Flowers.
There were flowers everywhere.
A sea of them stretched as far as Florian's eyes could see—blooms of white lilies, roses the color of blood, and strange, otherworldly petals that glowed faintly in the dim light.
The air was heavy with their fragrance, too sweet, almost suffocating. The sight alone tugged at his memory, and a chill slid down his spine.
'This place… I know this place.'
His breath hitched. This was the same field where one of his dreams [1]had taken place. He remembered it clearly—too clearly.
'So… I'm dreaming again?'
But what kind of dream was this?
A memory?
Or another nightmare?
Because the last time he dreamt of this place… it had been anything but beautiful. He could still recall the screams, the suffocating pressure, the endless terror.
A nightmare carved so deep he knew he could never forget.
But now… silence.
