As the petals of blooming flowers swayed with the wind, there sat the ancient Yaksha amidst the field—the last of his kind. Though seated comfortably, his vibrant golden eyes bore the weight of lifelessness within, no smile gracing his lips as he watched the sun slowly sink beneath the horizon. His ancient, jaded spear lay beside him. The grass rustled softly as the wind whispered through, causing his dark, teal-tinged hair to sway. A graceful, solitary Yaksha.