I could feel that something was wrong.
The heat, at first gentle, had turned into a dull, constant burn, stretching across my ribs like a burning canvas. It was no longer just inside me. It was gnawing at me.
I couldn't sleep. I wasn't really. My body had simply collapsed from exhaustion, but my mind continued to float on the surface, lucid. Caught between two worlds.
I shivered. Yet I was warm.
I felt as if embers were lodging in my lungs, and my skin was becoming too tight to contain what was devouring me from within.
The fruit...
It had to be him. Ever since I'd eaten it, nothing had gone right. My stomach was growling, my breath was heavy, my muscles were trembling for no reason.
I curled up in a corner, my knees pulled up against me, my arms wrapped around my chest as if holding something back.
I didn't know how long I'd been awake, whether it was still night or already a new day. The dim lighting in the cell never changed.
Time here seemed frozen. Only the pain evolved. It was growing.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning. My forehead was dripping with sweat. Every beat of my heart sent a wave through my ribcage, as if something was banging inside to get out.
I didn't want to panic. Not yet.
I wanted to understand. Hold on. To be strong.
But even the silence seemed heavy, oppressive, as if the walls themselves had begun to listen to my unease.
After a few more minutes of agony it finally calmed down and then adiscreet noise.
The rustle of a cloth against the floor.
I looked up. The boy was staring at me.
He had come closer to me, not too close, just enough to see me clearly, just enough for his silhouette to stand out from the shadows.
His hair, dark and tangled, fell in front of his eyes, but I could feel his gaze, heavy, worried... or maybe just curious.
We hadn't spoken since I woke up. Not really. Not since the flames.
He'd backed off that day. Slowly. Without a word. And he'd kept his distance ever since.
"...Are you all right?" he asked, finally.
His voice was breathy, almost strangled, as if it hadn't been used for too long.
It surprised my eardrums as much as my thoughts.
I blinked, unable to formulate an immediate answer. What could I tell her? That I was burning from the inside out? That I'd swallowed something invisible and was now paying the price?
I looked away, my chin resting against my knees.
"I don't know. It hurts. Not like a wound. It's... something else."
He nodded, slowly. He sat down against the opposite wall, legs crossed, arms resting on his knees. He stood there, saying nothing, as if waiting for me to speak again.
"It did it to me too," he said finally. But not right away. But afterwards. When they injected me with their stuff... I thought I was going to burst."
Silence.
"You're lucky. You're still alive." He continued.
I looked up at him.
"You... got through it?
Did you manage to... digest it?"
He shrugged.
"Not really, no. But I manage to stay alive.
That's something, isn't it?"
A vague smile stretched his lips, bitter, too big for his still childish face.
I didn't know how to react. For a moment, I thought I saw in him a future version of myself.
Someone broken, but still standing.
I whispered:
"Why are they doing this...? Why us?"
He looked up at the ceiling, his pupils lost in the void.
"Maybe they're looking for something. Or someone. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. We're just parts to them. They test, they fail, they try again."
His voice was resigned. As if he'd accepted it a long time ago.
I hadn't.
I couldn't accept that. Not yet.
I closed my fingers on my chest.
The fruit still pulsed inside me, like one heart too many. And now this boy was looking at me like had something …
As if I were something else.
But I still didn't know what.
"Where are you from?"
Her question popped up without warning, like a pebble tossed into standing water.
I blinked in surprise. My heart quickened slightly.
"From... Zhaerith."
I hesitated to add more.
But his eyes had widened.
"Zhaerith... it's not a city, it's a continent, right? It's huge, I've heard. They say the sands sing there during storms. What area did you live in?"
"A city in the heights. Between the cliffs of Azrel-Sûn. It was called Zannah."
My voice had lowered, as if saying the name might take me back there.
But there was no more there.
He nodded, as if etching the name into a corner of his memory.
"Me, I come from the north of Arathiel. We lived near the frozen forests. My father used to say that in certain places you could see lights dancing in the sky on certain nights. Have you ever seen that? The Skallheim aurora?"
I shook my head.
