Ingo’s appointment as Warden was a matter of practicality, not choice.

The scant few days he’d spent in the Pearl Clan Settlement were tense, followed by expulsion as soon as he was physically able to walk; he was grateful they hadn’t simply thrown him into the snow, unconscious, and wiped their hands clean of the matter. As things stood, they’d at least given him a fighting chance, and that had been enough– largely thanks to Sneasler.

He didn’t know what she’d seen in him– what she still saw in him– but he was infinitely [grateful] for her resounding faith. Perhaps she’d simply been [living up to] her duties as Noble, had seen a struggling human and felt compelled to help. Perhaps she’d considered him a kindred spirit, as she, herself had a somewhat rocky past. Perhaps it had been an impulse, a second chance granted by a capricious [deity].

Ingo could speculate all he wanted, but whatever her reason, there was little denying that Sneasler had saved him in every way that mattered.

The Pearls had been aghast at her decision, but helpless to deny her a human liaison when she’d gone so long without. Ingo, too, had been unable to withhold help he could finally offer, repayment for her seemingly endless generosity toward him; that it inherently came with Sneasler’s blessing– her approval laid out for the entire Clan to see– was yet another kindness he’d yet been unable to [repay].

Today, the Clan at large tolerated him, where once they’d seen him as a devil lurking in their midst. That was the best he could ask of them. He knew what his circumstance implied, and considered himself lucky to get this far. There were exceptions, of course; clansmen who went so far as to call him a friend– Irida, who’d put so much faith in him, and his fellow Wardens, so much more in tune with the instincts of Pokemon than the average Hisuian. In a sense, it was like being escorted to the edge of the settlement again: not much, but enough for him to get by.

He didn’t stay in the [settlement] if he could help it, and, when he took up a position in Jubilife, had half expected it to be full of the same sullen, wary eyes on his back. He quickly found that this wasn’t the case. The people here weren’t innocent per se, but there was a measure of innocence in ignorance. Their Professor, at least, was aware of the folklore– that the spirit of Lake Acuity only preyed on the memory of those with evil in their hearts.

If he’d followed the tracks between stations, Laventon had been kind enough not to say so to Ingo’s face, but there was very little room for misinterpretation of the facts. He’d been found, absent all memory, in the depths of the Alabaster Icelands. Who he was, where he was from– it was all irrelevant. All that mattered was that he’d done something to bring the fate down upon himself, and couldn’t be trusted.

It made things difficult. Instinctively, Ingo wanted to know what he’d lost, but he was afraid, too; he didn’t want to become that person again, who’d so disgusted Uxie that it had erased him from existence, leaving a blank slate in his wake. For every moment he grasped at the idea that there was someone out there– family, or even just an acquaintance– it was tempered by the knowledge that they likely wouldn’t welcome his presence. It didn’t matter in his judgment, but the fact remained that he was a foreigner to Hisui; it stood to reason that his [presence] here wasn’t accidental, but banishment.

He liked to think of it as rehabilitation, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.

[…]

A Pokemon partner and… someone like him. Had he dragged the Pokemon down with him? Had it even known it was being used? And the man– an accomplice who’d escaped unscathed, or an innocent?

[…]

His heart might have stopped in that moment.

Of course. He’d all but set himself up for this, hadn’t he?

He tucked his hands beneath his tattered sleeves, trying to hide the way they trembled, and inclined his head.

“Very well. Uxie’s Path of Solitude it is, then. I’ll meet you on the platform in five minutes, so please follow the schedule.”

At the village’s edge, he called to Zoroark, and though it was too polite to torment an ally, he had little doubt what terrors it could dredge in his mind– what Pokemon might be granted the starring role in its personalized nightmares.

[…]

When he turned, the lake spirit was in his face. He managed not to throw himself across the battlefield, but only just.

It was far too close, but it’s eyes were shut, seeing no reason to wipe his memory a second time. That much was good; it meant his private path of redemption had, at least, paid off in this small way.

One of its tails [idk] up and swept his hat from his head, the other resting alight at the back of his head, where he’d deliriously injured himself prior to being [ejected] from the Pearl encampment.

It frowned– but not a bad frown– and patted down his hair prior to returning the cap.

Don’t fear, Warden. I can offer no solace, but you’ll find no enemy in me. […] It was nice to meet you.

For just a second, he forgot to breathe.

‘It was nice to meet you.’

Did that mean Uxie acknowledged him as a new person, one worth the scant knowledge in his head, or…?