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My legs and arms are heavy. Like stones seeking a surface on which to settle, they drag me down as the last puffs of air in my lungs escape in tiny resigned bubbles. A wave drags me to the side, my head catching painfully on a rock, and I’m certain it’s over.

Twenty-seven years old and my run is done. It wasn’t a bad life. It wasn’t a particularly exciting one either. But it was mine and I really fucking liked it.

Fight, Caspian.

Pops’ voice in my head makes me smile. His precious sea has swallowed us whole. Poetic in a way, I guess.

He always said it would take him.

“Have respect for the sea, my laddie. It is powerful and can take as quickly and as easily as it gives.”

Those words play on repeat as I get myself back to the surface – not ready to give up yet. Something soft brushes my leg, but it’s too dark to see what it is. I ignore it and swim in the direction I last saw our boat.

There. Pops is floating on his back, his red raincoat a beacon in the choppy sea. I have to get to him.

I’m coming. Hold on.

A wall of water rises in front of me, pieces of the Aurora splintering off with the force and I cry out as I lose sight of my grandfather.

I’m so tired as I push forward, choking and gasping as wave after wave throws me around like I’m a rag doll in a washing machine and I’m barely hanging on.

I’m pushing as hard as I can, willing myself to survive, but between the pain in my head and my lead-filled limbs, I am no match for Mother Nature and the relentless storm.

The storm we never saw coming.

“I don’t know what the weather gods are doing. But we can outrun this, Caspian.”

We didn’t outrun it.

Closing my eyes, I move my legs in slow circles – a feeble attempt to stay afloat. With each rise and fall of the swell, it’s getting harder and harder to keep my head above water and before long, I’m sinking.

Drowning.

My vision swims in and out, darkness settling in at the edges.

There’s a sudden pressure around my middle – like someone pulling me into an embrace, and when I force my eyes open for the briefest moment, I’m met with two glowing green orbs. It’s then that I know I’m either unconscious and dreaming, or already in whatever place comes after life.

I think of a myth Pops once told me about a dog – Old Shuck – who is believed to be an omen of death. Perhaps that’s what the beast holding me is, and he’s carrying me to some place far from here.

My fear, so potent I feel it in every nerve and fibre of my being, fades into a still, silent numbness. Resignation – a dangerous feeling because it means I’ve stopped fighting. Life drains from me as I slump against the hard body at my back, darkness swallowing me whole.

I startle awake when I’m put down. There’s sand beneath my tired body and a large figure hovering over me, its face tucked into my neck. I freeze, holding my breath as panic builds like an erupting volcano in my chest. The creature growls, hot air hitting my skin, his weight pressing me down into the damp sand. I turn my head and focus on the familiar lighthouse. The sky is dark, covered in thick, angry clouds, and rain falls heavily, blurring my vision, along with tears I can’t hold back.

Thick furred legs keep me trapped to the ground, my body trembling so hard my teeth chatter. The beast lifts one of my hands, pressing it above my head, and I flinch when pain lances across my palm, instinctively balling it into a tight fist. The beast purrs, the words safe, human, mine, crossing his lips in a deep, gravelly voice.

I don’t feel safe. I’m cold and I’m wet and I’m scared.

So fucking scared.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I hold onto the hope that when I open them again, I’ll be back home and that all of this will have been nothing but a nightmare. I’ve had nightmares before, ones that have felt so real I mistake them for reality. This has to be one of those.

Behind my closed lids, I see Pops smiling as he reaches out a hand to me. He says something but my eyes won’t focus, my head is dizzy and the wind and rain are so loud I can’t make out his words. I feel the beast’s weight lift, but I don’t dare look, too afraid of what I might find.

I take a few steadying breaths, in and out, in and out, and then when I’ve gathered the courage, I open my eyes, my stomach sinking. I’m still on the beach, storm clouds rolling over the sea, not in my bed, sweat drenched from a nightmare. The beast is heading away from me now, towards the sea. There’s a break in the cloud that allows me a glimpse of him. He has a long eel-like tail, three shark fins on his back, big canine feet and the hand hanging at his side ends in five sharp claws.

Frantically, I sit up, eyes searching the beach around me, reality crashing in that I’m alone. Pops isn’t on the beach with me, which means…

“Save Pops,” I say in a croak, begging this creature to do what I can’t. If he’s real, if this is the world I woke up in this morning, then he has to save my grandfather. “Please.” My voice gets lost to the noise of Mother Nature’s fierce roar, tears mixing with rain on my face. I try to ignore the sensation of wet clothing sticking to my skin, willing my focus elsewhere. I can’t panic about the unwelcome sensations, not now. Covering my ears with my hands, I close my eyes and lie flat on the sand. My head hurts and my body is heavy. Sleep comes too easy, tugging at the last reserves of my energy, the little that the sea left behind.