Lucy woke to the soft rustle of leaves brushing against one another and the faint crackle of dying embers. Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, fell upon the dry forest floor littered with crisp brown leaves. The hem of the thin sheet she'd slept on curled slightly at the edges, gathering dust and dew.

Her gaze wandered toward the faint column of light blue smoke rising from last night's fire. The firewood was long reduced to gray charcoal, yet stubbornly puffed small whirls of smoke that twisted and danced upwards as though reluctant to leave the earth.

The morning light pierced through the forest canopy in broken streaks, bathing everything in a golden shimmer that made the leaves glitter like scattered coins.

The forest itself was calm, so calm it almost mocked them. The birds chirped their morning songs cheerfully, fluttering from branch to branch like gossiping townsfolk.

The trees stood still, whispering among themselves in the cool dawn breeze. If one ignored the dreadful truth that they were heading into the Haydes, a cursed land crawling with dangers, the morning could almost be called beautiful and hopeful.

Lucy blinked sleepily, her lashes heavy, her head swaying slightly as she tried to shake off her drowsiness.

Her eyes then caught sight of a silhouette not too far away, the graceful figure of Sarah, back turned, her black hair glinting faintly as she tied and prepared the horse. Her every movement was precise and elegant, but something about it felt tense, forced, like someone trying too hard not to think.

Lucy sat up slowly, bracing herself with one hand while she yawned loudly, her other hand covering her mouth. The sound broke the morning's silence. Sarah didn't turn; she only tightened a strap on the horse's saddle, pretending she hadn't noticed.

"Morning, girl," Lucy chirped in a soft, teasing whisper as she tiptoed toward her friend. Then, without warning, she wrapped her arms around Sarah from behind in a tight, warm hug.

Sarah stiffened at once, her voice barely above a breath. "Hey, Lucy." It was weak, unwelcoming—almost hollow.

Lucy, being Lucy, ignored the tone completely. She pressed her body against Sarah's back, resting her cheek against her shoulder.

"What's up, girl? Don't you give me that dull vibe this morning," she sneered playfully, her tone more command than concern.

Sarah gasped, struggling slightly. "Oh, Lu, just let go of me. I'm fine."

Lucy narrowed her eyes, though all she could see was the side of Sarah's cheek and a few rebellious strands of hair.

"I ain't leaving you until you give me that smile, girl." She started shaking Sarah side to side like a mischievous child. "C'mon, smile!"

Sarah sighed through clenched teeth. "Lucy, stop. Just stop, please." Her tone was low but sharp enough to slice through the morning air.

Lucy froze instantly. She knew Sarah well enough to tell when she was truly upset. Slowly, she unwrapped her arms and stepped back.

"Fine," she muttered, her voice dropping, the cheer evaporating like mist.

Sarah turned then, guilt flickering in her dark eyes. "Hey, I didn't mean it like that," she said softly. "I just… wasn't in the mo..."

"I said it's fine, Sarah." Lucy's voice cut through hers, short, flat, and wounded. Sarah's chest tightened; she could feel the quiet hurt behind Lucy's words.

"What's wrong, though?" Lucy pressed, folding her arms over her chest like a stern older sister.

Sarah looked away, her lips tightening. She hated dragging people into her moods, especially Lucy. "It's nothing, Lucy," she insisted weakly.

Lucy raised a single brow, the kind of brow that said "I don't believe a single word you just said." Sarah sighed, defeated. "Fine, I'll talk," she muttered.

Lucy's expression hardened into regal authority, her lips pursing like a queen granting permission.

"You better."

Sarah's lips curled slightly despite herself. Sometimes, Lucy could be a royal pain in the ass, and yet, that was exactly what made her lovable.

"It's Simma," Sarah finally said, her voice lowering. She glanced toward where Simma the gossipee still slept, his figure faintly outlined under the morning light. Then she whispered again, "I think he's… not okay." She paused.

("And yes, before you ask, I know that's not a word, gissipee, gossip-ee... whatever. Just roll with it.")

Lucy snorted, shaking her head so hard her hair flailed like it was scolding the air.

"What about him?" she asked, brushing a strand of hair off her face with exaggerated grace before folding her arms again.

"I'm worried for him, Lucy."

Lucy chuckled. "Oh, you're worried now?" she teased, letting out a short laugh.

"You've been on his neck since yesterday, like some nagging stepmother."

Sarah tilted her head back and exhaled dramatically.

"You know those things I said weren't serious."

Lucy raised her brow again.

"Okay, maybe they were a little serious," Sarah admitted, eyes darting away.

"A little?" Lucy's tone was pure mock disbelief.

"Sarah, if looks could kill, Simma would've been a fossil by now."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Alright, alright. I just...ugh. I can't shake this feeling that something's wrong with him."

"Really?" Lucy said, deadpan.

"Come on, Lucy. I might have been angry with him, but that doesn't blind me," Sarah said, sounding almost defensive.

Lucy sighed theatrically. "Then what are you trying to say, Sarah?"

"I think... I think, he is not himself..." Sarah replied, voice lower now, "I think something is wrong".

Lucy tilted her head. "Wrong? As in, he snores weird? Or wrong as in he might be possessed by a shadow demon wrong?"

"I mean unstable, Lucy," Sarah whispered, glancing at Simma again.

Lucy's arms dropped. "What?" she half-whispered, half-yelled. "How can you even say that?"

