The river warned him before the danger arrived.
It was not a sound, not a sight, but a distortion—pressure bending where it shouldn't, currents shifting as if something immense were displacing them from a distance. The water grew tense, drawn taut like a held breath.
He froze.
Instinct screamed *hide*, but instinct alone was no longer enough. He needed to know *where*.
He sank lower, pressing himself into a shallow depression between stones where the current weakened and sediment gathered. His body flattened naturally now, fins tucking in without conscious command. He angled his scales downward, minimizing his outline.
The river darkened.
Not with shadow alone, but with presence.
Every small Pokémon nearby reacted at once. Vibrations scattered in sharp, panicked bursts—Goldeen darting away, Corphish retreating under rocks, even the ever-present Feebas vanishing into crevices and silt. The basin emptied in seconds, leaving behind only drifting sediment and the low, ominous pulse of something approaching.
He stayed.
Running would expose him.
The pulse grew stronger, heavier, each movement sending rolling pressure through the water that rattled stone against stone. His body trembled—not from cold, not from hunger, but from the sheer scale of what was coming.
Then it emerged.
The first thing he saw was not teeth or eyes, but *mass*.
A vast, armored form slid into view through the murk, coils moving with terrifying grace. Its body was scarred and thick, plates overlapping like living armor. Crimson markings glowed faintly along its sides, cutting through the green-brown water like embers beneath ash.
A Gyarados.
It filled the channel without effort, claiming space simply by existing. The current curved around it, reshaped by its passage. The water pressed him harder against the stones as it drew closer, the force of its movement threatening to dislodge him despite his careful positioning.
He did not breathe.
He did not think.
He *endured*.
The Gyarados slowed as it passed through the narrowest point of the channel. One massive eye rolled lazily, scanning its domain. For a heartbeat that stretched into eternity, its gaze swept across the riverbed.
He felt it pass over him.
Not seeing him.
*Measuring* him.
The pressure intensified, as if the water itself had grown heavier. His scales vibrated under the weight of the Gyarados's presence, every instinct screaming submission.
He did not move.
If the Gyarados noticed him fully—if it decided he was worth acknowledging at all—this would end in an instant.
The great Pokémon continued forward.
Its tail followed last, a colossal sweep of muscle that sent a shockwave through the channel. The force tore sediment from the riverbed, spinning him violently despite his grip. He scraped against stone, pain flaring sharply as his hold broke.
The current seized him.
He was flung sideways, tumbling end over end, the world dissolving into chaos. Rocks slammed into his sides. The water roared in his senses, overwhelming and disorienting.
He had no control.
Not over direction. Not over speed.
Only one thought cut through the panic, clear and sharp:
*Don't let go.*
He twisted instinctively, angling his body to catch the edge of a protruding stone. His fins scraped raw as they dug in, muscles screaming under the strain. For a terrifying second, it wasn't enough.
Then friction caught.
He slammed into the stone hard enough to jar his senses, but he held. The current tore at him relentlessly, trying to peel him away, but he clung with everything he had left.
Slowly—agonizingly—the pressure eased.
The Gyarados was gone.
The river did not calm immediately. The water churned for long moments afterward, currents colliding and unraveling before settling back into familiar patterns. Sediment drifted down in a thick cloud, reducing the world to a murky blur.
He stayed where he was, body pressed against stone, trembling.
Pain spread dully through his sides and fins, every scrape and bruise announcing itself now that the immediate danger had passed. Hunger flared sharply, fueled by the sudden expenditure of energy.
He didn't move.
He couldn't.
Time passed in fragments. Awareness flickered, dimming and sharpening in uneven cycles. When clarity returned fully, the river had resumed its steady flow, indifferent to what had nearly ended him.
He loosened his grip cautiously, testing his strength.
It held.
He drifted back into the shallow depression, movements slow and careful. The basin was empty now, stripped of life by the Gyarados's passage. Even the algae seemed disturbed, torn away in places by the violent current.
He was alone.
The realization landed with a strange mix of fear and clarity.
*This is the scale of this world,* he thought. *This is what exists beyond me.*
The Gyarados had not hunted him. It had not even acknowledged him as prey. He was beneath consideration, a speck clinging to stone while giants passed through.
The thought should have crushed him.
Instead, it settled into something steadier.
He had survived.
Not by strength. Not by luck alone.
By preparation. By restraint. By knowing when to hide and when to hold.
The river had tested him with something truly overwhelming—and he had not broken.
As he drifted slowly toward a safer pocket, the pain in his body began to dull, replaced by a deep, exhausting ache. His movements were sluggish, but controlled. The hunger remained, sharp and insistent, but it no longer panicked him.
*I can exist in a world like this,* he realized, the certainty surprising him.
Not by competing with monsters.
But by understanding them.
The shadow of the Gyarados lingered long after it had gone, etched into his awareness as a reminder of how small he was—and how much that smallness demanded respect.
The river flowed on.
And within it, a Feebas who had stared into the presence of a living catastrophe and chosen, quietly, to endure.