The soft chirping of morning creatures and the warmth of the rising sun stirred Noah from his slumber. Eyes still closed, he stretched, muscles flexing beneath his shirt, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of Nemesis—a habit too deeply ingrained to break.
But there was no danger.
Only the soothing scent of wildflowers, the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze, and the faint bubbling of the nearby spring. Slowly, Noah opened his eyes.
The sixth floor greeted him with its usual tranquil beauty.
Golden light spilled across the meadow like a gentle blessing. The grass shimmered with dew, and the trees swayed in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. It was a world untouched by violence, suspended in a dream.
He inhaled deeply.
"I needed this," he murmured.
After the brutality of the previous floor and the bone-deep exhaustion that had followed, this moment of stillness felt like a luxury. He sat up and glanced to his side.
