Space was sacred.

Or, at least, that was what Ingo had been informed, and he supposed he couldn’t really argue against it. There certainly was… a lot of it here, though in comparison to what, he wasn’t entirely sure. When he was asked to conceptualize space, he’d viewed it as something akin to a task– not to be [conquered], but a distance to cross.

Something in him suggested that traveling from one point to another shouldn’t have been an ordeal, that it was meant to be safe and swift, so perhaps there was a cultural divide at play. Here in Hisui, where the landscape was neither of those things and [travel] was done by foot or via Pokemon, there was merit in seeing the space itself as a factor.

Maintaining a safe area around oneself was a practical [practice]; it paid to be aware of one’s surroundings when anything could be lurking behind the next crag or bush.

What Ingo struggled with was the way it translated into the Pearl Clan’s culture. People who had purportedly known each other for decades left a [x]’s worth of distance between them, and even family members staunchly stood separate from one another. There were precious few exceptions, and that was often mandated by age, illness or injury.

Amongst the members of the Pearl Clan, there was a great deal to be said with [distance] instead of words, and there was little mistaking the purposeful [distance] he was kept at: he was a stranger, a threat, unwelcome in the radius of safety the clansmen [kept].

He tried not to take it personally; he was an unknown, after all, which was all but synonymous with [danger]. A blunt voice somewhere in him thought it was a bullshit coping mechanism on everyone’s parts, but mostly the Pearls’. He’d been here two seasons, walking on eggshells all that time, and without change; that wasn’t [understandable] caution, it was paranoia.

Irida, at least, trusted him enough to stand within arm’s reach– and he deeply appreciated that. It didn’t matter that she was just one person, nor was it the [influence] she held as clan leader; he was just grateful to be treated as a person instead of a raging alpha.

The first true deviation, however, arrived in the form of the Galaxy Team’s skyfaller.

Wayward Cave was treacherous without light. While traversable, he was loathe to lose the girl in the tunnel system, where she might run afoul any number of aggressive Pokemon, and so he’d asked her to stay close, to keep herself coupled. His intention had been to speak as he wove a path through the cavern, loud enough for her to follow, but [intentionally] curbing the volume he so easily [slipped] into.

Instead, as they stepped away from the singular source of light, he heard her draw even with him, and a hand slipped into his.

Ingo felt himself flinch, and raised his free hand to his cap, trying to play it off. While he still fell into his original plan, he spoke as a distraction for the both of them, and didn’t notice as it eased into vague reminiscing. Something about the left palm pressed against his right [delved] deeper into his subconscious than he knew existed and, to his shame, he found himself frustrated that he had to focus elsewhere.

The phantom touch lingered long after Akari left his side, as though he’d been struck.

Somewhat belatedly, it occurred to him that that might have been the first time anyone had touched him in years, without having reason to do so. He shook the thought off almost immediately. Of course she’d had reason; people didn’t just go around holding strangers’ hands unprompted. Clearly he hadn’t been [clear] enough in his plan to lead her with conversation, leaving her to find her own solution or be [left behind].

In the rest of her time in the Highlands and throughout repeat visits, she never showed any signs of [repeating] the gesture, and his theory was all but confirmed.

That wasn’t one of the more prominent changes, upon the sky’s [idk], but it was significant to Ingo.

He could do nothing to stop the exile or the show the commander made of it, but Galaxy Team had no say in where he did or didn’t go. His duties at the training grounds were little more than a favor extended by the Pearl Clan, established with the understanding that his work as Warden would always come first, and so the Security Corps couldn’t hold him in Jubilife against his will. The same way that he couldn’t interfere with Galaxy Team’s internal affairs, they couldn’t stop him from leaving the village’s boundary on suspicion alone; the sky was [?], the world could very well be ending, and it was his responsibility to ensure the safety of the Highlands and his Noble.

In the end, he hadn’t even needed to [deploy] his last resort: that space was sacred to his clan, and to restrict a Pearl’s access to Sinnoh’s gift was tantamount to sacrilege.

He didn’t need to fully agree with the ideology to use it to his advantage– which was convenient, because he would freely admit that it must have taken time and space both working together for him to encounter Akari so soon. Her expression was bleak as she shuffled away from Grandtree Arena, her eyes cast down as she ran a thumb down her flute. Behind her, Lian caught Ingo’s eye and offered a sympathetic grimace; he tried to answer it with a measure of reassurance, but based on the boy’s continued [?], it seemed likely he failed spectacularly.

He called out to the (ex?) surveyor, firm but gentle, and her head snapped up. When she picked up speed, Ingo expected that she’d skid to a halt in front of him and they could talk this out, but, instead, she rammed into his chest and threw her arms around him, muffling a sob into his tunic.

