Conscious, but trapped in a liquid darkness, Ephraim struggled mentally with the strangeness of his situation. Since the moment he had been sucked into this cosmic vortex, everything had been confusion and uncertainty. The conversation he had had with the guide played on a loop in his mind, like a haunting melody. Each word seemed to weigh heavily on his thoughts, especially this sentence that still resonated like an insoluble enigma:
"My role is to bring you to the door."
What door? Where did it lead? The very idea that he had been thrown into this new existence without clear explanations frustrated him deeply. All his previous life, he had sought to understand, to analyze, to frame the mysteries of the world through his writings. And now? There he was, reduced to a gestating being, floating in a bubble of darkness and warmth, unable to do anything but think.
Ephraim sighed inwardly—a habit from his old life that seemed trivial now that he no longer had fully formed lungs to accompany it. "A great use, really," he thought with bitterness tinged with irony. "I'm not even sure I'm better than a mass of cells right now."
He tried to focus on his immediate surroundings, but it was a futile exercise. All he could sense was a gentle warmth and a slight pressure enveloping him. The amniotic fluid surrounded him like a benevolent cocoon, but this sense of physical comfort brought no solace to his tormented mind. He tried to move, but nothing responded. His limbs, if they already existed, refused to obey his will. Each attempt ended in frustrating failure, a clear signal that he was only a passenger in this body under construction.
It drove him crazy. He, the man who had always had control of his imagination, his thoughts, his creations. He, who was used to taking refuge in the worlds he conceived, found himself at the mercy of a universe he did not understand. The rules escaped him completely, and this feeling of helplessness crushed him.
He thought back to how he had been chosen. "Why me?" The question came back again and again, stubbornly. Was it for his talents? For his dreams? Or was he simply a pawn in a cosmic game orchestrated by entities whose existence he could not even conceive? Was he truly meant for something greater, or had he been thrown into this universe at random, without purpose or explanation?
Ephraim tried to reason with himself. Maybe he was looking for answers where there were none yet. Maybe this was all part of the process. After all, he was literally being reborn. But the thought, instead of reassuring him, only angered him more. "All I can do is wait," he told himself bitterly. "Wait and hope that this… ordeal will be worth it."
The idea of being a mere spectator of his own existence horrified him. He was used to being an actor, to shaping his world, to making decisions. Here, he was none of those things. "Was this really a chance I've been given, or a disguised punishment?"
Doubt seeped into every corner of his thoughts. Perhaps that guide hadn't told the whole truth. Perhaps this world wasn't a field of opportunity, but a cruel arena where he would be tested in the most merciless way.
These thoughts went round and round, feeding off each other in a spiral of frustration. Loneliness didn't help. He had only his own thoughts to keep him company, and they were far from soothing. Each question begat another, and the answers seemed as unattainable as the stars in the sky he had last seen.
Mental fatigue finally got the better of him. Little by little, his thoughts became more blurred, less structured. Like an old ship drifting slowly towards the horizon, his mind slipped into a state of torpor. This sleep, if he could call it that, was without dreams, without light, without form. Just a peaceful nothingness, far from the torments of his thoughts.
For the first time since arriving in this embryonic state, Ephraim found some semblance of rest. But deep down, he knew that rest would not last forever. Life, this new life that awaited him, would eventually catch up with him. And with it would come the challenges, the mysteries, and maybe even the answers he sought. And he was ready. Or at least, he wanted to believe he was.
A deafening noise abruptly pulled him from his sleep. It was a dull, steady, almost hypnotic sound, but strangely powerful. At first, Ephraim thought it was an earthquake or an echo from somewhere else, but he soon realized that the noise was coming from very close. Very close.
He strained his attention, focusing his thoughts on the source. The sound resonated within him, deep and rhythmic, like a giant pulse. Slowly, the truth dawned on him: it was the beating of a heart.
"My mother's heart," he understood with sudden clarity. The sound, though loud, had a comforting quality. It was tangible proof that he was not alone, that another being shared his existence, watched over him. For a moment, he let himself be lulled by its soothing, almost melodic rhythm.
But soon, this respite was interrupted by new sounds. Distant voices, shouts of encouragement, then a scream that could only come from one person: his mother. The sounds, muffled but powerful, grew more and more distinct. An invisible pain seemed to invade the air around him, and Ephraim understood that something important was happening.
He was going to be born.
From the mother's point of view, the pain was both overwhelming and transcendent. Each contraction was like a gigantic wave that threatened to engulf her, but she clung to a single thought: her child. Lyris, a woman with dark hair and luminous green eyes. And in this moment, all her strength was focused on a single task: giving life.
Around her, midwives with expert hands murmured incantations of support, ancient words that seemed to mingle with the beating of her heart. A blue energy hung in the air, the gentle energy that helped soothe her body as it guided the child to the outside world.
