The island itself was odd. The trees were overgrown—crowded together like they were trying to keep people out on purpose. The damn things stretched so high their canopy swallowed the sky whole, turning everything underneath into a permanent twilight.
And there was this familiar feeling. Something old. It wasn't a beast or a creature. It was coming from the island itself—the trees, the soil, the air, all of it. Like the whole place was alive and aware and had been waiting.
And what made the almost nonexistent hair on his arms stand up wasn't the presence.
It was what happened the moment his feet hit the ground.
It caught him. Like the earth beneath him recognized him. Like the island had been holding its breath for a long time, and he was the exhale.
Every step felt cushioned. Soft. Like the island was catching his weight before it could tire him out, carrying him forward the way a current carries a ship—not pushing, not pulling. Just guiding. Like it wanted him here.
