Nasugbu, Batangas, Philippines — Year 1827
Chris stepped onto the creaking deck of the Twilight, the steamship's engines hissing softly beneath the heavy morning fog. The cold air bit into his skin, but it was the weight pressing down on his chest that unsettled him most. His breath came shallow and uneven as his eyes darted around, trying to make sense of the shadowy shapes swallowed by the mist. Was he alive? Dead? Somewhere in between? The line separating life from death blurred like a fading dream, and the uncertainty gnawed relentlessly at his mind.
His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair, fingers tangling in the strands in a desperate attempt to ground himself. Panic surged, swirling with confusion—why was he here? How had he come to this place that felt both familiar and alien? Time slipped through his grasp like smoke, leaving only questions that echoed in the hollow chambers of his mind.
From the fog, a soft rustling stirred the silence. Chris's gaze lifted to a silhouette, descending from the dark sky—majestic, otherworldly, wings unfurled against the pale light. The voice that followed was calm but carried an undeniable authority.
"Welcome, Captain," it intoned—both a promise and a command.
Chris's heart thundered, the madness within him retreating just enough to reveal the weight of his fate. His journey had begun—not as a lost man, but as the ferryman bound to guide souls through the eternal night.