Island of Lost Souls

The salty spray kissed Elias’s face, a sharp, invigorating slap that chased away the lingering chill of the storm. His ship, the *Sea Serpent*, groaned beneath him, its timbers settling after the tempest’s fury. Beside him, Anya adjusted the worn leather strap of her bow, her gaze fixed on the hazy silhouette on the horizon. It was an island, a smudge of green against the bruised twilight sky, and the only land they’d seen in days.

“Are you sure about this, Elias?” Anya’s voice was low, a murmur against the rhythmic crash of waves. “The charts are vague about these waters. Old maps speak of a place here… a place where ships vanish.”

Elias nodded, his jaw tight. “We need provisions. And this storm has battered us. If we don’t find shelter and water soon, we won’t last much longer.” He met her worried eyes, his own filled with a steely resolve. “The legends say it’s an island of the lost. But all islands were lost until someone found them.”