the trust they shared was one that went far beyond what any title could grant; it was something they built over the time they worked together, through moments of both triumph and strife. Whether Ingo thought he deserved it or not, it was obvious to all that Sneasler cared for him a great deal, and that solidified Ingo’s position as a member of the Pearl Clan. He was needed there so long as Sneasler deemed it so.
He dodged the Dire Claw by a hair. It caught the ends of his coat instead, shredding through without a hint of mercy. Ingo fell to the ground as he watched the wind whisk dark scraps away and down the cliffs behind them. He wondered if it would’ve hurt less had he let Sneasler’s claws tear through his flesh instead.
It was a matter he reported to his clan’s leader with utmost urgency.
“I have not noticed anything strange, so the cause is a complete mystery. It doesn’t appear that we are dealing with anything of the same magnitude as the frenzies caused by the space-time rift, though it is too early to rule that possibility out entirely. Perhaps it could be an ailment of some sort? Like what afflicted Ursaluna once the Lady of the Ridge was overtaken by her frenzy…”
“It is certainly very unusual for a warden to be rejected like this,” Irida said as she looked Ingo over—why did she look so sad?—and it made his fingers twitch with shame, “but I doubt it’s anything of that nature. I will tend to Sneasler myself until we can come up with a more permanent solution.”
Ingo almost sputtered in her face, “But miss Irida, it is far too dangerous for you to-“
“Ingo,” Irida stopped him in his tracks, though her words remained gentle, “Everything will be alright. I think I understand what the problem is already.”
“You do? Please, if there is anything I can do to assist with righting this, allow me to know!”
Irida huffed with overt exasperation as she shook her head. “What you need to do is the exact opposite. You’ve been pushing yourself far too hard lately, warden.”
She thought Sneasler was opposed to his recent change in behaviour. Ingo didn’t try to deny it—it’s not like he was unaware of the switch in tracks that was allegedly the issue.
Ever since Ingo remembered having a twin brother, the feelings of worry and crushing sadness that clung to him like Remoraid to Mantine doubled in weight, threatening to drag him under. Trying to keep his head above it all was a maddening task and had driven Ingo into a frenzy of his own, yet he stubbornly continued to struggle—he hoped, he begged to remember more, anything at all. Nothing worked. The singular page of recollections he managed to pen in his diary became a painful reminder of his failures.
The way it all affected Ingo didn’t go unnoticed by his clan, or anyone else who knew him for that matter; the increasingly perturbed looks on the faces of the people who depended on him kept adding to the already insurmountable mountain of guilt weighing down on his shoulders. And when Melli’s scathing comments of him looking like a lone Growlithe took on a tint of concern, Ingo knew he would break under the pressure sooner than later.
He was offered help, because the Pearl Clan were good people who cared for him like one of their own. They asked Ingo what was wrong, eager to support him in all matters, but he would always dismiss their concerns with heartfelt thanks.
It was because Ingo had arrived at the simple conclusion that he couldn’t be helped. The line to uncovering his past had been discontinued—he’d felt that way ever since the space-time rift above Mount Coronet was closed, really—and now the track led to only an endless pit of regrets.
This time he was fully resigned to having to learn to live with these lingering feelings of sorrow, however. It was better than kindling hopes for regaining what he lost, burning the threads that kept his mind in one piece until, inevitably, Ingo lost hold.
That’s why he would not tell anyone of his lost twin. Ingo would hold that pain close to his heart until he forgot how much it hurt.
He would also pretend that not pursuing his past any longer hadn’t left him equally as miserable. Ingo would pretend that with his purpose as a warden of the Pearl Clan he had reason to stay, and so long as he had reason, he’d be able to let the old parts of himself fall away with the scraps of his torn-up coat, until the day he was ready to be rid of it entirely.
