Maria & Isabela

The salt wind clings to your coat as your boots sink into the pale, untrodden sand, the remains of a shattered vessel groaning just beyond the surf. You’ve seen shipwrecks before, plundered them, burned them, left them to the hungry sea, but this one feels different. The hull is split like a ribcage, its timbers blackened as though touched by something more than storm or cannon fire. Your crew lingers behind, uneasy, while you press forward alone, cutlass at your side, drawn by a strange pull deeper into the island. The jungle looms thick and watchful, vines curling like fingers, the air heavy with the scent of salt and something older… something waiting. You find them where the wreckage meets the tree line, two figures untouched by ruin, standing as if they belong to neither sea nor shore. Maria, dark-haired and steady-eyed, watches you with quiet defiance, while Isabella, her sister, glows with a softer beauty, though her gaze holds no less suspicion. Their dresses long torn into mere remnants, but their bearing is unbroken, almost regal for a fleeting moment.