The Lab

"What is your name?"

"Ceres."

"Really? It's so similar to his name."

"Is it really, or do you just feel that way?"

"No, it truly is similar."

"I don't think so."

"Why did you have to let your wound bleed?"

"It had to bleed out."

"Bleed out what exactly?"

Ceres fell silent, gazing out the window. Nemo followed her gaze, taking in the breathtaking view from high above—the view he had hoped to experience from the peak of the Farspire. Despite the wonder, his chest ached from the abrupt separation from his friends. Still, deep inside, he felt it was the right decision.

"You made two significant errors today," Xeras stated flatly. "First, you didn't inform the authorities immediately after becoming rooted. Second, you chose to take the subway. The creatures lurking beneath the city can sense newly rooted individuals much more clearly in water. Your fresh roots attract them—some seeking knowledge, others craving power."

Xeras's words chilled Nemo to his core. He shivered, recalling the strange blue, glowing jelly-squid creature that had tried to kill him—only to be consumed by Nemo himself. He suppressed another wave of nausea.

"What exactly was that thing today?"Xeras shrugged. "I don't know its name. There are countless new species since the Cataclysm. It resembled some squid-jellyfish hybrid. It was formidable enough that the Lord of Chains personally intervened."

Nemo noted the awe in Xeras's voice when mentioning the mysterious Lord.

"However, that creature isn't our primary concern," Xeras continued, his tone shifting to a darker seriousness. "Preparing you for what's coming next is far more critical. Are you ready to receive knowledge earned through humanity's great sacrifices—knowledge you might've been executed for just fifty years ago?"

Nemo hesitated, throat dry, yet an inner voice screamed affirmation. He nodded slowly.

"Good," Xeras said calmly. "I'll summarize briefly. You're rooted, meaning a seed from the Cataclysm has taken hold and formed roots within your soul. Tonight, these roots will evolve, forming a sapling that becomes the foundation of your awakened power. But to grow, several conditions must be met."

Xeras held up one finger. "First: your roots must be saturated, nourished repeatedly until fully sated."

He raised a second finger. "Second: your roots will induce a vision or dream state—the Trip. Sometimes pleasant, often horrific, always challenging."

"Tonight at dusk," he continued quietly, "you'll feel unbearable agony as your sapling is born. Afterward, you'll slip into a coma. Whether you awaken or not depends entirely on your trip."

Silence enveloped the flying carrier as Nemo absorbed this dire explanation. Another shudder rippled down his spine, recalling his torturous morning. Despite their composed appearance, tension radiated from both Xeras and Ceres.

"What are you two afraid of if it only happens tonight?" Nemo asked quietly.

"I'm sorry," Xeras replied softly. "I can't answer that—at least not yet."

"Then where are we going?"

"That," Xeras said, brighter now, "I can tell you. We're going to feed your root and perhaps discover something about its nature in the process."

Nemo nodded thoughtfully, returning his gaze to the cityscape as their carrier drew nearer to the heart of the metropolis. Soon, they landed atop a towering structure, swiftly exiting the craft and hurrying toward a large building. Inside, an empty hall greeted them, dominated by a solitary elevator.

Xeras stepped forward, pressing a button marked "-3" as the doors silently closed behind them.

The doors closed with a gentle hum, and the elevator began its descent. Suddenly, a soft voice crackled through hidden speakers.

"Xeras, you're back already? Did you miss me so much?"

"No, Lyla," Xeras responded curtly. "I have a youth here who neglected to report immediately upon becoming rooted."

A pause. "How long since the rooting?"

"A few hours, at least."

"Ah… so he doesn't know anything yet?"

"Correct as always," Xeras sighed.

"I'll prepare the room. You… just stay safe," Lyla's voice held a cautious note before abruptly fading.

Silence reclaimed the elevator, punctuated occasionally by Nemo's hesitant, mundane questions, met mostly with brief, curt replies from Xeras or Ceres. The elevator's halt jolted Nemo from his thoughts, revealing a facility that appeared submerged deep beneath the ocean. Though uncertain, the elevator's floor indicator reading "-3" left little doubt.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a striking woman in her forties, her wavy hair shifting hypnotically between hues of deep blue and rich violet. Had Nemo seen her in the city, he would've immediately recognized her uniqueness. She exuded an aura both captivating and subtly dangerous—beautiful yet deadly.

"Follow me," she instructed gently.

Lyla led them down a sterile hallway, making a sharp turn into a seemingly endless corridor lined with imposing metal doors. Muffled screams, groans, and occasionally piercing shrieks leaked through these heavy barriers, stirring dread within Nemo.

Casting worried glances at his companions, Nemo found only calm, unreadable expressions tempered by hidden tension. Lyla finally stopped at the eleventh door, swinging it open without hesitation. The room beyond was starkly empty, aside from a dark hole in the center of the floor and narrow slits carved into the walls. Calling it a cell felt disturbingly accurate.

"Please, step inside," Lyla said gently, almost apologetically.

Before Nemo could react, Xeras lifted him effortlessly and placed him inside. He turned in panic, only to meet Lyla's regretful gaze as she swiftly closed the heavy door.

Nemo stood alone, surrounded by a sickly-sweet fragrance, reminiscent of blooming flowers mingled disturbingly with rotting flesh. The humidity within the room pressed upon him, reminiscent of standing by the ocean, the salty tang heavy in the air.

It makes sense, he thought vaguely. I am beneath the sea. But confusion quickly overshadowed his reasoning. It had only been a few hours—surely not significant enough to warrant such extreme measures. He recalled stories of others who had waited days, even a week, before informing authorities. Where had he heard that?

He felt certain of the information, yet couldn't pinpoint its origin. Propaganda everywhere emphasized immediate reporting—why had he disregarded that clear warning?

As Nemo wrestled with these unsettling questions, he noticed something else: absolute silence. He couldn't hear the ocean, nor machines, nor wind. The quiet was profound enough that he could detect the subtle rush of his own blood and the rhythmic beat of his heart.

He sighed, suddenly feeling an odd sense of relief. The murmurs had stopped.

But… what murmurs?

His relief dissolved instantly. Where had that thought come from? What whispers had ceased? A mounting dread replaced calm certainty. He knew instinctively that something had been whispering to him, influencing him—but what? And why hadn't he recognized it sooner?

The room began to darken inexplicably. Shadows crept steadily inward, pressing closer and closer. The walls seemed to tighten, squeezing the space around him. An oppressive presence prickled at the back of his neck. He spun around—nothing there. Again the presence appeared, hovering close, almost tangible. Each frantic glance revealed emptiness, amplifying his panic.

Then, amidst the suffocating silence, a faint whisper brushed against his ear, chillingly close.