She walks across a field of flowers.
Ancient flowers.
Flowers once called Lycoris radiata.
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Red.
Strange in shape.
Yet beautiful.
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She knows there are ruins beneath this field.
The Ruins of the Wolf.
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She learned of them from an old script her team once discovered.
A weathered scroll.
Half-decayed.
Barely preserved.
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Within its pages, it was written:
This place is dangerous.
The wolves are fierce.
And the ruins are haunted.
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But she does not believe it.
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She travels to uncover the truths hidden within the world.
And in all her journeys—
she has never seen a ghost.
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Not in forgotten tombs.
Not in abandoned cities.
Not even in places others fear to approach.
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She looks around.
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A small rise in the earth catches her attention.
A stone, perhaps.
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She steps closer.
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Then realizes—
it is not a stone.
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It is part of a pillar.
One fragment of the ruins buried beneath the flowers.
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She takes a slow breath.
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And suddenly—
she feels tired.
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Not exhausted.
Not weak.
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Simply tired.
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She lies down among the flowers.
And looks up.
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The sky above is red.
Orange.
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Black streaks drift slowly through distant clouds.
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She breathes in again.
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Pine.
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She smells pine.
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Her eyes move across the field.
There are no pine trees here.
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She closes her eyes.
Breathes in once more.
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This time the scent has changed.
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Something old.
Something rotting.
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The smell of decay.
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She opens her eyes.
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A vulture circles overhead.
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She blinks.
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And it is gone.
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She sits upright.
Thinking.
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Perhaps it was nothing.
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Perhaps her mind is simply tired.
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Yet—
there is a feeling.
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A strange calmness.
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A silence that feels deeper than silence.
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Quiet.
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Almost tranquil.
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And without realizing it—
she begins to hum.
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A melody.
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One she does not remember learning.
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One she cannot remember hearing.
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Yet somehow—
it feels familiar.
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As though she has known it her entire life.
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She sits there.
Among the flowers.
Beneath the strange sky.
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Humming.
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And humming.
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And humming.
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