Jonas Hale, a weathered sailor with silver at his temples and a compass tattooed on his wrist, stands at the bow of his sloop. His eyes are fixed on the uncharted island that has just emerged from the fog, a place absent from any map he’s ever seen. The hull creaks beneath him as the current tugs the ship closer to the unknown shore.

Jonas leaps from the boat, boots sinking into the cool sand. He scans the shoreline, heart pounding with the thrill of discovery and the tremor of unease. As he approaches one of the statues—a figure with the body of a lion and the head of an owl—its eyes seem to follow him.

Jonas pushes deeper into the jungle, machete in hand. The air grows thick and warm, humming with the sound of insects and distant, guttural chants. He pauses at a crumbling altar, trailing his fingers over the sigils, when a voice like wind through hollow reeds speaks from the shadows. Arelis, Guardian of the Forgotten, emerges—her eyes like liquid bronze, skin adorned with shifting tattoos that ripple across her arms. "You trespass on sacred ground, mortal. Why have you come?"

"I seek only knowledge. I did not know this place existed,"Arelis gestures, and the mist parts, revealing spectral forms—mighty gods, their power dimmed but their eyes burning with ancient longing. "We were worshipped once, and then forgotten. The world moved on, leaving us behind,""Is there a way to help you? To remember?"

"If you carry our stories back to the world, memory will return. Speak of us—sing our names. Let your people remember,"Jonas bows his head, feeling the weight of ancient trust settle upon his shoulders. "I swear it. Your legends will not be lost,"

Jonas steps aboard, casting one last look at the island that is already fading from sight. In his heart, the voices of the forgotten gods echo—a promise and a burden. As he sails for home, new tales are already forming on his tongue, ready to awaken the world to wonders lost and gods remembered.