The Tesseract was a fundamental force. It had no desires or expectations; it simply was. It was truth, and power, and potential. Its only drive was growth. It was drawn to other power, other potential, like to like.
It recognized the fragile mortal that passed through its energy stream on the way to its wormhole — and then through the wormhole itself. This mortal had been touched by the Tesseract's energy once before. Very lightly, but in a way that folded the flow of time in the mortal's constrained plane. That left ripples in the mortal's time signature. Creases.
That was not the only way in which the mortal was familiar. This mortal should also now be in thrall. The Tesseract's energy had started to flow into the mortal, drawn by the potential in what its wielder called the heart of those it controlled, but at that juncture it had been blocked by some kind of technology between its implement and that heart.
That was with only one point of contact, though. Now, although the mortal was wrapped in more technology, both were immersed in the Tesseract's energy. No wielder guided that energy only to one path. It flowed along the shell, clinging to crevices.
When the portal was closed, terminating the flow of energy, only a miniscule amount remained in those hidden spaces. It was enough to persist, enough to find a path into that heart once the shell opened. Not enough to enthrall, not yet. But chaos was power, was a wellspring of potential, and this mortal's wrinkled time-stream would soon align with a particularly potent balance point. That point could be exploited.
Until then, the Tesseract's energy lay still. Waiting.