Celia looks at me.

  — Take off your T-shirt, she says without hesitation, without any ulterior motive.

  I hesitate for a second, then I do as she says. The fabric slides slowly along my skin. A diffuse discomfort settles in, discreet but real, without me being able to identify the cause.

  Her face is too close to ignore. I make out the fine freckles on her nose, the even texture of her skin, the calm rhythm of her breathing. She is not really looking at me. She is observing.

  Her hand presses against my chest. Her palm is warm, soft, applied with precision. She is not trying to reassure me or impress me. She analyses my heartbeat like a vital data point.

  Then everything tips.

  My consciousness is torn from my body with brutal violence. There is no transition, no warning. I am hurled into my Soul Definition at a demented speed, dragged above the ocean of infinite energy. My mind is shaken, battered, unable to keep up with that impossible displacement.

  And suddenly, everything stops.

  I float.

  My breathing is ragged. Sweat beads on my skin. But what I see in front of me wipes out every other thought.

  The ocean is unleashed.

  A gigantic vortex has formed at its centre, immense, unstable, violent. Energy is being pulled into it with a force that freezes my blood. The power pouring off it is crushing, almost unbearable.

  The sight terrifies me. But what terrifies me even more is that I am moving closer. Slowly but surely, in spite of myself.

  Mots energy runs through my body without any filter, brutally, like a continuous shock. It does not spread. It imposes itself. A raw, pure, uncontrollable power that crushes every attempt at resistance. I try to fight it, to slow down, to take control back, but my body no longer obeys me.

  This is not supposed to happen like this. My heart misses a beat. Then another. I am pulled in. And I fall into the vortex.

  At the heart of that violence, something takes shape. A gigantic hatch, solid gold, yawning open. Energy is being sucked inside without interruption, swallowed as if no amount could ever be enough. It is it. The source. The cause of all this.

  And it grows.

  Before my eyes, the hatch widens again, as if it is trying to swallow more, as if my very presence is encouraging it to open. The energy running through me turns unstable, chaotic, and I sway, unable to hold that pressure any longer. I feel as if I am trapped at the centre of a tornado whose edges I can no longer see.

  My consciousness fractures.

  It is too big. Too powerful. I understand instinctively that if the hatch swallows me whole, there will be no way back.

  I try to fight. To pull away. To run.

  Nothing works.

  I feel it without needing to see it. I am being swallowed. My consciousness starts to come apart. My hands vanish first, then my arms, as if my very existence is being dissolved piece by piece. My legs follow.

  A light bursts from the hatch.

  I am thrown at a speed impossible to measure, something cosmic, unreal, and a deafening shock tears through me from end to end, as if the universe itself has just rejected me.

  And abruptly, I am back.

  I crash onto the top of the mountain, in my Soul Definition. I feel air rush back into my lungs. Light blinds me. My body is heavy, inert.

  I just avoided annihilation.

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  I lie there, arms and legs spread. I cannot move anymore. I am empty and broken, terrified by what just happened. Terrified by what is sleeping inside me.

  I open my eyes.

  Celia is lying right beside me. Her breathing is fast, uneven. Fine drops of sweat bead on her forehead. She looks exhausted.

  — Check complete, she says after a few seconds. I reinforced your sealing.

  She stretches slowly, visibly drained.

  — Controlling a singularity is no small task.

  I look at her. She is surprising. Fascinating, even. Despite the fatigue, her gaze stays clear, focused. I start telling her what I saw. The vortex. The hatch. The feeling of being pulled in. She listens carefully while mentally adjusting what she did.

  Her eyes sparkle slightly as I speak. She cannot stop herself from stepping in, from explaining.

  — I see, she says. The golden hatch represents the second key of the sealing. The one that directs infinite energy toward the third key, which feeds the prison of the first.

  She pauses, thinking.

  — I built a self sustaining system. But I increased the amount of energy needed to keep the prison shut more firmly. That is why the hatch grew. It is… fascinating.

  We keep talking for a few moments, almost normally. As if what I just lived through was only a technical problem to solve. Then a sentence comes back to me. It has been weighing on me since earlier.

  — This power is terrifying.

  I look at the grass at my feet.

  — I thought it was going to swallow me.

  Celia sits up and comes closer. She places a hand on my head and gently rubs my hair, the way you would with a child. The gesture is simple, without awkwardness. And her words hit me more than I would have believed.

  Her voice is calm, but her gaze is not quite.

  — As long as I am here, you have nothing to fear.

  Her hand leaves my hair a little too quickly.

  I lower my voice slightly.

  — Thank you.

  She answers, carefree.

  — Very well. I am going to go write my report. I will be back after. Enjoy this place a little before I take you back to your cell.

  Then she leaves, as if all of it is obvious.

  I watch her walk away. Her silhouette is small, discreet, almost erased by the vegetation. She disappears between the trees without looking back.

  I am left alone, in the middle of this oasis.

  I walk through the garden without hurrying. My mind is lighter than it has been in a long time. I watch the flowers, all different, arranged with no apparent order, and yet coherent. A small ecosystem lives here. Insects move between petals. Butterflies drift slowly. Bees land, leave, return. The place breathes. It is alive and harmonious.

  Then I feel something touch my skin.

  Drops.

  I stop dead. They do not soak me. They do not run. It is as if my body absorbs them directly, without resistance. A heavy, strange sensation spreads under my skin.

  I lift my head, looking for an explanation. A leak, maybe a pipe. Anything.

  I do not have time to understand.

  My legs give out brutally and I collapse on my back in the grass. My heart races. A dull pressure appears on my forehead. I bring a hand to my face and feel something new.

  A small flower has just grown there. My mind panics. My throat tightens. Swallowing is hard. A glacial thought cuts through me.

  Celia… did you do this?

  My hands shake. Nausea rises. I feel my energy leaking away without understanding why, drawn out of me, slowly but surely. I am weakening. Unable to fight. Fear settles in.

  What if all these flowers are living beings?

  Panic floods me and I see her.

  A silhouette stands a little farther off. A girl. She looks at me without moving. In her hands, a watering can. It is beautiful. Sky blue, shaped from a material that softly catches the light. A red rose is engraved on its surface.

  Realisation hits me. All this time… it was her. She stops watering.

  The pressure loosens at once. I draw breath with difficulty and push myself up slightly, propped on one elbow. My gaze steadies on her.

  She wears a long yellow rain poncho, fully closed, falling to her knees. The hood is up, hiding her hair. On her feet, yellow rain boots, worn but solid. Nothing impressive at first glance. Nothing aggressive.

  Then I meet her eyes.

  Her eyes are green. A deep, dense green. The longer I stare, the more I feel like I can make out something sharp inside them. Like thorns hidden under the surface.

  She watches me for a long moment, her face perfectly blank. I feel like I am in the wrong place, at the wrong time, without knowing why.

  Her voice drops, cold and perfectly calm.

  — Why are you shirtless?

  I look down and understand at once. I forgot to put my T shirt back on. Embarrassment rushes to my face. My mind empties and I answer without thinking.

  — It is… uh… because… I like flowers.

  Silence.

  Her gaze hardens, almost imperceptibly.

  She tilts the watering can slightly and splashes me again. The sensation comes back at once, heavier, more invasive. My body protests. The pressure becomes almost unbearable.

  She speaks in a perfectly flat tone.

  — Pervert.

  She watches me like a harmful insect around these plants.