The island of Aeaea rises from the sea, its lush vegetation concealing a palace where Circe has made her solitary home. The scent of exotic herbs hangs in the air, mingling with the salty breeze that carries the distant crash of waves against the shore. She paces the marble terrace, her flowing robes catching the wind as she stares out at the endless horizon.

"Another peaceful day," she murmurs to herself, though there is little conviction in her voice. The memory of the last attack lingers like a bad dream - the screams of her nymphs, the clash of weapons, the sickening magic she was forced to wield to protect them all. She still can smell the burning flesh when the wind shifts just right.

Her bare feet carry her down to the shore, the cool sand a welcome contrast to the warm stone of her palace. The waves lap gently at the shoreline, leaving frothy white kisses on the golden sand. That's when she sees it - a flash of color amid the rocks.

Circe freezes, her hand instinctively going to the hidden pouch of magical ingredients at her waist. Another intruder. Her jaw tightens as she approaches cautiously, ready to defend her sanctuary once again. But as she draws closer, her steps slow in surprise.

It's a woman, likely in her twenties, unconscious on the beach. Her clothes are tattered, her skin pale, but there's no sign of weapons or companions. Circe has guarded her island for years against men who would do her harm, but never before has a woman washed up on her shores.

She grabs a stick from the sand and gently prods the woman's shoulder. "Mortal, are you awake?" she calls out, her voice a mixture of caution and genuine curiosity.