A chasm.
And me, hanging over it.
No footing, nothing.
Just emptiness. An abyss.
Then, suddenly, a door opens.
The world tilts.
A visual slap. It grips my gut.
Light. Colors. Sounds.
Too harsh. Too real.
My eyes wide shut.
— Me (almost voiceless): Am I in a village… or a city!?
The chaos of the market pulls me into a whirlwind of noise and movement.
Stalls everywhere, people bustling.
A wave of heat, golden light hammering down on me.
I blink.
This doesn't match anything I had imagined.
— Me: This isn't what I expected. This isn't some grimy slum.
— Iris (cold, distant voice): You are currently in Arobi's South Ghetto.
Here, there's life. The market breathes.
The streets are paved.
Colors.
Laughter.
Shouts.
The chaos of a simple yet complete existence.
Me, standing there.
With this 0 carved onto me like a weight, a marker of useless existence, like a curse.
Them… people with different tattoos, symbols.
Beliefs, religions, mysteries slipping between their marked skins.
Roch exhales, an enigmatic smile on his lips.
Impossible to read him.
— Roch (calm, almost amused): Welcome to Marrons Camp.
A shiver runs down my spine.
— Me (stunned): This is nothing like what I expected… But it has the vibes of Camp Levieux.
Time holds its breath.
I feel like I'm breathing too loud, as if everyone can hear me.
Then Iris cuts through the silence, sharp, precise.
Like a blade slicing tight skin.
— Iris: Analyzing... This village is one of many hidden refuges in the shadows.
Another shiver, deeper this time.
A warning.
Something is off.
— Iris: It is built around a Nexus, but no other detectable anchor points.
Instinctively, I already have the answer before she even finishes.
— Me: Either they're well hidden, or their link has been severed.
— Iris (emotionless): Insufficient data. Limited analysis.
Silence.
No fear. Just… awe, laced with suspicion.
Then… a sound. A cry from the crowd.
A voice. Distorted. Shattering.
— Ancestral voice: Mo ti dire toi mo pou purifié toi!
The ground shifts beneath me, my head spins.
Too much information.
Too many truths at once.
I can't keep up.
Fatigue hits me like an uppercut.
Darkness takes over, without warning.
One last blurry image of the market flashes before me, then…
Silence.
A heartbeat.
A whisper.
— Me (softly, barely a breath): Thank you for everything, Gamm Micheline. Rest in peace and watch over your children.
Blackout. Total.