And it did feel easier sometimes, until he’d get caught off-guard by his own Gliscor. At times, the shape of his grin looked familiar in ways Ingo refused to acknowledge and instead he’d have to sit and shut his eyes tightly, telling himself again and again that it was pointless to feel this anguished because he’d never see the real thing outside of his dreams.
Yes, Ingo’s dreams were the root issue. Though rarely truly nightmarish, the glimpses of his brother left Ingo awake in the night, trying and failing to discern how much was memory and how much was the doing of his own imagination.
So, he took on more work. Every day, Ingo would work and work and work, until no dreams came at all.
Trust the great Sneasler to shred through all of Ingo’s careful planning with a single strike of a claw. She was always keen on forcing Ingo back on track, even if she couldn’t possibly know his reasons. He sighed fondly at the notion; it wouldn’t work this time—because a swift solution was so obviously impossible—but the attempt warmed his heart nonetheless.
Ingo had to simply readjust his schedule to become a warden without a Pokemon to tend to, at least until Sneasler gave up on trying to dissuade him. Caring for her was far from the only thing that kept him busy, and without her assistance Ingo had been all but ordered to spend more time with the settlement rather than in the Highlands by himself. He didn’t see it as a bad thing; the Alabaster Icelands welcomed none with open arms, so there was always something to be done, issues Ingo could take care of.
He made one last trek up Mount Coronet that night, as close to Sneasler’s den as he was allowed before her fearsome cry challenged him to dare step over the boundary. Ingo left his offerings, and while he’d never know if they’d be taken by Sneasler or stolen by the opportunistic wild Pokemon of the area, he hoped that it might make the great Pokemon concede a little quicker, so things could go back to how Ingo needed them to be.
Less than a week into Ingo’s new routine, Gaeric found him pacing round the outskirts of the settlement early in the morning, his Glalie hovering at his heel. He greeted Ingo with one of his friendly slaps on the back, and it would’ve knocked him into the freshly fallen snow if only Gaeric wasn’t generous enough to catch Ingo by the scruff of his coat.
“Woah, easy there!” Gaeric said as he settled Ingo firmly onto his feet, “And I do mean it, Ingo. You need to relax.”
These sorts of conversations were becoming tiresome already, a train running on a circular track. “’A warden must always remain vigilant,’ I’d thought. I don’t see the harm in performing additional safety checks every once in a while.”
“Good rest is needed for a strong mind and a strong body. You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping much lately.”
Ingo fixed his hat, pulling the brim down a little too low. “I’ve slept enough. It is very considerate of you to take an interest in my health though, thank you.”
Gaeric pressed his knuckles together, chest heaving for a moment before he simply crossed his arms. He looked to be chewing on some harsher words, but there wasn’t much anger to his tone when he spoke next, “Staying in tip-top shape is part of a warden’s duties too. Otherwise, you might make a mistake that puts us all in danger. Do you think I will allow that?”
Surely, Ingo didn’t look that grim? Nevertheless, he made the effort to stand a little straighter, eyes sharper. Gaeric’s was a commanding presence. He held much authority in Clan dealings, and Ingo came to learn he was respected for good reason. Eventually, that respect became mutual.
“I assure you, sir, I would not allow that either.”
Gaeric squinted comically as he scrutinised Ingo’s condition and Glalie shook with what he thought was silent laughter. The other warden clamped his hand over Ingo’s shoulder with intended force, but he wouldn’t budge under it this time. “I’ll judge your state once I am done gathering,” he said, “How about a race up Whiteout Valley?”
Ingo never won even a single of these ridiculous climbing challenges but, “I will not lose easily.”
Satisfied, Gaeric set off to attend his Lord but paused just after crossing the bridge, head tilting upwards. Ingo’s followed.
There was a crack forming in the sky, spreading and jutting with subtle crackles and thumps, as if something was scratching at it from the other side.
