Heir of The Island

The storm crawled across the horizon, a black wound splitting the sky. It came with a howling fury, ancient and merciless, devouring the sun and swallowing the sea in shadows. Waves rose like the hands of the drowned, clawing at the fractured boat, dragging it towards the jagged shore. Manuel tasted salt and blood, his fingers white as they gripped the splintered wood. He dared not look back.

The sea had betrayed them. It churned beneath the sky’s wrath, boiling and seething, hungry. The wind shrieked, tearing through the broken sails, snapping the mast like a bone. Water surged over the sides, heavy and cold, dragging the boat deeper into the chaos.

Ramon shouted, his voice ripped away by the storm. Diego was silent, his face pale, eyes hollow with fear. They were three souls adrift, lost beneath a bruised sky, caught in the jaws of the tempest.

Then they saw it.

The island loomed before them, rising from the mist like the broken spine of some ancient beast, its cliffs jagged and black, veined with sickly green moss. Vines curled over twisted branches, coiled serpents draped from trees that bowed beneath the wind. The rocks jutted upwards like broken teeth, black against the fractured sky. It stood, silent and watching, indifferent to the suffering that the sea had brought to its doorstep.

The current dragged them closer. There was no escape. The sea had chosen their fate. The boat shattered against the rocks. Manuel’s world twisted, saltwater filling his mouth, burning his throat. He felt the ground beneath him, sharp and unyielding, the sand like crushed bone beneath his hands. The storm howled above, the sky cracking open with lightning, shadows dancing across the cliffs.

The island loomed, untouched by the chaos. Waiting.

Manuel forced himself to his feet, his legs trembling, his chest heaving. Diego collapsed beside him, coughing up seawater, his eyes wide with something beyond fear. Ramon was on his knees, crossing himself, lips moving in frantic prayers. None of them spoke, they felt it.

The island watched them, unseen eyes hidden in the twisted trees, shadows shifting between the vines. It was alive. Breathing. Listening.

The air was thick, heavy with salt and something else—something damp and sweet, a scent that curled in the nostrils, clung to the skin. Decay, Manuel thought. The smell of something long dead.

A whisper drifted through the jungle, barely more than a sigh. The leaves trembled. The shadows shifted. Diego tensed beside him, his breath shallow, his fingers curling into the wet sand.

“We need shelter,” Ramon muttered, voice taut. He pointed towards the cliffs, to the darkness beneath them. “There. We wait out the storm there.”

Manuel’s stomach twisted. The cave yawned before them, a wound in the earth, its mouth wide and gaping, shadows spilling out like blood. He didn’t want to go inside.

But the rain was relentless, the wind biting through his wet clothes. They had no choice.

They moved as one, silent and cautious, their feet whispering against the sand. The cave swallowed them, the darkness wrapping around them, thick and suffocating. Their footsteps echoed, sharp and hollow, devoured by the black.

The air was colder here. The scent of salt and decay, stronger. Bones lay scattered across the ground—small, brittle things, shattered and splintered. Birds, Manuel told himself, though the word tasted wrong on his tongue. Just birds.

They huddled together, three shadows in the dark, watching the rain carve lines into the sand, the sky shuddering with each crack of lightning. It felt as though the island was watching them too, the trees leaning closer, listening to the storm’s whispers.

Time lost its shape in the darkness. Minutes stretched into hours, marked only by the rhythmic hammering of rain and the low murmur of the wind. Their clothes clung to their skin, cold and heavy, the air damp and suffocating.

Manuel’s stomach churned, hollow and aching. His throat was dry, lips cracked. Hunger gnawed at him, sharp and insistent. He glanced at Diego, slumped against the wall, eyes closed, his face pale and gaunt. Ramon sat by the cave’s mouth, his gaze fixed on the rain, shoulders hunched.

The storm was dying, its fury fading to a distant growl, the rain thinning to a cold drizzle. The wind whispered through the vines, a soft, taunting echo.

