The Storm
The sea was calm at first — a sheet of silver under the fading sun. Luc leaned against the railing, wind teasing his dark hair as the ship cut through the waves. His mother sat nearby, reading quietly, while his father paced the deck, eyes fixed on the horizon like a man waiting for something more than land.
Luc had always felt the tension between them — unspoken words, glances that carried weight. Tonight, it was heavier than ever.
The crew whispered about a storm brewing far beyond the clouds. Luc didn’t believe them. The sky was clear, stars just beginning to pierce the dusk. Then the first crack of thunder split the silence like a blade.
The wind roared. Waves rose like mountains. The ship groaned under the weight of the ocean’s fury.
Luc clung to the railing as chaos erupted. Sailors shouted, ropes snapped, and the deck tilted violently. His mother screamed as a wave crashed over them, drenching everything in icy saltwater. His father grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the cabin.
“Luc!” his father shouted, voice swallowed by the storm. “Stay with me!”
But another wave struck, tearing them apart. Luc saw his father thrown across the deck, disappearing into the black water. His mother slammed against the mast, her head striking hard. Blood mixed with rain as her body went limp.
Luc’s world became a blur of water and wood and terror. He felt himself lifted, hurled into the sea. Darkness swallowed him whole.
The Island
Luc woke to silence.
The storm was gone. The sea was calm again, but the ship was nowhere in sight. He lay on a stretch of sand, waves licking his feet, the taste of salt and blood in his mouth.
Above him, carved into the rocks, were strange symbols — spirals and jagged lines that pulsed faintly in the moonlight.
He was alone. Or so he thought.
The Healer
Luc stumbled inland, through thick jungle. The air was heavy with the scent of earth and salt, but something felt wrong. No jaguars stalking in the shadows. No venomous snakes curling through the underbrush. No dart frogs flashing deadly colors. Even the insects were harmless — tiny ants, soft-winged moths.
Only simple creatures. Birds chirping softly. Lizards darting across roots.
Luc frowned. Where are all the predators? He shrugged it off. Maybe luck. Maybe the storm drove them away.
He collapsed near a clearing. When he woke again, he was inside a hut, lying on a woven mat. A woman sat beside him — older, calm, her eyes deep pools of knowing.
“You’ve always been stubborn,” she said softly, pressing a damp cloth to his forehead.
Luc blinked. “Do… do I know you?”
She smiled faintly. “Not yet.”
She worked in silence, dipping rags into strange liquids, crushing herbs that smelled of nothing he recognized. She handed him a bitter drink that burned his throat. But as she moved, Luc noticed something odd — her hands hovered just above his wounds, and warmth spread through his skin like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Hours later, Luc sat up, stunned. His cuts had closed. His bruises faded. The remedies made no sense.
“How… how did you do that?” he asked.
The woman’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “The island heals what it chooses.”
The Silent Child
Outside, Luc saw a boy sitting in the dirt, drawing spirals and symbols — the same ones carved into the rocks. The boy looked about eight, his hair wild, his eyes bright with mischief.
Luc crouched. “Hey. What’s that?”
The boy smiled but said nothing. He finished the spiral, then added a cat’s eye symbol glowing faintly in the moonlight. Luc felt a strange tug in his mind, like a dream half-remembered.
“Where’d you learn that?” Luc asked.
The boy grinned wider, then ran off into the jungle without a word.
Later, Luc would see the same boy in an old mural — unchanged.
The Storyteller
That night, Luc sat by a fire with others from the village. Shadows danced across their faces as flames crackled. A man with a voice like gravel began to speak.
“Three centuries ago,” he said, “a spirit of light fled here after losing a war against darkness. It hid on this island, and the island became its refuge — a balance between good and evil.”
Luc listened, skeptical but intrigued.
“Those who find this place,” the man continued, “carry goodness in their soul. Evil cannot see this island. It is blind to it.”
Luc frowned. “Sounds like a fairy tale.”
The man’s eyes glinted. “Fairy tales are warnings. And this one has teeth.”
He leaned closer. “The island protects its own. It guards memory. Names of darkness cannot be spoken here. Nor names tied to its war. Speak them, and the protection breaks.”
Luc felt a chill. He didn’t understand why those words unsettled him so deeply.
The storyteller smiled faintly. “Every story begins as truth.”
The Hooded Fisherman
Later, Luc wandered toward the shore. A figure stood at the edge of a cliff, fishing rod in hand, hood drawn low to hide his face. He faced the endless ocean, unmoving, as if carved from stone.
Luc approached cautiously, but something inside him — a primal, spiritual fear — kept him from stepping closer. His instincts screamed: Stay back.
“Beautiful view,” Luc said, voice tentative.
The man didn’t turn. “It’s the only view.”
Luc glanced at the endless ocean. “How far is this from… anywhere?”
The hooded man’s voice was calm, almost cold. “Far enough that maps lie.”
Luc smirked. “Every place is on a map.”
“Not this one,” the man said. “The island chooses.”
Luc laughed softly. “Sounds like a fairy tale.”
“Fairy tales are warnings,” the man murmured.
Luc’s eyes drifted to the fishing rod — and froze. Carved into the wood was a strange symbol: a cat’s eye, glowing faint blue. Something about it tugged at his mind, like a dream half-remembered. He couldn’t place it.
He opened his mouth to ask, but the man spoke first. “Night falls fast here.”
Luc hesitated, then turned away. He didn’t notice the hooded man’s lips curve into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
Flashback
Hours earlier… A candle flickered in a small cabin below deck. Luc’s father sat alone, hunched over a table where a parchment lay — a contract written in ink that shimmered like oil. Across from him stood a figure cloaked in shadows, its voice a whisper that seemed to crawl inside the walls.
“You understand the terms,” the spirit said. “Power for obedience.”
His father’s hand trembled as he signed his name. “I’ll do what you ask,” he muttered. “Just… keep them safe.”
The spirit’s laugh was soft, cruel. “Safety is an illusion. You’ve bought strength, not peace.”
The candle guttered out, leaving only darkness.
Luc lay awake that night in a hut, staring at the ceiling of woven reeds. Outside, the jungle whispered secrets he couldn’t hear. And somewhere in the dark, the hooded man watched.
To be continued…
