Chapter 2
https://www.miraclenovela.com/2025/07/Asmaa_0399451820.html
The Island of No Return
By Asmaa Nada
chapter 3
As we were examining the maps, and while Raymond was organizing them, Tina asked,
“How did you know all of this, Raymond?”
Raymond answered with a proud smile that barely concealed his excitement, “Did you forget that my father is an archaeologist? He used to take me along on his excavation trips. One of the men in his team was a specialist in decoding ancient maps. I used to love sitting with him, listening as he explained the secrets behind every map—how to read them, and what each symbol meant. Since then, I’ve been researching everything I could about maps, digging through libraries to find even the smallest detail about how and where to locate them. That man also taught me how to distinguish between genuine maps and forgeries.”
Antoine laughed and said, “So, we have a map expert—Raymond; an archaeologist—Mark; and a bunch of adventure lovers—that’s us: me, Tina, and Alice. We also have a powerful ship capable of crossing oceans. What more do we need? Why don’t we go find those treasures ourselves?”
Mark said, “You forgot about that terrifying creature whose words were carved into the map.”
Raymond replied, “Then we can bring Clark. He’s strong, quick-witted, and can protect us. And Mary—she’s a zoologist, and she studied toxins and how to make antidotes. She’d be invaluable.”
Mark then asked, “Are we all agreed on sailing into this adventure?”
Everyone raised their hand in agreement, and Alice added, “We still need Clark and Mary to agree. And let’s not forget—we also need our parents’ permission.”
Mark shouted, “No way I’m telling them I’m going off to search for the island that left my grandfather scared out of his mind!”
Tina said, “Oh, smart one—no, we’ll just tell them that we’re sailing within national waters, like always.”
Everyone raised their hands again and shouted in unison, “To adventure!”
Just then, Mark’s father’s voice echoed from the top of the cellar stairs, “What adventure are you kids talking about?”
Mark replied, “We’ve all finished school and we just want to take a trip around the ocean before college starts.”
His father smiled and said, “Alright, but you know the rules.”
They all responded in perfect harmony, “No sailing beyond national waters, and no staying at sea for more than fourteen days.”
The father burst out laughing at their coordinated answer, then climbed back up and disappeared from the entrance. Antoine leaned toward Mark and whispered,
“No more obstacles, my friend. The adventure begins.”
Everyone headed home. Antoine and Mark went to Clark’s house, while Alice went to see Mary. By dawn on the third day, the whole group met at the wooden dock where Mark’s private ship was moored.
Within an hour, the team loaded and prepared the ship with enough food and supplies to last four months. They each explored the ship to choose their rooms. The ship was staffed with seasoned sailors—this was the first time Mark had ever hired a full maritime crew. But by the time his father learned that his son had hired a captain and a full team, it was too late. The ship had already set sail, and he couldn’t even reach them to call it back.
Tina, Alice, and Mary settled into three adjacent cabins below deck, where they could look out at the sea life and the natural beauty beneath the water. Mark took his own suite on the upper deck, where his window offered an endless view of the vast ocean meeting the sky at the horizon. Antoine, Clark, and Raymond took cabins on the first floor above the waterline—this deck had two windows: one above, to see the water’s surface, and another below, giving them a glimpse into the depths beneath.
The first day passed joyfully among the friends, filled with laughter and playful teasing echoing through the ship’s corridors. By day, they basked in the sun on deck, enjoying the view of the endless waters and fishing for fresh catches. By night, they would gather in the cinema lounge that played vintage films, or in the billiard room, and sometimes even in the music and dance hall.
When the captain finally sailed beyond the national borders, he summoned Mark to ask about their intended destination. Mark brought Raymond and the map with him, and together they climbed up to the captain’s quarters. Mark unrolled the map and pointed toward a place marked “Anaconda Island.” The captain chuckled.
