What the Island Kept
The makeshift boat crashed into the mouth of the shore with a soft groan, wood scraping against wet rock, and Kairos nearly pitched face-first into the shallows trying to keep his balance on it.
He jumped off fast, boots splashing into the ankle-deep water, then grabbed the front of the raft and dragged it farther up the shore before the tide could catch it and pull it back out.
Only once the raft was safely out of reach did he finally stop.
He bent over, hands resting on his knees, breathing hard.
For a few seconds, he didn't look up.
He just listened.
Water rolled gently against the black rocks behind him. Waves hissed as they retreated, leaving thin sheets of water between the cracks in the stone before being swallowed by the next wave.
No screaming.
No monsters.
No explosions.
No sudden movement beneath the water.
Kairos slowly straightened.
"Okay," he muttered.
He looked around.
The beach wasn't sand.
