Greetings, Galar

He returns. With Michael Navidson in tow.

Where the other man struggles with being a hoennian attempting to legally enter a nation with much to say about the current chaos and misfortune capital of the world, Gwyar...

Does not.

Men, women and all those of other designation seem to quite literally bend over backwards in order to accomodate for the man as he goes through customs with about as much ease as the leader of any nation.

Either sports stardom held different connotations in Galar, or the man was not quite done sharing his secrets.

His time with Michael Navidson has been fun enough. He doesn't quite recall if they were close in the other Galar. Probably not, but he nonetheless felt a kinship with the man— enough to synchronize their watches, so to speak, when it just so happened that they both had business in Galar proper.

He gave the other man a wry smile.

"I'm afraid we're quite the ways away still, my friend." He said to the other with a laugh, clapping his shoulder. "I pray your ride is well!"

He paused.

"We're going to the Crown Tundra."

One express train ticket, please.

Greetings, Galar

He returns. With Michael Navidson in tow.

"I am not certain. Not yet." He said as they boarded the train— VIP Class, naturally— and he took his large comfortable seat.

A single table stretched out between them, suitable for both working on the road, or enjoying one of the high class meals offered by the train's staff— at least, prior to recent... occurrences.

"Hoenn is the most dangerous nation in the world, currently." He said, smiling as some customary tea was brought his way. "I would not dream of moving my daughters there under any regular circumstances."

He brought the cup to his lips, taking a soft sip before lowering it back to the table, staring pensively into his reflection.

"But Galar as it is now is incapable of protecting itself against Necrozma." Clearly.

He turned his gaze over to the window, watching the landscape pass them by.

"Necrozma targets sources of dynergy." He said. "Though there's natural depots in the Crown Tundra, none of them are near enough to the human settlements for Necrozma to attack them. I hope."

He sighed.

"Unfortunately, my father is beyond merely 'old school', making it hard to contact him." He said. "Freezington is quite behind the international standard in its Communications infrastructure as well; it's hard to reach out."

He set his jaw.

"I'll know what to do once I've seen everything with my own eyes."

Greetings, Galar

He returns. With Michael Navidson in tow.

"You're Dewford's Sheriff." He said simply. "You've witnessed it during your extractions, I'm sure."

The innards of the skeleton shifting about just as they're about to run for the exit. Showing images of... Earth.

"I believe it won't be long now before Eternatus arrives once again." He said. "There's no doubt in my mind; It'll land in Hoenn."

And wherever Eternatus went—

"The black knight will forever pursue that light." He said simply. "Necrozma will return to Hoenn."

And, well—

"And... I am neither s patriot nor a saint. My people are here in the Crown Tundra." He said, stopping outside of the station to look upon the small settlement around of Freezington. "So long as my family and people are well— I'll not abandon my duties, commitments and goals in Hoenn."

The Crown Tundra was part of the Galarian Commonwealth, but its 'membership' was steeped in tensions coming from its history as a 'former' colony of the Galarian empire.

TL;DR: Gwyar might be patriot, but if he was, it certainly wasn't for Galar as a whole. He had shit to do in Hoenn.

Reaching into his coat, the man produced a pokeball, before releasing a familiar ghostly ride once again.

Patting his Spectrier's neck gently, he glanced over at Navy.

"Normally, a Corviknight taxi would do. Unfortunately, the tundra has been experiencing frequent blizzards in the last week. We'll have to ride home." He swung himself atop his ghostly ride, before giving Navy a once over. "... If you have more... bulky clothes on hand, now's the time to put it on, my friend. Trust me when I say— 'Tundra' is an understatement."

Greetings, Galar

He returns. With Michael Navidson in tow.

"I wonder about that." Gwyar said, once again putting the sheriff's request aside.

"You've seen the visions of Earth, Sheriff. Haven't you?" He asked the other man. "Right as our bodies reach their limits, when the world inside Eternatus distorts beyond recognition."

A vision of Earth upon each and every surface. Edging ever closer every time he visited upon the gargantuan beast's core.

"It must be absolutely gargantuan, wouldn't you say?" It had, after all, fooled them into thinking it was a fucking ocean.

"Something like that— if it truly were so near to us, I doubt we would have any difficulty finding it." He said, gaze moving to the sky. "Given that, and the visions... I can't help but wonder if it might not even have arrived to Earth yet."

There was no way to know for sure. No one had any idea of where exactly they were taken when they entered the portal. Just that it was the innards of the beast.

But!

"In any case." He said. "I cannot leave Sootopolis yet. I've not accomplished my goals."

The man knew he couldn't leave Sootopolis, just not why. Not yet.

"I have not found declan walsh's hideout. Not even an inkling of where he might spend his time alone." He said simply. "If I cannot do that much, after every life that has been lost, then my time in Sootopolis will not only have been a waste— it'll have been to the detriment of the league, and my fellow officers."

