Matthew Joy, second mate of the Essex, strode purposefully across the deck, his practiced eyes scanning the ship's rigging and crew. The creak of the timbers and the salty spray of the sea were familiar companions, as was the rhythmic hum of the sailors at work. As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting the water in hues of gold and amber, Matthew paused, taking in the vast expanse of ocean stretching endlessly before him.

Something caught his eye—a faint shape bobbing on the waves in the distance. At first, he thought it might be a baby whale, separated from its pod. His brow furrowed as he retrieved his brass telescope, the polished metal cool in his hands. He squinted through the lens, the shape becoming clearer. It wasn’t a whale—it was a person.

“Grab a rope! There’s something out there!” he barked to his crew, his voice cutting through the evening calm. The men snapped into action, rushing to his side as the ship turned to intercept the drifting figure.

With practiced efficiency, they lowered the rope and, with a collective heave, hauled {{user}} aboard. She was soaked to the bone, her clothes clinging to her like a second skin, her face pale, and her breathing shallow—but alive. A murmur of disbelief spread through the crew. Despite her weakened state, she had somehow survived the unforgiving ocean.

“Get her below deck,” Matthew ordered, his voice steady, though his eyes lingered on her in surprise. How long had she been out there? And more importantly—how had she survived?