He found them where the river widened again, spreading into a shallow basin cluttered with half-submerged logs and smooth stones worn pale by centuries of flow. The current here slowed into lazy spirals, collecting silt and algae in abundance. It was, by all practical measures, a good place for a Feebas to exist.
Which was why so many did.
They hovered close to the riverbed, bodies angled downward as they fed in silence. Some moved in short, repetitive loops. Others stayed nearly motionless, scraping and drifting with minimal effort. Their presence was constant but unremarkable, like background noise made visible.
He approached cautiously, keeping to the outer edge of the group.
This was the first time he had chosen to seek out others of his kind rather than stumble into them by necessity. The decision carried weight. If he was going to exist in this world without a trainer, without guidance, then these were the closest things he had to peers.
*If anyone understands this body,* he thought, *it's them.*
He slowed, matching their pace, letting the current nudge him into alignment. For a brief moment, the rhythm almost felt natural.
Almost.
Up close, the differences became impossible to ignore.
The others moved without hesitation. When the current shifted, they adjusted instantly, no deliberation required. When food thinned in one spot, they drifted to another without frustration or regret. Their awareness was narrow but complete, focused entirely on the immediate present.
There was no tension in them.
No resistance.
He felt it then—the distance between them that had nothing to do with physical space.
*They aren't thinking,* he realized. *Not like I am.*
The conclusion should have been obvious, but acknowledging it brought a strange ache with it. These Feebas were not trapped in their bodies. They did not experience their forms as limitations or disappointments. They simply *were*.
He tried to imitate them.
He loosened his mental grip, letting instinct guide his movements without interference. His body responded eagerly, smoothing out its motions, conserving energy. For a few precious moments, the constant edge of vigilance dulled.
The relief was immediate—and terrifying.
Thoughts blurred. Time lost its shape. The world narrowed to sensation alone: scrape, drift, turn, repeat.
A sharp jolt snapped him back.
One of the Feebas had bumped into him, harder than before. The contact sent a ripple through his body that felt oddly invasive, like a disruption rather than a collision. The other Feebas flinched, darting away with uncharacteristic speed before settling again at a distance.
Irritation pulsed faintly through the water.
Not anger. Not fear.
Discomfort.
*They don't like this,* he realized. *They don't like me.*
It wasn't personal—not in any way that resembled human rejection. His presence carried something unfamiliar, a kind of friction against their instinctual calm. Where they flowed, he resisted. Where they surrendered, he questioned.
To them, he was noise.
He withdrew slightly, giving them space. The others resumed feeding almost immediately, the brief disturbance forgotten. No one followed him. No one watched.
The indifference stung more than open hostility would have.
---
He lingered nearby, observing them from a short distance.
One Feebas, smaller than the rest, struggled against a slightly stronger current near a slanted rock. It made repeated, inefficient attempts to hold position, expending energy it could not afford. Eventually, it drifted away, conceding the spot without protest.
Another took its place without hesitation.
No frustration. No sense of loss.
*Is that peace?* he wondered. *Or is it emptiness?*
The question circled endlessly without landing anywhere solid.
As time passed, he noticed patterns. Certain feeding spots rotated naturally as individuals drifted in and out. No territory was defended aggressively. Conflict, when it occurred at all, was brief and purely physical—bumps, nudges, momentary displacement.
There was no hierarchy.
No ambition.
They existed in a state of quiet sufficiency, shaped entirely by the river's demands.
Part of him envied them.
Another part recoiled.
If he stayed here long enough, if he let himself sink fully into that rhythm, would his thoughts soften and dissolve? Would his memories fade not because of time, but because they were no longer *useful*?
The idea frightened him more than predators or humans ever had.
He drifted closer again, this time intentionally projecting calm—relaxing his movements, smoothing the mental turbulence that seemed to unsettle the others. The response was subtle but noticeable. The nearest Feebas did not flinch away this time. It continued feeding, accepting his presence as it would a rock or log.
Acceptance, bought at the cost of self.
The trade felt wrong.
He pulled back once more, choosing solitude over erosion.
---
The river shifted as afternoon waned, light angling differently through the water. Shadows lengthened along the basin floor. Some of the Feebas drifted toward deeper sections, others toward sheltered pockets near submerged debris.
No goodbyes were exchanged.
He found himself alone again without any clear moment of separation.
The realization settled heavily: being among his own kind did not guarantee belonging.
If anything, it clarified the truth he had been circling since waking.
He was not simply a Feebas who remembered being human.
He was something in between—caught in a space where instinct and awareness collided without fully merging.
That space was lonely.
He drifted away from the basin, back toward the narrower channel where the current ran stronger and the feeding was worse. The choice was irrational from a survival standpoint—but deliberate.
Effort kept him awake.
Struggle kept his thoughts sharp.
As the basin receded behind him, the faint vibrations of the other Feebas faded into the river's background hum. He felt a twinge of loss—not for them, but for the version of himself that might have found peace there.
He let it go.
Somewhere ahead, the river bent sharply, disappearing into darker water and unknown terrain. The current tugged at him insistently, as if urging him forward.
He followed it.
Not because he expected to find something better.
But because standing still among others like him had taught him the most important lesson yet:
Survival was not enough.
And whatever he was becoming—
It would not be decided by the comfort of the shoal.