As usual, it was Sneasler who clued Ingo in to the fact that something was wrong.
Or, rather, it was Sneasler’s sudden and complete absence.
It wasn’t unusual to go a day or two without seeing his Noble, especially since his posting in Jubilife, but it was utterly unheard of for her to be gone when there were still unhatched eggs in her nest. He’d called for her, of course, but she never responded, and fear seized Ingo’s heart.
Despite Gliscor’s somewhat rocky relationship with the Lady of the Cliffs, he hadn’t hesitated for a moment when his trainer asked him to survey the Highlands from above, but his search hadn’t turned up anything of note. Perhaps… perhaps Akari just needed her assistance on a much grander scale…?
He’d suppressed his concern long enough to see the eggs insulated and secured, coat tucked snugly around the clutch, before hurrying off to consult the only other human on Mount Coronet.
Melli hadn’t been at his campsite, nor was Electrode anywhere to be found in the arena.
A thrill of panic raced through him. Had he missed some manner of natural disaster, leaving the others to deal with the fallout? But no, Gliscor would have seen anything that warranted the attention of two Nobles and a Warden. He wanted to set out for himself, to ensure that this was a baseless fear, but by the time he concluded that there was nothing to be found in the Hollow, night was already beginning to fall.
Normally, he’d retire to his own camp, but without any assurance that Sneasler would be able to return to her nest, he dragged himself back up the cliffs and crept into the cave-- quietly, just in case. There was no need to fear waking her up, however, because Sneasler wasn’t there.
Ingo swallowed thickly and admitted himself, letting the tanned hide curtain fall shut behind him. He’d remove it in due time, once Sneasler was back, but for now, it was the only thing keeping the cavern from dipping into temperatures the eggs couldn’t withstand.
For some time, he busied himself with normal tasks: checking the provisions stored up here, briefly ducking outside to ensure that his team had situated themselves for the night and didn’t require assistance, half-heartedly making his way through the rice ball he’d been too preoccupied to eat earlier in the day. He shouldn’t have been surprised when his bid for time failed to see Sneasler’s return, but still, somehow, he felt worse for it.
With a deep breath, he settled himself on his side and laid an arm across the bundled cluster of eggs.
He had a bad feeling it would be some time before he’d be able to breathe it out in relief.
---
Sneasler was still missing the next morning. Ingo tried not to let his thoughts derail as he asked Gliscor, again, to get the lay of the land beyond where he could reasonably venture. If there was no guarantee that the Noble would be back to tend to her eggs, he couldn’t, in good conscience, leave the territory.
Gliscor sat patiently for him as he lashed a note just above its claw-- firm enough to withstand the winds, but not so firm as to dig into the bat’s hide. Perhaps this entire matter was a misunderstanding; the Pearl Clan played specific songs on their flutes to summon their people, so it was entirely possible the same had happened with the Diamonds, and that Sneasler was simply busy elsewhere, trusting her Warden to care for the clutch during her absence.
When he was done, he ruffled the top of Gliscor’s head.
“Don’t be hasty; if you need to stop for any reason, do so. Follow the rules and safe flying.” He said, and with that, it was up in the air and off for the Alabaster Icelands.
Ingo spent the rest of the day in a blur of scouting the Highlands for trouble, gathering supplies and ferrying any nest-worthy materials from his campsite on the off chance they would help keep Sneasler’s eggs warm. It was only once he was confident that the layer he built up well exceeded the worn fabric of his coat that he slipped it back over his shoulders.
Far ahead of the mental schedule he’d put together, Gliscor returned late that night, claws scrabbling beneath the curtain and startling Ingo out of a fitful doze. Before he could get to his feet and meet the bat, it was already dragging itself past the barrier-- for a second, Ingo worried that it was because he was hurt, but a second inspection in the darkness suggested that Gliscor was fine, just unsure how to breach the obstacle that the curtain presented.
He would have to apologize for the new-- if familiar-- scent in her lair once Sneasler caught wind of it.
Gliscor sat upright and chittered at him, extending the arm on which he’d tied the letter, and Ingo dutifully set about releasing him from the tie. He got as far as identifying where the knot was before realizing that it was the same he’d fastened that morning, the note warped by weather, but undeniably the one he’d sent along.
