When he’d agreed to act as warden, his understanding had been that it was something of a public service-- to help watch over a territory and see travelers safely through, in addition to assisting the Noble. What he hadn’t been informed was that wardens were somewhat more connected to their charges than simple caretaking.

 

The way a Noble Pokemon was unique in their sensitivity to humans, wardens grew to open their hearts to Pokemon in turn, taking on aspects of the Noble they served.

 

It seemed, to Ingo, maybe a little misguided. A person didn’t need to embody the Pokemon they fought with to find common ground, and expecting only wardens to pursue such attachments felt like it would stifle the growth of the Hisuian people, but who was he to say? He was just the strange man who’d appeared from nowhere-- which, in all fairness, was exactly why that part of the job had come as a surprise to him. It seemed to be a universal understanding among the clans, so it was just another example of him being clueless due to cultural differences. To her credit, Irida had realized the problem within the first week, and taken the time to educate him.

 

Now, however, they were well past a few measly weeks, and things were not going well.

 

Of all 18 types, fighting seemed like it should be one of the simpler ones for a human being to emulate, but it was proving quite the opposite. It wasn’t even that Ingo was incapable of keeping up, because his time in the Highlands had imparted an endurance far beyond what he’d arrived with; there was just something he was missing, reaching beyond the obvious physical stances and forms.

 

Sinnoh bless her, Sneasler had taken it as a personal challenge to help him understand. She was, however, a harsh taskmistress; she absolutely delighted in pushing him just that little bit past what he’d previously been capable of and, oftentimes, watching him make a fool of himself as a result.

 

Months in, and it was still very strange to Ingo, to have the roles so thoroughly inverted. He was relatively certain that, wherever he came from, humans trained Pokemon and never the other way around.

 

In the here and now, Sneasler seemed to decide that Ingo’s situation was funny after all, and-- after getting a good laugh in at his expense-- took pity on her warden. While he was usually happy to accept temporary responsibility for one of her kits, today, under the same threat, he held both hands up, trying to ward her off.

 

“Sneasler, no! I’m horribly sweaty. Your children are adorable, but their fur--”

 

The protest was cut short as a young Sneasel was deposited onto his chest and promptly scuttled over to tuck itself beneath his chin. Unable to deny it the attention it was seeking, Ingo resigned himself to an early visit to the waterside and reached up to ruffle its fur.

 

This, he’d learned, was a strangely effective way to moderate one’s breathing. Without a doubt it was harder to breathe when there was a small creature on one’s chest, but it also made a person incredibly aware of how much force it took to inhale, or how to slow the exhalation. It was a handy tool in practicing mindfulness.

 

Or… not, as things stood. Not only had he failed to notice Sneasler’s departure, caught up in finally being allowed to rest, but until that moment, neither had he noticed the untimely arrival of the Alpha Mismagius, lurking ever nearer.

 

He reached for Gliscor’s pokeball, but came up empty handed, his belt lost somewhere in the tangle of fabric at his side. Unable to risk the time it would take to find it, he leaped to his feet and tried to put some distance between them; the Mismagius, undeterred, trailed right after, its eyes glowing with a building psychic power.

 

The kit could do nothing to fend it off, too small to break any but the tiniest of boulders, unable even regulate its poison yet. Without a trace of doubt, Ingo knew he would play the barrier between Sneasel and the alpha if it came down to it, he just-- he didn’t know what he could do to prevent that eventuality. If it were a Luxray or Steelix, he could throw something or try to strike it, but a ghost? That was orders more complicated.

 

Fragments of rock tumbled from the cliff side and Ingo glanced up, to where Sneasler was furiously sliding down the embankment toward them. None of her moves would be horribly effective, but she was Noble for a reason; if nothing else, she could keep Mismagius busy while he removed her kit from the area of effect and sought assistance from his team.

 

That planning was all tossed to the side as the Mismagius let out a screech and released its attack. Psychic, almost certainly strong style the way it had been moving.

 

Ingo braced the Sneasel against his chest and began to pivot, but something stopped him; all he managed to do was plant his feet more firmly. The hand flung up to counterbalance felt, for just a moment, like it brushed up against something solid, and the blast of psychic energy dissipated as soon as it met his outstretched fingers.

 

Oh, he thought numbly, stumbling back with the Sneasel clutched stubbornly to himself, That was Detect. I… just used Detect.

 

And those were the last coherent words to pass through his head. As Sneasler interposed herself between the alpha and hers, his grip on consciousness failed and he sank, gracelessly, to the ground.