March 8th, First Year

Warden Ingo always made sure to perform his safety checks and he would always do them correctly the first time around. There would be no exceptions for sudden derailments. No derailing for unknown noises, no night-owling without a suitable light source, and the man never decoupled himself from the rails of the Coronet Highlands; not without a good enough reason, anyhow. After all, there were no sperry cars or anti-climbers in the mountains to speak of.

Lady Irida had expressly imparted to him that all wardens were to stay in their respective lord or lady's seats until she gave further notice so of course, Warden Ingo did just that. The man may have been riddled with a terrible case of amnesia and sore joints from all the climbing and hunching over, but he would have had to have been a fool to not notice the decreasing amount of merchants on the trails.

A cold chill crept up into his tattered jacket as he picked his way through the deep snow. His fingers trembled as he attempted to button up his jacket before remembering for the hundredth time that week that his jacket had no buttons. Why do I keep attempting to button it up then? He drew in the sides closer, protecting his precious cargo within. The injured Sneasel squeaked, nuzzling deeper into his tunic as the wind began to pick up. Snow was continuously tossed into his face, his frayed garments struggling to fight against the frostbite that was steadily creeping in.

"Careful little lady. We'll have you back to the railyard in no time at all."

He did his best to ignore the spots of blood that had stained his tunic and undershirt. He had found the little Sneasel broken and battered along the Sonorous Path during his returning patrol. The fact that the little kit was so far from its usual station spooked Ingo. What had spooked him even more was the fact that the kit's claws had been shattered as if some ignorant fool had gone and run their wheels right over them.

Dark blood and venom bled freely from the shattered tips, spilling along his coat and turning his once-lavender tunic to a deep shade of scarlet. Vicious lacerations littered the little kit's body, one particular gash running through the kit's eye and ending at its lip. If it did survive, it would lose permanent use of that eye. In that merciless winter, that type of affliction would mean certain death from infection.

From behind him, Boxcar the Tangrowth shuddered, taking care to scrape dirt over the drips of blood left in Ingo's wake as the large pokémon tailed him. The last thing they needed was a Garchomp or a Luxray tracking the blood scent back to his station, their only respite from the dangers of the highlands.

The Coronet Highlands were teeming with dangerous pokémon. It had always been dangerous from Ingo's recollection. Well, the long two years that I have been stationed here in Hisui- it will be three years next winter- had been filled with run-ins with the violent creatures. It was never so dangerous that he felt the need to retreat to the Pearl Settlement or couple with Warden Melli, dragons no- but it seemed as though the warden was forced to use the saber at his hip almost every day fending off an angered Luxio or Parasect. All of his uniforms at that point were mottled with dirt or dried blood or both.

He had become so used to scrubbing out dangerous spores and venom that he had become an expert at mending his clothes. The only thing he couldn't mend were the hat and coat that he'd fallen with. Of course, they were mangled and much more faded in clother than they used to be, but they were his. A part of him didn't even want to try mending those; they were the only things he had left from his elusive past.

Ingo was solely in charge of his stretch of the highlands. Once a week, he'd set off from his home station at the bottom of the Chamberclaw Cliffs, check on Lady Sneasler in her den far atop his, and then slowly but surely make his way toward the Fabled Spring where he would rest for another three days and then make the opposite trip.

The whole point of the constant trekking was to survey the land and make sure that the trails were marked for the tin cans and night owls; the merchants and the sparse travelers that dared to make the trek during the night. Of course, Lady Sneasler could do this much faster than he could, but Lady Sneasler was also responsible for keeping the lesser lords and ladies on their rails which took quite a bit of strength. Ingo was merely lessening the load for his noble and he prided himself in his work.

Sometimes, he would catch glimpses of his fellow highland warden, Warden Melli, from a vast distance, both of them black and blue smudges in a valley of fog and snow. Melli used to yell a 'hello'. He didn't anymore. Neither did. Both would lock eyes, raise their hands in greeting to give the all-black, and then pass by without so much as a word. They had learned the first time why making noise was a bad thing and after the incident, the two had agreed to check up on each other twice a month in person. Ingo's leg still ached during storms after the incident.

No sooner did a fresh storm break than the three had arrived at the base of the Chamberclaw Cliffs. Ingo hastily entered his hut and looked through his sorted belongings until he found a long piece of rope and a potion bottle. He gently laid the Sneasel on a spare set of robes and began checking the poor creature for its other wounds.

It squeaked and quivered weakly as he gently smeared a poultice on its multiple lacerations, tying them off with bits of torn cloth to try to staunch the bleeding. Boxcar assisted in using its tendrils to keep the little kit still, but even then did it have to exercise caution to not injure the poor thing even more. But there was nothing he could do about its destroyed claws; they were broken from the roots.

There was a scratching at his door, urgent and frenzied- a knock and then two sharp raps. Ingo pardoned himself from the Sneasel and drew up his saber. Boxcar moved to stand just before him, eyes narrowed as it moved Ingo back just an inch with its vines. He listened closely.

"Snea!"

Oh. Ingo opened the door and Lady Sneasler barged in, two of her kits hanging precariously from her shoulders. She carefully set them down before her on the floor, her muzzle scrunching up in disgust as the smell of the festering wound hit her. When she saw the injured little one nestled beside her warden, she scooped it up gently with her claws and sat upon the floor trying to rouse the poor thing in a frenzy of licks and nudges.

