Chapter Text
Ingo's reflection was quiet today.
There was no true reason for him to think it odd, the standing mirror—merely a feeling he had. A fragment that, when examined too closely, sank back into the fog of his mind. That was alright. It would come back, or it wouldn't. Such was life.
The movements were automatic, on days like these. Set the kettle to a boil, ready the leaves to steep, and clear the table of last night's whittling project, a slightly misshapen tube—the start of a Gyarados, maybe? He'd forgotten—to sit and enjoy the morning light by the window.
The warmth was gentle as the sun rose, the waning months of summer bringing some cheer to the notoriously harsh and dreery Highlands. Slowly, his aching frame grew lax as the heat sunk into his bones. It felt like a good day for foraging, if the weather held. He'd at least need some more Pecha Berries to last the season for when Lady Sneasler came to term, and his team would always deserve more treats when the larder allowed for it.
Maybe he'd invite Dawn, if she was amenable. She'd been busy filling out the rest of her Pokedex, lately, but it would be nice to have her company again. She always worked so hard, his niece, and so rarely took time for herself that he worried.
If time was permitting, and the lump of Gliscor dead asleep on the bed behind him willing, they could hold something of an exhibition match. It would be a great end—or beginning!—to the day. He'd dearly missed his usual appointment at the training grounds, for all that it was currently necessary. Lady Sneasler and her brood waited for no-one, he thought, with a sense a distant fondness stirring just beneath the haze.
A shrill whistle pierced his musings, slowly climbing to a crescendo as he fumbled out of his seat. Gliscor grumbled behind him and rolled over, the lug, as Ingo moved the kettle from the burner before it woke the whole mountain. He must be worse off than he thought, to fall that far into his own head. He'd have to right his rails, or nothing would be done today. Tea was always a good start.
Retrieve the gaiwan from the cupboard, offload the leaves into the bay, and fill with boiling water clockwise in one, two, three pours while avoiding the steam released. Perfectly routine, all systems nominal, and without interference from any wandering thoughts. Allow for the faint aroma to waft, then carefully transfer the cargo to its waiting cup, sitting patiently by his seat. Wait for the breeze to cool its surface, and then, finally, a dollop of dazzling honey and three precious cubes of sugar, stirred until fully dissolved.
The first taste of Lilligant Tea was always the sweetest, the faint floral notes pleasant under the hint of spice. It was his go-to drink for early mornings, or even something to unwind with at the end of a long day. Something was off with the batch, as was always the case, but that was an old problem with a long departed solution, lost along with everything else. Still, it did its job, and he'd long since grown used to the dissonance.
A second sip lifted the fog, if only just, and he took a moment to reconnect his thoughts. Yes, a battle with Dawn would be the perfect way to shift his old bones into the correct gear, and, if he was lucky, knock something loose. Their matches were always electrifying, exhilarating in ways he'd not yet found a substitute for. He saw its echo across from him before he felt it, his arm half raised in an instinctual point, lips moving around a call with no destination—and let the limb fall back to his cup, averting his eyes.
He'd lived for battles like those once, he was sure. He was just as certain only half his passion had survived.
Hisui had been his home for almost half a decade now. The Pearl Clan were kind in taking him in, an empty stranger with nothing but his name and the clothes on his back. His appointment as Warden, too, was a blessing. A routine to follow, rules to adhere to, and customs to learn kept his head attached to his shoulders in more ways than one, the first few seasons. His duty occupied the rest of his time, since his instatement in the Highlands, watching over Lady Sneasler and her kits as she returned the favor many times over.
Slowly, he'd built himself back from the brink. Pieced the patchwork pieces of his mind back together, to the tune of Irida's care, his clanmates regard, and even his fellow Highland's Warden's nagging, and stitched the seams as tight as he was able. New swatches were slow going before Dawn, but the tapestry of his life Before was slowly resurfacing. But it was frustrating, especially with days like these growing increasingly more common, filling his head with more cotton than matter. It was liable to make him run the same worn tracks to a dead-end rail, again and again.
His tea had grown cold. He finished it anyway. There was no sense in wasting sugar.
The sun was beginning to crest above the ridge, its light strengthening as it moved along its timetable. He, too, had a schedule to keep, but where his mind once lay inactive was now a mess of working cogs and whirring motion.
The feeling manifested in a frantic pace, one rotation dedicated to dropping off his cup, and the rest to working off the sudden rush of manic energy, an incessant itch under his skin. He resisted the urge to scratch, barely, instead rubbing up and down his arms in compromise.
Something about today was important, important enough to throw his entire system into the red. But he'd been down this route before, the tracks worn well into the flooring. It was a closed loop with no hope of reaching its destination. His only reward was the start of a migraine, pulsing dully behind his eyes in warning.
A chatter, and then a weight settled around his shoulders. He'd awoken Gliscor with his rounds. Ingo would have had to shake him awake soon enough, but it would have been nice to do so without concerning him. He offered his hand in apology, and Gliscor pressed against it with a churr—no hard feelings.
The words were hard to unstick from the back of his throat, unsteady as he was, but Ingo would manage. "Would you be up for challenging Miss Dawn, today?" He cleared his throat, and then, stronger, "A test of her progress is in order! She's come far from her first trip down these lines, but there's always a greater goal to reach for!"
The cry that shakes through Ingo's entire body in response is a resounding yes. Quick as a whip, the scorpion launches from his shoulders to crash by the door, and Ingo huffed out a laugh. The Pokemon's energy was infectious. The Pokeballs on the mantle were all equally on board, rattling eagerly when he moves to snap them on his belt. He'll have to move quickly, unless he wants to replace the doorframe again. Machamp wasn't the most patient of Pokemon, and the promise of a challenge may be too much for him to bear. He'll plan for a light breakfast on the way, and then a heartier fare in preparation for later.
His pulse settles as he snaps his worn coat on, the ache behind his eyes fading to a quiet murmur with each breath. Today would be a good day, he thought with a hum. Turning to face the scorpion impatiently clicking by the door, hands raised to point and voice ready to call—he stops, eyes locked on the mirror, bringing everything screeching to a halt.
The fractals crystalized into a single, certain truth, a numb horror spreading from the inside out. A truth, he suspects, his mind had been trying to grasp all morning. Had been desperately searching for all this time.
His reflection was quiet, mirroring the ghost of a smile, frozen in place. It was a pale imitation. It was all he had.
He remembered.
"...Happy Birthday."