“Here we go again. I told your grandfather decades ago—there’s no such island. It’s just myth and legend. But he insisted, took a ship and some sailors, and sailed off without me. And now here you are, asking to sail the same route. But you know what? Let’s go. I’ve heard stories over the years that your grandfather did find something and came back warning everyone to stay away. My curiosity’s been killing me ever since.”
Mark smiled and said, “Ours too. We want to explore the island—and maybe find some of those jewels my grandfather wrote about.”
The captain leaned in. “Wait, your grandfather wrote about that island?”
“He did,” Mark nodded. “I have his journals in my cabin.”
The captain’s eyes lit up. “Well then, why don’t you bring them up so we can read them together? It’ll take us two weeks just to reach the islands surrounding Anaconda Island.”
“Alright,” Mark said. “I’ll bring them and wait for you by the pool deck.”
As Raymond began to gather the map, the captain asked him to leave it unrolled—it would help in charting their course once they neared those mysterious islands. Mark returned and told the others to gather on the upper deck, as they would be reading his grandfather’s journals together. Within half an hour, the group had assembled in a circle around the captain, who held the weathered journal and began reading aloud.
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[Excerpt from the Grandfather’s Journal]
Today, I’ve decided to take the advice of my friend, Captain Miran, and record my thoughts by voice so I can later write them down—something for my children and grandchildren to read in the future.
It will be a cherished memory of my adventure in search of the hidden island said to lie deep within the heart of the ocean, as told in the legends of the Shun Islands. In any case, I pressed the record button on the cabin device and began to speak:
8:30 a.m. today. The sky is clear. The sea is calm—accompanied only by the distant songs of whales swimming nearby, harmonizing with the music playing from the captain’s cabin speaker. I swear, I’ve never known a more perfect morning. And then it happened—a cry from the man atop the mast, the one sitting in the tower above the sails.
“Land! Land ahead—oh my God, what is that?!”
The captain grabbed the radio next to me.
“What do you see, man?”
The mast lookout replied, “Look in all directions—there are several islands, surrounding something in the center. Like fingers forming a palm, cradling something I can’t quite see. I think we’ve reached the Shun Islands. But I can’t tell if that’s a massive serpent or just a strange, small island in the middle.”
The captain called out, “Let’s get closer—it’ll become clear.”
But suddenly the lookout shouted in panic, trying to descend from the tower.
“Back away—it’s moving! Damn it, turn the ship! Turn us around now!”
Before the man could reach the deck, the sky darkened without warning, thick black clouds rolling in. The sea rose up like a wounded, furious beast. Waves slammed against the ship's sides with violent force. The captain shouted,
“Grab the rails! Tie down the ropes! Lower all sails!”
A swirling vortex descended from the sky—a tornado heading straight for us with terrifying speed. Amid the captain’s frantic orders to lower the sails and turn the helm, I clung tightly to the sail mast, tying ropes around myself to hold steady. I stared ahead, into the eye of the storm, not knowing how it had appeared—how the perfect blue sky had turned into a thunderous chaos of lightning, crashing waves, and howling wind in mere moments.
The last thing I remember before losing consciousness was the massive shadow beside the vortex. It moved through the mist—an enormous creature, its form slowly revealing itself: a serpent’s head, colossal, crowned with gleaming crimson glass-like eyes.
Now I awaken—not knowing how much time has passed. My eyes open slowly. My body feels bound, something heavy pressing on my back. My face is wet—washed by waves mixed with soft grains of sand.
For a few moments, I tried to move, to lift myself—but the heavy weight on my back kept me pinned to the ground, face-first in the wet sand. As my awareness gradually returned, I realized it was the ropes—the same ones I had tied around myself to secure my body to the mast. A shattered piece of the mast was still bound to me, likely the very thing that saved me from drowning. It must have kept me afloat after the ship broke apart and eventually carried me to this shore.
Amazingly, the recording device was still working. Faint sounds echoed from it—screams from those aboard the ship, forever frozen in time.
