After the family meeting, things essentially went back to the norm Emmet had carved out for himself, albeit with the new responsibility of keeping everyone up to date and meeting up whenever there was a new wrinkle in outside research. He never did hear any conclusion in regards to Ingo’s sudden burst of panic, but, after a certain point, his twin seemed to have come to terms with whatever had him so frightened. It was something he wanted to understand, someday, but for now he had to make peace with the unknown.

Over the following days, he heard about Tangrowth’s evolution and a more thorough exploration of the Crimson Mirelands. It hadn’t been anything Emmet particularly cared about before, but he’d kept a handful of notes and cross-referenced them against modern day Sinnoh, trying to narrow down what the area might look like today. Given all the talk of swamps and the recurring distraction posed by Unown, he felt like he had a general idea, which was plenty for him.

He slowly leaned the broad strokes for the other territories, too, and wasn’t sure why he bothered at first-- but, when Ingo mentioned that it might be nice to visit Sinnoh someday, after he got home, he realized he had been picking up on his brother’s curiosity. It wasn’t a bad idea; it would be interesting to view the region through such a unique lens, and maybe it could even be cathartic. Any such trip would have to wait its turn, though. Whenever this was finally sorted out and they got Ingo back home, everyone deserved a nice long rest; he would not compromise on that.

As usual, however, every positive thought came with a charcoal lining; Emmet could tell he was trying to be optimistic, but the situation was beginning to weigh on him as forward momentum naturally slowed. He was worried about Sneasler and her expectations, not wanting to disappoint a Pokemon he’d come to consider a friend. He felt guilty for any deviation from his task, blaming himself for, in his own words “wasting time”. Even Gliscor’s evolution caused him to second guess himself, crushed by the hypothetical choice between the Pokemon he’d been forced to leave behind and the ones he might still have to say goodbye to.

Emmet found a special kind of hurt in hearing his brother grieve for a friend, wholly unable to offer him a shoulder to lean on. It was the smallest comfort to know that Ingo was offering support, himself, and that in being there, he was helping a young girl through a very difficult time. It would have been better if he’d never been stolen away at all, but at least something good had come of it.

“I think-- I think Cherubi was the last one.” Ingo said, eventually. It was the final message for the day, and while he sounded optimistic, Emmet… couldn’t believe that this was it. There were still too many pieces that didn’t fit-- archived pictures that he couldn’t put in the timeline, Pokedex entries that should have warranted mention, an ecological upheaval at the roots of mint that had yet to be planted.

The single biggest problem was that, for all Ingo had covered the matter of Sneasler’s warden, he’d rejected the idea of taking the role on, himself. Every source Emmet referenced used the same type of language whenever his brother was discussed: Ohnyula Warden, Pearl Clan Warden, Warden of the Highlands. In certain cases, the language barrier made it easier to search ‘kyaputen’ than his actual name. If the title was such a cornerstone of his legacy, then why didn’t Ingo’s choices match up?

It bothered him so much that he bent one of his own rules, allowing himself to stay up so he could listen to the new messages as soon as they arrived.

Oblivious to his twin’s pessimism, Ingo said, “With any luck, I’ll see you soon.”

Emmet sighed, wishing he could share that belief, and braced himself for the worst.

Even that wasn’t enough.

He couldn’t make it past the first message that came in, for some time. Everything about it was wrong. The lack of intonation in Ingo’s voice, the words he chose, and, most disturbing of all, the admission he’d made: it hadn’t worked, and he didn’t know how to proceed from there on out. With his only track forward decommissioned-- the track he'd put all of his faith, all of his time and energy into pursuing-- he’d lain in the snow without any intent to pick himself back up.

The logic Emmet used earlier should have reassured him that his brother wouldn’t succumb to despair-- but in that moment, he couldn’t convince himself. He was faced with the realization that even if Ingo survived Hisui in a physical sense, there was still every chance that the twin he’d lost had fallen asleep in the snow and never awoken, replaced with this person who barely even shared his voice.

He’d had been unable to contain his anxiety as the thought took hold, seeking comfort in any and every Pokemon that crossed his path. They couldn’t understand the source of his distress, but that would have to do; under no circumstances was he going to play that message back. Before he’d even listened to any of the others, he transferred the file onto his laptop and immediately sequestered it in its own password protected folder, so there was no chance he would open it without cause.

When he finally found the courage to start the next voicemail, it was… better. Ingo’s voice was still unnervingly flat, but he was talking about the Pearl Clan, at least, even if he didn’t show any actual interest in what he was saying. Where other calls had clearly been addressing Emmet himself-- even if as a hypothetical participant in the one-sided conversations-- this one was almost like a voice memo, something to talk at and nothing else. There was a noise consistently overlapping Ingo’s too-dull words and, after a minute, Emmet realized that it was Sneasler. She was somewhere very close to the receiver, purring in and out on every breath.

