A/N: So, this story was inspired by two things. One, I just recently found and played the Nancy Drew computer game The Creature of Kapu Cave for nostalgia's sake, and two, one of my close friends just joined the Navy and left for basic training. That being said, the aforementioned game gets credit for the legend of Kāne 'Ōkala, since as far as I've found, it isn't an actual Hawaiian legend. Now, that being said, this is a prologue of sorts to what will become a Pearl Harbor AU SanSan story. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I have had coming up with this idea, and sometime in the future, I will begin to write more for this story. Many thanks to my unofficial beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut for looking over this and encouraging me to start this story when I told her my idea for it. Credit for the cover art goes to AndreeWallin at Deviantart. And, reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: The characters belong to George R. R. Martin and Kāne 'Ōkala belongs to Her Interactive. The plot, however, is mine. And history's. And Samuel Collins is mine.

"The story of a kupua named Kāne 'Ōkala is not as widely known. Back in ancient days, at a time when Pele's rumblings were particularly ominous, the people in a village close to her home in Kilauea decided to try and placate her with a sacrifice. But instead of offering her food, which would have been a true sacrifice since they had not managed their crops well that year, they seized an ill-tempered man whom no one particularly liked and tossed him into the crater.

"Pele realized that the man was not a sincere sacrifice as soon as her flames began to devour him. Furious, she ejected the burning man, flinging him into the forest. As the rain there doused the flames that had half-consumed him, she gave him an appetite for revenge that rivaled her own.

"As soon as he could stand, the man went rampaging across the island, unleashing insects, vermin and disease, laying waste to crops, destroying the very thing the selfish and deceitful villagers had withheld from Pele, causing widespread hunger and starvation.

"Those who saw him said he was terrifying in sound and appearance, his voice destroyed by Pele's fire, his face disfigured by the flames; his skin horribly mottled and pocked. They called him Kāne 'Ōkala, or rough-skinned man.

"When at last Pele felt avenged, she locked him away in one of her many caves so no one, including herself, would have to look at him again. But whenever her anger is aroused, or she feels that her beloved islands are in danger or she has otherwise been disrespected, she releases Kāne 'Ōkala and allows him to once again do her vengeful bidding..."

There was a moment of silence before Petty Officer 1st Class Samuel Collins snorted in disbelief. "That's all bullshit and you know it."

Makoa Kahale shrugged indifferently. "I'm just telling you what my father told me, and he was told by his father before him, who was told by his father before him, who was told by—"

His fellow officer waved him silent and sighed. "Yeah, yeah. His father before him. We get it. But I still stay it's bull. Back in America proper, we don't have ridiculous stories about burned men rampaging through the jungle. Although, in general, we only believe in one god, not however many you Hawaiians have."

Kahale shrugged again then glanced over to his right. "What do you think, Miss Stark?"

Sansa Stark, a young nurse who had recently joined the American war effort, glanced up from where she was putting fresh sheets on one of the makeshift hospital beds. "Oh, I don't know, sir," she said quietly. "Like Petty Officer Collins said, I tend to believe in the god that my mother raised me to. But I haven't been on the islands long enough to believe anything different. If the story is true, then I suppose I feel sorry for Kāne 'Ōkala."

Collins ignored the latter statement and responded to the sentiment that had preceded it. "None of us will be on these islands long enough to believe it, Miss Stark. Mark my words, one way or the other, this war will be over within the year."

The attack on Pearl Harbor on the morning of December 7th, 1941, was nothing less than a complete surprise.

When the fighting was finally over, there were 3,508 American casualties, not including the destruction of the ships that had held the now decimated crews or the hundreds of aircraft that had been blown to pieces before they had even had the chance to take to the skies in defense of the harbor. Among those dead was Makoa Kahale, who had been found praying to Pele to exact her revenge on the Japanese with his dying breath.

The next day, the United States declared war on Japan, and officially entered the Second World War on December 11th, 1941, when Germany and Italy made their own declarations of war upon the grieving nation.

Sansa Stark had little time to grieve herself during the days that followed the attack. Though the nation's entry into the war meant that her two older brothers would be sent across the sea to fight the German army, she thought only of the wounded soldiers that she found in her care.

"We sure could use that Kāne 'Ōkala bastard now, eh? Let him go fuck up the Japs."

She looked up from changing the bandage on Collins' leg to meet his gaze, nodding absently in agreement as he laughed wryly. His injury was too severe, and already far too infected, though she hated to be the one to have to tell him that they would have to amputate.

He didn't take the news well.

Exhausted, both physically and mentally, Sansa finally found a reprieve when Myranda Royce all but forced her out of the medical ward, and she meandered along the edge of the Pacific, not really paying any attention to where she was going.

When she reached the edge of the jungle, she fell to the ground and allowed herself to cry for the first time since the attack, all her grief expelling itself in wracking sobs. It was only as her tears began to dry that she became aware of the sound of heavy footsteps on the floor of the jungle, and, fearing a Japanese land attack, she sprang to her feet, only to come face to face with a man—if she could even call it that.

Admittedly, it was a man, though the clothes that covered his body were all but rags and they did little to hide the flame-ravaged skin beneath, raw and red in the light of the sun. Gasping, she looked away from his terrible scarred face and found herself staring down at a pair of large, bare feet. They, at least, appeared to have survived the worst of the flames.

He stared at her as she stared at anything but him and when she managed to regain her voice, she could only speak in a whisper. "Why are you here?"

At that, a bitter laugh tore itself from his burned throat and he rasped out a single word: "Ho'opa'i."