I untied the ropes from around my chest, pushed the broken wood off my back, and slowly stood up. My soaked clothes clung to my body as I brushed the sand off, looking around in every direction for any sign of the ship's crew. But the beach was deserted.
Sunlight poured across the sand, making it shimmer like sparkling pearls. Gentle waves crept between my bare toes—my shoes were ruined, torn to scraps barely covering the soles of my feet. I began to walk, stripping off my wet clothing while scanning my surroundings.
Tall trees lined the edge of the beach in tight formation, as if they were hiding something behind them. Still, the recording device kept playing, and once again I heard the screams from the doomed ship.
I moved closer to the treeline and draped my wet clothes over a nearby branch. That’s when my heart nearly stopped.
Just ahead, a narrow stream shimmered—but it wasn’t water that glittered. It was gold. The stream was filled with treasure—ornaments, coins, jewelry, gems—all gleaming and clearly placed there by human hands. But what chilled me was the blood.
Dry, dark red stains clung to the gold, blending with the brilliant yellow to create a twisted, haunting contrast. I stepped back, trying to get a better view—and that’s when I saw it.
A colossal statue made of bones, shaped like the very creature I saw beside the storm before losing consciousness. Its structure was flawless, its form terrifying—and engraved into its surface were words that made my blood run cold:
> “Within the folds of pitch-black night, and silence so deep—beware the whisper. Do not move. Be like the statues scattered across this island. Stop breathing, if you can.
If you can’t… then know this: you are nothing more than an appetizer, in a feast prepared just for me.
You are in my island.
My kingdom.
Enjoy its enchanting beauty by day,
But beware—do not go deeper,
Or you will be devoured.”
---
Captain Pierre Vladimir paused, flipping through the journal pages.
“Mark… where’s the rest of the journal? These pages are blank.”
Mark leapt to his feet, snatched the red notebook, and quickly flipped through it.
“What? No, that can’t be. The journal was full—I saw the pages myself before I took it from my grandfather’s desk.”
The captain pointed. “Look here. Someone has torn out several pages.”
Mark cursed under his breath. “Damn it. Who did this? No one knew I had this—except Grandpa before he died… and Dad. Ugh! Why would he do this?”
Antoine laughed. “Maybe your father was afraid you’d read it and get too excited about finding the island. Thought it better to tear them out.”
Just then, one of the sailors approached and said to the captain, “Sir, a call’s coming in from one of the Water Guard vessels. They’re asking to speak with you.”
The captain stood and placed a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll find out for ourselves what Mr. Vladimir discovered.”
He left with the sailor and entered the captain’s cabin to answer the radio. A familiar voice crackled through the speaker.
“Hey, Mr. Denian. This is Mark’s father. I just wanted to thank you for taking charge of the voyage… and ask a small favor.”
“No thanks needed, sir,” the captain replied. “If it’s within my ability, I’ll gladly oblige.”
Mark’s father hesitated, trying to sound composed yet concerned.
“Please… don’t listen to the kids’ stories. Stay within national waters.”
The captain cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that ship has sailed—literally. We crossed the border hours ago. But don’t worry—they’re in experienced hands.”
Mark’s father tried to suppress his worry, masking it with a father’s calm tone, though concern was evident in his words. Legally, his son was of age. He couldn’t force him back.
“Yes… yes, I know. They’re with the best captain to sail the seas. But still—they’re just teenagers. They don’t always make the best decisions. Can you tell me where they’re planning to go?”
The captain hesitated. He too was a father. He understood the fear.
“They told me they just want to sail for a few weeks—just for fun. Nothing more.”
“Well,” said Mark’s father softly, “If anything happens—or they cause any trouble—I hope you’ll tell me when you return.”
“Of course. You have my word.”
The call ended. The captain turned back to the maps on the table—and suddenly, his eyes lit up. He called out to his crew:
“Look at this, everyone! Right here on the map—it’s a shortcut. If we follow this route, we can reach the far side of the islands in just two days. He marked it—right here!”