"This grilled squid is actually pretty good," David said, pulling the last bite from the skewer as he and his Zorua wandered between the festival stalls.
"Soro~!" The little Zorua, perched on his shoulder with her own skewer clutched in both tiny paws, nodded enthusiastically. She had been eating with the focused dedication of a Skwovet hoarding berries, her muzzle gleaming with grease.
It had to be said — festivals by the sea never ran short of good food. David and Zorua had spent the entire morning working their way through stall after stall of fresh seafood: grilled clams, salt-crusted prawns, skewered fish, and more squid than either of them could count. By the time the clock crept toward one in the afternoon, neither of them had any interest in a proper lunch.
The crowd had grown considerably since morning. Early on, most of the attendees had been locals — residents of Belon City and the surrounding towns, people whose families had lived along this coastline for generations. Tourists had trickled in slowly at first, but now they filled the streets in force, drawn by the colour and noise of the Sea God Festival.
For the visitors, today was a rare experience. For the locals, it was something else entirely — a tradition stretching back hundreds of years, passed down through families who still carried the memory of Lugia's grace.
The coastal regions of the Cloudspire Alliance had always held a deep reverence for Lugia. Several centuries ago, during the height of the old empire, Lugia had even been officially adopted as the imperial totem. That history ran deep here, visible in the shrine decorations, the ceremonial banners, and the quiet seriousness in the eyes of the older attendees even as the younger ones laughed and ate.
But when you think about it, David mused, Lugia's identity as the Sea God is really something humans gave it.
Kyogre was called the God of the Sea because it genuinely commanded the ocean — its authority over water was absolute, a force of nature in the truest sense. Lugia's power was different. It ruled the skies and the storms, not the depths. Its role as Sea God had been shaped not by the nature of its power, but by the sheer number of coastal communities across generations who had looked to it for protection and received it.
Whether in the Cloudspire Alliance or elsewhere, Lugia was the Pokémon most commonly worshipped in fishing towns and harbour cities. Kyogre, by contrast, had almost no formal worshippers to speak of.
That probably makes sense, David thought. Even in what he knew of Hoenn's history, outside of Archie and Maxie — and he had very little respect for either of them — ordinary people rarely venerated Groudon or Kyogre. Team Aqua and Team Magma had pushed their agendas with alarming conviction, but David suspected that even within those organisations, more than a few members had serious doubts about the goals they were chasing.
Expanding the ocean until landmasses disappeared. Drying out the sea to expose bare earth. Neither outcome was remotely good for anyone living in the world those Legendary Pokémon would have reshaped. It was no wonder people preferred Lugia and Ho-Oh — Legendaries whose power was immense but whose relationship with humanity had always been defined by protection rather than catastrophe.
The morning slipped away faster than David expected. Before long, the announcement boards near the harbour were updating with the start time for the fishing competition, and the preparation area was filling up with participants.
David made his way over, reached into his system space, and drew out the item he had been looking forward to using all day.
The competition rules were straightforward: participants were welcome to bring their own fishing rods. The organisers understood that serious anglers had strong preferences about the equipment they used — the weight of a rod, the feel of the reel, the sensitivity of the line all mattered deeply to anyone who fished with real intent. Standardised rods were available on request, but few of the experienced competitors would touch them.
David had no intention of using a standard rod. The Abyssal Fishing Rod in his hands was a collector's-grade piece of equipment, and he knew it. He was honest enough with himself to admit that his actual fishing skill was modest at best — nowhere near the instinctive level his father had somehow achieved — but the rod had a way of compensating for that gap. Yesterday's catch spoke for itself.
The moment he extended the Abyssal Fishing Rod, the noise around him seemed to drop a register. Eyes turned. Conversations faltered. David could hear the sound of someone swallowing hard nearby. The rod had that effect — its craftsmanship was unmistakable, and for anyone who knew what they were looking at, it was the kind of equipment that stopped you in your tracks.
He ignored the stares and walked directly toward the competition area.
There was one more thing to sort out before the start, however. Unlike most fishing competitions, the Sea God Festival's event didn't take place from the shore. Participants were expected to travel out to designated deep-water zones by Pokémon. It made sense — the festival celebrated the sea, and fishing from the harbour's edge would have felt out of place.
The result was a remarkable sight at the water's edge. Serious competitors had come prepared. Sharpedo cut through the shallows with casual menace. A Gyarados waited with its characteristic air of barely restrained patience. Several Lapras stood in the water looking serene, their long necks held high. A Mantine skimmed near the surface, and a Blastoise sat solidly at the dock while its trainer adjusted gear. One older man had produced a Wailmer, which was, David felt, genuinely impressive — the round Pokémon bobbed cheerfully in place while its trainer looked deeply pleased with himself.
Competitors with smaller Water-type Pokémon — Starmie, Tentacruel, Dewgong — were making use of the small boats the organisers had provided, letting their Pokémon tow them out to the fishing grounds. It was a practical solution, if not a glamorous one.
David watched for a moment, a faint smile on his face, before remembering what he didn't have.
His Shelgon still hadn't undergone the purification process. Once it evolved into a Salamence, transport concerns like this would be irrelevant — there was something uniquely appealing about the idea of hovering over open water on a Salamence's back, line in the water, completely unbothered by anything below. But that was a future problem.
For now, he pulled up the official rental catalogue on his Pokégear and began looking through the available options.
It took him longer than he expected. Most of the smaller rideable Water-types required a tow boat, which added a layer of inconvenience he didn't want. The larger options were more practical, but only one of them felt right.
Lapras.
He had known it would be Lapras the moment he saw it listed. When he was young, he had watched the original series obsessively during summer holidays — Ash and his companions crossing the Orange Islands on Lapras, the Pokémon's gentle gait carrying them across open ocean. He had envied that deeply, with the specific intensity that only a child watching something wonderful on a screen can manage.
Today, for once, he could actually do it.
He confirmed the booking, then checked the price.
Five thousand Poké Coins for a single day. He looked at the Blastoise option out of curiosity: thirty-five hundred. He looked back at Lapras. Then he booked it for three days.
He was going to be in Belon City for a while, and having reliable sea transport for the duration made more sense than renting day by day. The Pokémon League's local branch clearly knew exactly what it was doing when it set Lapras at that price — but David had made a reasonable profit from yesterday's fishing session, and he was not particularly worried about it.
The rental Lapras arrived shortly after, calm and unhurried, its shell glistening in the early afternoon light. David checked the time. The competition was almost ready to begin.
He scooped Zorua up from the dock railing where she had been watching the Wailmer with great interest, tucked her against his side, grabbed his Poké Ball, and headed for the start line.