Male POV

The sun had reached its zenith, shining its scorching rays from above onto the vast expanse of the sea. No land could be seen for miles in all directions, and no ship sailed these waters, save for a piece of wreckage that floated aimlessly on the water. It had once been part of a Roman Trireme, which sailed in a fleet under the command of Marc Antony at the battle of Actium against Octavian, and had been destroyed like the rest of the fleet had been.

At first glance the wreckage seemed just that, a wreckage that floated aimless, bobbing up and down as the waves gently lifted and lowered it. Eventually marooning itself on a beach, or sinking down into the dark sea depths. But on further inspection, laying upon the wreckage as if it were a raft was a man, a survivor of the battle.

His name was Lysander, a **** who belonged to the Roman navy, and had been chained in the belly of the galley to row until he could no more. He had survived the battle, though he could not remember how. Only having flashes of memory of the ship being rammed in half, of men screaming as they drowned. He had been floating upon the wreckage for sometime, but had long lost track of the days. Exhausted and dehydrated from exposure from the hot sun, which burnt his skin.

He wondered why he had survived, and began to wish he had not. He knew that he'd likely die before someone found him, from starvation or dehydration, or some beast from the depths that came to eat him whole. But Lysander did not want to die, he was still young, and wanted to live and be a freeman, not dead or a ****.

He sat up upon the wreckage. Making sure to steady it so it it did not capsize. Lysander looked out at the vast ocean, making him feel even more helpless than before. He then closed his eyes and opened his arms out, and through cracked lips he cried out in a dried out voice:

'Poseidon! Lord of the seas! I call upon your aid! Save my life, and it shall be yours from this day till my last!'

He heard his cry echo out in all directions, out into nothingness. He waited for something, anything to happen. But nothing did. He plea had gone unheard. Not that he had been expecting anything. The Gods had not cared for him so far, so why start now.

Now completely exhausted, Lysander collapsed back onto the raft. Accepting his fare. He felt his eyes grow heavy, and the world began to blur. Before he knew it, he drifted to sleep, perhaps never to awake.