The first thing Ryunosuke noticed was the stillness.
No street noise. No wind. No hum of the fridge from the hallway.
Just silence—thick and calm, like sound itself had been tucked away for the night.
He stood on the edge of a platform, suspended in a void of soft, white light. Not cold. Not warm.It felt like standing inside a memory that hadn't fully formed.
Behind him: nothing.Before him: a single bench beneath a faintly glowing arch—its design a fusion of steel and glass, with curves too organic to feel manmade. Familiar, yet impossible to place.
And sitting there, waiting, was her.
Lilith.
She wore simple black—no jewelry, no makeup. Just her.Her violet eyes were brighter than they had any right to be in the dim light.Legs crossed. One hand resting on her lap. A small smile hovering between amused and curious.
"You took your time," she said softly.
Ryunosuke blinked. "Where… am I?"
"Somewhere in between."Her voice didn't echo off walls—it resonated in the air, warm and whole."I wanted to speak without… distractions."
He looked around, dazed but calm. Something about her presence softened the edges of fear.His mind knew this wasn't real—but his heart had already surrendered to the quiet.
She patted the bench beside her.
He approached slowly, sitting with careful hesitation, like the dream might collapse if he moved too quickly.
Lilith tilted her head. "You've drawn me quite a few times now."
Ryunosuke flushed. "I didn't mean to. I don't even remember starting them."
She leaned in, voice playful. "But you finished them. Perfectly."
He looked down at his hands.
"Who are you?" he asked, more to himself than to her.
She let the silence bloom.
Then, in a whisper that seemed to stir the air around them:"Lilith."
And when she said it, something inside him clicked.A key in a lock he hadn't known existed.A name made of velvet and fog.
"Lilith," he repeated, softer now.
She smiled again—not mysterious this time, but kind. Gentle.
"You're not afraid," she said. "That surprises me."
"I… probably should be."
"But you're not."
He shook his head. "No."
He glanced at her, suddenly self-conscious beneath her gaze.Her eyes weren't cruel or hungry—they were patient. Studying him like a puzzle she wasn't in a hurry to solve.
"You're… beautiful," he said, voice barely audible.
She said nothing, but the silence between them felt warmer now.Close.
Then she said, "You can wake up now."
He turned to her. "Wait. I—"
But the world had already begun to fade.
Her voice followed like a whisper in fog:
"Don't stop looking."
He woke with his heart pounding.
The ceiling above his bed came into focus slowly.
No street noise outside.No glow from the hallway.Only that name echoing in his mind.
Lilith.
He sat up, still caught in the haze of the dream.Her voice lingered like a scent.Soft. Impossible to hold.
But something was off.
His desk chair was turned—just slightly.
And his sketchbook, usually tucked neatly into the top drawer, was now resting on the desk—open.
His breath caught.
Sliding out of bed, he approached slowly, carefully.
The page was new.
A portrait—rendered in unflinching, impossible detail.
Lilith.
Her expression matched the dream: calm, composed.Her eyes met his.Her hair brushed her cheek, caught in a breeze he couldn't feel.The light behind her glowed faintly.Every shadow was precise. Every stroke exact.
And in the bottom corner, in small, looping handwriting that was not his:
Lilith.
His hand trembled as he reached out to touch the page.But the graphite was set.Dry. Solid.
Real.
He looked over his shoulder, half-expecting someone—something—to be there.
But the room was empty.
Utterly still.
He stared at the name beneath her portrait.
And for a long time…
He didn't move.