Looking around, I see a red or pink translucent layer surrounding me. It feels like I'm inside a sphere — soft, warm, alive. The light is dim, filtered through this membrane of skin.
I glance down.
My body is small. Fragile. And there it is — a thin cord stretching from my belly button, pulsing with life.
An umbilical cord.
'Am I… a baby?'
Suddenly, I feel a strange sensation humming through me — a current, slow and steady, pouring into my body from the cord. It's not just blood or nutrients. It's something deeper.
Energy.
Vitality.
In the novels I used to read, they called it mana or ki. The protagonist would sit still, draw it inward, and circulate it through their body — building strength, forging will, transcending limits.
This... this feels oddly similar.
Curious, I adjust into a cross-legged position — or at least, the closest my undeveloped limbs will allow.
I breathe in.
No lungs yet — not fully — but I focus. I guide the sensation toward my center. The energy swirls. It flows like a gentle tide through my veins, my bones, my being.
A rhythm emerges.
Something stirs.
Not magic.
But something more ancient.
'This is cultivation,' I realize, in a sense of awe.
If I am correct, there are stages. Realms of growth. Elevation of body, mind, and soul.
But cultivation always comes at a cost.
I glance down at the cord again, now pulsing with even more clarity.
'Where is this energy coming from?'
The thought creeps in, uninvited.
And then it hits me.
Her.
'It's… the mother of this body.'
The sudden realization hits me.
I am drawing power — not just nutrients — from her. From her soul, her life, her vitality. Not just growing… but cultivating by draining her energy.
A horrifying thought blooms in my mind:
Am I killing her?