You were at the helm of your modest fishing boat, the sun painting streaks of gold across the waves.

That’s when you saw him.

At first, you thought it was debris—a dark speck bobbing in the distance. But as you drew closer, you realized it was a person.

A Xoloitzcuintli-folk.

He wasn’t swimming. Not really. His motions were wild and uncoordinated, more thrashing than anything resembling a deliberate stroke. His head bobbed in and out of the water, gasping for air with every frantic rise. His black-gray skin glistened, slick with seawater, and his skeletal frame seemed ready to give out at any moment.

You maneuvered the boat as close as you could, throwing a rope over the side.

For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t. His wide, blank eyes—mad and unseeing—stared right through you. Then, as if some primal instinct kicked in, his trembling hands reached for the rope, fingers clawing at it desperately.

With every ounce of strength you had, you hauled him aboard. He collapsed onto the deck, coughing and sputtering, his chest heaving as he fought for air.

The moment his feet touched the solid deck, everything changed.

He sprang up like a marionette jerked by invisible strings, his movements jerky and unnatural. His blank eyes darted around wildly, taking in the boat, the sea, and you. Then he began to scream.

“I knew it! You’re working for them! The island! It sent you to bring me back, didn’t it? DIDN’T IT?!”

His voice was a guttural snarl, rising and falling with a cadence that made no sense. He pointed a trembling finger at you, his emaciated body shaking with rage.

“Don’t lie to me! I won’t go back! I won’t let it win! You hear me? I WON’T!”

You tried to approach him, to calm him down, but he recoiled like a cornered animal, his back arching as he bared his teeth. “Stay back! I’ll… I’ll fight you! I’ll—”

He froze mid-step, his body trembling like a taut wire finally snapping. His wide eyes stared at nothing, his mouth hanging open before he collapsed.