[A blurry picture of a cluster of Paras and Parasect. It’s been taken at an unconventional angle, suggesting that the photographer was in motion when the image was captured. All of the Pokemon are focused on him, and one has been caught mid-Poison Powder.]
Seems nature is healing.
I didn’t miss this aspect of it.
---
Species: Croagunk
Location: Lonely Spring, Coronet Highlands.
Update: I’ve never seen one so far from the mudpits around the Ancient Quarry. You would think the abundance of ground types and, specifically, Pokemon like Golduck and Bronzor would keep them away. Has the rift changed their behavior, or is this unrelated? It’s by itself. I’m going to see if it’s lost.
2nd Update: As soon as it caught sight of me, it dove into the spring and over the falls where it swiftly swam away. I had expected aggression as per their usual temperament and, perhaps, frustration at being so far from its home station. This is absolutely unprecedented.
---
At the time of the incident, the Arc Phone has already been recording for seventeen minutes.
It begins around a river, and the only purpose it seems to serve keeping its operator company as he patrols the area, occasionally stopping to collect a clump of salt, handful of berries or the roots that grow near the water.
As he weaves through the incline, neatly dodging the Graveler rolling down it, his commentary focuses on a crafting project and which ingredients he’s on the lookout for. While he’s collected a number of small mushrooms on the way up, they don’t seem to be the kind he needs, and he’s pocketed those for Sneasler.
The trouble arises as he reaches the top and takes a swift right turn.
By some unseen force, the device is all but yanked out of his hands, and the display turns to static for several seconds. After that, however, it focuses in as usual, and a high, electric snicker can be heard.
Somewhere nearby, there’s an offended, “Pardon me!” and the camera pans-- seemingly of its own volition-- to the shout’s source.
Given that Ingo almost exclusively uses the Arc Phone to record the world around him, this is the first we’ve seen of him in some time, and that difference is visible. While it hadn’t been in perfect form for months and months, his coat has begun to look worse for wear, and through its tears and thin points, the pale pink of a Pearl Clan tunic is visible. From beneath the bill of a scuffed cap, he’s staring daggers at the Arc Phone.
“That doesn’t belong to you.” He says, the tone matter-of-fact, and his voice projecting neatly across the diagonal space that separates them.
The camera wriggles in midair teasingly and the buzz begins again.
One hand crosses his body, reaching for a pokeball beneath his sun-faded coat. “I’m going to request this nicely, just once. Return my device and we won’t have any quarrel.”
The hum goes higher pitched-- as if in thought-- then the entity snickers again, and takes off across the Sacred Plaza. Unseen from somewhere behind it, a pokeball releases its occupant and a screech rings out.
This begins a grand game of Purrloin and Patrat across the northern Highlands as the Arc Phone’s abductor dodges Gliscor’s pincers and, below, Ingo attempts to keep up whilst navigating the usually-hostile environment. At one point, he manages to trip over his own roaming Nosepass. At another, he yells so loudly that the thief is stunned to a momentary halt, but the nearby alpha Gabite is immediately alerted to his presence, and he briefly becomes the pursued.
Eventually, and with a not insubstantial amount of help, they manage to herd the phone into Heart’s Home Arena, where Gliscor guards its natural skylight and Machoke watches the main entrance.
There’s a standoff between the device-- hovering a good twelve feet in the air-- and its owner. Without warning, a pokeball connects with it and promptly glances off.
It’s followed by a sheepish, “I’m not sure what I expected that to accomplish…”
They regard each other for another moment, and then Ingo sighs. “Could you please come down here? I don’t mind raising my voice to speak, but I’ve been told countless times that it’s somewhat excessive. I won’t make another attempt to grab you.”
It hesitates, but if the way the frame swoops in is anything to go by, gives him the benefit of the doubt. That said, it still remains firmly out of arm’s reach.
“Does your fascination come from novelty? Have you ever seen a device like this one before?" He asks once it stays still for a moment. He must get a negative answer to the second prompt, because he goes on. “That must be exciting. Where I come from, Rotom find countless appliances to inhabit, but you haven’t had that opportunity until just now, have you?”
The camera rocks up and down; it’s a little dizzying from the viewer’s perspective. Ingo takes it as an affirmative.
“That particular device is very precious to me,” He says, tilting his head in consideration, “So I’m afraid I can’t let you keep it. Would you accept a compromise?”
Rotom buzzes in question and the frame cocks to the side.
“I can take you to Jubilife Village, where you can observe the different types of cameras being used. You won’t be able to possess them without permission, but if you’re kind to their owners, they might allow you to look more closely.” One hand taps at his cheek and he adds, “I can’t profess to know much about the history of color photography, but perhaps you could help advance it.”
The Rotom seems unsatisfied. Above, Gliscor flexes his prehensile tail, backing his trainer up with a clear threat.
“If it helps at all, you can continue to inhabit that device until we make the commute, which may be some time. All I ask is that you leave its contents as they are and stay near my person.”
Without losing eye contact, he reaches into a pocket and retrieves one of the springy mushrooms from his walk to the plaza. “I’m also willing to feed you, so long as you don’t damage anything.”
And with that, the switch flips. The Rotom zooms toward the occupied hand and the phone drops into it. For half a second, the Arc Phone catches a glimpse of the ghost worrying a divot into its snack before Ingo reaches over to take it safely into his free hand.
A relieved sigh is heard, and as it’s emulated by the sound of Gliscor swooping down from the ceiling, the recording is put to an end.
