( Trial )
The fire burned for three days.
By the fourth morning, the harbor no longer smelled like salt.
It smelled like smoke, iron… and silence.
Vikash Kumar Soy walked through the ruins barefoot, stepping over blackened wood and melted rope, The ocean waves still rolled in gently, as if nothing had happened, As if ships hadn't sunk, As if lives hadn't vanished.
The world had already begun to move on.
But he hadn't.
The once-busy port now looked like the skeleton of a forgotten city, Half-burned boats drifted near the shore, The docks were broken ribs sticking out of the sea. Crows circled above, their cries sharp and impatient.
Vikash didn't cry anymore.
Tears had run out somewhere between the second and third night.
He stopped in front of the execution platform, The wooden stage still stood, charred but stubborn, like it refused to fall even after witnessing death.
Dark stains remained on the floor.
He stared at them.
His hands slowly curled into fists.
A memory echoed in his mind — his father laughing as he struggled to tie sailor knots.
"The sea respects patience, Vikash, Panic is how sailors drown."
Vikash swallowed hard.
Patience.
He repeated the word silently.
Because rage was screaming inside him like a storm begging to break free.
Behind him, footsteps approached carefully.
"Vikash…"
His mother's voice trembled like thin glass.
He didn't turn around.
She walked closer, her sari stained with ash, her eyes hollow from sleepless nights, She placed a hand on his shoulder, but it felt lighter than he remembered, As if grief had taken part of her weight.
"We need to leave," she whispered, "There is nothing left here."
Vikash looked out at the horizon, Endless blue, Endless freedom, Endless lies.
"This was home," he said quietly.
His mother's fingers tightened.
"Home is not a place," she said, "Home is the people who survive."
He finally turned toward her.
Survive.
The word sounded wrong. Ugly. Weak.
His father hadn't survived.
The sailors hadn't survived.
The city hadn't survived.
Why should he?
"Where will we go?" he asked.
"Anywhere the navy isn't."
That answer told him everything.
The navy wasn't done.
This wasn't a punishment.
This was a warning.
A message to the world.
Vikash looked back at the ocean, Waves glittered under the sun like nothing had changed.
He hated it.
How could something so beautiful witness so much cruelty and remain calm?
He stepped toward the water slowly until the waves touched his feet, The water was cold… but gentle.
It didn't feel like an enemy.
It felt like something waiting.
Waiting for him to grow.
Waiting for him to return.
He knelt and dipped his hands into the sea.
"I don't understand you yet," he whispered. "But one day, I will."
A loud crash interrupted the moment.
A group of navy soldiers marched into the ruined harbor.
Vikash's heart froze.
His mother gasped quietly and pulled him behind a broken fishing boat, They crouched silently as the soldiers began inspecting the remains of the dock.
"They're searching for survivors," one soldier muttered.
"No," another replied, "We're searching for witnesses."
Vikash's breathing stopped.
Witnesses.
Not survivors.
Witnesses.
The officer from the execution stepped forward — the same man with the cold eyes and silver armor.
Vikash's nails dug into his palms.
He remembered that face.
Every detail. Every line. Every shadow.
"Report," the officer demanded.
"No ships remain, sir, No documents either."
"Good," the officer replied, "The Sea Throne remains a myth."
The words hit Vikash like thunder.
Sea Throne.
He didn't know what it meant.
But his father had died because of it.
"Burn whatever remains," the officer ordered, "No history. No memory."
Vikash felt his mother's hand shaking against his arm.
More fire.
More destruction.
They were erasing the past completely.
Rage exploded inside his chest, hot and violent, He almost stood up. Almost screamed, Almost ran toward the soldiers.
His mother pulled him closer.
"Not now," she whispered urgently, "If you move, you die."
Die.
The word cut through the storm in his head.
His father's voice echoed again.
Patience.
Vikash shut his eyes and forced his breathing to slow.
Not now.
But one day.
The soldiers lit new flames and marched away without looking back, Smoke rose into the sky once more, but this time Vikash didn't feel helpless.
He felt something colder.
Something sharper.
Understanding.
The navy wasn't justice.
The navy wasn't protection.
The navy was fear wearing armor.
As the soldiers disappeared beyond the hills, his mother finally exhaled. Her grip loosened, but her voice remained firm.
"We leave tonight."
Vikash nodded.
He stood and walked to the shoreline one last time.
The waves washed away his footprints as soon as they appeared.
No evidence.
No memory.
Just like the navy wanted.
He looked down at the ocean and spoke softly.
"I will come back."
The wind picked up, rippling the surface of the water.
"And when I do… I won't be running."
His reflection stared back at him — not as a child.
But as a promise waiting to grow.
Behind him, the last remains of the harbor collapsed into ash.
Ahead of him, the ocean stretched endlessly toward a future he couldn't yet see.
But for the first time since the fire began, Vikash felt something new rise inside his chest.
Not grief.
Not rage.
Purpose.
The journey had not begun with a ship.
It had begun with ashes.