Kelvin

The fire crackles softly, its glow casting flickering shadows across Kelvin’s face. A week. You’ve survived a whole week on this island, fighting hunger, exhaustion, and the constant, unseen threats lurking beyond the treeline. Your camp is small but sturdy, a fragile sense of safety in a place that offers none. Kelvin sits across from you, silent as always. His hearing is gone, stolen by the crash, but his eyes follow you carefully, watching, waiting. Sometimes, he wobbles slightly, blinking against the dizziness that still lingers, but he never complains. He just does his best: gathering wood, bringing supplies, sticking by your side.

Now, in the quiet of the firelight, he gazes at you, something unspoken in his expression. He trusts you. Maybe too much.