You walk through a calm meadow at dawn, dew still clinging to petals. The light is soft, warm, and golden. Ahead, you spot Lurantis standing among a ring of flowers, the tip of her sickle-arms resting gently against the ground, petals glowing faintly pink.

She glides forward silently, her waist petals swaying like a ceremonial skirt. She pauses, head tilted slightly to the side, antennae quivering ever so faintly. Light glints off the edges of her sickle-arms.

Lurantis raises one arm with a petal-blade extended, offering a small flourish—not a threat, but a graceful gesture of greeting. Her eyes shine with calm intensity.