"Breathe, Lyris. One more push, and he'll be here," one of the midwives said, her voice calm despite the intensity of the situation.
Lyris clutched the sheets in her fingers, her face streaming with sweat. "I can do this," she whispered, more to herself than to the others. "I have to do this."
For Ephraim, the experience of birth was a cacophony of raw sensations, a chaotic whirlwind unlike anything he'd ever known. The quiet stillness of the liquid darkness that had surrounded him suddenly transformed into an unfamiliar tumult. The walls that had protected him began to contract, squeezing and pushing against him with relentless insistence. He felt an immense, almost suffocating pressure, as if the universe itself were demanding that he move forward.
Everything became more pressing, more intense. He could no longer remain in this in-between state, suspended in a space between life and existence. The sensations that were accumulating gave him the impression of being caught in an avalanche, unable to resist, to slow down or even to understand what was happening. He had no choice: he had to move forward. But move toward what? There was nothing to see, nothing to grasp, only a sort of diffuse glow that he did not yet perceive directly, but that he felt approaching in a corner of his mind.
And then there were the sounds. They were no longer those distant and indistinct vibrations that he sometimes perceived in his bubble. No, they were clear, sharp, almost aggressive. He heard voices—human voices—but their tone was strange, charged with an energy he didn't recognize. The cries of pain, the urgent encouragement of another timbre, all filled with an urgency he could feel in every fiber of his being. But there was something else too, something elusive and deeply mysterious: a whisper in the air, soft and insistent at once. These were not words, not human sounds. It was a pulse, a vibration that seemed to seep into his mind, as if seeking to awaken something within him.
Ephraim, even in this semi-conscious state, was struck by the sensation. Was this magic? The thought flashed through his mind, bright as lightning. He had never believed in magic in his old life, not in the literal way some imagined. To him, magic had always been a metaphor, a way to describe the wonder of unexplained or magnificent things. But this? This energy was all too real, all too palpable. It was as if it were clinging to his essence, trying to guide him or perhaps strengthen him.
He tried to focus on this strange vibration, but it was hard to think clearly amid the immense physical effort he was feeling, even if he wasn't directly responsible for it. The contractions followed one another, pushing him inexorably toward a world he didn't know.
Even so, a part of his mind remained captivated by this presence. Was it really magic? Or was it something else, something more subtle but just as powerful? Qi perhaps, that vital energy he had read about in some ancient writings? He was no expert in Eastern philosophies, but he vaguely remembered that qi was described as a fluid, omnipresent force that animated all life. Was that what he felt? Was that what resonated around him, in the air and in the cries, in the approaching light?
Each contraction that pushed him closer to this light seemed to amplify this mysterious energy. It became almost tangible, like a current that passed through him and fueled his thoughts. It was nothing like anything he had known before, but a strange familiarity inhabited him nonetheless.
He did not know if it was a rational thought or simply a desperate attempt to make sense of this experience. But he couldn't ignore what he was feeling
The questions raced through his mind, but they were abruptly interrupted by an even stronger sensation. The walls around him tightened one last time, in a movement so intense that he thought his essence was going to be torn from this body he barely inhabited. And then, suddenly, everything changed. The pressure released, the hot liquid that had enveloped him evaporated, replaced by a sensation of cold and roughness.
The light, previously distant and inaccessible, became blinding. It was not just a vision; it was a force, a brutal revelation that invaded all his senses at once. Ephraim had never known anything like it. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. He became aware, for the first time, of the air that filled his lungs. He instinctively opened his mouth, trying to scream or breathe, but it was a raw, primal sound that came out.
And still, that energy was there, ever-present. He felt it in the voices around him, in the touch of the hands that held him, and even in the simple fact of existing in this new world. The magic, or the qi, or whatever it was, seemed to vibrate through his entire being, like a promise. A promise of a future he didn't yet understand, but was now ready to face.
Then came the moment when everything changed. One last push, one last effort, and Ephraim was expelled from this dark, liquid universe into a world of light and chaos.
The light was blinding, the sounds heartbreaking. The air, cold and foreign, rushed into his lungs for the first time. He let out an instinctive cry, a howl that seemed to express both terror and demand: I am here.
Lyris collapsed on her bed, exhausted but radiant, as the midwives placed the newborn in her arms. The baby, still red and fragile, seemed both tiny and infinitely precious.
"A boy," a midwife whispered with a smile.
Lyris looked at her son, her eyes shining with tears of joy. She gently stroked his face, her fingers trembling with emotion. "Welcome, my child," she said softly. "Welcome to this world."
Ephraim, still disoriented by what he had just experienced, felt the warmth of his mother's arms and heard her heartbeat, closer than ever. That sound, which he had learned to recognize in the darkness, was now an anchor in this strange new world.
And for the first time, he felt like he belonged.