Aarav didn't wake up to pain.
He woke up to weight.
Gravity pressed against him like an accusation. Every breath felt borrowed, every heartbeat a reminder that he'd pushed something inside himself too far.
He was lying on stone.
Not the facility.
Not the city.
The Interstice.
The ceiling above him was intact now—no fracture, no sky bleeding through. Just smooth, quiet reality.
"You're awake," the man in white said.
Aarav tried to sit up.
Failed.
His body refused.
"What… happened?" he rasped.
"You synchronized with a planet," the stranger replied evenly. "Then you disconnected without decompression."
Aarav closed his eyes.
"Figures."
The silver-haired woman stood nearby, arms crossed, sparks flickering faintly but unevenly—like her power was tired too.
"You shaved decades off your projected lifespan," she said bluntly.
Aarav opened one eye. "How many?"
She hesitated.
The older man answered instead.
"If you do that again," he said, "you won't survive it."
Silence settled.
Aarav stared at the ceiling.
"They didn't reset us."
"No," the man in white agreed. "You changed the terms."
Aarav exhaled slowly.
"Probation."
The boy hovered near the edge of the chamber, unusually quiet. "They've never done that before."
Aarav frowned. "Never?"
"Civilizations either pass unnoticed," the boy said, "or they're erased. You created a third category."
The weight in Aarav's chest deepened.
"So now they watch."
"Yes."
Aarav turned his head toward the man in white.
"And you?"
The stranger met his gaze.
"We always watched," he said. "But now we are involved."
Aarav's jaw tightened. "Then tell me the cost."
The man in white stepped closer.
"When you became the Sky Limit," he said, "you bound yourself to Earth's motion curve."
Aarav swallowed.
"What does that mean?"
"It means," the stranger continued, "the more humanity destabilizes—war, uncontrolled expansion, reckless velocity—the more strain it puts on you."
The silver-haired woman added quietly, "You're a living regulator now."
Aarav laughed weakly.
"So if the world goes insane, I break."
"Yes," the older man said.
Silence again.
Far away, faint tremors echoed through the Interstice—Earth settling into its new equilibrium.
Aarav turned his head toward the floor.
"My mother."
"She's alive," the man in white said. "Contained, but no longer a hostage. The government can't touch her openly anymore."
Aarav nodded faintly.
"And the armored man?"
The silver-haired woman scoffed. "He's terrified. As he should be."
Aarav closed his eyes.
"I didn't save the world," he murmured.
"No," the stranger agreed. "You delayed judgment."
Aarav's breathing slowed.
"That's enough."
The man in white studied him carefully.
"For now."
Aarav's fingers twitched.
"I can still feel it," he said quietly. "The planet. Like a low hum in my bones."
"That will never go away," the older man said. "It's the price."
Aarav opened his eyes again.
"Then teach me how to carry it."
The silver-haired woman smiled faintly.
The boy let out a breath he'd been holding.
The man in white inclined his head.
"Very well," he said. "But understand this—"
He raised a hand, and the Interstice darkened slightly.
"The Collectors are not your only concern anymore."
Aarav frowned. "What else is there?"
The stranger's gaze sharpened.
"Civilizations on probation create ripples," he said. "And ripples attract… competitors."
The Interstice ceiling shimmered.
For a brief instant, Aarav saw something else beyond the layers of reality.
Not Collectors.
Something faster.
More aggressive.
Hunters.
Aarav's pulse quickened.
"What are they?"
The man in white's voice dropped.
"Those who don't erase unstable worlds."
"They take them."
Silence fell hard.
Aarav swallowed.
"So Earth just became valuable."
"Yes," the stranger replied.
"And you," he added, "just became its lock."
Aarav stared upward, feeling the planet's hum echo through him.
"Then I'd better learn fast."
The Interstice responded.
The floor pulsed.
Training systems awakened.
And far beyond Earth—
Something else changed course.
Not to observe.
But to claim.