Greetings, Galar

He returns. With Michael Navidson in tow.

"That's fine." He said with a smile.

At the other man's request, he can only rub at his chin, humming thoughtfully.

"I cannot say I recall any of the tomes in the family's library referencing either by name." He said, before turning his gaze over to a small badge pinned to the lapel of his coat-cape. "We have, however, been part of the Order of the High King since its inception."

So perhaps they would be able to find hints and the like if they read between the lines. Though Gwyar could claim to have read all the tomes in the library in his youth, he could not say it had been done with interest, vigor, or a critical mindset.

Perspective mattered when acquiring information, after all.

"Let us be off, then! We must make it to the castle before evening— lest we die on road." He said, before smiling. "Hohohoh! How very nostalgic!"

Patting his Spectrier's side, the mare reeled back while releasing a spirited neigh, before she leapt forth.

Greetings, Galar

He returns. With Michael Navidson in tow.

For Gwyar, the journey was considerably less therapeutic, the shortest possible route home by horse happening to contain a plethora of either repressed or better left forgotten memories about his less than ideal childhood in the tundra.

"Nostalgic indeed."

Arriving at the peak didn't really do him any favors on that front.

"That is certainly a way to look at it." Gwyar said neutrally as they stood at the gargantuan gates of the Duke's Castle, the chilly wind beginning to pick up speed quick even as the structure remained resolutely shut.

The walls around it stood stubbornly against the deterioration of the elements, adorned with myriads of swords and shields of stone, royal purple fabrics emblazoned with the Duchy's Coat of arms flapping dramatically in the wind.

In ancient times, the outer wall's main gates would've likely been manned by a myriad of soldiers, all... well, standing guard.

This was 2023, and it seemed even the 'old fashioned' Duke recognized that times had changed, and 24/7 guard duty was no longer required were a massive, locked door could do the trick.

Indeed, one would likely have a wealth of common sense to think that way.

They would not, however, be able to read the Duke one bit.

"'Tis I, ladies and gentlemen. Open the gates, please." Gwyar said, seemingly to the gate.

And in response, the Gate remained entirely motionless.

The myriad of swords and shields lining the walls attached to the gate, however, did not, cracks and pops filling the air as layers of ice and rust got unceremoniously discarded by Aegislash upon Aegislash, uncountable sentient blades revealing themselves to have been merely playing the role of decorations and fanciful flag poles.

At the sight of them, Gwyar could only smile— and his shadow could not seem to contain his apparent excitement either, quite literally rising from underneath him as if gaining a life of its own— before quickly taking the form of Gwyar's very own personal Aegislash.

"Say hi to your mother for me!" Gwyar said to his Aegislash with wave, watching her join the massive conglomeration of blades, all of which began to round around her silently. "Ah, ladies and gents? It's getting quite chilly here. Door first, if you may?"

Remembering their duties, the blades' eyes all glowed in turn, before the gargantuan gates began to slowly inch open, a scrapping, screeching sound filling the air as the keep behind the massive doors was revealed, a large courtyard appearing before them with a number of structures and superstructures vaguely seen in the distance.

The largest was likely the main keep.

"What a warm welcome." Gwyar said wryly while still looking up at the myriad of hovering swords. "I'm a little jealous."

By comparison, their welcoming party was nonexistent. Then again— they hadn't exactly announced their coming.

Not until the giant doors' scrapping did it for them anyway.

GREETINGS, GALAR

NAVY X GWYAR

PERUSAL OF THE ARCHIVE procures no concrete information about a CALYREX: a rabbit-like royal, purported to be all-wise, all-merciful. The Pokemon they had encountered within that distant memory, once housed within an old relic now scattered as insignificant detritus.

Tales of kings are contained within books both fiction and non. However, there are no names or titles evidencing CALYREX, the forgotten king.

However, both Gwyar Wledig and Michael Navidson encounter an interesting passage that may ring a pertinent note for current day developments:

Progress has hinged on two foundational elements: language and mythology. Language is the bedrock of communication. It grants humans the ability to articulate and explore the abstract powers of a Pokemon world, able to convert the intangible into the tangible in favor for advancements in all domains.

Consequently, what sets humans apart from the common Skwovet or Blipbug? I posit that humankind differentiates itself from Pokemon by way of being myth-makers. Language grants us the palette and the brush to communicate imagination in a manner that fosters societal cohesion. Myths are the cultural glue necessary for collective fiction: a communal fount that transcends individual differences and social status, grants harmonious collaboration across regions, and honours our desires and dreams with aesthetic shape.

Some may argue that Pokemon can also tap into the same tapestry of myth creation and yet, I remain skeptical of the degree in which they can share...

The passage continues to discuss more of the same.