Something bumped into his shoulder. He turned, spotting a familiar Alakazam floating by the door. Parlor. It nodded, using its telekinesis to wave around a packet of letters before him as though reminding him to do something about them. Ingo's eyes found the seal of the Pearl Clan first. Intrigued, he accepted the letters from Parlor and busied himself around his hut. Lady Sneasler would not appreciate his meddling even if she understood that he was just trying to assist.

He removed his shoes, hung up his coat and hat, and lit a fire in the hearth. Lady Sneasler had made herself comfortable on the pile of pelts and feathers she had brought down there during his first year, so Ingo had made sure to double bar the doorway as well. Once he was sure that all exits were guarded, he took out the barrel of pickled Magikarp he'd been saving and tossed a few to Sneasler and her kits.

He picked up the first letter: almost all of them were from Lady Irida. The first read as a notice: two new fallers had come to Hisui. One of them had settled into Jubilife Village with the Galaxy Team. They must have done something to rally Kamado's favor, Ingo mused. The other one had apparently failed but was taken in by Diamond Clan. Both were reportedly fearless when working with pokémon. Both were like him. Ingo took a long drink from his waterskin and continued, ignoring the way his engine stared to pick up speed.

The second letter was a message from Melli. His fellow warden always sent his messages in an embroidered pouch. There were reportedly more Parasects in his documented populace close to Mt. Coronet. More stunned, poisoned, or comatose pokémon were being found along the trails. Ingo sighed and stored that letter away in a drawer.

Each letter after Melli's was something Ingo had already read about before. More alpha pokémon were springing up around Hisui. The need to construct a new thoroughfare through the tunnel with Lesser Lord Crowbat was becoming more and more urgent via "polite requests" from the Gingko Guild. Melli was asking him for the thousandth time to stop lighting the torches and let the Zubat population sleep in peace.

It was the last letter that got his attention: a hastily scribbled letter from Warden Lian. It wasn't often that he got a letter directly from his fellow Pearl Clan wardens. He unfolded the note and then blinked, his eyebrows furrowing. Lord Kleavor had gone into a violent frenzy in the Obsidian Fieldlands. Lady Irida requested his and his pokémon's assistance in quelling it. Two Galaxy Scouts had already been mauled to death by the creature. Parlor the Alakazam, who had been resting leisurely on its cushion, sent him a knowing look, rolling over onto its side.

In both of the years that he had stationed in Hisui, whether it be wandering as a lost man, working as a ranger for the Pearl Clan, or acting as Lady Sneasler's warden, he had never felt as though his task was pertinent; that they weren't the rails he was supposed to be on. It was certainly better than being decommissioned, like when he was first brought into the Pearl Clan and was given dull tasks like sorting berries or watching the clan's young. When he looked at his hat and coat hanging by the fire, he remembered the feeling of rushing wind through his coat and the crackle of fire and dancing electricity in his ears. He would remember a violet light and the sound of loud whistles and the wonderful feeling of people flowing around him; of people, smiling at him and waving. Of a huge place shimmering with light as though blanketed by Volbeats and Illumise. And almost always, of the man in white.

The man that would haunt his dreams and waking world, always smiling, always shrouded in light, and always laughing. And just when Ingo thought he was on the cusp of remembering, the memory would fade away and leave him on the ground, confused and bitter. It was as though whoever had sent him there was teasing him, holding it just far enough to get Ingo to force himself away and focus on where he was.

He had not planned on becoming a warden but working with pokémon and roughing it out in the Highlands had always seemed to be second nature to him. It wasn't something the Pearl Clan nor Lady Irida understood.

But this is something entirely different, being called upon with my pokémon to do something together. Or maybe, Ingo supposed, this will be another false highball. He would travel all the way to the Obsidian Fieldlands and all the way to the Heartwood to find out that it was not Lord Kleavor's frenzy that got two scouts killed but their own idiocy.

But then he reread Irida's first letter: two new fallers had come to Hisui and neither were none too afraid of pokémon. A little margin in the bottom that he had missed before held a note of oddity complaining about the two fallers "keeping their partners in those horrible Galaxy contraptions" and "the small one claiming to have a connection with Almighty Sinnoh".

Perhaps, he would pay them a visit then; see what other poor souls had been spat out there. Maybe they might need some extra assistance coupling with their new realities. It was certainly something Ingo would have appreciated when he had first arrived there.

He scratched at the back of his head and fished out a cooked Magikarp from the hearth as he scribbled his acceptance of the task. No sooner did he finish his meal did Parlor the Alakazam take his letter and vanish with it leaving him alone with Lady Sneasler and her kits.

He glanced at the quiet nest, glimpsing only the gleaming eyes of Sneasler's young kits waiting their turn to nab a piece of Magikarp or two. He tossed them a few bits and they greedily shoved the morsels into their mouths. One took immediately to sitting in his lap in hopes of more food, gently pawing at the fish's tail to try to pull it away.

He started forward as Lady Sneasler huffed from her nest, eyes closed and feather drooping. Ingo knew that look. It was the same look she gave him when they would come across a mangled pokémon on the trail; the kit did not survive. Ingo grabbed his shovel and made for the door.