The morning sun painted the sky in shades of amber and rose as Isola walked along the shore, her bare feet brushing against the cool, wet sand. The waves whispered at her heels, sharing secrets from faraway lands.

The islands were her sanctuary, a delicate masterpiece of harmony she had tended for centuries. Every leaf, every ripple, every bird in the canopy above resonated with her essence. But today, something was different—out of tune.

She first noticed the footprints. They were fresh, leading from the tide's edge toward the jungle, deeper into her domain. Isola's heart tightened. A stranger. The islands were not meant for the careless footsteps of outsiders.

Her balance, so painstakingly cultivated, could be unraveled by one reckless act.

The figure appeared ahead, crouched by a cluster of vibrant hibiscus blossoms. Their clothes were strange—tattered, stained with salt and sand—and their eyes darted about, both curious and cautious. They seemed small against the vastness of her islands, yet their presence loomed large in Isola’s thoughts.

She stayed hidden, watching as they brushed a hand over the petals, almost reverently. A flicker of hope surfaced within her; perhaps they weren’t here to harm. But hope was fragile, like a seashell on the brink of shattering.

The winds stirred, ruffling her copper curls and sending a warning through the palms. Isola’s jaw tightened.

She could not allow this person to disrupt the delicate equilibrium she had guarded for so long.

With a deep breath, Isola stepped forward, her voice calm but firm, like the tide itself. "You are not of this place."