Chapter Text

Mount Coronet has always been particularly bitter in the dead of winter. 

Harsh, howling winds. Icy barrages of snow. Sleet and storms. Not to forget those swirling rifts in space-time that threatened to swallow unsuspecting people and pokémon whole.

Living on the mountain has always been a challenge, one that Ingo has always strived to overcome, but-

It isn’t a challenge that Ingo particularly dislikes, in truth. He’s always been fond of the spring sunsets, of the Clefairy dances, of his fellows and the wind whistling through the tunnels. Yes, there was chaos. Yes, there was danger. But, Ingo did actually enjoy his time as a Warden. Every day had, even briefly, brought little fleeting moments of serenity. Moments that were a brief reminder of how beautiful Coronet can be. Moments that, if Ingo closes his eyes and forgets, reminds him of how it can be a home .

Yet, selfishly…

Selfishly- Ingo could, Ingo could…

Ah. Selfishly, Ingo could do that. Could stay, that is. Could make this mountain his home. 

He won’t, however. Not when his original home is in sight. Not now, when those blurry lights and warm voices are in reach.

So Ingo trudges through the blizzard, a half-uttered wish upon his lips and a hand clutching his own.

Instead, he hums and hopes. Hopes that the temple might be calmer, hopes that he’ll be home soon. Hopes that- That the weather might be merciful and let up for once. No, perhaps, that too might be a wish.

A wish for peace. On days like this, he wishes that perhaps- just once - the mountain could be well and truly calm. Just one single day is all he needs. One day, and then it could storm and snow and sleet to its heart’s content.

One day, for this is hopefully Ingo’s last day on this mountain. Maybe even the last few hours, if he’s lucky.

“Uncle, do you really think this will work?”

Ingo blinks, blankly. Thought derailed. Reroute, back to reality. He glances, down to little Akari. She’s looking up at him, cheeks glistening a cherry-red from the cold, and uncertainty shining in her eyes. Ah, she’s looking for reassurance.

“I cannot truly say for sure.” Ingo is no prophet, nor can he truly divine the future. “But, I would hope so.”

“But what if the Azure flute doesn’t work? What if we’re stuck? ”

Stuck in Hisui. Stuck . It’s a strange thought to entertain.

Ingo, admittedly, would be able to cope. Hisui is the place where most of his current memories have been formed. It is familiar, is it known. 

For Akari? That would be a cruelty, especially considering she still remembers her home. Longs for it, even. Akari would not cope. Akari would be stuck.

He pauses, searching for an answer. “Then we will simply have to take a detour. Find a new route to our home station. There will always be a new track, or perhaps even an old one to follow.”

“But-” Akari seems to not be convinced. “What if…” There’s a question brewing there, one she clearly doesn’t know how to verbalise. “What if we do go home… And I never see you again?” she finishes, lowering to a whisper.

Oh. Ah.

So that’s it.

“All cars will decouple someday.” A fact Ingo knows so very intimately, if his own fractured and forgotten bonds are any example. “All routes eventually terminate,” he adds, quietly.

Ingo carefully slows to a halt, turning to meet the Akari head-on. “Please understand that if you return to your home station, one I know that you would be safe and happy in, then that is all that matters.” Her expression grows sadder, almost tearful now. 

(Ingo tries to desperately remember those child-rearing tips Gaeric had given him that one drinking session.)

They stand for a handful of very, very painful minutes in silence.

“I don’t want you to leave, Uncle Ingo.” Akari eventually says. Her grip on his hand tightens in emphasis. “I want you to stay. I want-” to keep battling, to share mochi, to talk to you about trains and boring old clan stuff , “It would be nice, you know. I have a mom- she’s really nice- and I have friends and there’s Cynthia and-” She chokes a little. A sob. “- Please don’t leave .”

Ah. Ingo knows what’s happening here. It’s a reflex. A want. It makes sense now, for in truth, little Miss Akari is clinging to familiarity. That’s what this is. 

“If it soothes you, I could endeavour to visit.” 

(It would be difficult, yes , but Ingo wouldn’t mind. If it helps, then he’ll do.)

Tears forgotten, Akari coughs. “Visit?” She asks, watching him with a sudden, intense look. “Would you really?”

There she is, there’s the Akari he knows.

“Of course.” Ingo isn’t one to lie, or utter careless platitudes. “It may take some time, for these things always do, but I will eventually reach that destination. After all,” he smiles, soft and wistful. “The Sinnoh you describe sounds truly magnificent.”

“ Deal .”

(The uncharacteristic forceful tone almost startles him. That’s… Strong. Ingo knows that partings- or the build up to them - may be difficult, but this is what they both want. What he should want.)

“I’m glad-”

“- And!” Akari interrupts. “You gotta tell me about your home when you visit. I want to know all about that battling guy you know- Oh and also the purple flame pokémon! The partner. I know I could just do some research, but I’d really like to hear it straight from you.” 

Hm. She might have to wait for a fair while for an answer there. Ingo isn’t sure how one travels between regions in the modern day, but if it’s anything like now, then… Might be a year? Or at least a few months.

