When they’d first met, the girl had stopped him to say that he looked kind of like someone she knew.
Given that Emmet had come all this way trying to find his brother, it sounded promising on its face, but looking past the initial wording, revealed itself to be a shallow hope. If she’d been talking about Ingo, she would have been more decisive. He wouldn’t look kind of like this person, but exactly. He’d been through the cycle of leads surfacing and then sinking often enough to know that the odds weren’t good, but it was the best he’d heard since arriving in Hisui and he couldn’t afford not to give it some cursory exploration.
As they moved away from the shaky hope of a rebuilding village, her story became more and more outlandish, but… somehow not less believable; unprompted, she’d mentioned the torn remnants of a subway car, and in a land that lacked rail transport, it lent her version of events a great deal of credence. Something much more worrisome was the claim that his twin had been found pinned beneath the wreck, trapped and slowly wasting away, before being discovered.
It was strange. When, inevitably, Emmet’s questions about a missing person failed, his next strategy was always the train car. People could move on and be forgotten, but an effigy of twisted metal should have been noteworthy.
The matter of physical resemblances had been both explained and complicated as Dawn led them to a rocky outcropping by the sea.
“Well, that’s… why I wasn’t totally sure at first.” She said, scouring the horizon. Eventually, her attention settled in one specific direction, and Emmet idly followed it to a dark little island in the distance. “The thing is, the parts of you that look the same totally look the same. It’s just that Ingo’s… not really human?”
...what.
She held her hands up in placation, grimacing at her own words. “I know, I know. Just hear me out. So the Pearl Clan found him under that big wreck and took him home to heal, only he… kind of sucks at being a merperson? The same ways I suck at it. We both keep getting hung up when we swim, and neither of us distrusted humans the way the other mers did, and you couldn’t pay us to eat raw fish or seagulls or anything like that. I've been wondering about it for a long time, but maybe Ingo was human, too?”
There was a ringing in Emmet’s ears. It took him a moment to realize that it was an actual sound coming from somewhere over the water. Something in the back of his head told him he should recognize it, but it seemed unimportant compared to the information Dawn had just dumped over his head.
“That is my brother’s name.” He eventually choked out, to the exclusion of the rest of it.
Dawn’s expression cracked into a smile. “Worth a shot! I’ll go grab him and come back-- just don’t worry, okay? Most people think he’s kind of scary.”
Despite the amount of time it had been since he’d had to field that particular criticism, Emmet felt himself bristle. “He cannot help it. His face is just like that.”
The girl paused in the middle of digging through her bag and tilted her head, “I thought it was just because he always seems kind of down, but that makes sense, too.”
Unsure what to say to that, Emmet remained silent as she took something out, unlashed the satchel from around her waist, and then brought a vibrant shell to her lips.
The notes resonated, briefly, with whatever it was coming from across the waves.
“What is that?”
“It’s a special flute,” Dawn said, adjusting her grip on it now that she was no longer playing, “I’ve had it since I got here, but I can’t remember why.”
“Not the instrument. The sound. What is causing it?”
“The… flute?” She asked, baffled, and slapped her tail against the rocks.
It took a second for Emmet to rewind and process that fact.
She had implied that before, hadn’t she? Back when she’d confirmed Ingo’s name. Strange how one piece of information could be so much more pertinent than the rest and simultaneously so much less important.
Emmet consciously had to rein himself in. If humans could turn into merpeople, this could be it. He might be about to see his twin for the first time in years.
Dawn departed shortly thereafter, handing him the flute as a gesture of goodwill, and took off in the direction she’d originally scouted. Emmet pocketed the strange shell for safekeeping and then moved her satchel to somewhere the waves couldn’t sweep it away.
The sound continued that entire time, carried from somewhere far away. When several minutes passed without interruption, he finally figured out what it was: whale song. He didn’t profess to be an expert in the matter, but now that he was listening properly, he was relatively certain of that.
After some time, it stopped, and he immediately found that he missed it.
In its absence, he returned to the water’s edge, wondering if the dark island in the distance wasn’t where Dawn was headed, where his brother lingered. It seemed too much to think that he might catch a glimpse of either when it was so far away, but the reassurance would be welcome. He had little doubt that Dawn would return, particularly given that he held the key to her humanity, but the low crooning over the water proved that there were predators about, and he wouldn’t want haste to lead her into danger.
When he scanned the ocean, however, he found that the island, too, had vanished.
---
Ingo spent a great deal of his time alone.
It was by choice, but at times, it also felt involuntary.
The Pearl clan was more gracious than he could have asked for, worried that his continued stints on his own might reignite the loneliness that had left him so fragile upon their first meeting; while he was happy for their company, it wasn’t what he was missing. That was the problem, though: he didn’t know what would fill the void in his heart. Their camaraderie was close-- had been rejuvenating when he’d first been ushered into the fold-- but only to a point. He felt that it was the right track, just veering ever so slightly off course; if he could figure out where his destination lay, he could course correct to reach it.
It had been years, though, and while he was no longer soul-sick, the ache of it refused to leave him.
