We begin on a boat with no context and a single instruction: Angler Wanted. Before I can decide whether that was a good idea, the sea answers for me. Fog rolls in thick and immediate. Rocks appear too late. The hull gives way without ceremony. The next thing I know, I’m waking beside a lighthouse that apparently exists more for decoration than navigation.

The town is called Greater Marrow. The mayor meets me at the dock as if shipwrecked strangers are part of the morning routine. He’s calm, helpful, almost like he rehearsed it. He replaces my ruined vessel with another and suggests I fish to get my bearings. One instruction matters more than the rest: return before dark. I don’t question it. I head out, fill the hold with whatever bites, and turn back while the sky still holds light.

Back at port, the mayor informs me my original boat is beyond repair. The replacement is mine on loan. I sell my catch to the fishmonger, and part of the earnings go toward the debt. Fifty dollars. Manageable. Survival often is, at first.

The mayor hands me a research part and points me toward the shipwright. They deal in upgrades and repairs. I install an extra engine and use the research to unlock an improved outboard. Day one ends with a slightly faster boat and a slightly smaller debt.

Day two begins smoother. The new engine makes a difference immediately. I fish efficiently and find a note sealed inside a bottle. It feels deliberate. I suspect there will be more of them. I stay out later than intended. Darkness creeps in faster than expected. Behind Greater Marrow, a red pillar of light cuts into the sky. It stands there, patient. I ignore it for now.

The fishmonger has a special order: a gulf flounder and a grey eel. That means new equipment. I dent the loan again, visit the shipwright, and purchase the required rod. Preparation ends the day.

On the third morning, the lighthouse keeper questions my presence. I tell her I’m here to fish. She listens, but I don’t think she believes that’s the whole story. The mayor asks for a simple delivery to Little Marrow. It’s a short crossing. The dockworker pays me with a book on sustainable fishing. Useful. It reads itself as I travel.

I catch two stingray. They occupy more space than they’re worth, but they clear my remaining debt when sold. The mayor opens access to the dry dock, though upgrades require materials I don’t yet have. Expansion will have to wait.

I return to finish the fishmonger’s order. Arrow squid and black grouper follow. The squid shift locations as if aware they’re being hunted, or perhaps the fog distorts more than visibility. Panic rises when I linger in it too long. I learn quickly that staying out after dark carries consequences that aren’t always visible.

The eel is delivered. Another special order replaces it. Then another. This time: crabs. I’m handed a crab pot and instructed to wait. Patience becomes part of the trade.

Before ending the third day, I strengthen the boat further. A more powerful light. An upgraded engine. Small advantages against a coastline that doesn’t feel entirely natural.

Three days in, the debt is cleared. The boat is faster. The sea is watchful. And the red light remains.