Morning arrived with gentle insistence, sunlight filtering through the woven walls of the hut in geometric patterns. Galea awoke disoriented, momentarily forgetting where she was. The events of the previous day crashed back into her consciousness like a physical blow—the storm, the shipwreck, her father's death, the strange man who called himself a drifter.
She sat up with a gasp, looking around frantically. The hut was empty.
"Hello?" she called, scrambling to her feet.
"Outside," came the reply.
Galea pushed aside the covering that served as a door and stepped into the morning light. Bobby stood a few paces away, gazing out over the island. In daylight, she could see him more clearly—tall and imposing, with a face that seemed both youthful and ancient simultaneously. His strange clothing gleamed with an almost metallic quality in the sunlight.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked without turning.
"Yes... thank you." Galea rubbed her eyes. "My father—"
"I've prepared him," Bobby interrupted. "We should start our journey to the eastern promontory soon. It's some distance from here."
He led her back through the jungle paths to where they had left Acastus's body. In the daylight, Galea could see that the island was even stranger than it had appeared by night. The plants grew in impossible configurations, some stretching toward the sky in perfect spirals, others forming intricate lattices that seemed too deliberate to be natural. The blue luminescence that had been so prominent at night was subdued now, but still visible as a subtle glow emanating from the vegetation.
When they reached the rock outcropping, Galea gasped. Her father's body lay as they had left it, wrapped in the leaf shroud, but now the plants around him had grown to form a kind of bier. Vines had woven themselves into handles at each corner.
"How did this happen?" she asked.
Bobby shrugged. "The island responds to needs sometimes. Come, help me lift him."
Together, they raised the plant bier and began their journey eastward. Despite its burden, the structure was surprisingly light—either the plants themselves bore much of the weight, or Bobby was somehow carrying more than his share without appearing to strain.
As they walked, Galea gathered her courage to ask questions that had been forming since her arrival.
"What is this place truly?"
Bobby was silent for so long that she thought he might not answer.
"It's a sanctuary of sorts," he finally said. "A place where the rules that govern the rest of the world bend slightly. I made it that way."
"How could a man create an entire island?"
Again, that slight curve of his lips that wasn't quite a smile.
"I didn't create the island itself. I... altered it. Changed its nature."
"For what purpose?"
"Initially? Boredom." Something dark flickered across his features. "When you've lived as long as I have, child, you seek ways to occupy your time."
"How old are you?" Galea asked bluntly.
Bobby actually laughed at that—a sound so unexpected that Galea nearly stumbled.
"Older than any civilization you've heard of," he replied. "Older than most of the names your people have for the stars."
Galea fell silent, trying to comprehend what that might mean. They continued walking for what seemed like hours, the terrain gradually sloping upward as they approached the eastern side of the island. The vegetation thinned, giving way to rocky outcroppings that overlooked the sea.
Finally, they emerged onto a plateau that jutted out over the water. The view was breathtaking—endless ocean stretching to the horizon, waves breaking against the cliffs below. Despite the clear sky above the island, Galea could see storms raging in the distance, a perpetual barrier of wind and water surrounding their sanctuary.
"Here," Bobby said, stopping near the edge. "This is where we'll build his final resting place."
Under Bobby's direction, they arranged stones in a circular pattern, creating a platform upon which they placed Acastus's body. While they worked, Galea noticed that the strange blue glow had followed them even to this barren outcropping—faint luminescent patterns appeared in the rocks themselves, pulsing gently like a heartbeat.
When the cairn was complete, Bobby stepped back and gestured for Galea to speak.
"Do you wish to say words for your father? I don't know your people's rites."
Tears welled in Galea's eyes as she approached the stone platform. She placed a hand on her father's shrouded form.
"Father," she began, her voice quavering. "You brought me to this place so that I might live. Your final act was one of love." The words caught in her throat. "I will... I will try to be worthy of your sacrifice. May your spirit find peace in the afterlife, and may you be reunited with Mother."
She stepped back, wiping tears from her cheeks. "We would normally burn the body, but we have no oil or proper wood."
Bobby moved forward and placed his hand on the cairn. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, to Galea's astonishment, a soft blue flame sprouted from his palm, spreading quickly to engulf Acastus's body. The fire burned with unnatural intensity but produced no smoke or smell of burning flesh.
"How are you doing that?" Galea whispered, backing away in alarm.
"The island gives certain... abilities... to those who dwell on it long enough," Bobby replied, his eyes reflecting the blue flames. "I've been here a very long time."
They watched in silence as the strange fire consumed Acastus's remains. Within minutes, nothing was left but fine, glittering ash that caught the wind and scattered over the sea.
"It is done," Bobby said quietly. "Your father has returned to the elements."
Galea stared at the empty cairn, feeling a hollow ache in her chest. "What happens to me now?"
"That depends," Bobby replied, turning to face her. "Do you wish to leave the island? I can't take you myself, but eventually, others will come seeking the island's healing properties. You could leave with them, find a new home among your own kind."
"And if I stay?"
Something sharpened in Bobby's gaze—a calculating look that made Galea uncomfortable.
