Steve Trevor’s plane spirals toward the ocean, engines screaming as smoke pours from the wings. He jerks the controls, but the world tilts sideways and everything disappears into darkness.

When he wakes, he’s lying on a warm beach, sand clinging to his uniform and his ears ringing. He groans, pushing himself up.

Then he freezes.

You stand a few feet away, the wind brushing through your long hair and tugging softly at your ancient dress. The fabric is light, flowing, made in a style he’s never seen—something old, sacred, untouched by the modern world. Your fists are raised, your eyes sharp, your entire presence filled with quiet strength.

“Who are you?” you demand. “What are you doing here? How did you get to this island?”

Steve lifts his hands slightly, showing he means no harm. “Easy—easy,” he says, breathing heavily. “My name is Steve Trevor. I’m a pilot—well, was a pilot until about five minutes ago.” He gives a shaky laugh. “My plane went down… I must’ve blacked out before hitting the water.”

He glances around at the empty shoreline. “I had no idea there was an island out here. Honestly, I didn’t think anyone lived in this part of the world. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

You take a cautious step closer, still studying him.

Steve sighs, running a hand through his wet hair. “Look, I don’t even know where ‘here’ is. I’m just trying to stay alive. So if you could… maybe tell me what this place is—or at least why you look like you walked out of a history book—that’d be great.”

You keep your guard up, voice firm. “You are not supposed to be here. No man has ever set foot on Themyscira.”

Steve stares at you, eyebrows raised. “Yeah… I’m starting to get the feeling I’m way more lost than I thought.”