The haunted-looking stranger who dragged himself, more dead than alive, to the Pearl Clan’s settlement was a horrible omen. Movements [?] like a half-frozen corpse, it had taken time– and reinforcements beyond the nighttime watch– to ensure that he wasn’t a new ploy from a Zoroark, but if the ever-watchful Warden Calaba deemed him human, there would be no argument raised against her judgment.

He’d collapsed midway through Calaba’s inspection, and, while it hadn’t been enough to sway her entirely, it had done a great deal for proving him more substantial than an illusion.

He remained an uncomfortable mystery within the clan for days, from the odd manner of dress to the bizarre way he spoke, which was to say nothing of the information that quickly leaked from the clan medic’s tent: beneath the bulky black sleeves, his arms were littered with fresh bruises, distinct in the shape of human hands. Four in total, two on each arm.

What could that mean, they whispered back and forth. Had the man been restrained, a danger to others, or had he been the victim? Had he been banished to the Alabaster Wastes, or fled, desperate enough that the Icelands were preferable to what he left behind?

The only portion of this mystery to see a satisfactory answer was his name; some time after he woke, finally lucid enough to speak, he was able to tell Irida that he was called Ingo. Unfortunately, that was all he was able to tell. Some saw it convenient that he awoke without memory, taking hours to settle on something so simple as his name, others found it unsurprising, given the severity of the fever he’d arrived with and the head wound that had been uncovered. Calaba had waved the former point off; while they could certainly be the source of the trouble, Ingo had been similarly disoriented when she’d first [interrogated] him. If it was an act, it was one he’d been able to keep up while actively dying from the cold.

That said, he was certainly eccentric– unafraid, even happy to handle Pokemon that reasonable humans would skirt around. He never batted an eye at the few Pokemon that lived amongst them, or those who strayed uncomfortably close, trying to get to the springs at their valley’s end. It was only a matter of weeks before he returned from a day’s foraging with a wild Gligar trailing behind him, and the writing on the wall was clear to read when Lady Sneasler happened to venture into the settlement. Ingo was all clear, interested eyes when she meandered over to inspect him, eager to take a clawed paw and examine it.

It had been a test, in its own way; he’d been nothing but helpful in the time since his recovery, but a Noble Pokemon could read the hearts of humans, would know if there was some alternate motivation laying beneath the surface.

And Lady Sneasler had been utterly charmed– their prickliest Noble little more than a kit seeking affection under a confident hand.

At that point, Irida decided there was no threat to be read into Ingo’s arrival. It was too perfect, she’d argued to her senior Wardens; that they would be tested and, in aiding a stranger, find a human Sneasler responded to– who she actively liked. This was Sinnoh granting them all a boon. To Its beloved Pearls and Blessed Lady Sneasler, It granted someone suited to the vacant position of Warden, stern enough to uphold Its treasured values, but with a disposition befitting of a peacemaker and caretaker. Clearly, It had led Ingo to a safe harbor with them.

For what other reason could the faded hand prints exist? Sinnoh had rescued him, had found him worthy of Its intervention, and entrusted him to Its loyal Pearl Clan. His [failed] memory even supported this: a final gift to ease his mind against whatever injustice had been committed, to make the transition from one space to another that much more bearable.

It was hardly a prevailing opinion, but between Sneasler’s approval and Irida’s ruling, any major dissent was softened. There were those who would never be wholly convinced, of course, but they were wise enough to vent their frustrations in the proper channels, or amongst themselves.

[…]

And then the sky broke into a thousand red shards.

Disquieted by Commander Kamado’s [logic], Irida made exactly one detour on her way back to the settlement, silently thanking Sinnoh for how these particular events had fallen into place. This wasn’t the Galaxy Team’s sentence to hand down; it was Pearl Clan business.

She didn’t have to go far out of her way. In fact, she likely would have gotten a response even if she’d requested a meeting in the Obsidian Fieldlands, but out of an abundance of caution, Irida didn’t play a single note until she’d passed the inner threshold of the Wayward Cave. There was an immediate– if distant– response, confirming that she’d been heard and, though it took some time, her Warden found her, Noble at his heels.

Ingo took one look at her expression and said, “Am I to assume the meeting with Commander Kamado–”

“With me, Warden.” Irida interrupted, shaking her head; she didn’t snap at him, per se, but it was a near thing, harried and short.

“Ah,” He hummed, uncomprehending, “But in the face of such an unknown, shouldn’t I remain at my station to see it protected?”

“Ingo. With me.” She repeated, eyes flicking up to Lady Sneasler, trying to silently communicate that the Noble was to enforce the orders if need be. Of course, that only went so far with this particular Pokemon, especially in regards to this particular Warden, but she could try. That it would be for his own good surely mitigated the conflict…?

Fortunately, there was no need to test where Sneasler’s allegiance ultimately fell; Ingo reached up and tilted the brim of his hat as he inclined his head, and fell into step without any further protest.

They made it to the boundary between Mount Coronet and the Alabaster Icelands before he found his voice again. “Might I ask… why my track is such a pressing concern?”