---
A new series of photographs is taken and then indecisively sorted. At first, they’re filed under Miscellaneous and later moved to Hisui. After roughly a day there, they’re taken out again and left undefined. Clearly, it’s a matter of some contention exactly what category their contents fall under.
The first of the lot is actually of the Cobalt Coastlands in the distance, taken from the high cliffs marking the Highland’s eastern boundary. It’s difficult to make out at first-- so far off in the distance that the atmosphere itself makes the image cloudy-- but there’s an anomalous dark spot along the coast. This picture is taken at two different angles, as if to be sure it really was there, and then several minutes later, the same area is captured for a third time. In the last, the dark blotch is nowhere to be seen.
A second batch is taken from the bank of the Lonely Spring, angled down at Heavenward Lookout, and offers the viewer a much clearer look at what seems to be the same phenomenon. Encompassing part of the grove Parasect and Yanma call home-- and overlapping the white ruins just enough to leave the fallen Clefable statue unscathed-- is a large, solid black dome. Hints of color are caught mid-crackle over its surface: glimpses of purple and blue.
As with the first three puzzling pictures, this one gets a follow up several minutes later. The angle has changed drastically, closer to the Sonorous Path and the entrance to Wayward Cave now, but still with a clear view of the foothills. Were it not for the first picture, there would be no sign that anything was ever amiss.
This process repeats several times over: looking down into the Wayward Wood from the top edge of the Primeval Grotto, or a glimpse of a dark hemisphere in the distant Fabled Spring. In every instance, it’s followed by a picture confirming the anomaly is gone, and that, invariably, the photographer has made an effort to get closer before it vanished.
None of the pictures seem to depict the actual terrain underneath these domes. Whatever they hide remains a mystery.
---
The camera starts up on its own, trailing in the air beside its owner under Rotom’s influence. As they approach what, from this perspective, seems to be a wall of crackling darkness, Ingo says, “My tracks finally aligned with one of these disturbances. As we approached, I watched the native Rhyhorn pass through without issue and emerge a short time later, so it doesn’t seem to be actively harmful, but I do need to narrow down what it is.”
As he gets in range, he takes a bracing breath and tentatively reaches out, fingertips just grazing the curtain of blackness. It doesn’t offer any resistance and he doesn’t recoil. When he pulls his hand back, nothing seems to be amiss. He gives it a second try, just to be sure, and instead of his palm laying flat against a surface, it phases right through.
He glances to Rotom in the Arc Phone, and then heads in. It dutifully trails after.
The world under this dome is… strange. The landscape is the same as ever, the crags and cliffs of the Celestica Trail are right where they should be, but it’s tangibly off. Ambient sounds outside are dampened, almost like hearing voices from underwater and having to interpret their distorted words. As one might expect from walking into a bubble of shade, the colors are all wrong; traces of bright green grass have turned a bizarre greyish teal, and the reflections coming off of tumblestone deposits are an almost neon blue.
Ingo chances several more steps, taking the entirety of it in. He glances behind him, as if to verify how far he’s traveled, and then up to the dome’s zenith. While he idles there, another Rhyhorn across the plateau scurries out of its radius.
A rumble begins, like distant thunder, and while the Arc Phone is unaffected, it still captures the terrain rippling as the dome begins to swirl purple and a roaring wind kicks up. Pinpricks of light flash along the ground, and for one too-still second, Ingo is left with nothing to do but kneel down and inspect the item that has all but teleported next to him.
The moment doesn’t last. In a concentric flare of light, a startled-looking Octillery finds itself face to face with an equally startled man. He has the foresight to hit the dirt before it instinctively fires off an Octazooka, and then flings himself off to the side, out of its path so he can climb to his feet.
In that time, the Octillery also rights itself enough to go from surprised to furious, and presses the attack.
Caught off guard, Ingo reaches for a pokeball and grabs the first one he touches, which turns out to be Kadabra; the distraction gives him enough opportunity to back off to a safer distance, for what little good that does. It’s not just one displaced Octillery. Behind him, a Jolteon growls and readies its own attack. A second pokeball is flung out-- Machoke this time-- and he angles his back to the boundary as he calls out their orders.
Behind him, the outside world is little more than purple fog and abstract black shapes.
As its foe falls, Kadabra’s attention strays, and it floats deeper into the storm, eyes on one of the items that had suddenly appeared. Though he’s still dealing with Machoke and the Jolteon, Ingo has enough experience multitasking that he’s able to call for it to dodge as another Pokemon charges toward it.
When it’s safe to turn away from the fallen Jolteon, his eyes narrow.
“A… a Cranidos?”
Silently, Machoke falls into place next to him, helping to watch their perimeter as Kadabra is guided through battle, and the both of them draw even with the psychic type once its second battle has ended. The Cranidos hits hard, however, and while Kadabra comes out on top, it’s noticeably worse for wear.
Across the perimeter, more Pokemon are visible, taking their aggression out on one another. A Flareon and Dusclops can be seen trading vicious blows and when a large Magmar turns, revealing itself to have the red eyes of an alpha, Ingo hastily ducks behind one of the rocky outcroppings to avoid drawing its ire.
As the three of them regain their breath and try to work out what they’re seeing, the world begins to rumble anew and, in a flash of swirling blue, the dome and its visitors vanish. The Celestica Trail is as it should be.
The last view is of Ingo raising a hand to the bill of his cap, shielding his eyes from the suddenly too-bright sun as he processes what just happened.