The only time he heard a spark of emotion was when Ingo addressed her near the message’s end, reluctantly amused as he complained about the spot she’d drooled into his shirt. That was what made the knot in Emmet’s throat loosen, the first indication that his worst fears wouldn’t be realized. In a horrible way, it made sense. If Emmet’s defense mechanism was to get angry, then Ingo’s was to shut down-- and since Emmet had made it through, Ingo would too… eventually. He just needed time to work through it.

Staying up for the first message may have been the worst decision Emmet made that night, but listening to the second was the best. It explained everything: what kind of Pokemon Sneasler was at her heart, how much she cared for Ingo and why, inevitably, he was going to ally himself with her. She’d saved him three times over, not only from the cold, but from hopelessness.

Emmet wished there was some way he could thank her for it, but she was long gone.

He tried not to follow that thought to its logical conclusion; he already knew where it led.

While a disappearance from Hisui could easily be interpreted as a death, the records didn’t add up. The wording was slightly different depending on the translator, but Laventon’s note always implied that Ingo had purposefully moved on with his life, and a diary entry from the Pearl Clan’s leader used a turn of phrase invoking Sinnoh’s protection on a long journey. Both accounts gave every indication that he’d left on his own power, and that it was a somber occasion, but also something that the Hisuians recognized was best for him.

Emmet listed harder against Garbodor and reached blindly toward his Xtransceiver, feeling around until he managed to hit play on the next recording. By the end of the set, there was a little more life in his brother’s voice, and the topic was warming up to Sneasler herself-- particularly the matter of her nonexistent warden. The foundation of a plan was more comforting than Emmet had expected, and not for the usual reasons; while he usually appreciated a warning what direction things were going, so he could prepare himself in advance, this unknowingly served as reassurance that Ingo wasn’t actually giving up.

After the message wound down, Emmet dropped heavily onto his bed, thoroughly exhausted.

It never reached a point so low as that again, and he was infinitely grateful for it. Over the following weeks, he heard all about Pearl Clan traditions, a number of crafting methods, and much, much more about Sneasler than he was accustomed to. He also heard a lot of complaining. They vented to one another about problem commuters all the time, so Emmet wasn’t shocked when his twin voiced a rather uncharitable assessment of the other warden in the Coronet Highlands, but it was different than he might have expected-- and it took some time to figure out what was going on.

Eventually, Emmet realized where the difference stemmed from: if a commuter’s behavior happened to be annoying, but not in conflict with the station’s guidelines, Ingo would not-grin and bear it. So long as it wasn’t negatively impacting staff or another commuter, damaging the equipment, or posing a safety hazard, he was inclined to ignore it and move on. Everyone had their peculiarities, and being odd wasn’t against the rules. Emmet didn’t agree with that philosophy. There was nothing wrong with being a little weird on the subway, but personal insults or accusations after a loss wouldn’t stand, and the behaviors wouldn’t stop if they didn’t put a stop to it. In those instances where it was aimed at himself, Ingo usually waved it off; those people were looking for a reaction, and any response would feed the fire. Conversely, Emmet preferred to fire back.

What he was hearing was an extreme case, proving both of their points: this Warden Melli was trying to incite a response, and in being denied what he wanted, his behavior was only worsening. The messages vented a helpless frustration; Ingo refused to retaliate-- specifically citing inter-clan tensions-- but neither could he disarm the situation by removing himself or the aggressor. They were the only two people on Mount Coronet.

Not for the first time, Emmet wished he could simply cut this conflict short by getting himself to Hisui-- this time with the secondary intention of pushing this man’s head into a nest of Burmy. He’d like to see him make noise about Ingo’s coat with a mouth String Shot shut.

Updates came and went, focusing on daily life. In that time, there was no indication that Ingo had identified a new path home, but it was far better than the alternative-- when one couldn’t move directly forward, they took a detour to keep from stalling out, or even reversing down the tracks. Ingo certainly seemed better for the distraction wardenship offered.

Then things started happening very quickly.

Emmet knew he was only hearing fragments of what was going on, and that they were spaced much further apart than he might be led to believe, but from his perspective, it was one piece of bad news after another: there was hole torn through the sky above Mount Coronet. Strange bubbles of distortion were popping up all across Hisui. The warden Ingo had replaced had found allies and tried to ambush him. He’d been severely injured in a battle against an alpha Scyther.

Half of the Noble Pokemon had been driven to madness.

All of it was terrible, each fact compounding the next, but… by the time the final domino fell, Emmet found that he hadn’t been crushed beneath their cumulative weight. Neither of them had.

“Maybe the outlook will be better in the morning, but it’s hard to see how right this moment. All I can do is continue to hope. I’ll call again soon-- love you.”