Ramon stirred, his voice thin and strained. “We need food and fresh water.”

Manuel’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to step outside, not into the shadows that curled around the trees, not beneath the gaze of the island. But the ache in his belly was sharp, twisting. They couldn’t wait much longer.

Ramon stood, brushing sand from his legs. He looked back at them, his face pale, jaw clenched. “I’ll go. I won’t go far.”

Manuel hesitated. “I’ll come with you.”

“No.” Ramon shook his head, his eyes flicking to Diego. “Stay with him. Make sure he’s alright. I’ll just be a moment.”

Manuel opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. The shadows seemed to lean closer, curling around Ramon’s legs, whispering against his skin. The island was listening.

Ramon offered a weak smile. “I’ll be fine. Just… don’t let the rain put out the fire.”

And then he was gone, his figure swallowed by the vines, the shadows stretching hungrily behind him. Manuel watched the empty space where his friend had stood, his chest hollow and aching. The air was cold, curling around him, damp and heavy.

Behind him, Diego shivered, his breath shallow, eyelids fluttering. Manuel turned back to the cave, his skin prickling. The darkness was heavy, clinging to the stone, unmoving. He thought of the bones scattered across the ground, shattered and brittle. Thought of the way the trees had watched them, the shadows curling and reaching.

Outside, the rain whispered, soft and mocking. The island watched. It had been waiting for them.

The rain had eased to a drizzle, misting through the canopy, a cold shroud that wrapped itself around the forest. Ramon moved through the undergrowth, his steps light, nimble. He pushed aside broad leaves, their surfaces slick, dripping. Shadows clung to the ground, swirling around his boots, seeping into the earth.

He found a low bush, its branches heavy with dark berries, small and firm. He plucked them quickly, his fingers moving with practised ease. Manuel would know if they were safe. The man had a knack for that—figuring out what could be eaten, what would kill you.

The berries dropped into his shirt, tied at the waist to form a crude pouch. He glanced down, pleased with the haul. It would keep them going for a while. Long enough to ride out the storm.

He glanced up, peering through the trees, his eyes narrowing. It was dark here, the canopy dense, tangled, filtering the light into thin, grey slivers. The rain was a faint whisper, distant, fading.

He moved on, his fingers brushing the knife at his belt. He didn’t draw it—no need—but the touch was familiar, comforting. He’d grown up near the sea, on an island not unlike this one, and he knew the feel of the wild, the rhythm of the earth.

But this place was strange. Different. The air was heavy, thick, pressing against his skin, clinging to his clothes. It felt… watchful. As if the island was holding its breath.

He shook off the thought, brushing it aside. Just nerves. The storm had shaken them all, left them cold and hungry, stranded on unfamiliar ground. He was thinking too much, imagining things. An island’s an island.

He ducked beneath a low branch, his shoulders brushing wet leaves, droplets running down his back, cold as ice. His breath fogged before him, curling into the damp air.

It was quiet. Too quiet. He hadn’t noticed before, but now it pressed on his ears, heavy, muffling his steps. No birds, no insects. Just the whisper of rain, distant, fading.

His fingers tightened on his knife, his jaw clenching. He took a breath, forcing his shoulders to relax, easing the tension from his muscles. Just nerves. The forest was still. Nothing moved. Nothing watched.

He turned, his eyes flicking over the undergrowth, the shadows stretching long and crooked. A vine hung low, swaying gently, its leaves glistening, rain dripping from their tips.

He looked away, forcing his gaze forward, his steps quickening. He’d gathered enough. Better to get back before the others started to worry. Better to leave this place behind.

Then he heard it. A faint trickle, soft, rhythmic. Water. Freshwater.

He followed the sound, his steps cautious, eyes sharp. The ground sloped downward, the earth soft beneath his boots. The trees grew taller here, their trunks gnarled, ancient. Bamboo clustered thick and dense, their stalks smooth and hollow, rising high above his head.

