Green Island is a bird sanctuary now. Peaceful. Protected. A forgotten place—and for good reason. Its lighthouse was stripped away twice by first, amidst the ice and wind of the coldest winter storm of the century, when flames raged from the tower as if summoned; and again, decades later, by careless youth who lit a blaze they couldn’t control. Now, only a skeletal metal tower remains. Silent. Watching. Well, we thought as much.
Samuel Keen and his fellow Coast Guardsmen are dispatched to investigate a string of missing persons near the island’s shore. They expect a routine search. What they find is older than most remember—something buried beneath the soil, something that never left.
That night, Samuel dreams of being strapped to a chair—immobile, voiceless—as a golden-eyed figure leans close and speaks of trespass, of cycles, of blood. He wakes with the taste of rust in his mouth and the sound of gurgling still in his ears.
As the island begins to breathe, Samuel must confront the truth behind his family’s legacy and the ancient beings who walk its soil. Green Island is not abandoned. It remains silent. Watching. Waiting.
