Beacon

You wake. You are bone-weary and salt-encrusted. Your crew all lie in an enchanted sleep. For days they worked as the ocean became a writhing and hungry thing, threatening to capsize your vessel and swallow you whole. You notice a tiny glowing dot in the distance, beckoning you nearer and though you bite your tongue and pinch the soft inside of your arm, you can not decipher whether this is a salt-sleepy dream or benign alien intervention. Waves of warmth wash over you.

Symbolic of peace at the end of a struggle.