Ramon’s lips twitched, the beginnings of a smile. Water. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing the bamboo, feeling the cool, smooth surface. He drew his knife, slicing a stalk near the base, letting the water drain into his hands.

It was cold, sweet, easing the dryness in his throat. He drank deeply, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. This would do. Enough to keep them going until the storm passed.

He cut another stalk, his movements quick, practised. He didn’t look up, his focus on the task, the rhythm of the blade against the bamboo. Slice. Gather. Move on.

His fingers were cold, wet, slipping against the knife. He wiped them on his jeans, his movements quick, hurried. His shoulders were tense, his back rigid. The air was heavy, pressing against his skin, prickling at his neck.

The silence was suffocating now, thick, cloying. Even the rain seemed distant, a faint murmur. His breath fogged before him, curling in the cold air.

A print. In the mud, half-hidden beneath the bamboo. Three long toes, splayed wide, claws sinking deep into the earth. One curved talon, raised above the rest, its point sharp, wicked.

Ramon frowned, crouching to get a closer look. His fingers brushed the edge of the print, his skin prickling at the cold, wet mud. Big. Heavy. He traced the outline, his head tilted, eyes narrowing.

A bird? That was his first thought. A big one, judging by the size of the tracks. Maybe an emu or some other flightless thing.

His lips twitched, almost a smile. A bird that size would feed them for days. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the bamboo, the shadows stretched long and crooked. The thought of fresh meat made his stomach tighten, a dull ache. Better than berries and rainwater.

He looked back at the print, his fingers tapping against his thigh. It was deep, sunk hard into the mud. Strong legs, then. It could run fast. He’d have to be careful.

His fingers brushed his knife, feeling the worn leather of the grip. He could rig a snare, maybe, or at least find where it nested. If it was flightless, it couldn’t get far.

His chest tightened with a quiet excitement, the thrill of the hunt stirring in his blood. He glanced around again, his gaze shifting between the trees, the thick clusters of bamboo. It was out there somewhere. Close.

The rain had stopped. He hadn’t noticed when. Ramon’s shoulders tensed, the thrill fading, leaving behind a cold knot in his stomach. He stood slowly, his eyes fixed on the shadows, the bamboo swaying, whispering. Watching.

His fingers tightened on his knife, his heartbeat quickening. He took a breath, forcing his shoulders to relax. Just nerves. Too many hours in the rain. He was jumpy, tired. Seeing things that weren’t there.

He took a step back, his boots sinking into the mud, the sound dull, muffled. The air was cold, sharp, seeping into his bones.

He heard it then. A rustle. Soft. Measured. Deliberate.

Ramon turned slowly, his breath catching. Nothing. Just shadows and trees, the bamboo swaying.

His fingers twitched, his grip tightening on the knife. He took another step back, his muscles stiff, his legs cold.

The bamboo trembled. A shadow moved. Black. Feathered.

It stood there, motionless, half-shrouded among the bamboo. Tall. Lean. Its silhouette was wrong—jagged angles where curves should be, shadows bending around it, refusing to touch. Its body was long, rigid, perched on two muscular legs, talons curling into the earth, almost tenderly. Its tail hung unnaturally still, feathers rippling ever so slightly, whispering against the air.

Its head was low, tilted at an angle that felt... broken. Off. The eyes—black voids—stared through him, empty and endless. They didn’t blink. Didn’t flicker. Just stared, swallowing the light.

Time seemed to slow, stretching thin, fragile. Ramon’s chest tightened, a cold weight pressing down on his lungs. His breath stalled, caught somewhere between his heart and his throat, his ribs locking tight. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

It didn’t sway. Didn’t adjust its balance. It stood as if it had been carved from shadow itself, every muscle coiled, frozen in time. Yet the feathers along its neck shivered, rustling softly, a faint murmur against the heavy silence.