"No. Just the red sky."
He frowned, then nodded slowly.
A silence fell. Not heavy. Rather fragile. As if talking about the outside almost made us forget the walls around us.
"What about elves?" he asked suddenly. I couldn't help smiling. The question seemed to come out of nowhere.
"Once. They were passing through. They came from the south of Arathiel, I think. They didn't talk much. They shone a little. Well... not really shining, but... you know?"
He nodded briskly, his eyes shining with genuine interest.
"Yes, I see. My father said they came from a kingdom built in the trees. So high up you can't see the ground. But I never knew if it was true."
I rested my chin on my crossed arms.
"Do you think I'll ever see them again?"
He was silent for a moment, before answering:
"I think we'll see everything again. If we get out of here."
It was naive. Maybe it was. But I needed to hear it.
I nodded.
And in that suspended moment, as our gazes were lost in an invisible elsewhere, the world began to exist again.
Even within these walls.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Plus tard dans la journée — ou ce qui me semblait être la journée — une chaleur étrange recommença à pulser dans ma poitrine.
Ce n'était pas comme hier. C'était plus profond. Plus désordonné.
Je sentais le fruit vibrer. Comme une bête qui se réveille, affamée.
J'avais à peine eu le temps de respirer que mes membres se mirent à trembler légèrement. Une sueur froide coula le long de ma tempe. Mon cœur battait plus vite que d'habitude, mais pas de peur. C'était comme si chaque battement essayait d'expulser quelque chose hors de moi.
Je fermai les yeux. Je me concentrai, cherchant à retrouver cet espace intérieur, à comprendre ce qui se passait.
Mais ce fut différent cette fois.
Je fus presque aspiré en moi-même.
Le vide était plus sombre, plus vaste. Et au centre, cette flamme. Le fruit.Elle ne flottait plus paisiblement. Elle tourbillonnait comme poussée par un vent impétueux.Des éclats d'énergie en jaillissaient sans contrôle et se propageaient dans des directions aléatoires.
"Calme-toi, murmurais-je. Calme-toi, s'il te plaît…"
Mais elle ne répondait pas. Ou plutôt… elle ignorait.Le lien entre elle et moi s'était tendu, comme un fil prêt à se rompre.
Je tendis mentalement la main vers elle. Tentant de la stabiliser. De la contenir.
Et ce fut là que la douleur me frappa.
Un trait de feu remonta de ma poitrine jusqu'à mon crâne, me pliant en deux.
Je rouvris les yeux en sursaut, haletant. Je n'avais pas bougé physiquement… mais mon corps brûlait.Mon sang me paraissait lourd. Comme si chaque goutte transportait des braises.
"Hé ! T'es… ça va ?!"
Le garçon s'était approché. Il avait l'air sincèrement inquiet. Mais aussi terrifié.
"N'approche pas…" soufflai-je. "C'est pas… stable."
Il s'arrêta à mi-chemin.
Je sentis mes paumes chauffer. J'ouvris les doigts.
Des filaments d'or. Comme de minuscules flammes nerveuses qui dansaient sur ma peau.
Elles étaient belles. Fragiles. Et terribles.
La voix, encore une fois.
[Tu luttes contre toi-même.]
[Accepte.]
[Ou tu seras dévoré.]
Je mordis l'intérieur de ma joue pour garder le contrôle.
"Tu... tu es comme eux ?" dit le garçon à voix basse.
Je tournai lentement la tête vers lui.
"Comme qui ?"
"Ceux qui… ceux qui ne supportent pas l'injection, ceux qu'ils font disparaitre!" Sa voix semblait se briser à chaque mot et son corps tremblait comme une feuille au vent.
Je restai silencieux.
Peut-être que j'étais déjà l'un d'eux.
Mais une part de moi refusait encore de s'abandonner complètement à cette chose.
Je serrai les poings. Les flammes se dissipèrent lentement, englouties dans ma peau.
Et dans le silence qui suivit, je sentis la tension redescendre, sans disparaître.
Le fruit ne s'était pas calmé. Il attendait.