Rain patted the ground as Zahra ran, as fast as her feet would take her. Her limbs trembled with adrenaline; she had never thought she could run for so long, at such a pace. The suburban village she called home drew closer with every laboured breath, and when she finally caught sight of the soft glow of familiar lights, relief threatened to buckle her knees.
The white of Mrs Goodtree's front door seemed to glow like a beacon against the grey sky and dimming light. Zahra nearly collided with it as she fumbled for the handle, fingers numb and clumsy. She shoved the door open and slammed it shut behind her, her chest heaving as she leaned into the safety of the familiar walls.
Only then, in the sudden quiet, did she notice the water dripping steadily from her hair, sliding down the bridge of her nose and soaking into her clothes. She was drenched, shivering to the bone.
The crackle of a fire reached her ears.
Zahra froze.
Mrs Goodtree was still awake.
Heart racing, she frantically scrubbed at her face with her sleeves and wrung out her hair over the coarse welcome mat. She was home far too early. Mrs Goodtree would have questions — questions Zahra was not ready to answer. For a fleeting moment, she wondered whether honesty would be worse than the lies she had perfected over the years.
She slipped off her sodden shoes and shoved them into the cupboard before they could betray her, then turned slowly towards the sitting room.
Through the archway, the winged back of Mrs Goodtree's favourite chair flickered in the firelight. Silver curls spilled over its edge, unmoving.
"Mrs Goodtree," Zahra stammered. "I—I…"
"You're home early, Zahra."
The words were gentle. Too gentle.
Zahra swallowed. Rain slid from her lashes, her breath still uneven.
"I—"
"I know where you've been," Mrs Goodtree said quietly.
A pause.
"And where you haven't."
Zahra's head dropped, shame and exhaustion crashing over her at once. Water dripped from her lashes to the carpet.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
A pale hand emerged from the side of the chair, steady and patient, beckoning her forward. Zahra's knees shook as she crossed into the sitting room and sank onto the sofa opposite. The warmth of the fire seeped into her soaked clothes and aching muscles, and only then did she realise how violently she was trembling.
Mrs Goodtree stared into the flames, her profile carved in flickering light. The blue of the carpet looked almost black beneath her feet.
Zahra had never seen her like this — so still.
"Mrs Goodtree?" she ventured. "If this is about college, I—"
"Do you know who you are, Zahra?"
The question struck harder than any accusation.
"What?" Fear crept up her spine, sharp and cold. She hesitated, then answered uncertainly, "I'm… Zahra."
A faint, almost broken smile touched Mrs Goodtree's lips as she finally turned to face her.
"Yes, my love," she said softly. "But you are so much more. You are who you have always been."
There was something unsettlingly familiar about the way she said it, as though this conversation had happened before — somewhere Zahra could almost remember. She noticed then the redness beneath Mrs Goodtree's eyes, the swelling that spoke of tears shed long before Zahra arrived home.
"You are my daughter, Zahra," Mrs Goodtree continued. "You always have been."
She shifted the blanket from her knees and held out a small tin box.
Zahra's breath caught as she took it. She knew what it was the moment it touched her palms.
"This is what I came with," Zahra murmured. "When they left me here."
The tin was heavier than it had any right to be.
Zahra's fingers shook as she found the clasp.
"Why now?" she asked.
"Because you're remembering," Mrs Goodtree said. "And because we are running out of time."
The lid creaked open.
Light spilled out — not bright, not warm, but wrong.
It crawled across the walls, soaked into the ceiling, and erased the familiar edges of the room.
Zahra's stomach lurched.
Every instinct screamed at her to close it.
To throw it into the fire.
To pretend she had never come home at all.
Mrs Goodtree's voice echoed, distant and everywhere at once.
"No matter where you are,"
"No matter how many times the world tries to tear us apart — all of us — you are my daughter."
A pause.
"And I will wait, for as long as it takes."
The sitting room vanished.
Grass brushed Zahra's bare feet. Cool. Alive. A blinding white light faded slowly, leaving the outlines of trees and shrubs swaying in the distance. The ringing in her ears dulled as the world sharpened into focus.
Something moved.
Recognition.
Her breath steadied. Her shoulders relaxed.
She lowered her arms.
"It's been a long time," the voice echoed.
"I know," she whispered — and didn't know how she knew.
The lion was immense — not merely in size, but in presence. His mane burned like molten gold, threaded with shadows that moved as though alive. His eyes were dark and endless, a night sky scattered with distant stars, watching her with ancient patience rather than hunger.
Power radiated from him, not savage, not cruel — but watchful. The strength of a guardian. A judge. A god who existed not to destroy, but to defend what mattered.
When he lowered his head, Zahra understood without words: this was a protector of the innocent, a bringer of righteous fury, a force that stood between chaos and those too weak to face it.
Maahes...
And somehow — impossibly — he knew her.
His mane brushed against her skin as she ran her hand through silken fur.
In the distance stood a colossal tree, its trunk wide enough for ten people to encircle, pink petals drifting gently to the ground. Beyond it, she glimpsed greenery giving way to endless sand.
The lion had taken his spot by her side. He sat and looked lovingly at the tree.
"Go," the voice echoed. "Find him."
"Who am I to find?" she asked.
"The one who would call you his Champion," the lion said — though his mouth never moved.
The light surged again.
Zahra jolted upright with a gasp.
Firelight.
Carpet.
Mrs Goodtree's hands on her shoulders.
The lion was gone.
The Pharaoh's gaze burned behind her eyes — then shattered.
"He—" Zahra pressed her fingers to her temples. "He was just here."
Mrs Goodtree inhaled sharply. Her eyes darted between hers, trying to understand what was going on in her mind.
"It's begun," she murmured. "Sooner than I hoped."
Zahra's vision doubled.
"What's begun?"
"My girl, it's your memories," Mrs Goodtree said softly, understanding etched into every word. "They're colliding."
In the box, still clutched in Zahra's hands, lay two Duel Monsters cards.
"Those monsters belonged to him. Though they are a part of you. Use them well Zahra."
Zahra choked on those words.
It was all becoming too much to take, but her body was too wired to surrender. Anytime she thought she was falling asleep, the pain would come and she would wake up… somewhere.
Her head lolled from side to side, and each time her head found rest, it jerked awake, desperate not to fall away from reality.
Mrs Goodtree cursed. It was the first time she ever heard an unclean word fall from her mouth. "Let's get you to bed, Zahra. You need to let your mind rest."
"No," she shouted. "No, I can't. I don't want to." At least she thought she shouted, she didn't hear anything but a pathetic sob escape from her.
Mrs Goodtree took her hand, quietly, and tried to lead her up the soft carpeted stairs.
Her bedroom came into view, and her feet stopped. Beyond that door was her bed. Then there was only one option: to sleep and let the pain come. "I'm scared." She whispered to the darkness of the room.
"Don't be scared, my love."
When Mrs Goodtree led her to her bed, exhaustion claimed her at last.
As her body sagged into the mattress, her hands reached down, expecting familiar springs—
Instead, she felt thick grass and the warmth of sunlight.
And Zahra knew, with bone-deep certainty, she was no longer dreaming.