Ankyra Sound incarceration

It was the most active the boy had ever been since he had left the Plateau on his ill-fated search. Where, back home, Lucca would laze and graze all day and know mommy and daddy and the rest of his family always had his back, here, he actually had to prove his worth. He had to do work. And work he did, though he was worried it wasn't enough. Caiaphas' words constantly rang throughout his mind — normally, trespassers are killed. It had shook him to the core.

So he rose early each morning and started the day by scouring the beach for food, herbs, and trinkets, finding a certain sort of delight whenever he chanced upon a weird-looking shell. Already, he had started to amass a small collection he had hidden away deep in one of the cliffside nooks.

It was during his usual routine he saw the golden-touched man, tearing and ripping out tufts of grass with a kind of savagery that was unnerving this early in the morning. He had been doing this for a while, it seemed, if the piles of dead grass spread about him were anything to go by. As Lucca cautiously approached, his gaze trailed the scars that littered the man's pelt, wondering if they were all from the recent battle. "Uh, are you okay, sir?"