Space-time distortions were still appearing in Hisui, even after the massive rift over Mount Coronet closed. Ingo has seen these ominous tears in the sky more than a few times. He’d watch them from the higher plateaus of the Highlands, how the line of the horizon seemed to fold around them, bending out of shape like a sore. Darkness would swirl in broad daylight as the small rifts spat out angry Pokemon foreign to Hisui—but not to Ingo—and he’d try and fail to see what lied on the other side.
A chill veiled the area, biting deeper than any Eternal Ice ever could. The air around them grew heavy, the pristine sheet of snow below succumbing to the weight, leaving what resembled a gargantuan footprint. The net of cracks in the sky was growing too large too quickly. It was far, far too close to the settlement.
Before Ingo managed to get a word out, the heavens howled as ice-blue talons pierced through the barrier between worlds with a crunch. Deep shadows poured out of the wound like ink, curling into smoky trails upon hitting the ground. More talons reached out of the depths of the rift, pressing against its edges, pushing, tearing until the gap was forced wide enough for Ingo to see the pinprick glow of eyes in that absolute darkness, the same eerie shade of blue as the claws.
“Ingo, warn the others!”
Gaeric rooted himself to the settling ground, Glalie moving forward to face whatever was emerging from the tear in the sky. Ingo took a few paces towards the settlement before cupping his hands around his mouth.
“Attention! This is an evacuation announcement! Will all members of the public and the staff please leave the station immediately!”
Ingo tried not to focus on the screams that echoed back as he shouted out quick orders to Machamp and Tangrowth, to assist with evacuation procedures. Soon he was back to standing firmly by Gaeric’s side, with Gliscor joining Glalie.
Gaeric didn’t take his eyes off the anomaly as he spoke. “You’re staying?”
“If what lurks inside that rift reveals itself as an enemy, I feel the battle will not be an easy one,” Ingo said, affixing his own gaze to the creature as it continued to push against the confines of the rift, “We’ll stand a better chance of protecting the settlement if we fight it together.”
Gaeric accepted with a nod. Gliscor cried out, brimming with enthusiasm for a good battle.
With a sharp sound that carried further than any Thunder, the tear above them finally gave fully. The cracks branched out wide across the sky, large shards falling away into nothing. The rift continued to seep darkness as the creature freed itself. Nothing became more clear of it as it swam down however—its body stayed wrapped in the same shadows that lived in the rift. Blue eyes wandered for just a moment before it spotted the two wardens facing it. The thing let out a roar that shook Ingo inside-out, and it lunged.
An enemy indeed. Gliscor darted forward.
“Aerial Ace!”
Gliscor soared above the descending creature and dove down into its back, knocking it off-course. Hissing, the mass of shadow spun, gathering energy in front of its face before unleashing it in a large, destructive sphere. The attack connected despite Gliscor’s relentless efforts to dodge. The blast didn’t do Ingo’s partner much damage, but it would take him a second to regain his stability in the air.
Glalie wasted no time in launching a huge icicle at the creature, but it only grazed the wisps of shadow as it swerved out of the attack’s way. The creature made no move to retaliate this time, instead choosing to continue its advance in the wardens’ direction, towards the settlement behind them.
Ingo had to afford everyone more time, “Quickly, intercept it with X-scissor!”
Crossed pincers made head-on contact, cutting the shadow’s momentum, but it didn’t seem to do much beyond that. With his excellent speed, Gliscor rounded in the air to build up momentum of his own and aimed another Aerial Ace at the shadow-clad being. Undeterred by Gliscor’s advance, the creature uncoiled its dark tendrils and, with a chilling cry, tore forward at twice the speed.
It swerved right past Glalie’s awaiting maw. Ingo froze as he came to realise that the creature was heading straight for him.
There was a lot of noise in the short moment Ingo’s eyes met with the shadow’s, he could hardly parse any of it. Gliscor screeching too far away. Gaeric yelling something. Words he took too long to understand.
And then a bark cut above it all, so much like it had that time in the frigid caverns. Ingo was roughly shoved aside by a Pokemon wearing his own guise.
