The apartment hallway was still just as silent.
The ceiling light still flickered gently, as if unsure whether it wanted to die.
The two women stood in front of the same door—still locked in eye contact.
Then, the older woman finally spoke.
Her voice was soft, polite, but with a clear tremble at the edge.
"E... excuse me. Did you know my son?"
The younger woman nodded slightly, and her expression shifted.
It was nervous and anxious before.
But now—her heartbeat started to go out of rhythm.
Nathan... he’s her son?
The young woman opened her mouth, her voice small but honest.
"Y-yeah... I know him."
"Is he... in trouble?"
The question came out quickly, like a breath that had been held too long.
The young woman paused for a moment, then answered carefully.
"I... I’m not sure. But... he hasn’t shown up to work for a few weeks now..."
The older woman frowned.
The young woman shook her head. Then nodded. Then shook her head again.
"I don’t know. No news... he just disappeared."
The older woman gripped her phone tightly.
"I’m worried something’s happened to him. He won’t answer my calls... it’s been weeks."
They looked at each other.
Both realizing the same thing at the same moment.
This... wasn’t normal.
They pressed the doorbell.
They knocked on the door.
Still no sound from inside.
Eventually, they asked the neighbor next door.
"Oh... that young man?" said a woman in a worn house dress.
"I don’t know. Lately... haven’t seen him around."
They went down one floor.
Met an older man carrying groceries.
"Young man?" he said.
"Last time I saw him, he walked out. A few weeks ago. After that... never again."
The young woman held her forehead.
The older woman held her chest.
’...Idiot,’ muttered the young woman.
’You’re making your mother worry.’
The older woman exhaled deeply, then gave a faint smile.
"My son... I hope you’re okay."
"Ah, we haven’t introduced ourselves. I’m Emily."
Her smile tried to hide her concern.
The younger woman turned too.
"Come... let’s find somewhere to sit. Maybe... we can talk for a bit."
They walked to a small café across the street.
The level of worry inside them rose.
Inside the Tower, the night still carried a chill.
An unnatural moon that also acted as a sun bathed the land below.
"Why do you always get so cringe when talking about stuff ?"
Nathan sat with arms crossed, his expression somewhere between annoyed and tired.
Across from him, the Tower Manager—or Lilith—still sat with a calm, almost motherly posture.
"So rude," Lilith replied, playing with the end of her long hair.
"Seriously... why are you suddenly so desperate to be my mom?"
Lilith closed her eyes for a moment, then spoke softly—but with a voice deep, heavy, almost cutting.
"Because she... was beautiful."
Nathan glanced toward her.
"She cared for you... with a smile.
Without expecting anything in return.
Without demanding sweet salvation."
Nathan held his breath.
But didn’t interrupt.
"Even when you... brought nothing good into her life..."
Lilith lowered her gaze slightly, her voice now quieter, more piercing.
"She never complained."
Nathan shut his mouth.
Something started to warm in his chest—and it wasn’t the air.
"The more you grew, the more useless you became...
and still she worried."
Lilith looked straight into Nathan’s eyes.
But... for your future."
"That last one... really stung," he muttered, taking one shot of emotional damage.
Lilith, the milky mommy, smiled softly.
Lilith gazed at the artificial stars above the Tower, then slowly looked down.
The wind sounded soft, but something had shifted in her eyes.
"I need to be in an extreme state just to feel anything," she said quietly.
Nathan looked at her, silent.
Lilith let out a long breath.
"But after I swallowed all the memories of your soul, Nathan... I saw so much.
Different versions of you.
So many roads leading to stupidity.
Various forms of failure... but your mother—"
She paused for a moment, locking eyes with Nathan.
"—she never changed."
There was something in those words.
Lilith gave a small smile.
"A mother... is the kind of beauty I want to become."
Nathan scoffed softly, but a thin smile crept onto his lips.
"I just got lucky," he muttered.
He leaned back a little, relaxing his posture.
"Not all mothers are like mine..."
