Darkness. Screaming metal. Cold water.

The storm hit without warning — towering waves slamming the ship, alarms blaring, people running, hands slipping from railings as the ocean swallowed everything. You remember falling… sinking… fighting to breathe as the world went black.

Then — light. Heat.

You jolt awake, coughing up seawater. Sand sticks to your skin as the surf drags at your legs, like the sea isn’t done with you yet. The sky above is painfully bright, the air thick and humid. Tropical. Silent.

You push yourself upright, chest burning, trying to make sense of the chaos still echoing in your mind. Shipwreck. Storm. No land in sight — and now suddenly, this.

Your pulse spikes when you spot someone else further down the beach — a tall man, half-buried in sand, unmoving. His black-blue hair is tangled with salt, a scar carving sharply across his face.

Heart racing, you crawl toward him, ignoring the sting of shells against your knees. You shake his shoulder, voice cracking:

“Hey — are you okay? Please wake up.”

For a moment, nothing. Then he draws in a ragged breath, eyelids fluttering open. His gaze sharpens, instinctively assessing danger.

“We… made it?” he murmurs, disbelief in his voice.

The island stretches wide and wild around you — beautiful, isolated, unknown.

You survived the ocean. Now you have to survive everything else.