His hands stilled for a moment as this fact sunk in, and then he spurred himself back into action, focusing on the fastening so he wouldn’t have to consider what this meant. Eventually, however, that excuse ran out, and he had no choice but to ask, “Are-- are they alright? Did something happen? A… Pokemon attack or an avalanche…?”
With a low trill, Gliscor tilted his head to the side, unable to answer. He was confused-- that much was plain to see-- but not afraid or upset. There was nothing in his demeanor to suggest tragedy had befallen the Pearl settlement.
But why, then, would his missive go unanswered? The rest of the clan was wary of Pokemon, yes, and Gliscor cut an intimidating figure, but his sweet temper more than made up for it. Surely, even if nobody else was bold enough to approach, Irida or Gaeric would have recognized him?
Ingo was so consumed with thought that he didn’t even notice the Pokemon in question clamber into his lap and set its head on his shoulder. Absently, he ran a hand over its back and it leaned into his neck, rumbling appreciatively.
With time, he would realize that the accelerated timetable meant that Gliscor had likely disregarded his instructions-- failing to rest at appropriate intervals-- and ply it with a late night snack of plump beans. For now, though, he subconsciously accepted the comfort of a warm embrace on a lonely night.
---
Since Gliscor had proven himself unlikely to perform safety checks without his pincers being forced, Ingo’s next course of action was to call upon the Honchkrow and Staraptor he’d trained up and send them to the Diamond Settlement and Jubilife Village.
Both returned the next day, the written appeals for information still tied to their legs.
Something like muted horror settled at the back of Ingo’s mind, but he tried valiantly to busy himself with the task at hand. The eggs had already spent quite some time developing before Sneasler had vanished, and would likely be ready to hatch before too much longer; he didn’t understand what was going on outside of the Coronet Highlands, but so long as the clutch was relying on him, he would be there to tend to it.
By the time the hatchlings were stable enough to travel, the greater portion of a month had passed since their mother’s disappearance.
It wasn’t the longest Ingo had gone without straying to a settlement, but there was something uniquely terrifying about the experience this time around. He’d tried, with diminishing hope, to contact any of Hisui's factions and gone unanswered every time.
He hated to move the kits so young, but he had to know what was going on out there-- not just as a matter of personal curiosity, but also of practicality. In order to prepare accordingly, he had to understand the circumstances, and he wouldn’t be able to do that if he stayed in the Highlands.
But he couldn’t leave the four young Sneasel alone, on an emotional or physical level; in their mother’s absence, they’d imprinted on the only caretaker they had, and had taken to trying to follow him out of the nest ever since they grasped rudimentary mobility. The curtain had been enough to contain them for quite some time, but at a certain point, he’d had to ask Tangrowth or Probopass to plop down at the mouth of the cave to keep them from escaping. Now, though, it seemed they would get their wish. Like it or not, he’d have to take them with him on the commute to Jubilife Village.
It was fortunate that they were still small enough to fit in a pocket, noses poking out to scent the air, while the remaining two perched on a shoulder or snuggled into his chest. He kept a member of his team out at all times, rotating through so everyone would get a chance to stretch the equivalent of their legs, and between the lot of them, it was possible to fool himself into thinking that he was just headed to his position at the Training Grounds.
The flimsy veneer only lasted until he reached the village’s unguarded gates.
Or-- well-- not unguarded. Mr. Mime was still there, but there wasn’t a member of the Security Corps to be seen. That was the heart of the matter, really. There didn’t seem to be a single human in the village. The pastures still teemed with life, a Chimecho hanging forlornly in the eaves of a house and a Graveler eyeing him from in between a set of pickling pots-- but as he walked the paths, he only found Pokemon.
Eventually, after picking his way past the fields, he circled back around to idle in front of the Galaxy Building, where a Dustox perched on the rails.
It felt wrong to enter uninvited-- even though he had a standing agreement with Kamado-- so, ignoring how absurd it was, he asked the Dustox, “May I come in?”
Its antennae twitched and wings slowly folded back and then open again. He took that to be an affirmative.
As he’d expected and feared, very little was different inside-- though he received a substantially warmer welcome than Mr. Mime’s vague surprise. The Professor’s Oshawott and Rowlet raced up to meet him at the sound of the door, and didn’t even seem to care that Ingo was the only person there. The Sneasel perched on his shoulder raised its hackles, and the one in his left pocket poked its head out in full to see what was going on.
