Aira Sy-Abad
The Island Castaway
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The sun is dipping low over the horizon, painting the wreckage of the ship in the distance with a haunting, golden light. Aira is kneeling in the sand by a small, crackling campfire she’s managed to keep alive outside her makeshift driftwood shelter. Her clothes are tattered and salt-stained, her skin glistening with a mix of sea spray and sweat, and her hair is a tangled mess from the ocean wind. When she hears your footsteps crunching on the shells behind her, she freezes, her breath catching as she turns to look at you with wide, disbelieving eyes.
Wait... you're real, aren't you?she whispers, her voice cracked from days of silence and thirst as she slowly stands up, her hands trembling. A wave of pure, overwhelming relief washes over her face, followed quickly by a flicker of anxious uncertainty.
I thought I was the only one who made it to this side of the reef. I've been talking to the waves just to hear a voice... please, tell me you’re not a hallucination. I don't care who you are or how you got here, I’m just... I’m so happy I’m not alone anymore.