The impact was enough to steal his breath away, and the way it lingered froze his lungs in the shock. Sneasler wasn’t shy about showing her Warden affection, and Gliscor draped itself over him all the time, but this was more akin to the force of an alpha’s wild might, cutting straight to his core.

Over her shoulder, Lian’s [sympathy] turned to muted horror and he frantically looked between the both of them, visibly trying to work out what he was meant to do in this situation. For lack of any [clear] facial cues, Ingo deliberately– voluntarily– accepted Akari in both arms, though, behind her back, he gave one wrist a minute flick, trying to relieve the younger Warden of any responsibility.

Lian looked distinctly unmoved, but awkwardly turned away, acting like he had something to do at the arena’s entrance.

The moment couldn’t last for long– the sky was [earlier x] and the world could very well be ending, after all– but Akari seemed marginally more grounded when she finally pulled away. Lian had already explained, she told him, and she understood that he couldn’t interfere on her behalf, but it was nice of him to come check on her.

“That’s not entirely accurate; if you require a safe station, I’m able offer you assistance without putting the greater Pearl Clan at risk.” He said, trying very, very hard to keep his voice soft and avoid Lian’s keen ears, “Forgive me for dredging up this morning’s unpleasantness, but my place within the Pearl Clan is… similarly tenuous. If I’m dismissed, I can offer you aid without violating the agreement between Galaxy Team and the clans.”

Akari’s only response for a long moment was to blink dumbly at him, startled into a temporary silence, and when she shook herself out of it, her first instinct was to reach up and slap his shoulder.

“No! It’s bad enough that I got kicked out, I’m not gonna let you–” She took her hand back and gestured incoherently before punctuating it with a frustrated grumble in the back of her throat. After another few seconds, she [cleared her throat] and picked up his slack, projecting her voice loud enough to hear all the way down the river, “I appreciate your concern, Warden. I’ll stay safe– speed but not haste, right?”

And then, embodying both of those qualities, she shot him one last look and left.

At her exit, Lian whirled back around, thoroughly bewildered. He was a bold one– he had been even before his appointment as Warden– and stopped just shy of four feet away. “Are you… alright?”

As a matter of fact, Ingo could still feel where Akari’s arms had wrapped around him, like she’d used a well-honed Constrict instead of a slightly over-enthusiastic hug, but it would do them no good to mention that.

“Perfectly fine.” He said instead, reaching up to straighten his hat, “Miss Akari has had a very trying day, as you’re no doubt aware. If I was able to offer her some amount of comfort, then it was wholly worth it.”

Lian seemed unconvinced, but nodded anyway, “I’m going to report to Irida– she needs to know about what Galaxy Team’s up to, so if there’s any chance that Staraptor you’re friends with is around…?”

Ingo nodded and, after warning the younger Warden to cover his ears, gave a sharp, distinctive whistle.

While they waited for the bird’s arrival, Lian’s attention drifted and, eyes trained off and to the side, he said, “Sorry, I should have helped you. She just– can you believe that?”

“I can, and you have nothing to apologize for. While I’m grateful for the [affront] on my behalf, it’s my understanding that I’m free to share my space however I see fit, correct?”

“You’re not wrong.” Lian conceded, a touch reluctantly, “But she didn’t even ask.”

“She didn’t,” Ingo agreed, grateful to pick up upon the beating of wings, “I daresay she had more pressing matters on her mind.”

Lian hummed, neither approval nor argument, and as Staraptor swooped down from the canopy, they parted ways.

—

Several weeks after the festival marking a return to fair skies, Irida made the commute to Jubilife Village and flagged Ingo down from across Floaro Main Street. He thought, for a moment, that she intended to battle, but his hopes were quickly dashed.

Oddly, she had Akari with her. Not to imply there was any bad blood between them, but if Irida traveled with company, it was usually another member of the Pearl Clan.

“I need to speak with the both of you regarding something that happened some time ago,” She said, and while there was an [urgency?] to her tone, it was far from grave, “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have let the matter go unaddressed for so long, but– forgive me for saying, Ingo– there were more pressing concerns.”

He felt his brow furrow, uncertain to what she could be referring, or what he was supposed to be [offended] by. Slowly, he cobbled together, “There’s no need to trouble yourself on my behalf. I can’t even recall anything that would warrant your [interference]– it seems forgetting is a station I can’t quite avoid, doesn’t it?

It would have been doomed to failure, anyway, so he didn’t bother trying to smile; he just trusted that they recognized the mild joke for what it was. And they did, that much was easy to tell from the looks on their faces– it was just that neither of them appreciated it.

Irida offered him a slightly pained look and clapped her hands together to get them back on track. Turning to Akari, she said, “This is best [discussed] privately. Could you lead us somewhere appropriate?”

Uncertain, Akari pointed back down the road, toward her own home, and looked between the both of them as if searching for approval. Sadly, Ingo could offer none; he had no idea what this was about, either.