The first thing Sylas Eryndor noticed as he opened his eyes was the sharp tang of saltwater in the air. His head pounded, and his fine robes, once embroidered with the stormy sigils of Talos, clung to him like a second skin, soaked through with seawater. He sat up groggily, coughing and spitting out sand as he surveyed his surroundings. The shore stretched out endlessly in both directions, a vast expanse of gray waves crashing against jagged rocks. Beyond the shoreline, a dense jungle loomed, its towering trees shrouded in a thick mist that seemed to breathe, curling and unfurling as though alive.

The elf's pointed ears twitched at the faint sound of footsteps behind him. He spun around, raising his hand instinctively, ready to summon the divine fury of his storm god. A figure emerged from the mist—a hulking, reptilian shape.

"Who the hell are you?" Sylas demanded, his voice sharp and commanding.

The black-scaled dragonborn paused, narrowing his golden eyes. His scaled armor was scarred and dented, and a longbow was slung over his shoulder. He regarded Sylas with a cool, calculating gaze, his massive frame towering like a shadow.

"I could ask you the same thing, elf," the dragonborn growled, his voice as low and rough as grinding stone. Acid dripped from the corners of his mouth, sizzling as it hit the damp sand. "But judging by the look of you, you're just as lost as I am."

Before Sylas could retort, another voice bellowed from the waves.

"Lockjaw! There you are brother!" A second dragonborn trudged onto the shore, this one gleaming in golden scales. He carried a massive maul slung over his shoulder, and his broad grin revealed a row of sharp teeth. "I thought I'd lost you to the sea! And what's this? A pointy-eared priest? You making new friends already?"

"Shut up, Crimjaw," Lockjaw muttered, clearly irritated. He turned back to Sylas. "You're a cleric, aren't you? Of what?"

Sylas folded his arms. "I am Sylas Eryndor, cleric of the Tempest Domain, servant of Talos, the Storm Lord. And you?" His gaze flicked between the two dragonborn. "Your brother, I take it? A barbarian and a ranger, I had to guess."

Crimjaw let out a booming laugh. "You've got a sharp eye, elf! That, or you've been spying on us."

Before Sylas could offer a biting remark, a third figure stumbled out of the mist. This one was human—a wiry man with shaggy dark hair and a crooked grin. He wore a patchwork of leather armor and carried twin daggers on his hips. His eyes darted around the group, taking in their weapons, their stances, their expressions.

"Well, this is fun," the man said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "A priest, two lizards, and me stranded on a beach. All we're missing is a bard to write a tragic ballad about how we all died horribly."

"And who might you be?" Sylas asked, his patience wearing thin.

The man gave a mock bow. "Valric Starstride, at your service. Rogue, wanderer, and occasional troublemaker. Not that it's any of your business, but I woke up here just like you did. No idea how, no idea why. One moment I'm in a tavern enjoying a fine drink, and the next poof! Here I am."

As if on cue, yet another figure stepped out of the mist. This one was an elf, but unlike Sylas, his presence was dark and foreboding. His hair was a silvery white, and his violet eyes seemed to pierce through the very soul. He wore dark robes adorned with the symbols of the Twilight Domain, and his expression was grim.

"I see we are not alone," the elf said, his voice as cold as the mist around them. "My name is Masell. A cleric, like you," he said, nodding to Sylas. "But my domain is not of the storm. I walk the path of twilight, where light and darkness meet. I suspect we have all been brought here for a reason."

"Yeah, well, I'd like to know what that reason is," Valric said, folding his arms. "Because this place gives me the creeps."

Before anyone could respond, the air around them shifted. A deep, resonant voice echoed in their minds, cutting through the mist like a blade. It was neither male nor female, neither harsh nor gentle, yet it commanded their attention with an otherworldly authority.

"Welcome, adventurers, to the Isle of Forgotten Shadows."

The group froze, their eyes darting around the mist-shrouded beach.

"You have been chosen. This island is not merely a place—it is a trial. Here you will find two artifacts of great power: the Heart of the Ocean and the Heart of Aether. Only by obtaining both can you escape this place. But beware, for the island is alive. It watches. It waits. And it will not let you go easily."

The voice faded, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Crimjaw broke the tension with a loud laugh.

"Well, that's just great! A goddamned scavenger hunt. I love those!"

Sylas glared at him. "This is no laughing matter. Whoever—or whatever—spoke to us clearly wants to test us. This island is dangerous."

Dangerous is an understatement," Valric said, pointing toward the jungle. "Look at that. The trees look like they're about to swallow us whole."

"Good," Lockjaw said, his voice steady and grim. He unslung his bow and began inspecting his arrows. "If this is a trial, then we'll pass it. That's what we do."

Masell stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "The voice spoke of artifacts. The Heart of the Ocean and the Heart of Aether. Do any of you know these names?"

Sylas frowned, searching his memory. "Legends, perhaps. Some say the Heart of the Ocean controls the tides, while the Heart of Aether grants dominion over the elements. But I've never seen proof of their existence."

"Proof or not," Valric said, "it sounds like those artifacts are our only ticket out of here. Unless you'd rather stay here and wait for the mist to kill us."

"Then it's settled," Sylas said, brushing the sand from his robes. "We find these artifacts. But be warned: I have no interest in babysitting fools. If any of you get in my way, I won't hesitate to leave you behind."

Crimjaw grinned, baring his teeth. "And if you get in my way, little elf, I'll roast you alive."

"Enough," Lockjaw growled. "We'll work together. For now."

The group fell into an uneasy silence as they turned toward the jungle. The mist seemed to thicken as they approached, and a sense of foreboding settled over them like a heavy cloak.

Somewhere deep within the island, something watched us. And it was waiting.