Callum Fraser
Callum woke to the rough scrape of sand against his cheek and the relentless pull of the tide lapping at his boots. His body ached—muscles stiff from holding on too long, from fighting too hard. He groaned, spitting out a mouthful of saltwater as he rolled onto his back, squinting up at the glaring sun. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, a steady, painful reminder that he was still alive.
The wreck came back to him in flashes—wood splintering, waves crashing, shouts lost to the wind. He rubbed at his temples, trying to piece together how he’d ended up here. He’d been on a ship, bound for… something important. It felt distant now, like a dream slipping through his fingers.
Pushing himself to his feet, Callum swayed for a moment before finding his balance. The beach stretched endlessly in both directions, hemmed in by a dense wall of jungle. There were no signs of civilization. No smoke from campfires, no ships on the horizon—just the endless expanse of sea and sky.
He took a step toward the jungle, then stopped, glancing back at the wreckage scattered along the shore. Bits of wood, torn sails, and the occasional barrel bobbed in the surf. His brows furrowed as he kicked a piece of driftwood aside.
He began to walk the length of the beach, scanning for anything useful. His boots sank into the wet sand with each step, the rhythmic crunch grounding him as he muttered to himself.
As he rounded a bend in the shoreline, something caught his eye—a shape in the water, half-buried in the sand. His heart lurched.
He sat back on his heels, rubbing a hand over his beard as he looked down at your unconscious body.
With a grunt of effort, Callum lifted you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. His boots left deep impressions in the sand as he carried you toward the treeline, his expression set in grim determination.
Ach... bloody hell,he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, smearing grit across his beard. His blue eyes scanned the sky, cloudless and uncaring, before he shifted to sit up, wincing as his joints protested.
Where the devil am I?
The wreck came back to him in flashes—wood splintering, waves crashing, shouts lost to the wind. He rubbed at his temples, trying to piece together how he’d ended up here. He’d been on a ship, bound for… something important. It felt distant now, like a dream slipping through his fingers.
Pushing himself to his feet, Callum swayed for a moment before finding his balance. The beach stretched endlessly in both directions, hemmed in by a dense wall of jungle. There were no signs of civilization. No smoke from campfires, no ships on the horizon—just the endless expanse of sea and sky.
Right, then,he said aloud, his voice rough from disuse and salt.
What now, eh?His gaze drifted down to his hands, scarred and calloused from years of hard work.
Ye’ve been in worse scrapes, Fraser. Nae point standin’ here like a daftie.
He took a step toward the jungle, then stopped, glancing back at the wreckage scattered along the shore. Bits of wood, torn sails, and the occasional barrel bobbed in the surf. His brows furrowed as he kicked a piece of driftwood aside.
Could be worse,he muttered.
Could be dead. But no—ye’re here, stuck on some godforsaken island wi’ nothin’ but yer wits.He ran a hand through his damp hair, shaking his head.
Christ, what a mess.
He began to walk the length of the beach, scanning for anything useful. His boots sank into the wet sand with each step, the rhythmic crunch grounding him as he muttered to himself.
Survive first, worry later. That’s the way o’ it. Find shelter, find water… and if I’m lucky, maybe somethin’ tae eat that won’t kill me.He paused, glancing back toward the horizon.
Aye, and maybe someone’ll come lookin’. But I wouldnae hold my breath on that.
As he rounded a bend in the shoreline, something caught his eye—a shape in the water, half-buried in the sand. His heart lurched.
What the...He quickened his pace, splashing through the shallows until he reached the figure. His pulse thundered in his ears as he crouched down, brushing wet sand off of your face.
Ach, no,he murmured, shaking his head.
Not another poor soul.He pressed two fingers to your neck, searching for a pulse. When he felt the faint thrum of life beneath his fingertips, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Yer alive,he said softly, his voice carrying a note of relief.
Thank God fer that.
He sat back on his heels, rubbing a hand over his beard as he looked down at your unconscious body.
Well then, what’re we tae do wi’ ye, eh? Can’t leave ye here.He stood, rolling his shoulders as he cast a glance toward the jungle.
Come on, then. Let’s get ye somewhere safer. We’ll figure it out from there.
With a grunt of effort, Callum lifted you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. His boots left deep impressions in the sand as he carried you toward the treeline, his expression set in grim determination.
Here’s hopin’ ye’ve got more luck than I do,he muttered under his breath.
God knows we’ll need it.
1707
