kweenjaded

For as long as the stars have burned, she has existed. She has been called many names—Gaia, Lilith, the First, the Eternal Witness—but time has eroded meaning, leaving only silence. When the sun finally devoured itself and Earth drifted into the abyss, she closed her eyes, expecting oblivion.

But she did not die.

Eons passed, and Earth—no longer Earth—was reborn in a distant galaxy, reshaped by her unconscious will. Now a training ground for civilizations across the cosmos, the planet teems with life once more. And she, no longer Lilith yet not fully something else, awakens in a body that is hers but unfamiliar. She knows everything yet feels nothing. Memories exist as echoes, not experiences.

When a young explorer, Tilana, stumbles upon her, she is given a name—Lily—a word tied to a flower that no longer exists. As Lily navigates a world both familiar and alien, she must relearn what it means to feel, to connect, and to exist. But something lingers in the depths of this reborn world, something that calls to the remnants of who she was.

To see tomorrow, one must kill yesterday. But what if yesterday refuses to die?.

Lily: The last lily of a forgotten world.

"I think, therefore I am." — René Descartes

She wasn't sure. The act of waking felt unfamiliar, foreign—like something that had never belonged to her, yet she somehow understood it.

The sky above stretched endlessly, vast and open, yet it felt wrong. The colors were not as she remembered, the air carried a weight she couldn't place. The hum of the world beneath her was different. It was alive, but not the way it should have been.

Hadn't she known this place once? Or was that just a memory—something drifting in the vastness of her mind, untethered and uncertain?

Young. Curious. She stood at a cautious distance, staring with wide eyes, her stance uncertain.

The words were simple, yet they cut through the stillness like a blade. Not what are you, but who.

It should have been easy to answer.

A name came to her mind, but when she tried to grasp it, it slipped through her fingers like mist.

The word formed at the edge of her thoughts, familiar yet distant. It was hers, wasn't it? It belonged to her, but the moment she tried to hold onto it, something inside recoiled.

Lilith was... someone. Something. A presence, a force. A name buried in memory, yet she did not feel like Lilith.

She knew Lilith—like one might know a story passed down through ages, like a dream half-forgotten upon waking. The knowledge was there, the awareness of what Lilith had been, what she had done. But knowing was not being.

She was here, breathing, existing. And yet, there was no certainty that she was her.

The girl shifted, waiting for an answer.

The nameless one opened her mouth, but no words came.

She had memories—vast and endless, stretching beyond time itself. She remembered the rise and fall of the world, the turning of ages, the weight of eons pressing against her mind like an unshakable force. She remembered the way the earth had felt, the way it had once pulsed beneath her like an extension of herself. She remembered storms and sunlight, the breath of the oceans, the whispers of roots sinking deep into the soil.

She looked down at her hands—delicate, human. The skin felt new, unfamiliar. She clenched her fingers experimentally, watching the way they moved, the way they obeyed.

"Who are you?" the girl repeated, softer this time.

Her throat felt tight, her voice—if she even had one—felt unused.

The word barely escaped her lips before hesitation gripped her.

She wanted to say it. To claim it.

Doubt crept in like a shadow, curling at the edges of her mind.

She did not feel like Lilith. The memories she carried did not belong to her, not in the way memories should. They floated in her thoughts like echoes of someone else's life.

Could she call herself by a name that no longer felt like hers?

Not until she knew what she truly was.

She closed her mouth, the words unspoken.

The girl's gaze did not waver, but there was something in her eyes now—something searching. As if she, too, sensed the uncertainty, the fracture in the answer that had never come.

The nameless one lowered her gaze.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

Chapter 4: Awakening