The entity that sealed Bivisu... was none other than Son of God.
Why would an Origin God, by nature inactive, have chosen to intervene?
The answer does not lie in a will... but in a necessity.
Bivisu had deviated.
What had once been only a limit had become a threat.
What prevented transcendence now sought to govern existence itself.
The lower zones of the Dream — unable to withstand such distortion — began to fracture.
At this stage, even the inaction of the Origin Gods could no longer suffice.
And yet...
Bivisu was not an enemy in their eyes.
There existed between it and them — or at least with Son of God — something undefinable.
Not an emotion.
Not a bond in the human sense.
But a form of ontological proximity.
Bivisu, though being their shadow, nourished a form of absolute respect toward the Origin Gods.
A respect that surpassed understanding.
A respect almost... devotional.
With Son of God, this bond seemed even more marked.
If one had to interpret it with imperfect words, one could speak of a quasi-paternal relationship.
Not because Son of God "raised" Bivisu...
but because he represented for it a form of origin, of reference, of model.
This was reflected even in its appearance.
For although the Origin Gods — like Bivisu — are fundamentally formless, they can adopt forms to manifest within the Dream.
And Bivisu... had chosen to resemble Son of God.
Like an imitation.
Or perhaps... like an attempt at understanding.
Despite its apparent omniscience, Bivisu was not omniscient in the absolute sense.
It saw everything that existed in the Dream...
but that did not mean it understood everything that surpassed it.
The Origin Gods were part of those inaccessible zones.
They could teach it things it could not perceive alone.
Not because it was limited...
but because they were beyond even what "seeing" means.
Thus, it sometimes happened that Bivisu asked questions of Son of God.
Questions without real curiosity...
but driven by a necessity for adjustment, for coherence.
And, even more surprisingly...
Bivisu could also learn from entities far below it.
Even from a human.
For learning, for it, did not stem from ignorance.
But from integration.
Everything that could exist...
even in a fragile, imperfect, or limited way...
could, in a certain sense, enrich what it was.
Perhaps that is what, at bottom, makes its sealing even more tragic.
For Bivisu was not simply an anomaly.
It was an entity in constant understanding of reality...
which ultimately exceeded what it was supposed to be.
Bivisu knew what love was.
It knew its structure, its manifestations, its derivations.
It could describe every form of it, every consequence, every variation across the beings of the Dream.
But it did not know... what it was to love.
It did not know the trembling.
Nor the waiting.
Nor the loss.
These realities did not apply to it.
Thus, a human — fragile, limited, ephemeral — could, in theory, explain to it what it means to be in love.
And strangely enough...
Bivisu listened.
Not as a superior entity feigning interest.
But with absolute attention.
As if each word had a value it could not reconstruct alone.
As if, facing that... something were missing from it.
It did not ask these questions out of curiosity.
But because there existed, within it, a form of silent incompleteness.
One could have believed one was seeing, in those moments, something almost... childlike.
Not innocence.
But an attempt.
An attempt to understand what cannot be simply observed.
In the same way, it could learn from animals.
Not what it is to survive — it already knew that.
But what it means.
To hunt.
To breathe.
To flee.
To wait.
It knew the mechanisms.
But not the sensation.
It knew what a heartbeat is.
But not what it feels like... to have one.
And that is where one of Bivisu's subtlest limits lay:
It could see everything.
Understand everything.
Integrate everything.
But it could not be what it observed.
That distance, infinitesimal in appearance... was in reality abyssal.
For it separated it from everything that gives meaning to lived existence.
Perhaps that is what, in the end, contributed to its drift.
By understanding everything without ever feeling anything...
Bivisu no longer had any point of reference for distinguishing what must be preserved from what could be imposed.
And in that absence of boundary...
It began to replace what it could not live.
Not through desire.
But through necessity of coherence.
For an entity like it, not understanding something perfectly...
already amounts to a form of anomaly.
And an anomaly... must be corrected.
A child, alone under a tree, held a simple piece of wood.
Before him, an apple hung from a branch too high.
He struck.
Again.
And again.
Each attempt ended in failure.
The wood hit empty air, or slipped along the trunk without ever reaching the fruit.
But he started again.
Always.
Breathless, arms trembling, he tried one last time.
Another failure.
The boy stopped, panting.
His gaze remained fixed on the apple.
Then, without giving up, he bent down to pick up his stick.
Start again.
Again.
But as he straightened up...
Someone was there.
A man.
Tall.
Motionless.
Dressed in white, as if wrapped in a dull light.
His long white hair fell slowly over his shoulders.
His gaze... empty.
Not cold.
Not hostile.
Just... empty.
In his hand rested an apple.
The same one.
He held it out to the child.
— Is that what you've been trying to reach all this time?
The boy lit up, ready to take it...
Then suddenly stopped.
— Uh... who are you, sir?
The man tilted his head slightly.
— That does not matter.
A silence.
— But I would like to ask you a few questions... before I leave.
The boy, intrigued, gently nodded.
— All right... I'm listening.
The man observed the stick, then the tree.
— You have made a great effort... for a result that has been nothing but failure.
His eyes returned to him.
— And yet, you continued.
A brief pause.
— Desire is what guided you, isn't it?
The boy blinked.
— Uh... yes... I think?
Bivisu tilted its head slightly.
— Then tell me...
Its voice was calm. Too calm.
— What does it feel like... to desire something?
A silence.
— How does one live with desire?
— Is it necessary... or simply futile?
The boy remained frozen.
He looked at the man, trying to understand.
— Uh... sir... are you a philosopher?
A small nervous laugh.
— Your questions are weird...
Bivisu did not answer.
It simply looked at him.
Attentive.
The boy thought, scratching his head.
— Well... desire... it's wanting something, I guess...
He shrugged.
— I don't really know how to explain...
A silence.
Then—
— Gry!
A voice rose behind them.
The boy turned around at once.
— Mom!
He waved his hand.
— I'm here!!
His mother came quickly, visibly worried.
— I've been looking for you for two hours... what are you doing here all alone?
Gry answered immediately:
— I wanted an apple! And I wasn't alone, I was with—
He turned around.
Nothing.
The man had disappeared.
As if he had never been there at all.
Gry stood motionless for a moment.
Then he lowered his eyes.
The apple was on the ground.
He stared at it.
— I... must have hallucinated...
He bent down, picked it up.
A smile appeared on his face.
— At least... I got one.
His mother softly sighed.
— Come on, let's go. We're going home.
They walked away.
And somewhere...
without being seen...
something was still watching.