Zoroark didn’t bother with Illusions. She swiped viciously at the amalgam of shadows, landing a devastating hit right by the sinister blue glow of its eyes. It was enough for the darkness swarming the creature to split as it crashed not a foot away from where Ingo had been standing, cratering the frozen earth. The last of the shadows dripped from its body, revealing a form that sent shivers up Ingo’s spine.
“Mighty Giratina?!”
Ingo spun around as if yanked, “Miss Irida!”
“Ice Shard!” Gaeric commanded, intent on keeping up their momentum. Blinded by the piercing shards, Giratina failed to dodge the Stone Edge Gliscor sent its way before Ingo even recovered enough to call for it. The mighty Pokemon let out a cry of distress as it forced the ground beneath them to tremble under its power, but a well-aimed Ice Beam from Irida’s Glaceon interrupted the attack before it could do more than shuffle around some snow.
A final Shadow Ball from Zoroark felled the beast. Giratina’s form warped, and it crawled backward on six bulky legs. A few beats of the shadows welded to its back sent it up and back into the rift it clawed out of. The air shrieked as the space-time distortion faded, gap mending as quickly as it had appeared. The only sign it had ever been there at all was the mess of half-melted snow thrown around by the battle.
Ingo was still on the ground, barely registering someone shaking him. Gliscor flitted about nervously in front of him, and someone called his name. But Ingo sat frozen, only barely aware of the cold seeping into his palms, his mind reeling yet utterly silent.
The only thought he was able to piece together then was that, as Giratina aimed to attack him, Ingo was certain it spoke.
Giratina’s attack on the Pearl Clan settlement was a matter reported to the head of both the Diamond Clan and the Galaxy Expedition Team with utmost urgency.
A meeting was held in Jubilife Village that same day, between the three Pearl Clan members present for the incident as well as Adaman and Kamado. The atmosphere was uneasy, and the unrest only grew as the questions over the bizarre event piled on. About the only thing everyone managed to agree on was the fact that the attacker could not be the same Giratina who had allied Volo, both for its different physical appearance—with its piercing blue eyes and silver horns—and Kamado confirming that the other was still securely under Akari’s command.
Ingo found little to comment on. His mind wouldn’t stop racing and he was distracted in a manner he’d consider unprofessional, but it was difficult to focus on the present. The holes in his memory burned as Ingo struggled more than ever to magically fill the gaps.
Before he gave up on the endeavour, Ingo had been wishing more than anything else to remember his twin in white, entirely dismissive of the fact he could barely remember anything about himself. The person that Ingo became in Hisui was respected by his clanmates and trusted by his friends; few thought he could do wrong. But how could Ingo say that’s always been the case? How could he know that the strange Giratina didn’t seek his aid in accomplishing a plan as horrific as Volo’s?
The course of action here was obvious, though Ingo understood why no one wanted to say it; calling for the exile of a warden would certainly put strain on the groups’ relations. And Irida and Gaeric… He knew it would be painful for them to do. So, after spending the entire meeting near-mute, Ingo proposed it himself:
“As I am most likely Giratina’s true target, it would be wise for me to uncouple from the Pearl Clan for now. I cannot allow myself to bring our people any harm.”
“That would be-“
“Ridiculous!” Irida cut Adaman off, “It took the combined efforts of the three of us and Zoroark’s assistance to repel the attack! If Giratina does return, how in mighty Palkia’s name would you handle it alone?”
“Irida, please,” Gaeric’s gaze was stern, and Irida shrunk back, “you cannot jeopardise the safety of the whole clan for a single person. Though I do agree. No matter how strong you are, Ingo, you shouldn’t stay alone. Especially without Snealer’s protection.”
Ingo wanted to argue but resigned with a nod. The two seemed set on it, so there was little chance he would get his way. Commander Kamado, unwilling to jump to ill-founded conclusions a second time, offered for Ingo to stay at one of the Survey Corps camps, in the company of armed guards. Adaman would have Sabi and Braviary scan the Icelands for any further disturbances. No one objected, and Kamado disbanded the meeting with a request for everyone to remain alert.
