The Platinum Clan guards its history jealously, as if afraid the researchers who come to study might steal it away. Perhaps this is a holdover of the insular Pearls, or a natural byproduct of the Diamonds’ belief in the sacredness of time. In practice, it means that very little escapes its bubble without their elders’ direct say so.

Alolan [researchers] are allowed to view their texts on Nobles only because their Totem Pokemon so resembled the blessed creatures. [Example]. The only true exception to the rule are the remnants of the Celestica tribe, many of whom are content to live ignorant of their shared history, but are welcomed to learn if they so choose.

The public at large, however, remains unaware of the historical and scientific facts kept within the clan’s iron grasp. Knowledge of Alphas, Hisuian variants, Nobles and their Wardens all stay under strict lock.

So it is unlikely– incredibly unlikely– for information regarding one particular Warden to reach a man clear across the world, but, somehow, it happens. Nearly a decade after his brother’s disappearance, Emmet finds himself in a [backwater/old timey] village in Sinnoh, gingerly holding a photograph of a man who looks so like him.

That, more than anything, is why he is permitted here in the first place. It’s not so strange, he’s told, likely in response to the look on his face– why, there are a number of people in Sinnoh today who look uncannily like the ancestors who first settled here. Emmet wisely refrains from arguing against the point, from stating too harshly that their family hails strictly from Unova and Galar– it’s taken years to get this far, and he’s not about to lose this lead.

It turns out, however, that the historian he’s speaking with already knows that’s not the case. The Warden in the picture he’s holding had no children on record, and, while it’s not impossible for something to have been missed, it seems unlikely in the face of one other fact: this man’s origin is one of the mysteries none in the Platinum Clan have been able to see through. Considering the resemblance, wouldn’t it make sense if he was a diasporic Unovan?

There’s not much Emmet can do to disprove that point. Technically, it’s true– just at a greater magnitude than the researcher has been led to believe.

This should sting. The knowledge that his brother has been dead for centuries should tear and rend and leave him [?], but even if he hadn’t accepted Ingo’s disappearance, Emmet had come to terms with it. Finally, it seems all that time spent driving himself crazy, exhausting every avenue of investigation, might actually be of some use. Now that he knows the problem, he know exactly how to address it.

It’s not okay, what happened, but it will be. Emmet can still put things right.

–-

Helpful though the Platinum Clan’s records are, they only give Emmet a benchmark to work from. He still needs to seek out Celebi on his own, which proves to be quite the task.

[…]

When the Pearl leader catches sight of him, her expression crumples.

[…]

She offers to take him to the Pearl Clan’s gravesite. Not for the first time, he refuses.

Just a few years off, then; minor adjustments still need to be made.

—

Instead of asking Celebi [whatever] immediately, Emmet ventures to Jubilife Village to glean whatever information he can. As he passes through, the residents watch after him like they’re seeing a ghost.

The man helming the operation is surprisingly helpful, and while a great deal of the information he’s given are facts he’d already been aware of, he’s grateful for everything he can get. Red-clad guards look on as he heads to the southern gate, where he’s told the incident had occurred. There’s no practical reason for it. He walks there on autopilot, less because he believes there’s anything to be gleaned from the site [x] years after the fact, and more because he’s been given a direction.

Celebi tilts its head and flits further down the enclosed pathway, to an area that overlooks a small, secluded beach. When it [idk], Emmet thinks it’s going to take them back on its own volition– has just a moment to panic because no, that’s not how this is supposed to go.

Instead, the air shimmers like heat rising off of pavement, and an illusionary scene is set.

Emmet doesn’t want this. He hates to think that this is the first time he’s seen his brother in years– as something more than just a static image– and it’s going to end in his twin’s death. At the same time, part of him registers how useful the information will be. Isn’t that why he made the effort to come here? He intends to find Ingo and bring him home without delay, but knowing what stops to avoid would prove invaluable.

Before him there are– were?– two Pokemon, and while their claws clash, it’s clear that they’re only engaged in a mock fight. The Gliscor weaves around the talon strikes with practiced ease, daring the Weavile to get close, to try and score a super effective hit when the motion would bring it in range of a readied stinger. The Weavile, askance, looks to where Emmet stands, and it’s only when a phantom hand reaches to instruct it that he thinks to step back.

Emmet had nearly forgotten how few favors photography did for his brother. Here, in motion, the set of Ingo’s frown doesn’t seem nearly so severe, and the emptiness in his eyes is replaced with a keen interest in the goings-on before him. Whatever commands he calls to Weavile are lost to the ages, but [idk]. Despite the years apart, the pride in his expression as Weavile’s claws strike home is easy to read.

It’s so nice to step back and witness that, for a moment, Emmet forgets the circumstance. He almost misses it as one of the guards in red approaches from the village, idling further from the skirmish than Ingo stands. By the time he remembers, by the time the position at his brother’s back registers, the man has already slipped a tanto through Ingo’s chest.

The battle comes to a screeching halt as he tumbles down, clutching uselessly at the growing [idk] in his pale tunic. Gliscor’s eyes stagger from its downed trainer to the form beyond him, and its features contort in way Emmet has never seen outside of horror movies. All of the calculated grace it had on display before is gone, replaced by erratic swings of its tail, pincers grasping and tearing at anything it can reach.

It’s… incredible how gentle Pokemon are when they interact with humans. It’s also incredible how much damage they can do once they disregard that inter-societal nicety.

The Gliscor’s wing is torn by a lucky swipe of the short sword, one ear nicked where the blade tried to blind it and glanced off course, but the [damage] is nothing the bat won’t bounce back from. That’s far more than can be said for the guard. When its target has stopped moving, Gliscor abandons it and crawls, earthbound, back toward Emmet.

Though he doesn’t dare look back, he still sees the trembling hand that smooths over its head, leaving a stark smear of blood in its wake.

This… was not helpful. Not in the slightest. Once the vision has faded and the threat of seeing his twin’s lifeless form has passed, Emmet staggers two steps to the side and retches with what feels like all of the force in his body. Any inclination he might have had to return to the village and investigate the underlying machinations at play is gone, replaced with the need to undo what he’d witnessed right now. He doesn’t care why the red guard had felt the need to commit murder. He doesn’t care that that was why they’d been staring daggers at him this whole time. All he cares about is keeping Ingo as far away as possible from this awful place, from Jubilife Village as a whole.

He remembers, vaguely, the thought he’d had in the Platinum Clan’s sanctuary– that the knowledge of his brother’s death should have rent and torn at him. Belatedly, it has. He feels very much like the guard’s corpse on the ground, ripped to shreds with unrelenting ferocity.

When there’s nothing left in his stomach, he manages to climb back to his feet and seizes Celebi by either side of its delicate body, demanding, in no uncertain terms, that it help him fix this. The little fairy looks beyond him, as if it can still see the crumpled form of a displaced human on the ground and, without adjusting its gaze, [does so].

—

[…] He tenses at the sight of the Gliscor’s pincer so close to fragile human flesh, but as soon as the fear occurs to him, it’s dismissed in the same thought. There’s no threat in the here and now. There never will be, not for Ingo– not when the bat disregarded all human-Pokemon [conventions] in the name of avenging its trainer. If anything, its presence at his side– where it can directly intervene if need be– is a much needed safety measure.