It took some time for the UB Task Force to receive their next orders, but when they did, it was a doozy.

Fortunately, Celesteela had only arrived in the Wild Area for a few minutes before being driven back. The damage had been minimal, but it was an incident that couldn’t be overlooked, and once attention was drawn to Galar, they found that reports of strange, hostile Pokemon kept cropping up. Word of mouth and social media trails suggested Kartana and either Pheromosa or Blacephelon had also been sighted, which meant one of two things:

Something was causing wormholes to form in the Galarian wilderness, or the Ultra Beasts were actively seeking something out. Either way, it had to be dealt with at once.

Galar’s dreary weather was [idk] after the [?] of Alola, so Anabel was incredibly grateful that they were able to carry out their investigation immediately. Perhaps there might have been a safer avenue than seeing a wormhole form in the distance and legging it all the way from the Wild Area Station, but she wasn’t arguing with results.

At least the local Pokemon and trainers had the good sense to vacate the area as Nihilego emerged, save for the one who’d planted his feet and retrieved a pokeball from his belt with clear intent.

“Sir!” She called, doing her best not to sputter from the rain that pelted down on her, “[get out of there]”

Instead of complying with her heartfelt advice, he threw his free arm out, as if to bar her path.

“Behind the yellow line, please!” He said and, when her momentum slowed, withdrew his hand to adjust the angle of his hat, the other empty and pointing to the sky.

His chosen Pokemon– an unnecessarily large Gliscor– hissed in anticipation and sized the invader up. It barely needed orders as it drove the Ultra Beast back, which was important information that Anabel decided to stow away for later.

“It was reckless to charge full steam at an active threat,” The man said as his Gliscor found an unsteady perch on his shoulders, lifting its wings to keep the humans out of the rain. He glanced up at it in silent thanks and, without making contact, steered Anabel to the nearest viable cover, “Those ones in particular are quite nasty if you get too close.”

[…]

He inclined his head, and due to the way his shoulders drooped, that was the only real clue that he meant it as a shallow bow.

“Warden Ingo. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

—

Ingo had snapped back to awareness with a remarkable sense of deja vu. Why exactly, he couldn’t say. The only things he could say with any certainty were that he had his partners at his side, a treasured gift in his arms, and the honored title of ‘Warden’.

It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough.

He’d worked out almost immediately that his default language wasn’t the norm here, though, mercifully, he’d been able to understand the people around him perfectly well– with an exception for the particularly thick accent of which he still couldn’t make sense. This was a pattern he continuously fell into; muscle memory carried him through a situation one way– oftentimes an objectively incorrect way– only for him to realize that he actually knew the right way to go about it and belatedly adapt. It was a phenomena that included, but wasn’t limited to automatic doors, city maps, PA systems, and public thoroughfares.

Frankly, it was humiliating, and the opportunity to deal with a situation he knew he had in hand was a relief.

The Pokemon that appeared to challenge him had clearly been a [substantial] foe, but the otherworldly aura it wreathed itself in hadn’t been the threat display it might have hoped; something about it felt familiar, like he was particularly well equipped to handle this status [buff], and though he didn’t know enough about the species to counter it right out of the gate, he’d been able to figure it out within a reasonable amount of time. He would hesitate to call the experience nice– the Pokemon had been incredibly aggressive– but at the same time, it had been a battle of a caliber he felt he hadn’t seen in some time. A serious battle. Something in the back of his mind told him that those were the best kind.

Eventually, after several more encounters with similarly hostile Pokemon and one belligerent turnstile, he’d left for the comparative peace of the wilds. The Pokemon didn’t stop appearing– and he wasn’t sure he wanted them to– but it was a pace he found far easier to live at, foraging for materials and trading with other travelers. Of particular note was the protective incubator he’d been offered in exchange for the linking cord taking up space at the bottom of his satchel; though he had little understanding of what the cable was meant to do, he felt he no longer had need of it, and that it was well worth the promise of safety for the egg he carried with him.

