Start of Volume Two: Festival of Death.
"Where... am I?"
Lucy muttered aloud, blinking against the harsh sunlight. He found himself lying in the middle of an endless, open grass field. The wind played with his black hair, cool and constant, while the sun beamed down into his pale, silvery eyes like a spotlight.
He inhaled deeply. The scent of wildflowers filled the air—sweet, delicate, almost too perfect. There was no wind rustling the grass, no buzzing insects—only the faint, distant chirps of birds echoing from a nearby forest.
Lucy sat up slowly, his fingers brushing against the earth as he plucked a lone dandelion. He brought it to his nose.
"A dandelion… Mom's favorite," he thought. The familiarity of the scent soothed something deep in his chest.
He didn't know where he was. He didn't care. For the first time in what felt like ages, peace cradled him. The world around him held no burdens, violence, blood—just warmth and solitude.
