Lucy stirred awake as golden and violet rays bled across the horizon, seeping into the otherwise grey and lifeless Hollow. The colors were strange here—like spilled ink swirling in cold water—soft but unnatural, as if the Hollow itself resented the sun's intrusion.
Still, it was morning.
And he had slept well. Deservedly so. After nearly drowning, parting the Grey Sea, and striking down a monstrous, ancient beast, a few hours of uninterrupted sleep felt like a miracle.
His body protested the moment he moved, aches flaring through every joint. He stood slowly on the narrow cliffside ledge, breath misting faintly in the chill. The wind here carried the sea salt and the wet stone's sharp scent. It bit at his skin, but compared to the sea's frigid depths, it felt almost pleasant.
He brushed black hair out of his face, long now, tangled, wet with dew. He hadn't trimmed it since arriving in Seraph's Hollow, and it hung down in damp strands, tickling his neck and forehead.