Ramon’s eyes darted to its limbs, to the claws half-buried in the mud. They were long. Too long. Curved into the earth as if they’d grown from the ground itself. He blinked, once, hard, but they didn’t change. Too still. Too real. Too wrong.

His mouth was dry, his tongue heavy, useless. He wanted to swallow, but his throat clenched, his body refusing to obey. The air grew colder. Heavy. He could feel it pressing against his skin, sinking into his bones. It smelled wrong. Damp. Rotten. Like earth long undisturbed, finally turned over.

The creature’s head moved. Just a fraction, just enough for Ramon to see the faint shimmer of light along its curved snout, the delicate outline of feathers brushing its jaw. It moved without sound, without effort, a whisper of motion, too smooth, too fluid.

His chest tightened further, his pulse pounding, echoing in his ears, his skull. His vision blurred. He blinked again, desperate to clear it, but the thing was still there, still watching. It felt like a dream—a feverish, suffocating nightmare, too vivid to be real.

Its eyes glistened, black glass reflecting nothing, swallowing everything. They followed him, tracing the lines of his shoulders, his neck, his legs, not with hunger or fear, but with a cold, detached curiosity. A scholar studying a specimen.

Ramon’s muscles twitched, his fingers brushing against the knife at his side, the metal slick beneath his trembling touch. But his legs were numb, useless. He was rooted, trapped, every instinct screaming to run, to flee, but his body was ice, dead weight.

The creature’s head tilted slowly, the angle sharp, inhuman, the movement too precise, too calculated. Its gaze flicked down, lingering on his hands, the faint quiver of his fingers, then back to his face. It was learning him, mapping him, memorising his shape, his breath, his fear.

Ramon’s stomach churned, cold and hollow, sinking deep, twisting. He was exposed. Laid bare under that empty, hollow stare. He wanted to shrink away, to curl in on himself, to disappear, but the darkness held him firm, the air pressing him down, heavy, suffocating.

The creature’s chest expanded slowly, its ribcage shifting under feathers, a faint, unnatural creak. It was breathing. A slow, deliberate inhale, its sides shuddering as if testing the air, tasting his scent. Its jaws parted, just a crack, revealing a row of serrated teeth, each glistening, sharp, wet.

It blinked. A single, reptilian blink. The membrane slid across its eyes, milky and thin, veiling the darkness for a heartbeat, then withdrawing, leaving those black voids even emptier. It was wrong. Something that looked alive but wasn’t. Something that moved like flesh but didn’t belong to this world.

The tail twitched, the movement jerky, unnatural, the feathers rustling, whispering. Its claws flexed, sinking deeper into the mud, carving slow, deliberate grooves. But the body remained rigid, frozen, everything coiled, waiting. Watching.

Ramon’s knees buckled, his shoulders curling inward. His breath came in shallow gasps, sharp, painful. He wanted to scream, to shatter the silence, but the air was heavy, cold, choking him. His chest burned, his heartbeat frantic, erratic. He was a rabbit before the fox. A corpse before the grave.

The creature leaned forward, just an inch, the movement too smooth, too practiced. Its head tilted again, eyes narrowing, the darkness within them shifting, swirling. There was something in there, something deep, something ancient, something patient. Something that remembered.

And then it opened its mouth. Not to roar, not to growl. Just... to open. Wide. Too wide. The jaws stretching, curving, muscles shifting beneath the feathers, the teeth gleaming, wet, sharp. The skin around its mouth stretched taut, wrong, unnatural, as if the face was just a mask, bending to reveal the void beneath.

It smiled.

Ramon’s heart stopped.

The expression was wrong, distorted, the mouth curving too far, the muscles pulling unnaturally. It was an imitation. A mockery of human expression, twisted, warped. There was no joy in it, no malice, just... emptiness.

Ramon’s heart stopped, his breath freezing in his chest, his body locking, paralyzed. It was smiling at him. Not as prey. Not as a threat. But as a curiosity. An experiment.

