I left Mumbai without ceremony.
No press.
No convoy.
No public notice.
Just me—and the people I trusted.
Apoorv sat across from me in the transport bay, eyes bright with the kind of excitement he tried very hard not to show. Neha leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed, gaze distant but alert. Arpit stared out the small reinforced window as the city shrank beneath us, jaw set, already thinking ahead.
We weren't running an operation.
This trip had two reasons.
The first was simple.
Konkan was my native land.
The second was far more important.
Konkan was a sea-dependent region—and the sea had changed.
Before the Merge, the drive used to take ten hours.
A long but familiar journey—winding highways, coastal stretches, food stops that everyone argued over, night driving under heavy monsoon clouds.
Now?
It would take over a day.
Collapsed bridges.
Flooded roads.
Zones cutting through former highways.
Entire stretches declared unsafe for civilian travel.
The land routes weren't reliable anymore.
So we didn't take them.
We boarded a military transport plane instead—unmarked, efficient, stripped of everything unnecessary. It lifted off smoothly, banking southward as Mumbai faded into a haze of concrete and green.
Below us, the terrain changed.
Urban density gave way to broken countryside.
Fields interrupted by zones.
Rivers that now glittered unnaturally with new life.
Water Pokémon loved rivers.
And rivers led to the sea.
No one spoke much during the flight.
This wasn't leisure.
This wasn't nostalgia.
This was inspection.
We landed at the nearest operational airstrip by mid-afternoon.
From there, it was a short drive west.
The air changed before the view did.
Salt.
Fish.
Wet stone.
Wind carrying stories older than roads.
Malvan.
Once a bustling coastal town, famous for fishing, ferries, and tourism. Boats moving back and forth to Sindhudurg Fort had once been a daily sight—locals, tourists, school trips, historians.
Now?
Movement was cautious.
Restricted.
Measured.
Fishing boats still existed—but fewer. Fishing put food on their table, they had no option.
Ferry schedules shut down.
Tourism was almost nonexistent.
The sea was no longer predictable.
We drove past rows of moored boats, nets drying on wooden frames, fishermen standing in small groups, talking quietly. Some looked hopeful when they saw the military markings. Others just looked tired.
This place hadn't collapsed.
But it had stalled.
The Meeting
The local administrative office was functional but worn—reinforced doors, emergency power units humming softly, maps covering the walls instead of posters.
The officials greeted us respectfully, but without awe.
That told me a lot.
They weren't desperate.
They weren't panicking.
They were managing—just barely.
"We've stabilized land-side interactions," the senior officer said as we took our seats. "Pokemon patrols using police trainers and some volunteers from recently finished camps, fencing, warning systems. That part is under control."
"And the sea?" I asked.
He hesitated.
"That's… different."
He tapped the map.
"Nearest major zone is about five miles in, but water Pokémon don't respect borders the way land Pokémon do."
Of course they didn't.
The sea had no fences.
He began listing species.
Poliwag—near freshwater inlets and estuaries.
Krabby—along rocky shores, interfering with nets.
Goldeen—schooling near fishing routes.
Staryu—appearing at night, confusing navigation.
Tentacool—further out, sometimes in large numbers.
Shellder—clustering near harbor walls.
None of these were catastrophic.
All of them were disruptive.
"Water-type trainers?" I asked.
"We have a few," he replied. "Local boys mostly. Good instincts, limited training. We have temporarily recruited the students from the training camps."
I nodded.
That tracked.
Water Pokémon required different thinking.
Different patience.
"And Gyarados?" I asked.
The room went quiet.
The officer cleared his throat.
"Ah you've heard," he said carefully. "Near Sindhudurg Fort. Deep water. Large territory."
"Has it attacked?"
"No."
"Provoked boats?"
"No."
"Destroyed infrastructure?"
"No."
"Then why is it on your report?"
"Because," he said honestly, "it exists."
Fair.
A Gyarados didn't need to act to be a problem.
Its presence alone altered behavior.
Fear was an ecosystem disruptor too.
Walking the Shore
We didn't rush into solutions.
Instead, we walked.
Along the beach.
Along the docks.
Past nets and anchors and quiet conversations.
Apoorv watched the water intently, squinting against the glare.
"It's not hostile," he murmured. "Just… quiet. too quiet."
"Exactly," I replied.
Pokémon weren't invading.
They were settling.
The sea had offered them space—and they'd taken it.
Neha knelt by a tide pool, observing a small Krabby scuttling defensively when her shadow fell over it. "They're reacting, not attacking," she said.
Arpit gestured toward the horizon. "That changes how you handle them."
It did.
Force would fail here.
Containment would fail.
This required structure.
Routes.
Roles.
Boundaries that moved instead of resisted.
We stood facing the sea as the sun dipped lower, turning the water copper and gold.
Somewhere out there—
A Gyarados swam calmly.
Not a monster.
Not a villain.
Just a creature that existed.
That night, back at our temporary lodging, I wrote notes instead of plans.
Fishing communities couldn't relocate.
The sea couldn't be fenced.
Water Pokémon wouldn't retreat inland.
Law enforcement could handle land.
But the ocean?
The ocean needed something else.
Not control.
Dominance. Maybe?
Presence. Definitely.
I closed my notebook and looked at my team.
"This isn't about fixing Malvan," I said quietly.
Apoorv looked up. "Then what is it about?"
I met his gaze.
"It's about realizing we don't have a navy."
Silence followed.
Not confusion.
Understanding.
India had patrol ships.
Coast guards.
Surveillance.
But no system built around Pokémon and water.
No doctrine.
No structure.
No trained force that belonged to the sea the way others belonged to land.
And until that existed—
Places like Malvan would always be holding their breath.
Outside, waves rolled in steadily, indifferent to our concerns.
The sea didn't wait.
And neither would the future.
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