For roughly a week, that was what life consisted of: keeping his Pokemon happy and healthy, ensuring the egg’s needs were being met as he waited for it to hatch, and battling anything that approached with malicious intent.

And then, for the first time, someone came running toward the aggressive Pokemon.

He didn’t know where the instinct to hold her back came from, nor what, exactly, the words had meant, even as they spilled from his own lips– only that it was his duty to keep his passengers safe, and to let her run, unchecked, into danger was unthinkable.

Amusingly, she’d felt much the same about him.

—

Initial findings were promising, so it was difficult not to feel for Warden Ingo.

How long ago, now, had it been since Anabel had found herself in his position? Since she’d been sat down and interviewed on a subject she simply didn’t know the answers to: herself. A decade later, and she’d come to terms with the fact that the person she’d been had given way to who she was today; she wasn’t coming back, and there was no use in dwelling on it.

What they’d gleaned from Warden was much of the same. Though he puzzled parts out in the time since, he’d woken without any concept of where or when he was, with just his Pokemon and name to tie him to his past.

Combined with the incessant draw of Ultra Beasts toward him, he was checking all of the boxes. There was little doubt Galar’s recent UB sightings had something to do with the latest victim of ultra wormholes. A new Faller.

They’d done their due diligence, of course, but search results were slim, and reports suggested that there was an annoying overlap with Unovan public transport– which left them to work with what they could actively observe.

The tendency to slip into absentminded Sinnohan and specific Pokemon he kept on him were major indicators, and, though the unusual pokeballs couldn’t offer any information in terms of model or registration, the practice of hand carving them was limited to Johto. It narrowed Warden’s point of displacement substantially.

Unfortunately, even with a refined search, they kept getting the same historical figure, over and over again. Looker had told them to take a different track– to scan through any unsolved missing persons cases involving men aged forty and up. There was no telling when Warden had fallen through, so he’d been loathe to set a cap on how far back they should go but, at the very least, it was a comparatively sparse demographic in this regard.

That said, it was still a lot.

—

It was months before they became aware of a rather substantial oversight.

The two of them had crossed paths one morning, Anabel offering a brief, “Warden,” that was immediately answered with, “Inspector.”

She didn’t know why it had eaten at her that day, but, for some reason, the [formality] stuck out as particularly silly, and she was done humoring it.

“You realize we’re somewhat past the formalities, right? I won’t be offended if you call me Anabel.”

He paused, the corners of his mouth tugging down in a thoughtful frown, “I was simply following your tracks. It would be terribly rude not to address you by your title when you use mine.”

She felt her brows crease. “What do you mean, your title?”

“Warden,” He said simply, “Of the Pearl Clan, in fact.”

Anabel felt her fingers twitch toward her pocket for a writing implement and, after a second, realized there was no reason to resist the urge. With a pen and notepad in one hand, she took W– him by the arm and led the both of them to the nearest meeting room. There was no resistance, but his resignation was clear in the heavy sigh he bit back as he found a seat opposite her.

“Do you mean to tell me you’ve remembered something from your life before falling?” / “You never mentioned a ‘Pearl Clan’ before.”

He gave a short nod, sweeping his hat up with one hand and running the other through his hair. “Indeed. I don’t believe the tracks have fully connected yet, but the [major] stations are there to [patronize].”

Drawing a carefully even breath, Anabel noted that down– albeit without the metaphor.

“We’ll start with your title, then. If ‘Warden’ isn’t your given name, what’s it meant to convey?”

“It’s a position one might hold within the clan, marking them as caretaker and liaison to one of Hisui’s Noble Pokemon.” Without being prompted, he added, “A Noble is a Pokemon of particular might and intelligence, descended from a line thought to be blessed by Sinnoh itself.”

Anabel’s pen didn’t slow for a moment, even under the onslaught of information, “You did fall from Sinnoh, then?”

“Hisui, actually. Though the word is the same, the Sinnoh region is distinct from Sinnoh, the entity. It was thought to be a creation god, and, for a time, the [title] was misattributed to Palkia and Dialga, respectively.”

