A chain. It was enormous. Each link broad enough to fit a man’s arm through, its surface flaking with rust the color of dried blood. It stretched in both directions, one end vanishing into the open sea, the other buried beneath the shallows near the shore.
He leaned over and prodded it with his oar. The wood struck iron with a hollow clang. Not rock. Not driftwood. Something made. Something placed. Back at shore, curiosity clawed deeper than caution. The chain snaked up the beach in a jagged line, half-buried in sand and seaweed, before disappearing beneath a low ridge. The smell of salt and rust clung to the air.