There was a great deal of information available on the rift that had once torn the sky above Mount Coronet.

The proportion that Emmet found helpful was another matter entirely. Part of that could be chalked up to the fact that the incident was shrouded in myth, but there was also a more pedestrian obstacle: most Sinnoan history was written in Sinnoan. At this point, he’d be better off taking a course and learning it, for all the time he spent researching, but he wouldn’t be able to focus or retain the information with so much vying for his attention. If all else failed, he would ask Lenora for any contacts in Sinnoh who would be willing to assist him.

Between the articles written in Unovan and the select vocabulary he’d puzzled out so far, he’d gathered that no one actually knew what had caused the rift, but that it wasn’t a one-off event. Records indicated that something near identical had formed at Coronet’s peak centuries prior. There were folktales about a hero and his Pokemon sealing it, but nothing that could be taken literally; it was a classic archetype with variations found around the world. Disaster strikes. Hero emerges. Pokemon help battle the problem back. The end.

The second rift was documented more thoroughly. There were a number of firsthand accounts that he couldn’t read and grainy photographs that showed it perched atop a mountain, oftentimes juxtaposed next to the same mountain, sans rift. One of the articles that he could reliably interpret laid the timeline out simply:

The rift appeared above Mount Coronet and rained lightning down, causing five of Hisui’s Noble Pokemon to frenzy. One by one, each was quelled. The next morning, the sun didn’t rise and, instead, Hisui’s residents found themselves trapped beneath a red sky. Supposedly, the native clans and Galaxy Team had come together to find a solution and succeeded, sealing the rift and reversing the damage to the region.

From the messages Ingo left, it seemed that he was still living through the first phase. Unfortunately, it was drawing to a swift close-- at his own hand. Today’s final message had addressed his intention to face down Lord Kleavor, attempting to cure him of his frenzy.

Even though Emmet knew his twin would walk away from the conflict, it was terrifying to hear. It wasn’t the ice water that ran down his back at Ingo’s admission of despondence; there had been an uncanniness, an inherent wrongness to hearing his twin so monotone that built into the visceral horror of what he’d said. This, on the other hand, felt much more grounded. Ingo was nervous-- as well he should be-- and Emmet subconsciously found himself mirroring it. Under better circumstances, it would have cemented them as a unified force, sharing an understanding and working toward the same goal. In the moment, it only served to make him anxious without any immediate way to dispel it.

He replayed the message, and reminded himself that his brother was going to make it through.

“...Wish me luck?” Ingo asked at its tail end.

Just to be safe, Emmet echoed, “Good luck.”

He sighed and put his Xtransceiver on its charger for the night, then turned back to the notebook on his lap. Even with all this information at hand, he felt helpless. Knowing the history was a double edged sword, both a promise for what would happen, and as a reminder that it already had happened, that nothing could change it now. He was too far away to intervene, and far too late to even try.

Ingo worried for the future, but Emmet worried for the past.

More than once, he’d considered taking a different track entirely and forcing his way back. Celebi was more myth than legend, but what few encounters went on scientific record were remarkable. Dialga… also existed. It was a less viable option, despite being a part of Sinnoh’s native pantheon. In all of modern history, it had only been seen once, ten years prior, and had supposedly been forced into showing itself by a terrorist organization. Emmet would prefer to avoid that extreme if at all possible. That wasn’t to say he wouldn’t take drastic measures if need be, but it would be a last resort.

It was actually something Ingo had said months prior that stilled his hand-- when one was lost, standard procedure was to stay put, or they risked moving circles around those searching for them. He couldn’t account for his twin’s whereabouts, but he could ensure that he remained at his designated station, right there to be found. To do anything else at this junction was to risk missing one another in transit, and that was simply unacceptable; even though he wanted to do something, to make visible progress, he contented himself with the daily updates and their family’s collaborative research.

It could have been worse; it could have been silence. Emmet would take a slow track over a dead end any day of the week.

He resisted the urge to reach out and turn his Xtransceiver back on, so he could listen to a different message. Doing so wouldn’t sate his concern-- it would only keep him up late and cause him to enter the next day sleep-deprived. The one thing that would stay his racing thoughts was his brother’s safe return, and while he held onto his hopes with an iron grip, he felt absolutely certain that this wasn’t the time.

Emmet allowed himself to compromise: he wouldn’t play any of the recordings right now, but in the morning, he’d let himself listen to the after-battle summary on Kleavor. He didn’t want to bend his rules, but it would help him sleep, and that would make tomorrow a better work day; anticipating a battle was all well and good, but being anxious about it wasn’t any fun at all.

He had to pause, then, and appreciate the symmetry of his situation. If only there was something he could do to help set Ingo’s mind at ease, in return.

Without anything else to record, Emmet folded the notebook closed and set it on his nightstand, then laid down. Though his nervous energy had mostly faded, a twinge of unease beat beneath his ribs, and only minutes after turning in for the night, he reached for his Xtransceiver, after all-- not to break the promise he’d made to himself, but to issue a new one, for what little good it might do.

You’re going to be okay.

Emmet automatically hit send, and then stared at the screen without any real belief that tonight would be different. He was right; the device went dark-- uninterrupted by a hypothetical response-- leaving the after-images burnt into his vision.

You’re going to be okay.

You’re going to be okay.

You’re going to be okay.

You’re going to be okay.

You’re going to be okay.

You’re going to be okay.

One of these days, it would prove true once and for all.