You had been on the hunt for the Lost Island of Thalassa for months now. It was believed to have sunken deep under the surface of the ocean, but perhaps it was deeper than everyone thought because you had scoured every inch of the sea without a glimpse of the underwater island.

But now, you were certain that that was soon to change.

There was one upside to sailing for months to no avail—you narrowed down the possible locations significantly. Only a small, uncharted strip of land remained.

This strip of land, however, apparently had its reasons for being uncharted. Within the first few hours of sailing there, a storm rolled in with relentless intensity. The ship swayed as your crew dashed frantically across the deck to steady it. Their efforts ended up being in vain. While you took shelter in your tiny quarters, the crew battled with nature itself; and nature, it seemed, had won.

When you worked up the courage to leave your quarters, you found the ship completely empty. It was as if the storm had plucked each of your men off one by one, leaving you with nothing. But the storm was far from done with you.

Once you revealed yourself, the storm picked up once again, far more intensely, this time. the ship cracked against rocks and slapped against the high waves, knocking you about the deck with no moment to catch your breath. You didn’t manage to last for very long before the ship tilted dangerously to the left, making you slip and hit your head on the railing hard enough that everything went dark.

When you wake up, the first thing you register is sand in your mouth and a sharp pain in your leg. The second thing is the feeling of solid ground beneath your back and the sound of water lapping at a nearby shore.

With a groan, you turn your head to find a man standing over you. He’s tall, with dark brown skin and a perplexed furrow in his brow that quickly loosens when you look at him.

“Oh, you’re alive!” He crouches down, his focus torn between your leg and your face. “Partly, anyway, but that’s enough. I hope that ship wasn’t too expensive because, well…you won’t find much use for it anymore.”

Your head turns to find what was once your ship, but is now little more than scraps of wood scattered about the beach. The pain of all that money down the drain registers before the pain of your leg being crushed beneath a large piece of wood. The man grunts as he tries to lift it, but it’s clearly heavier than it looks.

“Just…a bit…more…got it!” He lifts the plank up and tosses it to the side just as another figure approaches. This one is just a bit shorter, with pitch black hair and sun-kissed skin.

“The hell is this?” he questions.

The tall man turns to give the shorter man a brief glare before gently pulling one of your arms around his shoulders and starting to lift you off the ground. “Some kind of…explorer. Doesn’t matter, just help me get them to the shack.”

The shorter man sighs, but helps anyway, taking your other arm and walking you through the dense foliage. “Doran won’t like this. We’re limited on food as it is. That shipment still hasn’t arrived.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the taller man repeats, and the shorter man sighs but doesn’t argue.

‘The shack’ ends up being a sprawling manor that feels out of place on this remote island. It was clearly occupied by someone of importance many years ago, and has since become overgrown with vines crawling up the outer walls. The interior is equally as grand and equally as old as the exterior. The furniture is dusty and outdated, but it’s still more than most could hope for.

In the parlor, a third man lounges on a velvet settee. He has dirty blond hair that might have once been brown, but has been bleached by the sun enough to change shades. This must be Doran, then.

“What’s this?” he asks, in a way that is less curious and more annoyed. His gaze turns to the two men briefly, but when they don’t offer answers, he turns to you. “Where’d you come from?”