The sea was calm that morning—too calm, as if it were holding its breath.
Under a vast blue sky, a white yacht cut smoothly across the glittering surface of the water. Laughter echoed across the deck, mingling with music carried by the breeze. For a brief moment, the world felt perfect.
The Arthur family stood together near the bow.
They were a family of five, newly risen into the upper class, yet beloved by those who knew them. Wealth had found them, but arrogance never did. They spoke kindly to strangers, treated staff with respect, and carried themselves with a warmth that money could not buy.
Jerson Arthur, the father, stood tall with a relaxed smile. Years of responsibility had etched faint lines into his face, but his eyes were calm and steady. Beside him was his wife, Helen, elegant and gentle, her laughter light as she brushed stray hair from her face.
Their children were nearby.
Jake, the eldest son, leaned against the railing, humming along to the music. Dian, their daughter, stood close to James—the youngest—her hand resting protectively on the handle of his wheelchair.
James Arthur was only fifteen.
His legs were thin and motionless beneath a blanket, but his smile was genuine. He watched the sea with quiet fascination, the wind brushing his hair as sunlight danced across the waves.
For him, moments like this were rare.
Despite his disability, his family never treated him as fragile. They included him in everything—every trip, every laugh, every shared silence. Today was no different.
"This is nice," James said softly, his voice nearly lost to the wind.
"It is," Dian replied, squeezing his shoulder. "You're smiling more than usual."
"Because everyone's here."
Helen turned back at that and smiled. Jerson met her gaze, and for a fleeting second, the world felt complete.
Then the wind changed.
At first, it was subtle—a faint chill slipping through the warmth of the sun. The music faltered as a stronger gust swept across the deck. The sky, moments ago clear, began to dim.
Clouds gathered unnaturally fast.
Jake frowned. "Dad… is it supposed to look like that?"
Jerson's eyes narrowed as he followed his son's gaze. The horizon darkened, clouds rolling in thick and heavy, blotting out the sun as if someone had drawn a curtain across the sky.
The yacht lurched.
A wave slammed into its side, violent enough to send chairs skidding across the deck.
"Everyone inside!" Jerson shouted.
The crew scrambled, their voices tight with urgency. Wind howled as rain began to fall—not gently, but in sharp, stinging sheets.
Dian grabbed James's wheelchair immediately. "I've got you," she said, bracing herself as the yacht rocked violently.
James tried to help, pushing weakly at the wheels. Panic fluttered in his chest, but he forced himself to breathe.
Another wave struck.
The yacht groaned, metal creaking under the strain. People ran toward the cabin, slipping on the slick floor.
"Come on!" Dian urged, muscles burning as she fought against the rolling deck.
They made it just in time.
The moment the cabin door slammed shut, another wave crashed into the yacht with devastating force. The entire vessel shook, lights flickering wildly as darkness swallowed the windows.
Inside the cabin, chaos erupted.
"James!" Jerson rushed to his son's side, kneeling in front of him. "Are you hurt? Anywhere—tell me!"
James shook his head, forcing a smile despite the fear clawing at his chest. "I'm okay, Dad. I'm safe."
Relief flashed across Jerson's face. He turned quickly, scanning the room. "Helen? Jake? Dian?"
"I'm fine," Helen answered, gripping a seat.
"All good, Father," Jake said, steady despite the storm.
"I'm okay," Dian replied, breathless but composed.
"Good," Jerson said firmly. "Everyone, secure yourselves. Life vests—now. Jake, help your sister and brother find a safe spot."
He turned to Helen, voice low but urgent. "Stay with them. I'll go to the bridge and talk to the captain."
"Jerson—" Helen began.
"I'll be quick."
He moved toward the door, steadying himself against the violently shaking walls. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the sea itself were watching him.
The moment he opened the door—
A massive wave rose like a wall of darkness.
It crashed into the yacht with unstoppable force.
The vessel flipped.
Water surged through the cabin in an instant, cold and merciless. Screams were swallowed by the roar of the storm as everything was torn apart.
James felt himself lifted, weightless.
The wheelchair spun uselessly as the world dissolved into chaos. Water filled his lungs. Darkness pressed in from every direction.
Through blurred vision, he saw the yacht breaking apart—saw figures thrown into the raging sea.
He reached out instinctively.
"Dad—!"
The sea answered instead.
As consciousness slipped away, something strange happened.
The water around him glowed faintly.
Then—nothing.
---
Night fell upon a foreign shore.
Waves rolled quietly against the sand, carrying with them debris… and a body.
A lone wolf prowled along the beach, its red eyes gleaming in the darkness. Its nose twitched as it approached the unmoving figure of a boy, clothes torn, body broken.
Just as the wolf lowered its head—
Thwack.
An arrow pierced its skull.
The wolf stumbled, letting out a sharp cry before collapsing lifelessly a few meters away.
"Captain! The last Blood Wolf is down!" a burly man laughed loudly as he dragged the corpse toward a waiting group. "This hunt was bountiful! The tribe will celebrate tonight—bahahaha!"
"Yes," a woman replied calmly as she knelt beside the wolf's body. With practiced precision, she cut into its forehead and retrieved a faintly glowing crystal. "This will help us survive the winter. We'll even have surplus to trade with the city."
She was tall, her presence commanding. Her eyes were sharp, her movements efficient. She was clearly the leader.
The captain.
Just as she stood, a voice called out from nearby.
"Captain! There's someone here!"
A man approached quickly, his tone urgent. "A young boy—he's still alive!"
The captain turned sharply. "A boy? Here?"
She studied the unconscious figure carefully. His injuries were severe, but his breathing—faint as it was—had not stopped.
"Is he from the Sacred Island?" she murmured.
"Captain," the burly man said, frowning. "His injuries are serious. Healing him will cost a lot. Even our surplus supplies might not be enough."
Another man nodded grimly. "This wilderness claims lives every day. His death means nothing to us. I suggest we leave him."
Silence fell.
The captain continued to stare at the boy. Something tugged at her—an instinct she had learned never to ignore.
"No," she said at last. "We're taking him back."
"But Captain—!"
"I'll take responsibility for his healing," she said firmly.
"What if he brings danger to the village?" the burly man asked.
The captain's lips curved into a faint smile. "Stone, look at him. Do you truly believe you couldn't subdue him if needed?"
Stone laughed loudly, flexing his arms. "Captain, don't joke! Even if a thousand of him came at me, I'd crush them all!"
"Exactly."
She turned to the group. "Pack up. We've been gone for over three month. It's time to go home—and bring trophies to our families."
She glanced once more at the unconscious boy.
"Advance Team One. Move out."
Unaware of it all, the boy slept—carried toward a fate far beyond the sea that had stolen everything from him.