"Waaah—Sorry, Sister Cyrene! Sister Snake is chasing too closely, so let's split up and run! You find a place to hide for now!"
Before the words even finished, and without giving Cyrene a chance to react, Pardo let go of her hand like a cat whose Tail had been stepped on. Her figure instantly transformed into a gray-yellow afterimage and disappeared into a shadow at the end of the corridor, leaving behind only a trace of panicked air and that scapegoating instruction.
Cyrene was swayed by the momentum and only managed to steady herself after a moment.
She looked in the direction Pardo had vanished, her azure eyes filled with helplessness, and the corner of her mouth couldn't help but twitch.
(I wasn't the one who stole anything... Why should I hide?)
She muttered softly in her heart.
But for some reason, Pardo's fiery personality always reminded her vaguely of another'Swift-Footed Thief Star' trapped by the Sunlit Stream—Miss Cipher.
Although their temperaments and situations were vastly different, that vibrant vitality and the occasional flash of quick-wittedness shared a strange similarity.
Glancing around, Cyrene sighed softly.
This place was different from the pure white of the System Space or the areas belonging to the Golden Descendants.
Towering stone columns, walls carved with intricate patterns she couldn't understand—everything felt heavy, real, yet utterly foreign.
"Where... exactly is this place?"
She murmured to herself, her pink hair swaying gently as she turned around in confusion.
There was no map, no guide, only countless doors and intersections that all looked identical.
She felt like a drop of water that had wandered into an ancient maze, forced to drift with the current.
On a whim, Cyrene chose a corridor that looked slightly brighter and walked forward.
The inside of the Paradise was unnervingly quiet; only her extremely soft footsteps echoed, making her heartbeat sound exceptionally clear.
After walking for an unknown amount of time, just as she began to suspect she was walking in circles, a slightly ajar door ahead caught her attention.
A soft, focused light seeped through the gap.
Cyrene stopped, hesitated for a moment, but unable to suppress her curiosity, she quietly leaned closer to the gap and peered inside.
The interior of the room looked like a palette overturned by a giant, yet it strangely maintained a sense of order.
The floor, the shelves, and even parts of the walls were covered with finished and unfinished sketches. The colors were unrestrained and bold, and the brushstrokes were filled with an indescribable spirituality.
In the center of the room, a small figure sat amidst a pile of drawing paper, her back to the door.
It was a slender girl wearing a simple white dress, a small black beret perched on her sky-blue short hair.
She was focused on the easel in front of her, her arm moving steadily, completely unaware of the person peeking in.
Just as Cyrene was debating whether to disturb her, the girl's brush suddenly stopped.
She didn't turn around, but her little beret-wearing head tilted slightly, as if sensing the unfamiliar 'ripple' in the air.
"Ah!"
Cyrene let out a small gasp, knowing she had been discovered.
She quickly stepped back half a pace, a blush of embarrassment rising on her face, then took a deep breath and gently pushed the door open.
"I—I'm sorry! I didn't mean to peek..."
Cyrene clasped her hands nervously in front of her, her voice soft and filled with genuine apology. "My name is Cyrene, and I... I accidentally came to this place and am completely lost. May I ask... do you know how to get out?"
The girl sitting amidst the pile of papers slowly turned around.
It was an unusually calm face. Her purple eyes were as clear as a frozen lake, reflecting Cyrene's figure, yet showing little emotional fluctuation.
Her gaze fell upon Cyrene, pausing for a few seconds, especially on her pink short hair and azure eyes.
The look wasn't sharp, but it held a strange sense of penetration, making Cyrene feel like a painting being scrutinized, where even the tiniest emotional creases in her heart could be observed.
Silence spread through the studio, broken only by the scent of paint.
Just as Cyrene was growing flustered under this focused gaze, her cheeks heating up, and she was about to speak again—
"I know."
The blue-haired girl Griseo spoke, her voice as flat as still water. "But drawing."
"Draw... drawing?"
Cyrene was stunned, not understanding the connection between the two.
Griseo offered no explanation, merely extending a slender finger to point at a clean little stool beside the easel, and then pointed at Cyrene herself.
The meaning was simple and direct: Sit down, be my model.
Cyrene blinked.
Asking for directions out, only to be told she needed to be drawn? This development was completely unexpected.
But looking at Griseo's pure purple eyes, which contained no trace of malice or teasing, Cyrene found it hard to refuse.
"O-Okay."
She nodded obediently, carefully navigating around the sketches on the floor, and sat down on the small stool, her posture slightly stiff. "Do I need to... do anything?"
Griseo had already turned back to the easel and picked up her brush again.
"No. Just exist, like you are now."
Her voice was still flat, as if stating a law of nature.
And so, a long and peculiar period of silence began.
Griseo was completely immersed in her creative world.
The scratching sound of the brush meeting the canvas became the only melody in the room.
She sometimes applied paint quickly, sometimes paused for long periods, her purple eyes moving between Cyrene and the canvas, her gaze intensely focused.
Cyrene initially tried to maintain a proper sitting posture, but as time passed, her body gradually relaxed, though she felt an increasingly subtle awkwardness internally.
Being 'observed' so completely and silently made her uncomfortable.
She wanted to say something to break the silence, ask the girl's name, or talk about other things in this place, but every time the words reached her mouth, she saw Griseo's profile completely absorbed in her art—the slightly pursed lips, the unblinking eyes—and all the words were swallowed back.
Any sound felt like a profanation of this sacred focus.
She had no choice but to turn her gaze elsewhere in the room. The scattered sketches were filled with abstract lines, swirling color blocks, and indescribable geometric shapes. Some looked like exploding stars, while others resembled the bizarre and colorful sights of the deep sea.
Each piece was full of powerful expression, yet refused to be interpreted by simple common sense.
Cyrene couldn't quite understand them, but she inexplicably felt a massive emotion contained within, filling her with the sentiment of, "I don't understand it, but I'm greatly shaken."
Time lost its meaning.
Perhaps half an hour passed, or maybe longer.
Just as Cyrene felt she was about to turn into a literal statue, the scratching sound of the brush finally stopped.
Griseo gently put down her brush, stared silently at the canvas for a few seconds, then turned her head and said to Cyrene, "Done."
Cyrene felt as if she had been granted a great pardon, and with intense curiosity, she quickly stood up, stretched her slightly numb legs, and walked over to the easel. "May I see it?"
Griseo nodded and moved aside slightly.
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