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Dawn began to rise, spilling its light across the horizon.
A new journey had truly begun.
Arthur awoke with a sharp throbbing in his head. A rough wooden ceiling hung low above him, dark and close. The scent of warm spices mixed with damp wood filled the air. When he shifted his shoulder, pain spread through him—his wounds had been carefully bandaged, each knot tied with experienced hands.
He sat up slowly. The world tilted slightly. Arthur steadied his breath, then glanced through a small window.
Outside, the island lived in a quiet, unfamiliar rhythm. Fishermen hauled in their nets along the shore, children ran across the sand, their laughter carried by the sea breeze. There was no trace of the storm, no sign of a ship nearly torn apart—as if that night had never happened.
Then he saw Sean.
He stood among the fishermen, helping pull in the nets with ease. He let out a small laugh, his face bright, his movements light—too light for someone who had nearly died the night before. Arthur swallowed. Relief crept in… alongside a strange unease he couldn't quite explain.
Soft footsteps sounded behind him.
An old woman entered, carrying a tray of warm soup and herbal remedies. Her hair was completely white, her gaze calm yet sharp—observing without judging.
"Your head is still throbbing?" she asked gently.
Arthur gave a brief nod.
She set the tray beside the bed. Her eyes drifted to the window, following Arthur's line of sight, then she smiled faintly.
Arthur looked at her. "Where is this?"
The woman did not answer immediately. She poured the herbal mixture into a clay cup and gently slid it toward him.
"Drink," she said. "It will help you recover."
Arthur complied. The bitterness was sharp, but the warmth steadied him.
"This island…" the woman finally said, "is called Thalassia."
Arthur frowned. "Thalassia? The name feels unfamiliar. I've never heard of this place."
"Not everything that exists needs to be known," she replied calmly. "Thalassia is a place of passage. For ships that lose their way. For those who are on the brink of drowning—literally or otherwise."
Arthur looked outside again. Sean was now helping distribute the catch. Large fish filled the nets. His movements were normal—yet something about it unsettled Arthur. Something he couldn't name.
"What happened to us?" Arthur asked. "Our ship—"
"It was destroyed by the current," the woman cut in softly. "Three days ago. Our fishermen found you before the sea took what remained."
Arthur fell silent. His memory struggled to piece together fragments that refused to settle.
The woman rose to her feet. "I am Dermala," she said. "The elder of this island."
She stepped toward the door, then paused.
"Rest," she added without turning back. "The rest of your answers will come when your body is ready to receive them."
The hut door closed quietly behind her.
Arthur remained by the window.
In the distance, Sean turned briefly—their eyes met. Sean raised a hand, smiling, as if to say I'm fine.
Arthur returned it with a small nod.
But when Sean turned away—
his shadow on the sand lagged behind for a fraction of a second—
then snapped back into place.
Arthur exhaled slowly.
Where are we…? he thought.
And what exactly happened?