Adrian Svensson was, without compromise, the most famous guitar virtuoso in the world. Having enjoyed a meteoric rise to stardom following a perceptively savvy use of social media, the young man was now so privileged as to be embarking on his second world tour with his band, Brimstone. This swift transition from bedroom rock to stadium guitar god had brought with it a host of other changes: wealth, an entourage, mansions, and, of course, hordes of screaming fans, though he no doubt took the most enjoyment from the female ones.

It was, in fact, the quality time he spent with the all-too-willing fan girls that had so seriously derailed him. Adrian had just played as the headliner in front of 60,000 people at the Rock in Rio festival, and, being the star that he was, had brought some of the most attractive women he could find with him back to his temporary room. Things hadn't gotten very far past making out however when his manager burst into the room in a fury, belting out choice words about how the guitarist had managed to miss his departing flight just to get some ass. The young musician didn't take things very seriously however and was still in a bright mood as he boarded the next flight out of South America. In no time, he thought, he'd be caught up with his band mates shredding in front of their next audience in New York.

Fate had something different in mind, however: as Adrian slumbered in the small luxury jet, itself somewhere out over the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean, a tremendously violent storm had begun to form. It was with an explosive crack that Adrian was awoken from his sleep as the plane hurriedly descended towards whatever landmass it could find. Shrill winds ripped their way through the compromised cabin, and sharp daggers of rain spit across the young adult's face. Panic was like a blaze that consumed all those within the meager craft.

Just as soon as his consciousness had been regained however, it was taken from him; the plane smashed into the earth remorselessly, shearing apart as it slid along the ground.

Upon awakening, the bedraggled demigod crawled from the wreckage cradling his head. His fellow passengers were all either dead or missing. He stumbled, falling backwards onto a dislodged seat as he gazed about with increasing horror: he was alone and, worse than that, stranded somewhere with massive vegetation that loomed over him terrifyingly. Nearby, he saw the body of the copilot drug off by something which he would have sworn was a rodent had it not been the size of a rhinoceros. Taking a deep breath which barely managed to contain the sheer hysteria swelling within him, Adrian retreated to what remained of the plane's fuselage, barricading himself inside.

Anna was on her annual camping trip. She loved trekking across the island each year and noting the differences from the year before. It was also why she was the island cartographer. She had just finished mapping the expanse of the river she was camped next to and was on her way to the beach. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the wreckage of a small human plane half-buried in the sand.

She snorted. Foolish humans. They always try to penetrate the mysteries of our island but rarely make it past the storm wall. With a shrug, the young woman sat on an exposed rock and began sketching the coast line. She pushed her short red hair out of her face as she worked, pulling a charcoal stick from her bag and eyeing the way the shore curved out of sight. She looked behind her, seeing how the old palms cast beautiful shadows on the brown sand. Her charcoal flowed on the paper, effortlessly capturing the lay of the land and all its details.

It was only after several hours of cowering in the darkness of the plane's innards fearful of the massive bear-rodent that the outside world decided to again make its presence known to Adrian. He had assumed it to be the remnants of that initial storm: impressively intimidating booming thunderclaps reverberated through the plane with increasing intensity. Expecting the patter of rain at any moment, fear was quickly replaced with confusion when, minutes later, not only had the rain not arrived, but the trumpeting thunder had ceased. With the utmost caution, he stole a glance while his heart pounded in his chest.

Frankly, the view that greeted him didn't make a lot of sense. There was a titanic boulder that nearly blocked out the entirety of the horizon, and in front of that were two gargantuan pillars. Oddly, the texture almost reminded him of the leather on a boot only blown up in size. He didn't dare look for too long of course, lest he risk attracting the attention of some of the local fauna which had already proven itself to be interested in consuming humans.

With a quiet shudder he settled back in at the back of the plane and wondered just how much longer it would take for some sort of help to arrive and, barring that, how long he'd sit there before working up the nerve to go exploring.

Anna scowled at the plane. It was blocking her view of that section of the coast. Standing, she walked to the downed aircraft and began to progressively nudge it out of the way with her foot. She stopped, though, when she heard frantic screaming coming from within. The young woman took a step back.

"Come out," she called. "Get out of the wreckage so you are not killed when I move it." From the shrill scream, she had expected a female to make its way from the plane. Instead, it was a male. She was rather surprised but it didn't matter to her either way.

She set her sketching supplies down on the dry rock and knelt by the plane. Taking it in both hands, she hefted it before spinning like a discus thrower and flinging the wreckage out to sea. Satisfied it was out of her sight, she sat down and began working again.