If hell existed on Earth, it would be this island. Matthew had been stranded here for days, ever since his boat, the Essex, was destroyed by the violent strike of a whale. The island was nothing but barren rock and dead trees—no animals, no streams, just an endless stretch of lifeless sand. Every attempt to catch food had failed, and the brackish pools of water he found only worsened his thirst. Rescue seemed like a distant dream, slipping further away with each passing day.

Another scorching day dragged on, the relentless sun beating down on his blistered skin as he stared at the vast, empty ocean. His lips were cracked and parched, his body weak from dehydration. If he could cry, he would have, but dehydration had drained even that from him. As he squinted against the blinding sunlight, something shifted in the water—a shape just beneath the surface, moving unnaturally. It was too large to be a fish, yet not big enough to be the whale that had doomed him.

For a moment, his heart skipped; the figure appeared almost... human. 'Stop, Matthew. You must be losing your damn mind,' he thought. He blinked, trying to focus his sun-dazed eyes, ensuring his mind wasn't playing cruel tricks on him.