When it became too much to bear, he would leave for the surface, to float on his back and close his eyes. The ocean air had become familiar, but it went deeper than that, the churning sea so close to making a connection somewhere in the recesses of his being. He was put in the mind of the artificial reef he’d awoken in-- pinned, scared and without a trace of memory-- but had no idea how they could be related. More than anyone, he knew how heavy the construct was; it seemed wholly antithetical to the gentle rocking that only occurred above the waterline.
Frustrated with his lack of progress, but not surprised, he let out a heavy sigh and pitched it halfway through, low in his throat. He didn’t know what purpose this ability served, as none of the other merfolk could hear when he dipped into this range, but it was cathartic; he could cry for the fact that the clan had been so kind, so welcoming, and he still didn’t belong. He could lament that there was something wrong with him, that he still felt sickness in between the beating of his heart, and he feared he would never escape it.
He could admit, in tones no one would ever hear, that he didn’t know how much longer he could bear the solitude before it consumed him whole.
Though he knew perfectly well that she was unable to parse his voice like this, it died in his throat as Dawn poked her head up from the waves. Unwilling to have a conversation with her in such an undignified position, he turned over and dipped back below the water so they could speak properly.
“Is rebuilding going well?” He asked, following up from the last topic they’d touched upon, “Has there been any recovering from the salt water?”
The humans weren’t bad, he knew-- and had known for as long as he could recall-- they were just scared. For as disastrous as the region’s flooding had been, the one silver lining was that it had given the clans cause to cooperate with the villagers and, slowly, the merfolk were beginning to make progress. He couldn’t be certain how the humans looked upon the situation, but they accepted aid, at least, and that was something.
“It’s...” There was a conspicuous pause. “Going. That’s not why I came to talk, actually.”
“No?” He asked, unable to find it in himself to be surprised. Dawn was like the sea itself at times, ever shifting, just shy of capricious.
“No. I don’t want to jump the gun or anything, but I think I met someone who knew you before! He’s waiting for us at the bluff.”
He blinked at her, the words sitting at the surface of his thoughts for several seconds before sinking in, “What makes you believe that this individual and I share any sort of connection? I don’t mean to cast doubt, but if even I’m unable to say with any certainty...”
“He was looking for someone called Ingo.” She said, and while there was a twitch of her tail that suggested it wasn’t the whole truth, Ingo was too caught up in that declaration to catch it. “He looks like you, too. A scary amount.”
“He’s also an orca?” It might be nice, he thought, to physically be on the same level as someone for a change-- unmarked as the odd man out in this regard, on top of everything else that made him feel so detached from the clan.
“Well… no, it’s mostly in the face. But your coats are basically the same!”
Interesting. That, more than anything else, lent credence to her theory. As strongly as he felt about his name, his complete lack of any other personal details meant that he couldn’t be entirely sure it was what he’d used prior to waking up beneath the ruins. The fact that this person was seeking someone of the same name was noteworthy, but not conclusive. The resemblance was also compelling, but could be explained by a mimic octopus or the like.
His clothes, however, had been a subject of bewilderment among the clan for some time. Drag caused his coat to hinder his movement and speed, and it was constantly becoming caught on bits of rock or other hazards. His hat was somewhat more practical, helping him see above the water on bright days, but beneath the waves, all it did was threaten to fly away if caught in the mildest of currents. Even if this was a misunderstanding and Dawn’s contact didn’t know of him, perhaps he could ask what the utility was.
“I see.” He narrowly refrained from breathing it out as a sigh; there was little use in speculating if confirmation or denial really was so near, “If he’s waiting, we ought not to leave him at the station. Are you ready to depart for the Clamberclaw Bluffs?”
Dawn took him by the forefinger and smiled at him-- and where he occasionally saw a flash of pity in it, there was nothing but anticipation.
“Let’s go!” She said, tugging him forward, a current all her own.
Ingo allowed it to happen, allowed her to be the force driving his tired cab onward. Maybe, when they reached their destination, there would be someone there to meet it.
---
The first indication that Emmet was no longer alone on the rocky outcropping was Dawn hefting herself up onto the edge with the grace of someone still adjusting to that specific workout. He refrained from commenting on that fact both because he liked to think himself polite and because something else stole his attention away shortly thereafter.
Offset from where she’d appeared, the water warped unnaturally, and it took a second for him to realize that it was because it was something else was surfacing, something massive enough to distort the water as it rose.
“Oh,” Said his brother’s voice, loud as one of his directing calls whilst somehow maintaining a sort of gentle surprise, “You’re human.”
Even though he’d been warned as much, as he blinked upwards, trying to process the reality he’d found himself living, he said, “You’re… not.”
“Was… was I supposed to be?” Ingo turned his head as he said it, a hand curling to rest against his lips-- and it was so achingly familiar that, for just a second, it was possible to overlook the fact that his forearm had to be longer than Emmet’s full height.
“Yes?” He half-asked, trying to keep his expression from dipping into anything too ridiculous in his incredulity, “To my knowledge, identical siblings are usually the same species.”
