Children of Gehenna

"Listen well, all of you. This is Gehenna, the island of the damned, where your lives will be measured not in days, but in moments. Moments of survival, of will, of struggle. It's not a place of lenience, nor a place for weakness. Your punishment—your banishment—has brought you here, and in a way, you should count yourselves fortunate. Others are not given the chance to walk these shores. But be warned: mercy does not exist here."

He took a step forward, his gaze sharpening.

"This island does not care for your past crimes, your regrets, your pleas for redemption. It is not concerned with your petty lives. It will break you down, wear you thin, and by the end of it, you will either be swallowed whole or cast out—used up. If you want to survive, you will have to prove you are worthy of that right. The island will strip away what's left of your humanity, and only the strongest will live to see the next day… if a next day even exists."

He paused, eyes scanning the crowd, meeting Tristan's gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

"You're not just criminals anymore. You're nothing but animals in a cage, and here, the bars are the ocean, the trees, and the very earth beneath your feet. If you think you can escape, think again. There is no escape from Gehenna."

A slow, cruel smile curled at the corners of his lips.

"You'll be tested every day. Your strength. Your resolve. Your very soul. But remember, it's not just the island that will break you. The other prisoners. They'll do far worse than the island itself ever could if you let them. Trust no one..."

With that, the captain turned.

"Get ready. We leave the beach soon."

A cold wind stirred, and Tristan opened his eyes to see the restless sea under a sky gradually darkening with the promise of a storm. There was something about the waves that seemed to echo his inner turmoil—unpredictable, restless, and full of hidden danger. He couldn't shake the feeling that every crash of the water carried a message he wasn't yet able to solve.

While Tristan wrestled with his thoughts, Roderick approached.

 "You planning on staying out here, or are you going to try to find a safe spot for the night?" he asked quietly.

Tristan shook his head. "I'm not sure there's any safe spot here. The whole place feels like a trap."

Roderick studied him for a long moment before replying.

 "You're not wrong. But it's better to be on your feet than to hide in fear. Even if you don't trust anyone, you have to trust yourself. Keep alert, and learn the patterns of this place. Night will be long, and I know Gehenna won't give us much in the way of pity."

The older man's words offered little comfort, but they carried a practical truth that Tristan knew he'd have to embrace if he were to survive. As the first hints of a brewing storm reached him—a distant rumble of thunder and the quickening of the wind—Tristan stood up, feeling a spark of resolve amid the disarray of his thoughts.

"Maybe we can try to explore a little farther inland," Roderick suggested. "I've heard whispers that the forest holds some answers. Or at least, that's what some of the others are saying."

Tristan frowned slightly, contemplating the idea. Venturing into the dense forest was a risk he wasn't sure he was ready for, but staying on the open, storm-battered beach was equally dangerous. 

"I don't like the sound of that," he admitted softly. "But maybe it's our only chance to find some kind of control in this chaos."

Roderick gave a slow nod.

 "Control may be an illusion here. Knowledge—knowing what you're dealing with—might be the only good weapon we have."

As the sky darkened further and the wind picked up, the uneasy assembly of prisoners began to disperse, each person seeking a spot that offered even a fraction of shelter from the elements. There was no combined effort to build anything resembling safety. Instead, everyone acted out of self-preservation, clinging to the hope that the day would pass without further cruelty.

Tristan wandered a short distance down the beach, his senses alert to every sound and movement. The biting wind cut through his thin clothing, a harsh reminder that this was a new and unforgiving world. The distant rumble of thunder was growing louder, and he knew that a storm was imminent—a natural force as unpredictable and ruthless as the fate that had brought him here.

He paused for a moment, looking out over the restless ocean. 

"I have to adapt." he said to himself. "I have to learn the ways of this island. Even if it means risking everything, I can't afford to be helpless."

His own words resonated deep within him, providing a small measure of strength. Tristan squared his shoulders and settled to meet whatever the day might bring with a clear mind and cautious steps. 

With the storm closing in, Tristan moved toward a slight rise in the dunes that offered a borderline view of the entire beach. There, away from the immediate chaos of the dispersed prisoners, he found a brief refuge. Huddled against the wind, he closed his eyes and let the sound of the waves fill his thoughts. Despite the harsh realities, there was something hypnotic in the relentless beat of the ocean—a rhythm that promised a way forward.

In that quiet, isolated moment, Tristan told himself that he would somehow find a way to make sense of this forsaken land. Whether it was through hidden pathways of the forest or the shifting patterns of the restless sea, he would uncover the truth of Gehenna—no matter how deep its secrets ran.

But for now the storm was coming, and with it, the promise of a new day filled with unknown trials. In the darkness of the storm clouds and the fury of the wind, he found a small spark of hope—another resolve to face whatever came next on this unforgiving shore.