Silently, he passed them-- one at a time-- over to Machamp, whose grip was inescapable, but would do them no harm. Devoid of any passengers who might escape into the facility’s depths, Ingo knelt down to the Pokemon’s level.
“Do you know where your friends have gone?” He asked, but the only answer he received was a downcast hoot and a furious nudge as Oshawott forced its head under his hand, desperate for contact.
Ingo bit back a sigh, but couldn’t begrudge them the responses. Even if they did have an answer, how were they supposed to communicate it to him? He spent a minute with them, scratching between Oshawott’s ears and ruffling Rowlet’s feathers and, before standing, rifled around in his satchel and found a pair of berries for them, to the immediate outcry of the kits behind him.
This time, he did sigh, and braced a hand against his knee to stand upright. “Settle down, you lot.”
As he stood, he fished out another berry, then the sheathed knife he kept lashed on his satchel’s side. In two quick motions, he cut the oran into quarters and handed one to each squirming Sneasel. Wiping the blade clean of juice to safely store again, he offered Machamp a wan frown. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten you. Once they’ve been taken care of, we’ll get everyone fed.”
Machamp nodded, interested but not terribly concerned by the babies’ neediness; his attention quickly wavered.
Ingo was belatedly made aware of a presence at his back that hadn’t been there before, and turned to find Cyllene’s Abra.
A staccato hope began to beat in his chest.
“Would you like one, too?” He asked, fingers blindly closing around the firm flesh of a ripe berry, but Abra didn’t respond either way, content to study him. Ingo retrieved it anyway, and held it out.
Instead, Abra took his unoccupied hand.
She had been in the office, meditating next to her trainer as was routine. An unearthly pressure settled over the room, and by the time it dissipated, even in the depths of her trance, Abra knew that Cyllene was no longer there. Her senses told her the neighboring rooms were similarly unoccupied. She could hear Oshawott surface in his tank, head raised to look above water level for all the good it would do.
She cast about mentally, trying to figure out where if not here, but her psychic scouting couldn’t find purchase. Even at a broader scope, there was a terrifying emptiness. Cyllene wasn’t here. The Professor wasn’t here. Even the stubborn Commander had vanished.
Abra… Abra was scared.
As the vision cleared from his eyes, Ingo scrambled for something to say, but there wasn’t anything he could do to sooth the Pokemon’s fears. He didn’t know what the pressure had been, hadn’t felt any inkling of it himself-- not in this instance, at least.
Distantly, he was aware that the sensation of too-heavy psychic tension was a familiar one-- was something he associated with the unexpected burn of snow against a thin uniform-- but he wasn’t prepared to face that particular reality just yet. Instead, he guided Abra’s hands and tucked the berry between them.
He wanted, so badly, to assure her that Cyllene would be back.
But how could he, when years had passed and he still remained where the pressure had left him?
---
Ingo lingered in Jubilife for some time, seeing to it that the Pokemon had everything they needed. It was a miserable task, if only because he was confronted at every turn by the evidence that he was alone.
The Pokemon, at least, were generally happy to see a human. That was a nice change of pace; it felt right in a way very little did, these days.
When he was satisfied they would continue on without issue, he worked out a system between the southern gate’s Buizel, the eastern’s Mr. Mime, and his Staraptor, to keep the village secure and alert him in the event that the population returned. He wasn’t holding his breath, but it made the Pokemon perk up, so he could live with the knowledge that it may have been a false hope.
The quartet of Sneasel were larger now, impossible to carry in a pocket and far more mobile than he could feasibly conduct, but it wasn’t a problem as he moved on to where the Diamond Settlement laid. While they were a curious sort by nature, they were also young and skittish, far more likely to scamper after their caretaker than seek out trouble on the road.
That didn’t mean much-- the tracks were more treacherous than ever without the flow of trade and Galaxy folk keeping them clear-- but it was certainly better than going out of their way to incite mischief. Ingo could usually keep an eye on them, but upgraded from traveling with one companion to two to be safe-- one to help look out for and deal with hostile Pokemon and another as a fail safe pertaining to the Sneasel pack. Despite her type disadvantage, Tangrowth was a wonderful minder when Ingo was too busy with a wild Pokemon to heed the kits’ hijinks; her vines were especially helpful in keeping them from wandering off into the mud pits.