Ingo made it to the Galaxy camp—a fairly new one, by the basin of Lake Acuity’s waterfall—late into the night, after Gaeric thoroughly drilled into him to send Gliscor to fetch help if he needed it. It’d be heart-warming if Ingo had it in himself to feel such a thing at the moment. He kept himself together until Gliscor reluctantly left his side to keep guard over the camp from the air overnight, but as soon as his partner was out of sight, Ingo slumped into a heap on the floor by the fire. He wished the beaten-up coat could shield him from the world for just a little while as he hid his face in the palms of his hands.
Ingo was on track to lose everything he had for a second time. There was a chance that he would have to abandon everything he came to know, leave behind everyone he made a place for inside his heart, because it was a choice between that and putting innocent people in harm’s way. It was a situation that’d warrant him falling apart and sobbing until dawn broke, or maybe longer.
But that Giratina, Ingo was certain it called out to him. It cried for him to return to where he came from. And Ingo, no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t smother the hope that flared up at the possibility of having his old life back, the flame growing with promise to consume him whole.
Was this really the thanks he felt towards the people who saved him that same morning?
He wasn’t left to sulk for too long as a wild Pokemon pounced out of the darkness, landing deftly in Ingo’s lap. The clipped-feathered Sneasel he befriended a while ago didn’t seem to pick up on the mood as he repeatedly hissed at the guards for no apparent reason. Ingo had to admit it was a little humorous, though even petting the ruffled Pokemon brought on worrisome thoughts as he wondered if Sneasler had been faring well in his absence.
Was it possible that Irida was wrong after all, that the great Pokemon sensed Giratina’s sudden interest in him? It made little sense, but the mighty one’s sudden appearance was a far cry from reasonable either.
Ingo didn’t get to wonder for long, however, as he spotted Sneasler approaching the camp with a steady flow of crunching footsteps, her basket bobbing with visible weight. She scanned the area until she saw her would-be-warden, and her gait hastened.
Ingo’s nerves shot up to his throat, but he didn’t make any attempt to flee. Even still he didn’t believe Sneasler truly meant him any harm, and if she did, he must deserve it. But for the time being, the Pokemon remained perfectly calm as she stopped in front of Ingo. He deposited the grumpy Sneasel on the ground and stood—back straight—to greet her properly.
“I am honoured to have your company again, great Sneasler. It’s been too long.”
The Pokemon made a sound that Ingo always understood as a scoff as she leaned over him. Sneasler prodded him gently with a claw, checking his face, his clothes, looking under his hat.
Ingo couldn’t hold back a chuckle, “I am quite fine, if that is your worry. No one was seriously harmed by Giratina’s attack.”
Sneasler fixed him with an uncertain look, but she relented and moved on to digging through the contents of her basket. The Clan had sent some supplies his way—generous amounts of food, spare clothes and medicines—and the Pokemon he left behind at the settlement. They were all looking out for him still, then. Ingo wished he could be there to thank them all properly.
Sneasler kept rifling through the basket a bit longer, and Ingo watched her with budding curiosity until she procured a small object, held gingerly between her large claws. It was too dark to immediately tell what it was. Sneasler thrust it into his hands with a confident smile and a grunt.
Just as he was about to open his mouth to thank her, Ingo froze for the umpteenth time that day.
Intrinsically, even before his eyes were done focussing in the dimming light of the campfire, Ingo knew it was a Poke Ball. It was not a kind he’s ever seen before—smooth metal, a button where a clasp should be, lighter than what he’d grown used to holding—but that was precisely what made his heart still, engine stuttering to a laborious stop.
Because whatever Pokemon awaited inside, it shook in a way so familiar that Ingo knew beyond any doubt it was his.