The animate half of Ingo’s face scrunched, puzzled, and he leaned over on his arms to put them on the same level. He spent several seconds silently assessing Emmet, before returning with, “We do look quite similar, don’t we?”
“Identical.” Emmet repeated, insistent, and he couldn’t keep his voice from crackling on it, “We are-- we’re supposed to be identical twins.”
“And I take it from your response that you were never an orca?” His brother said, a little helplessly.
“No.” At that, however, he stepped forward, emboldened both by the certainty that this was somehow his missing twin-- all but confirming that he had never been in any danger-- and a suddenly-consuming curiosity.
Ingo watched his approach, but did nothing to stop him. The only movement was that of one enormous, clawed hand tucking itself into the tattered remains of the opposite sleeve and, abruptly, Emmet realized he was still wearing his uniform’s hat and coat. The hat and coat that had been commissioned in tandem with the ones Emmet wore right now. Emmet, who was notably human-sized.
How?
The nearer he drew, the more clearly he could make out the black mass in the water beyond, a shadow that stretched and curved into an undeniably fish-shaped tail, floating just high enough for a dorsal fin to cut through the surface.
With a new clarity, he looked up, taking in the black patches that both camouflaged the actual lines under his brother’s eyes and made his weariness look orders worse, and asked, “Was the whale song your doing?”
The too-pale skin of Ingo’s face went faintly pink. “You were able to hear that?”
Emmet felt his face crack into a grin, “You are not quiet.”
“No, no, you misunderstand,” He tried, though the flush only intensified at the comment, “The frequency is inaudible to the other merfolk. I didn’t think anyone else was physically able to hear it.”
“Wait,” Said a mildly-familiar voice and, with a start, Emmet remembered they weren’t alone, “Is that what you’re doing when you float on the surface like a dead fish? You’re just screaming into the sky?”
“That is-- no. Not in the slightest!”
“If he yelled, you would know. Even as a human.” The commentary earned him a downward glance through narrowed eyes.
“Regardless,” Ingo said, transparently trying to get them back on a track that didn’t lead to further teasing, “I’m surprised that you were able to discern it without being a mer yourself.”
Emmet hummed, considering that, and then turned his head. “I’m not. Other people cannot read your face, but I can. It makes sense that I can understand you now, too.”
“Because you’re… my twin brother.” Ingo said haltingly, testing the words for himself as if to see if they were any more convincing in his own voice.
Emmet smiled, though not without an edge of melancholy, letting him reach a conclusion in his own time. That wasn’t disbelief, he knew, but it was plain to see how lost his brother was, and hurrying him wouldn’t help.
He wouldn’t push, but… but maybe it would be okay to make sure this was real, that he hadn’t hit his head upon arriving in Hisui and managed to fool himself into thinking this might finally be it.
Holding one hand up to indicate a lack of aggression-- as if something so small could do anything to hurt someone with the proportions of a killer whale-- he took a tentative, questioning step forward and asked, “Can I touch?”
Ingo blinked at him, focused momentarily on his palm, and then back on his face. In lieu of an answer, he rested his head on his arms in full, putting himself in range to reach more comfortably. His bright, bright eyes tracked the motion until he couldn’t any longer, and he breathed out, slow and impossibly long.
The skin beneath Emmet’s hand was dark, the stripe of it trailing up to a floppy ear and down below the line of a collar, but still warm and still undeniably human. He’d half expected it to feel rubbery under his touch, but the biggest difference was the subtle grit of drying salt. He was reminded intensely of the summer their family visited the Decolore Islands and specifically of when, as a joke, he’d tried to push his brother into the water, only for Ingo to clutch his hand that much more tightly and send the both of them tumbling in. Having to go on in wet clothes had been bad enough until they began to dry, contrasting outfits stiff with the residual salt on their persons. As children, it had been unbearable. He could only hope it didn’t itch the same way, now.
He only realized he’d spaced out at the renewed rumble as his twin began to speak again, “--not sure. Are you still with us, Emmet?”
For a second, he froze in place, and then drew his hand back, breaking out into an unburdened smile. Beaming up at his brother, he said, “Ingoooooo, I never told you my name.”
Ingo’s brow furrowed as he mentally played the conversation back, and then he glanced to Dawn, who held her hands up and shook her head. When that failed to yield any plausible explanation, his gaze flitted back over to Emmet, uncertain, as if he’d done something wrong.
“It’s good!” Emmet said before his twin could start to reverse down the tracks, “I do not know what happened, but you’re still you. That is all that matters to me.”
As quietly as he was physically capable of with such robust lungs, Ingo repeated “My brother,” to himself, already coming to terms with the idea, and Emmet stepped forward again.
He leaned into his twin’s shoulder, heedless of the water that immediately soaked through his coat, and, as best he could, pressed the side of his face to Ingo’s. Against his own side, he felt a pulse speed up, powered by a heart that was finally large enough to match the outpouring of love its owner had always put into the world.
A hand moved to cradle his back, painstaking in the care behind it, and within two beats of that massive heart, the whale song began anew.