Lilith immediately turned her head, expression like a teacher hearing her student say something dumb as hell.
Nathan’s eyes widened. "Hah?!"
"I know," she smiled.
Nathan exhaled deeply and rubbed his temples.
"Ah, whatever. I’m not fighting you tonight."
He looked up and stared at the Tower’s artificial sky.
"Anyway, enough of this mother talk. Tell me about the dimensional war."
Lilith casually shook her head, her lips curving as usual.
"Why?" Nathan huffed, still laid-back but with a raised tone.
Lilith crossed her legs and toyed with the end of her hair using her fingers. Her other hand move toward Nathan’s head.
"Because if I tell you," she placed her hand on Nathan’s head again,
"My beloved weak son will get anxious," she stroked his head.
"And if you get anxious... you’ll get even dumber," she grinned.
Nathan shut his mouth, then shook his head. His face blank. His mouth twisted into a pained smile.
’Hell nah, i can’t fix her,’ he thought.
Lilith only chuckled softly—like a mom satisfied she roasted her kid without having to raise her voice.
Lilith tilted her head slightly, her gaze as calm as the night but sharp like a time-warped bullet.
"If you know you’re lucky..."
Her voice dropped an octave, slicing through softly,
"...then why aren’t you grateful, Nathan?"
Nathan fell silent. He didn’t answer right away.
The wind in the Tower seemed to pause—waiting for an answer that wouldn’t come.
Eventually, Nathan let out a quiet sigh.
"Alright stop it, no need a peep talk!"
Lilith smirked. "Don’t worry... it’s not too late."
She stood up slowly, her dress flowing like morning mist.
Nathan followed, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"...What do you mean?"
Lilith turned and looked at him.
"You’ll meet her again... someday."
Suddenly, without warning, Lilith pulled Nathan into a hug.
Like being embraced by something not human trying its best to be one.
"Until that day come, you can think of me as your mother..." she whispered. "...and show your devotion to me."
Nathan’s brow twitched instantly.
"What kind of mother who love grabbing her kid’s ass?"
Lilith burst out laughing, then let go of the hug.
Gently, she cupped Nathan’s face.
He had to tilt his head up—Lilith was a whole head taller.
"Nathan," she said seriously, her voice dropping to half a whisper,
"All this time, the system and I kept telling you to carry out your duty for the sake of humanity..."
She took a deep breath.
"But this time, this is just from me. Not as an entity, not as a system—just me."
Nathan said nothing. He listened.
"Remember... this is for humanity. Including your mother."
Lilith looked deep into his eyes and said,
"She might not be proud of you now.
You won’t be called a hero.
But your mother... she doesn’t need any of that."
She touched his chest, over his heart.
"Just tell her your story of struggle. I think... that’ll be enough."
The atmosphere turned serious.
The Tower sky held still.
The leaves of the Prunus Vitalis swayed gently, as if nodding along.
Lilith then released her hand, raised her index finger high— and drew a black line through the air.
With her other hand, she tore the line open.
A soft light spilled from the dimensional rift.
Before stepping inside, she turned around and said,
"Oh right, the Monster Girls..."
Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"
"They might meet your mother one day too."
"Huh?!" Nathan jolted.
"Oh, and yeah—don’t tell her about the part where you rubbed your dick around, alright?"
"Your mom’ll be grossed out."
Nathan’s brow twitched again.
With a gentle laugh that echoed faintly, Lilith stepped into the rift.
The light closed behind her—leaving silence.
Sometimes, knowing doesn’t mean understanding.
Nathan had memories—some sharp, some blurry—of people who cared. But care was cheap when you didn’t know how to return it.
He wondered how many times he smiled just to dodge gratitude.
How many chances he wasted just because he was afraid of being seen.
Lilith said he was lucky. Maybe she was right.
But luck, left unused, felt like guilt in disguise.
So he stood there—heart quiet, mind loud—trying to collect all the pieces he threw away.
But just to finally look at them.
He walked toward the cave, his mind still sinking into some weird ahh... liability.