"You're not listening, Lucy, this..."

"Uh-uh!" Lucy cut in sharply, shaking her head. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that and go wake him up."

"Wait! Lucy!" Sarah hissed, grabbing her arm.

"I'm serious," Sarah whispered desperately, glancing at Simma again. Her voice trembled slightly.

"Stop this, Sarah," Lucy said, her tone softening but her eyes filled with disbelief. "This is exactly why he didn't want you to follow him, or any of us."

"You think I don't know that?" Sarah whispered back fiercely.

Lucy shook her head. "Mmm-mmm. I'm still waking him up."

"Listen, Lucy, please," Sarah begged, tightening her grip.

Lucy glared at her friend's desperate eyes. "You are not about to tell me Simma's some unhinged psycho. Stop this paranoia, Sarah."

Sarah's grip tightened all the more. "He lied to us, Lucy."

That stopped Lucy cold.

"What do you mean… lied?"

Sarah hesitated, then exhaled. "He wasn't who he said he was. He was never bought, never a fighter… he was a slave. An outcast."

Lucy blinked. Then blinked again. Her mind scrambled for words that weren't just, "What the hell?"

"Wait, you're telling me," she said slowly, "that the same Simma who almost got eaten by a Singrith, who literally summoned a dragon, and who lectured us about Azrax history... was a slave?"

Sarah nodded.

"And... You're telling me this now?"

"Keep your voice down," Sarah urged. "I just found out not too long ago."

Lucy exhaled deeply, once, twice, then again. "Are you sure about this?"

Sarah hesitated. "No… but I'm sure enough to know something's wrong."

Lucy stared into the air for a moment, her hand on her waist, her other hand on her head, looking every bit like someone trying to calculate how life went wrong.

"Girl, that's not even tea, that's a whole pot of boiling soup."

"Keep your voice down!" Sarah hissed, glancing at Simma again.

Lucy groaned. "But what makes you think that?"

"Like i said .... am not sure," Sarah admitted, "but I saw his body. Whip scars, Lucy. Bruises. The same kind we saw on rescued outcasts years ago."

Lucy's expression softened. "Gods… you mean the ones they..."

"Yes," Sarah cut in quietly. "The ones they broke."

Lucy remembered vividly. Before they became azren some slaves or outcast were rescued, and they were looking half dead and alive, and the worse part of it all is that, they were all azrens captured and treated that way. And just recently did they find out that it was the haydes behind it all.

"Are you sure sarah?" Lucy asked again.

Sarah nodded grimly. "He told me he fought with Accrehx against the Singriths when they attacked the city... that during that battle, he remembered everything he went through in the Haydes. That's why he's going back."

"Damn," Lucy muttered, crouching and gripping her head. "You know what this means, right?"

Sarah nodded. "Yes. That's why I said he's unstable. What if the trauma pulls him under again?"

Lucy straightened, her expression hardening. "No, that's not what I mean."

Sarah blinked. "Then what are you saying?"

Lucy's tone turned grave. "What if he's already compelled?"

Sarah's brows furrowed. "Compelled?"

"Yeah," Lucy said quickly. "You know how it goes, the Singriths don't come out during the day. They compel outcasts to act as their day watch."

Sarah's eyes widened in realization.

"Exactly," Lucy continued. "What if they broke him before he escaped, and compelled him to lead us into a trap? You know they use Azrens, and powered people as hosts for their day patrols."

Sarah shook her head violently. "No. You're going too far. Simma would never...I trust him"

Lucy chuckled humorlessly. "You think I don't trust him too?... God, that's the reason am here. But Sarah, we have to look out for the worst."

Sarah's voice cracked. "How can you say that?"

"Common." Lucy snapped. "You said yourself he lied to us! We don't even know who he really is."

Sarah looked hurt, stepping back. "How can you even think that? Simma will ne..."

Her words froze. Her eyes widened

"Simma," she called suddenly, glancing toward where he'd been lying. The sheet was empty.

Her heart skipped. "Oh my God!" she gasped, sprinting forward.

Lucy followed, shouting, "Simma! Where the hell..."

Their cries echoed through the forest as panic surged. Then came the growl.

Low. Thunderous. From above.

They both froze and tilted their heads upward.

There, looming against the dawn sky was Goody, the dragon. His massive wings flapped slowly, the air around him trembling. And astride him sat Simma, his eyes blazing with cold fury.

"Simma!" Sarah shouted. "What are you doing?"

But he only looked down, his expression unreadable, his voice echoing like many layered tones merged into one.

"Unstable, right?" he bellowed, and the very trees seemed to shudder.

A sharp smirk pulled at his lips. "I'll show you unstable."

His eyes flared, glowing an intense, almost electric blue. Instantly, Goody's scales shimmered to match, brilliant and terrible. The air crackled, charged with raw power.

"Simma, wait!" Sarah screamed, stepping forward.

But it was too late.

Simma leaned into Goody, and the dragon's wings exploded outward. In a flash, they were gone, darting forward at blinding speed, slicing through the clouds. The air split behind them like a wound, leaving a shimmering trail in their wake.

"Simma!" Sarah cried again, but her voice was swallowed by the roar of wind and fury.

High above, Simma's voice boomed, layered with echoes of agony and rage.

"Goody," he commanded, eyes blazing. The dragon growled deeply, scales flickering like molten sapphire.

"DRAKARES!"

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