Dawn began to break, its light slowly revealing itself. A new journey truly began.
Arthur woke with a violent pounding in his head. A rough wooden ceiling loomed just above him, dark and low. The scent of warm spices mixed with damp wood filled his nose. When he shifted his shoulder, a sharp sting ran through him—his wounds had been carefully wrapped, the bandages tied with practiced hands.
He sat up slowly. The world tilted slightly. Arthur held his breath, then peered out through a small window.
Outside, an island lived on in a quiet, unfamiliar way. Fishermen hauled nets along the shore, children ran across the sand, light laughter carried by the sea breeze. There was no trace of a storm, no sign of a ship nearly destroyed—as if the night before had never happened.
Then he saw Sean.
He stood among the fishermen, helping pull in the nets with easy skill. He laughed softly, his face bright, his movements light—far too light for someone who had nearly died the night before. Arthur swallowed. Relief crept in… along with a strangeness he couldn't quite explain.
Soft footsteps sounded behind him.
An elderly woman entered, carrying a tray of warm soup and herbal remedies. Her hair was completely white, her eyes calm and sharp, as if assessing without judging.
"Is your head still pounding?" she asked gently.
Arthur gave a brief nod.
The woman set the tray beside the bed. She glanced out the window, following Arthur's gaze, then offered a faint smile.
Arthur looked at her. "Where are we?"
She didn't answer right away. She poured the mixture into a clay cup and slid it gently toward him.
"Drink this." she said. "It will help you recover."
Arthur obeyed. The bitterness was sharp, but the warmth was soothing.
"This island…" the woman continued at last, "is called Thalassia."
Arthur frowned. "Thalassia? The name feels unfamiliar. I don't know this island."
"Not everything real needs to be known," she replied calmly. "Thalassia is a place of passage. For lost ships. For people who nearly drowned—literally or otherwise."
Arthur looked outside again. Sean was now helping distribute the catch. Large fish filled the nets. His movements were natural—yet something about him unsettled Arthur, something he couldn't yet name.
"What happened to us?" Arthur asked. "Our ship—"
"Destroyed by the current," the woman interrupted softly. "Three days ago. Our fishermen found you before the sea claimed the rest."
Arthur fell silent. His memory tried to piece together fragments that refused to align.
The woman stood. "I am Dermala," she said. "An elder of this island."
She stepped toward the door, then paused.
"Rest," she added without turning back. "The other answers will come when your body is ready to receive them."
The hut door closed gently.
Arthur remained by the window. In the distance, Sean glanced back— their eyes met. Sean raised a hand, smiling, as if to say I'm fine.
Arthur returned a small nod.
But when Sean turned away, his shadow on the sand seemed to lag behind by a fraction of a second—then merged again.
Arthur exhaled.
Where are we… he thought. And what really happened?