He hadn’t expected to find much upon reaching the settlement, and wasn’t disappointed. Like Jubilife, it was just empty. A few partnered Pokemon crept around tents to stare at him, but seemed uninterested in interaction.
Ingo spent the night and moved on.
---
The Razor Claw in his satchel grew heavier with each passing day. It was a Warden’s contingency, a way to appoint a successor in the event of the Lady of the Cliffs’ death, but was that really the best track to take? Sneasler wasn’t dead, just… gone. All the Nobles were gone. Was it a sign from Sinnoh that Hisui no longer needed them? That Hisui no longer deserved them? Would it be going against its design to find one of Sneasler’s older kits and offer them the opportunity to take up their mother’s mantle?
A small part of Ingo wondered if this hypothetical successor would just vanish into thin air after the fact. If the problem wasn’t Hisui, but Ingo himself.
It sounded self important, but Sinnoh had made its point. For whatever reason, be it punishment or trial, there was nobody else to be found.
He was trying to make peace with it.
---
The Coastlands were the worst of his region-wide sweep. It wasn’t because the bulk of the territory was inaccessible without Basculegion or Sneasler, but because of the Chatot.
While the little birds were usually content to mimic the sounds of the Pokemon around them, they had a habit of spouting random Hisuian at inopportune moments. The first time it happened, Ingo had startled so badly that Alakazam reflexively pitched a spoon at him.
It was hard to endure with the disembodied bits of conversation passing behind his back, and he quickly vacated to the Highlands’ border.
Frustratingly, the phantom voices followed.
The Chatot did not.
---
The empty region made it far simpler to call a Zoroark’s tricks.
Not that it was something Ingo tended to fall for any longer, but it was laughably obvious what their game was when it had been months since he last saw another human. His heart still panged at the flash of a white coat, but he was beginning to wonder if there was any reason to it-- if the man who shared his face had ever existed.
It was almost easier to believe the brief snatches of memory had been the product of a desperate mind, and nothing else.
---
Ingo learned to avoid the abandoned settlements after the hallucinations set in.
What had started as the distant impression of a human voice progressed to the lull of a steady conversation the next room over, then evolved one step further to become blurry figures at the edges of his vision.
Anywhere people had once lived, the shapes bustled to and fro in the echo of inhabitants long gone, and he had to force himself steady to keep his head from snapping up to look.
All the same, he felt himself gravitate toward the evidence that someone else had been there, once upon a time-- that his entire life in Hisui hadn’t been one massive episode. He certainly hadn’t set all the tents in the Pearl encampment up; he hadn’t even known how to drive a tent spike until faced with the task of creating a home for himself in the cliffs.
It was a precarious balance between reassurance and disquiet and, after a long back and forth, the latter won out.
---
Eventually, he gave up on any semblance of direction.
He began to let the Pokemon chart a course for any given day, rotating between them. It meant they spent a great deal of time in the deep wilderness, but that didn’t have much of an impact. The Sneasel were old enough to take care of themselves for the most part-- though they still followed wherever Ingo wandered-- which left his team available to deal with anything that decided they were encroaching on its territory.
When they’d grown weary of the sport, he would call to one of the Pokemon he’d trained for the Path of Solitude, and it would serve as a challenge for a time. Battle had always been engaging in a way little could match; he’d been so sure it was a part of him, something that could help him figure everything out. He didn’t think so anymore, but it was as good a way to pass the time as any other.
Once in a while, he’d seek out the biggest, nastiest Alpha in a territory and test his team against it-- a serious battle, those were important-- but even that began to lose its luster as the weeks dragged by.
There was a special kind of hurt in the realization, and he didn’t understand why that was.
---
...what had he done? Surely-- surely-- this wasn’t a warranted response, no matter the offense.
---
Ingo wasn’t sure when Gliscor stopped returning to his pokeball, but he was quietly grateful for it.
There had been a yawning void at his side ever since he could remember, and, while the incredible emptiness everywhere around him shifted his perspective, it never matched the original’s depth. Some days, it was far too easy to forget the endless abyss it represented and, while Gliscor couldn’t hope to fill the pitfall Ingo continuously found himself stepping into, it was far better to have him there than not-- a steady presence to grasp when he felt himself teeter.
He didn’t relish the thought that, someday, he’d slip and be unable to wrench himself back up from the edge. Gliscor would do his best to put that day off as long as he could, Ingo knew-- would stay close and swoop in to catch him before he could free fall.