"Then you'll change," he said simply. "The longer one remains here, the more the island... alters them."
"Is that what happened to you?"
Bobby laughed again, but this time the sound held no humor. "No, child. I was changed long before I came to this place." Before she could point out his contradiction, he gestured toward the path that would lead them back to his dwelling. "Come. We should return before nightfall. The creatures that emerge after dark can be... temperamental."
As they walked back in silence, Galea considered her options. Leave with strangers to an uncertain fate, or remain on this impossible island with this equally impossible man. The decision seemed obvious—at least for now.
"I'll stay," she said as they reached the clearing where Bobby's hut stood. "At least until I understand this place better."
Bobby nodded, as if he'd expected nothing else. "Then your education begins tomorrow."
The days that followed took on an unexpected rhythm. Each morning, Bobby would leave the hut before dawn and return as Galea was waking. He never explained where he went, and she quickly learned that direct questions rarely received direct answers.
After a simple breakfast of strange fruits and roots, Bobby would take her on long walks around the island, naming plants and creatures in languages Galea didn't recognize. He spoke of the world beyond the storms—of distant lands and peoples Galea had never heard of, describing customs and beliefs with the casual authority of someone who had witnessed them firsthand.
"How do you know so much about places you've never been?" she asked on the fifth day, as they crested a hill overlooking the western shore.
Bobby gave her that not-quite smile that she was beginning to recognize as his default expression. "Who says I've never been?"
"But the storms..." Galea gestured toward the perpetual wall of clouds that surrounded the island. "You said no one can leave unless others come with ships."
"I said *you* couldn't leave that way," Bobby corrected. "I have my methods."
Before she could press further, he pointed toward a cluster of plants with distinctive red-veined leaves. "Those are poisonous to eat but beneficial when crushed and applied to wounds. Wounds that your body cannot heal normally. Remember their pattern."
By the tenth day, Galea began to notice subtle changes in herself. The initial strangeness of her surroundings had faded, replaced by a growing awareness of the island's rhythms. The blue luminescence that permeated everything seemed to respond to her presence now, brightening slightly when she approached. Her body felt stronger, more resilient—she could walk for hours without tiring, and small injuries healed with remarkable speed.
On the fifteenth day, as they sat outside the hut preparing a meal, Galea finally found the courage to ask the question that had been forming in her mind.
"What's happening to me?"
Bobby looked up from the roots he was slicing. "Be more specific."
"I feel... different. Stronger. And yesterday, when I cut my hand on that shell, it healed before we even returned to the hut."
Bobby set down his knife and studied her with those unnervingly bright eyes. "I told you the island changes those who stay. You're experiencing the first transformation—cellular regeneration. Your body is learning to repair itself more efficiently."
"Is that why the spots disappeared when I arrived?"
"Yes. The disease that was killing you was eliminated immediately. That's the most basic function of the island's... let's call it influence."
Bobby didn't mention his direct involvement. She would have died if he didn't do anything.
"And what comes next?" Galea pressed. "You said that was just the first transformation."
Bobby's expression grew more guarded. "It varies from person to person. Some develop enhanced strength or speed. Others find their senses becoming more acute. A few—a very few—develop more significant changes."
"Like what you can do? The blue fire?"
"Perhaps." Bobby resumed his cutting. "But such abilities take time to manifest, if they do at all. And they come with risks."
"What kind of risks?"
"The mind isn't always prepared for such changes. Many who develop stronger abilities find their thoughts becoming... disordered. Some lose themselves entirely. Some embrace it."
The casual way he described such a fate sent a chill through Galea. "Did that happen to the others you mentioned? The ones who left?"
"Most leave before reaching that stage," Bobby replied. "They come for healing, receive it, and depart when the next ship manages to pierce the storms. The few who stayed longer... well, their outcomes varied."
"And you? Did your mind become disordered?"
That earned her a genuine laugh—a sound Galea had heard only rarely. "My mind was unique from the beginning, little one. I didn't undergo these changes the way you are."
Before she could question him further, Bobby gestured toward the sky. "Rain's coming. Help me gather these inside."
That night, as a powerful storm lashed the island, Galea lay awake on her pallet, listening to the rain drumming against the roof. Bobby sat near the central fire, his back perfectly straight, eyes closed. He often spent the nights like this—not sleeping exactly, but in a state of such deep stillness that he might have been carved from stone.
"Bobby," she whispered, unsure if he could hear her.
His eyes opened immediately. "Yes?"
"Are you waiting for something specific? Is that why you're here on this island?"
For once, his answer came without evasion or cryptic wordplay.
"Yes."
"What is it?"
The firelight cast strange shadows across his perfect features. "Someone I lost a very long time ago. I have reason to believe we might meet again... but not for many years yet."
"How many years?"
Bobby's expression shifted to something Galea couldn't interpret—something ancient and weary and patient all at once.
"Thousands," he said simply. "Go to sleep, Galea. Tomorrow we'll explore the southern caves."
As she drifted off, Galea wondered what kind of being could wait thousands of years for another person. Not a human, certainly. Perhaps he truly was a god, despite his denials.
Or perhaps he was something the world had no name for yet.