The island awoke before the sun.
Mist drifted between towering trees, their leaves heavy with dew that glimmered like scattered jewels. Waves whispered against the reef in a slow, eternal rhythm, as though the sea itself breathed alongside the land.
At the heart of this forgotten place, a child grew.
Maris D. Luna did not cry when hunger came.
Before tears could ever form, small shapes emerged from the undergrowth—creatures of fur, feather, and scale moving without fear or hesitation. A silver-eared fox would place fruit gently at her side. Bright-winged birds dropped berries from above. A great turtle hauled itself ashore, its ancient shell bearing seaweed and shellfish as offerings.
Nature did not question her presence.
It simply accepted her.
As seasons turned, the island reshaped itself to her needs.
A hollow beneath the roots of a colossal tree became her cradle, its bark smooth and warm, sculpted by time and something more. When storms roared across the sea, thick vines coiled protectively over the entrance, sealing her within a living shelter. When the sun burned mercilessly, the leaves above shifted, weaving shade where none had been before.
She was never alone.
Not once.
By the time Maris learned to stand, she was already walking among giants.
Sea Kings circled the island endlessly, their massive silhouettes gliding beneath the deep waters like living mountains. At times, their great eyes would rise above the waves, watching silently as the small girl played along the shore.
When she laughed, the sea seemed to soften.
When she slept, the winds grew gentle.
The island did not merely protect her—it responded to her.
Maris learned to run barefoot across stone and sand before she learned words.
Her teachers were not voices, but motion.
She studied how birds glided to master balance.
She mimicked the leaps of cats to learn precision.
She learned patience from spiders weaving their webs, and courage from boars charging headfirst through dense brush.
Food was never scarce.
Fruit ripened just within her reach.
Fish leapt close to shore as though offering themselves.
Honey dripped slowly from hollow trees, sweet and golden beneath her small hands.
Yet the island did not make her fragile.
When she fell, it did not catch her.
When her skin was scratched or bruised, healing herbs appeared nearby—but she had to gather and use them herself.
It did not teach her comfort.
It taught her survival.
And still… It showed kindness.
At night, soft-glowing insects gathered around her resting place, lighting the dark like drifting stars. Their gentle radiance chased away fear before she ever learned what fear was.
She grew strong without knowing why.
She grew quiet without being lonely.
She grew curious without becoming reckless.
For a long time, Maris did not speak aloud.
She did not need to.
The animals understood her without sound.
A tilt of her head sent birds scattering in search of food.
A raised hand calmed even the most restless beasts.
Her presence alone could still have snarling jaws and quiet raging claws.
She would sit by the water's edge, dangling her feet in the waves, watching Sea Kings surface in silence. Their vast shadows loomed beneath her, yet she felt no fear—only familiarity.
As though something deep within her blood called to them.
As though she belonged among them.
When storms arrived, the wind swirled playfully around her instead of tearing at her. When waves rose too high, they curved away from the shore where she stood, never daring to touch her.
The island did not cage her.
It obeyed her.
It was during a quiet dusk that Maris finally spoke.
She stood atop a cliff overlooking the endless sea, wind tugging at her dark hair as the sky bled into gold and violet.
A massive Sea King surfaced below, its single great eye breaking the water like a rising moon.
She gazed down at it, heart steady.
"…Beautiful."
The word was soft.
Yet the sea stilled.
The Sea King did not move. The waves froze in reverence, and even the wind seemed to listen.
At that moment, the island understood.
This child was not merely protected by the world.
One day…
She would command it.
Though the island gave her everything needed to survive, there were things it could not give.
Questions.
At night, Maris often stood on the shore, gazing toward the endless horizon, watching distant ships pass like faint stars upon the water.
She did not know what they were.
Only that they came from somewhere beyond.
Her heart stirred whenever she saw them.
Not with fear.
But longing.
The wind carried whispers she could not yet understand.
The sea called to her with promises she could not yet grasp.
And so, on an island unseen by the world, raised by beasts and wind and wave…
Maris D. Luna grew not only as a child of nature—
But as a child destined to one day leave it behind.