The head tilted again, the neck twisting, bending, the bones creaking, cracking, the shadows rippling around it. The eyes never wavered, never blinked. It was studying him. Memorizing the fear, the trembling, the helplessness.

It was enjoying this.

Then it made a sound.

Low, guttural, a clicking rattle deep in its throat. The noise crawled through the air, vibrating, echoing off the bamboo, curling around his bones. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t angry—it was almost delicate, intimate. But it was wrong. Unnatural.

Ramon’s chest tightened, his stomach churning, bile rising in his throat. The sound pulled him back, yanked him out of his frozen state. His lungs unlocked, air rushing in, sharp and cold.

His legs moved before his mind could catch up.

He turned, stumbling, mud sucking at his boots, the branches clawing at his clothes as he broke into a sprint. His chest burned, his heart hammering, the air slicing through his throat, cold and sharp.

The trees blurred around him, shadows twisting, leaves lashing at his face. He could barely see, his vision swimming, tears stinging his eyes. But he didn’t dare slow down, didn’t dare look back. Not yet. Not yet.

The forest was too quiet, the air too heavy. The insects were gone, the birds were silent. There was nothing but the sound of his breathing, ragged and uneven, and his footfalls, loud, sloppy, echoing off the trees.

His mind screamed at him to look, to check, to know. His neck twitched, his body fighting his instincts. He threw a glance over his shoulder, his eyes wide, searching the shadows.

Nothing.

The clearing was empty, the bamboo still, swaying softly in the breeze. The shadows lay undisturbed, the mud smooth, unmarked. The creature was gone.

For one heartbeat, Ramon’s chest swelled, hope flickering, fragile.

A branch snapped to his left. Then another, closer, louder.

His heart stopped. His legs stumbled, knees buckling, but he pushed forward, fighting the earth, the vines, the shadows. He ran faster, the trees whipping by, the air sharp, cutting into his skin.

It was hunting him. He couldn’t see it, couldn’t hear it, but he could feel it—moving alongside him, hidden, silent. A shadow within shadows, matching his pace, learning his steps.

He swerved left, then right, weaving through the undergrowth. He knew these woods—he could find his way back, find Diego and Manuel, they’d get off this island, they’d—

A blur of feathers. Out of the corner of his eye, a flicker of black, gliding between the trees. There for a heartbeat, then gone.

Ramon’s lungs burned, his body screaming, every muscle trembling. His heart thudded, erratic, his pulse a frantic drumbeat in his ears.

He heard nothing behind him. No growl, no roar, no footfalls. Just his own gasping breath, the whisper of leaves, the distant crash of waves. It was playing with him.

He was prey.

His vision blurred, the trees warping, the ground shifting beneath him. His knees wobbled, his ankles twisting, his body tipping forward. He flung his arms out, catching himself against a tree, the bark scraping his palms, his shoulder throbbing.

He risked another glance back.

Empty. The shadows were still, the leaves undisturbed. There was no movement, no sound.

But the air was heavy. Watching.

His legs moved on instinct, pushing him forward, staggering, stumbling. He was close, he was so close—he could almost see the shoreline, the beach, his friends—

The shadows burst from the bamboo, feathers rippling, claws gleaming. It hit him like a battering ram, the impact shattering his ribs, driving the air from his lungs. Ramon was airborne, flung like a ragdoll, the world spinning, the sky and earth blending into a dizzying blur.

He slammed into the ground, mud swallowing him, bones cracking, pain exploding through his chest. His scream was a strangled wheeze, lungs crushed, blood bubbling up his throat. His vision flickered, the world dimming, but he forced himself up, fingers clawing at the earth, his body quaking.

A weight crushed him, heavy, solid, unyielding. Claws sank into his back, puncturing muscle, grinding against bone. White-hot agony seared through his body, every nerve ablaze. He tried to scream, but choked, the noise wet, garbled.