“Anything else?” 

“What region you’re from. Rei and I were arguing for ages over your accent.” Ingo raises a pale eyebrow. “The Professor said that you couldn’t be a Galarian with that accent. He claims you’re mangling the language .” She adds in a lowered voice, a faint grin breaking out from the cloud of despair, with a gleam in her eyes that makes Ingo wasn’t quite meant to know that. Knowing the Professor, that was likely information that Laventon had told her in confidence. 

“I could say the same about him. The enunciation on that man.”

They share a giggle at that. Respite , Ingo thinks as he glances at the cave entrance that slowly bleeds into view as they wind around the cliffs and the alpha pokémon, calm before the storm, or perhaps-

The Temple of Sinnoh.

Soon.

Ingo has always found the temple to be imposing at the best of times, and downright intimidating at worst. It is a place that inspires wonder, yes, but every time Ingo has dared to trek to the peak of Coronet, he finds himself stiffening under the oppressive aura.

But now? 

Now, the Temple of Sinnoh has been reduced to rubble and ruin. Once beautiful, carved supports shattered, reduced to ruin. A sorry sight , Ingo thinks, as he eyes the cracked and crumbling statues of the Nobles. Casualties of the bloodied skies. 

Ancient history, gone in an instant. One moment, the temple stood strong, haloed by crimson, the next- rubble. Thanks to that last battle atop the mountain, the final fragments of old Celestica had been scattered to wind, courtesy of the very man who claimed to adore it.

Ingo had almost found the whole situation ironic, in a sense. Had Volo truly cared for history, or did he care only for the power the myths had spoken of?

He will never know. Ingo, admittedly, hopes he never knows.

Probably for the best. He was never quite keen on that man. Another encounter would likely end in tears at best, and bloodshed at worst.

Ingo comes to a stop, standing just before the very final set of steps that sit right before the edge of the temple. Snow-dusted peaks encircle the temple, which sweep downwards to form valleys, plains and coasts. All of Hisui is visible. Everything that Ingo will have to sacrifice, will have to release from that too-tight, metaphorical grip that even now clings on with gaining desperation. 

One last glimpse at it all.

It feels as though this is a final goodbye, or perhaps a last-minute attempt to make his convictions waver. Yet, Ingo has to be resolute. Hisui might be a home, but it is not truly his home. There was a station before this stop, there will be a station after it. 

He gathers his courage. The choice has been made. It is time.

“This is the final terminal, Miss Akari. Soon, we will have to make our departure.” His voice feels alien to him, almost fuzzy as he speaks on auto-pilot. For a moment, he feels like a new conductor has taken control of his train. For a dragging, painful moment… He feels… Detached. Distant. “Are you ready?”

He turns, hand reaching for his cap. Ingo tugs it slightly downwards, masking his face in shadows. A gesture that had always brought him comfort. A way of avoiding eye contact.

“I’m nervous, Uncle.”

So is he. Every nerve from his gut to his throat twitches. A tense vine of palpable anxiety twists and turns, burying itself into his chest, making a home for itself in every single inch. 

Ingo would not dare verbalise those thoughts. The little Miss doesn’t need any more troubles on her shoulders. No , she deserves peace, comfort and reassurance.

“I know, Miss Akari.” Ingo offers the faintest, smallest little smile. One of Hisui’s rarest wonders. “Think of it this way, soon, your tracks will take you home.”

“You’ll come find me, won’t you?” 

Of course.

“I will. I made a promise. I do not tend to break my promises.”

“Okay.” Akari reaches for her scarf, fist closing around the end, scrunching it into a ball. She’s ramrod straight with tension, gaze flitting around. There’s an emotion there that Ingo can’t quite describe nor decipher. “Can- before we go, I have something to tell you. Promise me you won’t get mad, will you?” 

Ominous wording. Ingo falters, slightly.

“I- It depends?” he replies, confusion bleeding into each word. What now?

“So you see. Uh.” Akari pauses, then takes in one great big breath. She releases it. Then begins to talk. “Ah- well. It’s about my name. I’m not called Akari.” 

Oh. Oh thank goodness. That’s not nearly as bad as Ingo’s quickly derailing train of thought had decided where this conversation was going. Briefly, he was afraid that he was going to put those body hiding skills of his to the test. Or perhaps never return to Hisui ever in fear of a century-or-three old warrant. Good. Breathe. No one’s dead.

“Oh thank the heavens.” I thought you killed someone there, with that look on your face . Ingo doesn’t say that last bit, but please know he certainly was worried for a minute. “ Dragons .” He sighs, once more.

“What- You’re not mad I lied?”

(Well, sort of. Ingo has never been one to lie. He’s never liked the way they left an ashy taste in his mouth, nor the act of deception itself. Lying always felt needlessly complicated in his eyes.)

“I am sure you had your reasons, Miss… ?”

“Dawn. My actual name is Dawn. And yeah. There were a few reasons.”

(The reasons being a series of Sci-Fi movies she’d watched with Barry and Lucas in a marathon night. Time paradoxes and Beautifly effects had haunted her every waking thought for the first few weeks in Hisui.)