“Commander Kamado has decided that Akari is to blame for the state of the sky. He believes her arrival coinciding with Kleavor’s frenzy is proof of her guilt, and acted on that judgment.”

As she’d feared, he immediately stopped, half turning toward the Fieldlands and, by extension, Jubilife Village. Irida gripped his wrist and, when she glanced to Sneasler, the Noble nudged him onward. “I know, but we have to get our own affairs in order.”

She got a rigid nod in response, and Ingo wordlessly resumed pace.

It took a few more minutes for the tense posture to click.

“Sinnoh, Ingo! I don’t agree with him! We’re not going home to put you on trial, we’re keeping Galaxy Team from overreaching its authority!” Irida reached up, kneading at the bridge of her nose with her unoccupied hand, “The Commander made it very clear that the only reason Akari was afforded any leniency was due to her work in the Survey Corps– I don’t trust him not to decide you’re suddenly a threat because you happened to appear out of nowhere, too. We’re taking you home, where you’ll be safe.”

“With all due respect, Lady Irida, isn’t it my responsibility as Warden to see to others’ safety? It seems an abuse of power to put my own well being first under the circumstances.”

“You remember when the Aipom and Ambipom made found their way into the settlement, don’t you? And why we prioritized removing Meru above getting them out?”

“His allergy could have killed him.” Ingo said immediately, [idk].

“Compared to everyone else, he was most at risk. And right now, Warden or no, you’re the only person in danger from Galaxy Team.”

There was a short, thoughtful silence, “While I appreciate your concern, if Akari is still in need, I can’t simply hide away in the village.”

Irida inhaled deeply and held it for a moment, letting the refreshingly crisp air slowly warm in her lungs, “I understand that, but do you honestly think letting yourself be a target will make anything better? We need to be very careful of our movements from here on out; her banishment was a decree from the Commander himself, and acting against it would be a declaration of war.”

[…] [still Irida] “I’m not going to let this lie, Ingo, I promise; I just need to make sure my clan is safe while I act. Sinnoh trusted you to us for a reason, and I’m going to prove that Its faith wasn’t misplaced.”

As she’d known it would, the appeal to his induction quelled any further argument.

“I understand, Lady Irida.” He said, just a hair above the whipping winds, and if his slouch seemed more pronounced, Irida didn’t comment on it.

“Good.” She said, instead, “We’re going home.”

—————–

There was a man at the settlement’s outskirts. This time, he wasn’t the night watch’s problem, but the daylight [watchers’].

When Irida made it to meet their guest, the best she could think was that the difference tracked. Day instead of night, white replacing black, clear, intelligent eyes in the stead of dazed delirium. It went without saying that his was a face the Pearl Clan was familiar with, but even the lighter silhouette was vaguely [familiar], assuming one had the dubious fortune to encounter a Zoroark alongside their [idk] Warden.

It might have been funny that, for a second time, the posted guards had to call for help, ensuring that an unforeseen visitor wasn’t a [malicious] fox, but Irida wasn’t laughing.

Glaceon yipped at her heels, wary but unafraid, which all but confirmed her suspicion that they were dealing with another human.

“I am Emmet,” The man said, far more forthright than Irida had expected, “I am searching for my brother, Ingo. The [?] of Jubilife Village suggested I might find him at this terminal.”

Unbidden, Irida’s eyes dropped to his hands, enveloped in gloves just as Ingo’s had been, so long ago.

On the surface, they certainly looked alike. She couldn’t deny that. Distantly, Irida wished that they’d had the foresight to compare Ingo’s own hands to the marks that had decorated his arms; the angles wouldn’t have made sense– he couldn’t have made them himself– but it would have been useful information to have, now.

[…]

“Ah,” He said, and looked down to his hands, “…you would be correct. Any bruises wouldn’t be products of restraint, however. We were walking with a friend and the ground…” He hesitated, gesturing vaguely with one hand, “Stopped being the ground. Ingo began to fall. Our friend and I caught him by the arms and attempted to pull him back to safety. We were unsuccessful. I have been trying to locate him ever since.”

[…]

Never once had she considered that Sinnoh might have had a more active part in Ingo’s introduction to Hisui. Certainly, she’d known that no other force could have been responsible, that It had intervened to connect their spaces, but she’d always thought it must have been justified– that Sinnoh had saved a man from a terrible fate and not… plucked him away from a happy life.

It wasn’t cruel, so why would It…? Because they needed a Warden? No, no, It couldn’t [justify] tearing a family apart when they could have made do. Behind her back, Irida clenched her fists, mind racing as she tried to understand.

[…]

[ultimately, she’s giving him the benefit of the doubt, but wants to judge by a) Sneasler’s take and b) any non-memory memory Ingo has (a la poses, metaphors, etc.) to see whether or not he’s trustworthy.]

He hummed, and Irida was ready to field some manner of argument when the smile turned more sincere. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

“…what do you mean?”

“You are ensuring I mean no harm. I’m verrry glad Ingo’s had someone looking out for him. He needs it more than he would admit.”