In spite of being a single piece, there were a number of moving parts that made a Celestica Flute work the way it did. The material didn’t make a difference in terms of functionality, but Wardens were encouraged to try various materials in the crafting of their instrument; the various sounds made it far easier to differentiate which Warden was playing. Arezu’s, for instance, was carved from rosewood while Palina’s was made of deftly blown glass.

Construction tended to vary by what resources were available to a clan– the Diamonds favoring plant life and wood while many Pearls worked with the stone and ivory they were more accustomed to. Lady Irida’s in particular had a beautiful nacreous quality befitting of her position within the Pearl Clan.

Ingo had crafted his from bone. What manner of bone, he had no idea, because Sneasler had dragged it home one morning and dropped it on him without any fanfare. It was somewhat par for the course, given her habit of early morning hunts, but had still been a startling way to wake up. At the very least, this gift hadn’t been bleeding out while he tried to figure out what to do with it.

Regardless of base materials, the functionality lay in technical know-how: proper craftsmanship and understanding of the design.

This had presented something of a challenge for someone who, until several months prior, had never so much as held a chisel; fortunately, Almighty Sinnoh was somewhat more lenient than Warden Calaba, since Sneasler’s ears perked at the flute’s tones long before the elder was satisfied with its construction.

Learning how to actually play the instrument was another matter entirely, and there were still days where he managed to get a truly incredible shriek from it.

(Chandelure, at least, thought it was funny, and tried to emulate it any time she got the opportunity.)

All of that was fine. It was a process that a person could slowly refine with enough dedication. The reason Celestica Flutes were made on a case-by-case basis was the blessing involved: the will of Sinnoh woven into waiting shell of a flute, welcoming it into the Creator’s orchestra.

In hindsight, perhaps the fact that this ritual bleached the instruments to a [idk] white– regardless of faction– should have been a clue that they hadn’t been touched by either of the clan’s conflicting Sinnohs, but something else entirely. Then again, a sour note at the back of Ingo’s mind had always insisted that the inter-clan feud over ideals was wrong– was dangerous– so he might have been somewhat biased.

The bottom line was that it wasn’t an earthly quality that gave the flutes their ability to call a Noble from miles away, but something greater warping the fabric of space and time, allowing the Pokemon to find its summoner in a heartbeat.

Which had an… interesting [side effect], if one happened to find himself several centuries beyond the scope of Hisui, clear across the world.

Shut up. He thought to himself, For the love of all within Palkia’s domain, shut up.

He didn’t know how Melli was managing to wear on his nerves, five hundred years dead, but it was a truly incredible dedication to his craft.

There was a nudge at his shoulder and, while Ingo was aware it was meant to be sympathetic, the look on Emmet’s face suggested he was far more amused by the situation than he had any right to be; he tilted his head with an air of gleeful curiosity and was immediately met with, “He was well aware that the torches were a safety measure. The influx of passengers he’s had to retrieve should come as little surprise.”

Emmet snickered into a gloved hand, “Oh no. He’s gotten exactly what he asked for.”

[…]

But the one thing he’d forgotten, until his melancholy [call] to Sneasler, was that a Celestica Flute only carried so far as it was meant to; practice notes wouldn’t reach the ears of anyone out of standard hearing range, but a message meant for specific Noble or flute holder would travel for miles– and, apparently, years.

Based on their content, the missives he’d overheard likely hadn’t been directed to him specifically, but neither had he been disincluded– which was to say nothing of the calls he’d heard shortly after arriving home. Inquisitive and concerned, they’d all gone unaddressed, because even if they echoed forward through time, how was his reply supposed to find its way back?

Ingo felt awful for having caused the undue worry.

He moved gingerly, shifting the sleeping Noble so her head rested on Emmet’s shoulder and– silently laughing at the look of betrayal that crossed his brother’s face– went to retrieve his flute.