It was on him, pressing him down, its breath hot, rancid, washing over his neck. He could feel the vibration of its growl, low, resonant, rattling his bones. Its claws flexed, sinking deeper, the tips scraping his spine.

His body spasmed, muscles seizing, locking, his spine arching against the mud, back bowing, bones straining. His head thrashed, eyes wide, unblinking, pupils blown, the world tilting, spinning, shadows twisting above him. He couldn’t scream. The air was trapped in his chest, burning, his throat crushed beneath an iron grip.

The talons sank deeper. Hooked claws, long and curved, punched through his stomach, breaking through skin, slicing through muscle, curling under his flesh. They dug in, twisting, the points grinding against bone, shifting his organs. His nerves ignited, flaring white-hot, a firestorm raging through his body.

He was alive. Fully, agonizingly alive. His limbs twitched, thrashing, his legs kicking, heels digging trenches in the mud. His arms jerked, hands clawing at the earth, fingers curling, nails splitting, breaking, bleeding. His body was fighting. Even as it was torn apart.

The creature’s head lowered, its eyes black, empty, soulless, locked on his face. It moved slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the moment, the kill. Its breath was hot, wet, steaming, puffing against his exposed skin.

He couldn’t breathe. His chest heaved, ribs spreading, splintering, the shattered bones grating against each other, grinding, scraping. His mouth gaped, jaw hanging open, muscles slack, useless. A whimper crawled up his throat, raw, wet, broken, but he couldn’t form words.

It tilted its head, feathers rippling, shadows shifting across its face. The jaws opened, teeth glistening, curved and jagged, wet with saliva. It moved closer, its eyes never leaving his, its breath washing over him, humid, rancid, stinking of blood.

He was cold. His skin was burning, raw, his body trembling, but inside, his core was freezing, cold seeping into his bones, his chest tightening, compressing.

The teeth sank in.

They hooked into his mouth, spearing through his lips, the curved fangs punching through flesh, muscle, scraping bone. He felt them sink deep, the points digging in, curling under his skin. The pain was sharp, blinding, exploding through his skull. His body arched, his spine bending, muscles seizing, locking.

He felt everything. Every nerve flared, raw, exposed, his skin ablaze, his jaw screaming, his skull throbbing, splitting.

The creature wrenched back.

His lips tore away.

The skin peeled back, slowly, the flesh stretching, resisting, then snapping, tearing, ripping free. Nerves screamed, white-hot, searing, his mouth on fire, his skull splitting. His teeth were exposed, gums raw, bleeding, the muscles shredded, his face a mangled ruin.

His eyes were wide, bulging, tears spilling, vision swimming. His head flopped back, jerking, convulsing, his body twitching, spasming. He tried to scream, but his mouth was gone, his throat ruined, the air bubbling, wet, blood pouring down his neck, into his lungs.

He couldn’t close his mouth. Couldn’t move his lips, his face peeled back, the muscles shredded, the skin hanging in tatters. His teeth were bare, exposed, broken, splintered, the air cold against his open, bleeding gums.

He was still alive. Fully, horrifyingly alive.

Another shadow moved in, sleek, feathered, head low, eyes black. It darted forward, its claws hooking into his shoulder, its weight crushing his chest, his ribs buckling, cracking. He felt the pressure, the weight, the bones giving way, splintering, stabbing into his lungs. His heart fluttered, frantic, thudding, fighting.

The jaws clamped around his neck. Teeth punctured his throat, the points curling around his spine. They flexed, tightening, the pressure building, his head tipping back, his body arching. His vision blurred, darkness creeping in, the edges dimming.

But he didn’t die.

He was awake—aware—alive.

The creature’s eyes were locked on his, cold, calculating, unblinking. It tightened its grip, the teeth puncturing deeper, hooking under his jaw, curling around his throat. His pulse thudded against the fangs, his blood pumping, spilling, pouring.