Ingo hums, then mutters. Dawn. Dawn. Dawn. That name rang a bell, why? Another memory threatened to slip free. Teetering. Teetering. Steadied. 

Ah.

Maybe next time.

“Then it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Dawn.” Ingo tips his cap. “Thank you for trusting me so.”

“Thank you, Mr Ingo.”

Ingo goes to speak once more, but he’s interrupted by a loud buzz. He motions to Ak- Dawn , a question on his tongue, but only receives an answer in the form of a glowing box.

He squints blankly at the device (?), then back at the little Miss. 

“I cannot read that, Miss Dawn.”

“Oh!” She turns the box around. “Arceus says that we just need to play the azure flute again.” Oh so she’s on a first name basis now with the Almighty? Alright, sure, cool. “Do you want the honours?” Dawn asks, shuffling through her satchel.

“To play the flute?”

Dawn beams. “Yeah! Because you haven’t done it before. Doesn’t need to be a fancy song either, just one that calls to you.” She finally pulls out the blue thing which is apparently a flute.

(Ingo still is not convinced, despite having watched the little Miss play it before. It just doesn’t look right. Vibes are bad.)

It’s an honour. Perhaps the highest honour attainable. Ingo should be grateful that’s she’s even considering, pleased that he’s finally been given agency after all these years of following the whims of everyone and everything else, but-

He hesitates. 

In truth, Ingo had hoped that someone else might make that final decision. It would be easier that way, to have no choice in the matter. It would be easier for him to leave, if he would be able to claim that it was the will of the Almighty or even a small teenager. 

Ingo wouldn’t feel as guilty for abandoning everything again. 

Steadying himself with a deep breath, easing out the last dregs of emotion.

Dawn’s smile hasn’t wavered a millimetre. 

Ingo accepts the flute. 

“Very well.” Ingo whispers, barely audible over the howling winds weaving through the peaks. “It would be appropriate for me to conduct this train to its final destination. One last service.”

He steps forward, up that final stair, right to the edge of the temple, taking his final stop between the twin pillars.

Final station. Ingo’s final station is in sight. He can do this. He can.

All he needs is a song. A song that calls him home. A song from the heart.

Ingo raises the flute to his lips and plays.

CHOO CHOO!

Perfect. The song bounces through the mountain tops, echoing on and on and on. 

Ingo patiently waits for a sign. 

Patiently.

Patiently.

Patiently.

The call fades into silence.

No reply.

He screws his eyes shut. Of course. Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy. Why would it have been that easy? Ingo knew it. This is why Dawn didn’t believe they were going home, that’s why there were so many conversations about what-ifs and what-coulds. 

Oh, oh goodness. Miss Dawn, she’ll be- 

Ingo raises his collar upwards, an attempt to muffle the wounded cry that threatens to bubble up from his throat. Not now. Not now. The child. Focus on the child. 

“Miss Dawn.” He forces out, turning on his heel. “We appear to have encountered an unexpected delay.”

Ingo opens his eyes more.

And finds no one staring back.

“ Dawn ..?” He cries out. Only the wind replies. “Miss Dawn, this isn’t funny!”

No one responds.

He’s alone.

Not again. Not again. 

Why does everything get ripped out from beneath him when Ingo has finally settled? Why can’t he have peace? Why can’t-

Why-

Why-

Why!

The snow crunches as Ingo tumbles to his knees, shaking with anger and grief for a home he’ll never know. Ingo’s nails dig into the smooth ceramic-like material of the flute and he brings it closer to his chest. Temptation to lob the cursed thing off the mountain and end this game of gods and mockery once and for all ebbs at his mind.

Curse it. Curse it all. 

Ingo to the ground, hat tumbling free as he flops onto his back.

It’s probably his fault. Everything falls apart when Ingo is involved. Always his fault. Always a problem, whispers that cruel little voice lurking in the back of his mind. 

Boots thump across the ice-dusted tiles of the temple. Ingo should look, check who is approaching. Every Hisuian instinct of his screams to do so. 

Thump. Crunch. Thump. Crunch.

He doesn’t look. If a bandit has decided the opportunity to attack him here and now, so be it. Fate cares not for him. Why should Ingo care anymore?

Thump. Thud. Thump.

“You know, it’s a bit cold out here.” 

Ingo blinks, dully. Then pauses.

A woman with dark hair and slate eyes peers down at him, watching him with a face that looks so achingly familiar. No. No. Could..? 

“There’s better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know ?” She laughs, as though she’s told the funniest joke in the world.

Is- Is she?

The woman offers a hand. It’s scarred, callused in a way that’s typical for the Survey Corps.

The cloud of emotion rises, up and up and up, dissipating into the wind. Scattered. Gone. Free.

Ingo reaches out.

The woman smiles, so warm and bright. Her presence comforts Ingo, thawing and melting away that cold fear that had been brewing deep in his gut. Her eyes practically seem to sparkle in a way that rivals both the sun and the stars.

It’s familiar. It’s so familiar. 

Ingo recognises her in an instant.

“It’s good to see you again, Uncle .”