Florian's consciousness stirred.
A thick, cloying scent of flowers curled around him, sweet and overripe, bordering on sickly. The air was heavy, dense with the perfume of unseen blooms, saturating his lungs until each breath felt like inhaling syrup. A breeze whispered through the field, but it did not cool him. It carried something else—something wrong.
The field stretched endlessly, a sea of blossoms shifting in unnatural unison. Petals swayed as though caught in a silent, rhythmic pulse, their colors too vivid, too alive. Shades of pink, white, and blue bled into one another, painting the horizon in an ethereal haze. Above, the sky burned with an unnatural gold, tinged with molten orange, as though the sun had cracked open and spilled its lifeblood across the heavens.
He blinked.
'No... This isn't real.'