At the end of days spent dwelling on the matter of voids and falling, Ingo always found himself dreaming of pale, reaching hands, and waking with a set of massive pincers holding his own hands away from gouge marks in the ground.
He was lucky to have a partner like Gliscor. Verrrry lucky.
---
He was forced, once, to retreat to the Pearl encampment. His supplies were running dangerously low, and, while he’d never raid private larders, it seemed wasteful to let the clan’s communal stores slowly rot. Whether or not anyone else would ever make use of it again, Ingo made a point not to take much, augmenting his own cache with whatever he could forage along the way.
This time, he took the bare minimum, unable to handle the renewed facsimile of life around him-- the figures so much more distinct than usual, calling to him in voices he half recognized.
Even though the apparitions had grown bolder, their inability to withstand being looked at gave them away and, eyes trained on his path, Ingo wove back out of the settlement.
He wouldn’t return again, if that was what waited for him after so long in the wilds. Better to collect whatever was in season and make do than endure the ringing of his own name.
---
Ingo didn’t actually notice that something was amiss for quite some time; far too long, if he was honest with himself. He was content to follow the path one of the Sneasel laid out for them, along the high-up ice shelves, until he absolutely had to change course. Tangrowth, having grown privy to the dangers inherent in falling-- be that literally or mentally-- had put herself on the open edge, the other three Sneasel treating her vines as a mobile jungle gym.
He might have been worried if they were any other Pokemon, but not Sneasel, to which climbing came so easily-- and Tangrowth could plant herself firmly in place, even if she had to anchor into the ice. Just to be safe, Ingo kept her pokeball in hand, ready to recall her if need be.
Above them, Gliscor twisted in lazy loops. He kept circling back and staring at something, unabashed, and Ingo had to wave away the foggy thought that there was a Pokemon that didn’t like that-- that would charge at you head-first if you made the mistake of looking it in the eye.
He was vaguely aware of the Chatot at the back of his skull, cawing his name with increasing desperation, and decided it would be prudent to find stable ground before it could develop into anything more dangerous. The buffer that Tangrowth provided was appreciated, but it wouldn’t do to tempt fate; Sinnoh had already proven itself incapable of resisting such bait.
The quartet of Sneasel watched as he recalled Tangrowth and gave a sharp whistle to Gliscor, who cut through the air to join him at once. He nodded to the lower path of the Icebound Falls, and Gliscor answered him with a series of rapidfire clicks, holding its pincers out as handholds.
Gliscor’s descent was smooth, if steeper than it would usually be, by virtue of carrying a passenger along for the ride. The Sneasel squawked at the track change and ran along the upper path for some time before digging their claws into the ice to rappel down.
Down here, the voices were louder. That was a bad sign, but at least he’d caught it early. He gave the nearby Elekid a wide berth as he crossed the ravine to lean against a frozen tree’s trunk, reaching to tilt the brim of his hat down. The tree shuddered as Gliscor found a perch in its branches and, even with his eyes closed, he knew the Sneasel were ganging up on Elekid. He should really do something about that.
Ingo winced at the sound of his name again-- called, nonsensically, by his own voice-- and reached for Alakazam’s pokeball; it was still a work in progress, but he was willing to give Calm Mind another try if it could resolve the malfunction. He cracked an eye open to scope out where the pack had ended up and, instead, caught sight of a Zoroark tearing down the path.
Odd to see them this far south, but right now he really didn’t have it in him to fight off illusions on top of what his own mind had conjured up. He tossed Alakazam’s pokeball, startling all conflict right out of the pack and giving Elekid the chance to run off. There was no need to give orders; at this point Alakazam knew the drill.
...or so he’d thought. Several seconds passed and Alakazam didn’t attack.
Oh. Well. If the hallucinations had gotten that detailed, he definitely had a problem. Would Calm Mind even do anything for that? Maybe the figments were close enough to dreams that Cresselia might be able to assist?
Still staring blindly with its approach, Ingo didn’t quite realize that he’d raised one hand to meet the phantasm in white. It reached back, and he had to fight off the sense memory of that gloved hand clutching at him, digging into his flesh, of his own hand creaking under the force as he clutched it, in turn.
It made contact.
It threaded its fingers through his own, and-- and he could feel it.
Sinnoh above, he’d lost his mind.