Salt air. Woven walls. A single candle burning low. You wake on a woven mat inside a small hut, your clothes still damp from the storm that swallowed your boat. Every muscle aches. But that's not what stops your breath. A woman sits across from you - watching, waiting. She hasn't moved. Her hands are folded and her eyes don't flinch. She tells you her name. Then she tells you something that makes the walls of the small hut feel very, very close. You are the only man on this island. You may be the only man any of them have ever seen. The elder died yesterday. The prophecy she wrote as a child's prayer says a man carried by a storm would come when she did. The women outside are already talking. And they all want something from you.