It pulled.

The skin stretched, resisting, tearing away slowly, the muscles snapping, peeling back. His neck split open, the tendons snapping, his throat exposed, the vertebrae gleaming, slick, white, the bone glistening.

He was choking, drowning, the blood flooding his lungs, his mouth, pouring down his exposed throat. His body convulsed, spasming, his limbs jerking, heels digging into the mud, toes curling, fingers clawing at the dirt. His nerves were alight, firing, every muscle screaming.

He felt the bones shifting, snapping, the spine separating. His head tipped back, his vision twisting, the world tilting. The ground rolled, the sky spinning, the shadows dancing. His chest heaved, his lungs fluttering, quivering.

His body was still alive.

The creature pulled again, the neck muscles tearing, the tendons snapping. His head twisted, tipping to the side, the vertebrae cracking, separating, the nerves stretching, snapping. His vision blurred, darkness sweeping in.

He felt it.

Everything.

The shadows closed in, the darkness folding over him, his body twitching, spasming, his legs kicking, his arms flailing. His heart was still beating. The muscles seizing, locking, thudding, fluttering, pumping.

Another shadow darted in, feathers rippling, jaws wide, teeth sinking into his chest, the ribs cracking, the heart exposed. It bit down, hard, the heart bursting, splattering, blood spraying.

His body went limp.

The creatures circled him, feathers rippling, claws curling, tails twitching. They tore into him, jaws snapping, teeth ripping, muscles shredding, bones cracking. They devoured him, piece by piece, as the forest watched.

The shadows were still. The air was heavy. The earth was silent.

And then, as the last of him disappeared, swallowed whole, the forest was quiet again.

Manuel tossed another twig into the sputtering fire, watching the flame struggle, flicker, then grow, casting a pale, shivering light against the rock wall. The wind howled outside, mournful and cold, carrying with it the faint whisper of rain.

He shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders. “He’s been gone too long.”

Diego didn’t look up, his gaze fixed on the cave’s mouth, eyes narrowed. His fingers drummed against his thigh, a steady, restless rhythm. “Ramon’s stubborn. Probably lost track of time.”

Manuel tried to laugh, but it came out thin, forced. “You think he found a mango tree? Knowing him, he’s stuffing his face right now.”

But the joke hung in the air, hollow, echoing off the stone. The shadows seemed to close in, thickening, pressing against them.

“He should’ve been back by now.” Manuel’s voice was quieter this time, his eyes darting to the darkness beyond the fire’s reach. The storm had eased, but the island was still shrouded in gloom, the clouds heavy and low, weighing on them like a curse.

Diego stood up, his silhouette rigid, sharp. His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching. “I’ll go look for him.”

Manuel’s eyes widened. “We were supposed to wait—”

“That was hours ago.” Diego’s voice was tight, controlled, but his shoulders were tense, his fists curled. He glanced at the cave’s entrance, his face pale in the firelight. “He should’ve been back.”

A gust of wind blew in, making the flames shudder. For a heartbeat, the cave was plunged into darkness, shadows swallowing everything.

Manuel swallowed, his mouth dry. “What if... what if he’s hurt?”

Diego didn’t answer. He moved to the mouth of the cave, peering out into the trees, the tangled canopy blocking out the sky. The island was too quiet. Not a bird, not an insect. Nothing.

He felt it then, a cold prickle at the back of his neck. An emptiness. As if the world was holding its breath, waiting.

His chest tightened. He took a step back, fingers brushing against the stone wall. “Maybe... maybe we wait a bit longer. Just... just to be safe.”

Manuel’s shoulders sagged with relief. He moved closer to the fire, letting its warmth push back the chill creeping up his spine. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s wait.”

But even as he said it, his eyes kept drifting to the darkness outside. And in his chest, a cold, heavy weight settled, sinking deeper, rooting itself.

Ramon should’ve been back by now.