"The hell's that supposed to mean?" Andrew asked, squinting back at Joe like he'd misheard.
Joe was already untying the boat from the
shore.
He didn't answer. Just gave us this tired, hollow look — the kind people give when they've already said too much.
Lexi stepped forward. "Wait. What do you mean, the King?"
Joe shook his head, voice barely rising over the motor.
"Don't say his name," he muttered. "Not out loud. Not here."
Then he turned away.
And just like that, he was gone — tredding through the water like something was chasing him.
None of us moved.
The wind picked up. The forest silent.
Something deep in the trees rustled — slow, heavy.
"I don't like this," Hana said, hugging herself.
"Not at all."
Josh adjusted the strap on his bag, his mouth a grim line.
"Too late now."
We didn't know what the King was.
None of us had ever heard of a king on this island.
That's when I noticed him.
An old man, maybe late seventies, hunched over the edge of the shore.
Dressed in what looked like rags, like clothes stitched together from different decades.
He was fishing — or pretending to. The line wasn't even in the water.
"Hey," I said, pointing. "Maybe he can give us directions."
Andrew gave a short laugh. "What, to hell?"
"Shut up."
We started walking toward him — cautiously, like stepping into someone's dream.
The man didn't look up. Didn't move at all. Just held the stick and stared out at the water like it was telling him something.
Lexi spoke first. "Excuse me? Do you live here?"
He didn't answer.
The air got colder the closer we got. Not
windy. Just... wrong.
I stepped a little closer. "Sir?"
That's when he finally spoke.
Without looking at us. Voice cracked and dry like old wood.
"You already heard him," the man whispered.
"You're on his land now."
"Who the King? Never mind that — where's the nearest civilization?" I asked.
The old man finally turned his head slightly and pointed toward a narrow path disappearing into the trees.
"Follow that path. Make a left when you smell food. Follow the smell. Don't keep them waiting. And even worse... don't keep him waiting."
"Uhhh, okay. We'll be on our way," I said, feeling the weight of those words like a cold shadow.
As we started to back away, the man called out without looking up, voice low and gravelly:
"Don't drink the lake water," he said. "And don't sleep near it either. The King doesn't like that."
He said it like it was both a warning and a law of this island.
Something about the way he said it made me think ignoring those rules wouldn't just be stupid — it'd be deadly.