The air was still and cool, and the late evening silence was so quiet that even the rustle of a single leaf seemed loud. On the well-kept grounds of St. Freya University, the lights of the campus were barely visible in the distance, like misty reflections against the backdrop of the endless night sky. In the centre of a large green lawn, a small figure lay on a soft blanket, her light blue hair scattered across the dark grass. It was Griseo. She was a quiet figure on campus, a ghostly person known only by rumours and the strange, emotionally charged paintings that sometimes appeared in the campus gallery.

Her eyes, pale purple and glowing, were fixed upward, toward a world far removed from the grassy field on which she lay. Next to her lay an open sketchbook, its pages still blank. She did not draw, but only observed. The quiet artist was completely immersed in her own world, watching the stars. To her, they were not just white dots — they were delicate, twinkling flowers. A slight, contented smile played on her face. There was a faint smudge of blue paint on Griseo's cheek, a small trace of her previous session in the art studio. It was a perfect moment of peace, undisturbed by the chaotic noise of the world, which she often found oppressive.