I am grateful for every moment that my work allowed me to visit Bird Island, part of the Seychelles—a tiny, 2-kilometre-wide coral sand island. Its wildlife, atmosphere, and overall essence were so vastly different from what I was accustomed to back home that I felt as if I had stepped into a parallel world. The island is privately owned, and thanks to the dedicated efforts of its caretakers, the last rat—introduced by humans—was successfully eradicated in the 1980s. This, along with controlled vegetation management, has allowed the island to become home to over 700,000 pairs of sooty terns today. However, I arrived outside their breeding season, when I saw only a handful of individuals, though other bird species were still nesting, even in November. While waiting to photograph white terns, I suddenly heard a distress call. Not far from me, an adult brown noddy was tormenting a helpless chick of its own species for reasons I could not understand. Within moments, the struggling chick, now lying defenseless on the ground, was swarmed by crabs that began devouring it alive. It was heart-breaking to witness, but I chose not to interfere with the natural order. In no time, nearly ten crabs had surrounded the chick, dragging it into the bushes—one of nature’s many raw moments, a silent scream lost in the vastness of the island.