“Hisui.” Anabel echoed, dubious, and underlined that term, specifically, “I’d appreciate it if you could point it out on a map some time, but that can wait for now. Can you tell me about your ward?”

He nodded, expression lifting just the tiniest amount. It still looked an awful lot like a scowl. “I worked with The Lady of The Cliffs, a Pokemon called Sneasler. She was the one who entrusted me with her egg when our tracks diverged.”

The pen strokes paused.

“Ward– Ingo. That’s your name, correct? Ingo, I think I may need to remind you that your Sneasel is a species that was thought to be extinct. It’s one thing for an egg to surface, but unless Hisui is an incredibly insular place, I don’t know how it’s possible for all of that to be true.”

Ingo tapped at his cheek and hummed– not agreeing, but not disagreeing either. “They were quite wary of outsiders, yes, but to call them insular is a stop too far.”

—

Anabel became aware of the disturbance in reception the same way she was informed of most things: with about three minutes’ warning before she was expected to intervene.

According to [receptionist], a man had come in asking after Ingo, by name, which was a first; usually anyone without an inside contact referred to him as ‘the Sneasel’s caretaker’ or ‘the Warden’. Allegedly, the man was citing some kind of familial tie; while ludicrous, it wasn’t entirely impossible that there could be something there. Maybe Ingo had yet to remember a sibling, and this potential relative could trace his lineage back to when the Warden had fallen.

She’d told [receptionist] that she’d find Ingo and be down momentarily, and could [they] be a bit more specific?

“His name is Emmet; he says they’re twins.”

Grimacing, Anabel turned the corner and said, “I’m sorry to say that, unless he’s also from Hisui, there’s no way Ingo is the person he’s looking for.”

“Unovan,” [They] said shortly, “The distant cousin angle’s still on the table, though– his brother’s name is Ingo. It could be a traditional thing.”

Anabel hummed, noncommittal, and weighed her options. She’d been about to turn the other way entirely and let this blow over, but that was a little too odd to be coincidence. […] She sighed. “We’ll be there in five minutes.”

[…]

The first thought to cross Anabel’s mind, upon reaching reception, was ‘No wonder he was confused; they do look alike.’ A close second was that Ingo was no longer next to her.

Coming in third was the realization that, until this very moment, she’d never seen him smile.

There might have been a fourth, had it not been drowned out by the overjoyed, “EMMET!” that [overtook] the room.

Funny. Anabel had never mentioned their visitor’s name.

The other man said something that was promptly lost in the valley of Ingo’s high collar, answered by a choking sound that could have been either a laugh or a sob as Ingo mirrored him, resting his head on the other’s shoulder. For several awkward minutes, Anabel idled at the door, unsure whether it would be best to afford them a moment of privacy, or stay and ensure her fellow Faller’s well being.

She had no idea what was going on. Ingo couldn’t know this man. He couldn’t.

[…]

“You… know each other, then?”

The smile Emmet sent her way was just short of venomous, “We have the same face. So yes. We’re acquainted.”

Ingo swayed deliberately, lightly bumping the other man’s shoulder, with a muted, “She’s just doing her job. Behave.”

“It’s a stupid question.” The first announced, not even trying for subtlety.

Anabel sighed internally; if he’d had a problem with that question, he wasn’t going to take kindly to its follow up, “Can I ask how?”

Emmet barked a laugh, clear and sharp edged, refusing to humor it. In his stead, Ingo provided, “We’re brothers– twins.”

“You just remembered that?” Anabel asked dubiously. She was well aware that, for all the legitimate good it did him, Ingo could be incredibly idealistic; for his sake, she had to make sure that he wasn’t just jumping at the first explanation that presented itself.

“It’s not that,” / “Quite some time ago, I was reminded of… fragments of my life prior to Hisui. This is more a matter of connecting the cars that already existed.”

[…]

“…are you telling me you fell through not one, but two ultra wormholes?”

“I can’t say how I arrived in Hisui with any certainty,” / “But I can tell you this much: I passed through one such wormhole to arrive here, and it was entirely by choice.”