{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|When Belenor opened his eyelids, he saw only darkness. Where was he? What day were we? And why did his skull hurt so much? Since his nose was clogged he couldn't smell, but the taste of blood on his palate made the Fyros wince. What had happened to him? Spitting to relieve his respiratory tract, he noticed with a few seconds of latency that the bloodied mucus he had just rejected had flown straight towards the dark sky, soiling the sleeves of his suit in the process. For his arms were swinging strangely above his head. Gradually recovering his spirits, Belenor looked at his feet. They were entangled in a root net, through which a brazing light seemed to filter. The Fyros bent forward several times to grab it, but to no avail. The ground refused him. He sighed and spat a second time. Again, the mucus flew over his head. Above, or below? Then memories came back to him. Melkiar's terrified look, the explosion, the shock against the wall of the crevasse, the fall. Frozen with horror, the Fyros looked once  again at his entangled feet. This brazing light was that of the explosion. From the surface. At this revelation, he was taken by a terrible dizziness. Because he was indeed suspended by the feet in the void. If his first reflex was to scream for a long time, Belenor understood at once that it would not be of any help to him. So he tried to grab the net of roots, again and again, without success. If he wanted to get back up, he had to get rid of his gear. All the precious provisions and supplies it contained. He had no choice... Compelled, the Fyros grabbed the straps of his bag and cautiously untied them. And as his ballast dropped, one of his legs unhooked. Screaming once again, Belenor managed in panic to pull himself up enough to grab the net with both hands. He then had only to channel the Sap that was irrigating it to force the thin roots to spread slightly, enough for his small frame to make its way to the surface of the mesh.