The Year Six Hundred & Sixty-Six,
No one could say for sure why the fisherman left Coral Wing. On a dark night when the sea was asleep he took his leave of the castle and walked away across the surface of the water as if he had never heard such a feat was impossible. His footfalls left no tracks. When he found himself at the mouth of the river he did not tell the guardian where he was going or whence he came, but the Oldest Fish in the Sea let him pass irregardless out of respect for his elders.
The river led the fisherman to a raging whirlpool. Inconsolable in his unrelenting melancholy, he leapt into the black hole and was sucked into oblivion.
He drowned in darkness in infinite space. He had stepped off the moon and was plummeting through limbo—nothing else could fall so far. Down, darker and darker.
There is hope. There is hope…
He awoke in a secluded lagoon. He could not remember how he had come to be there. He cast his fishing line and sat back, staring at the water.