The Collector didn't wait for my permission.
"You are an unclaimed asset, Zany of the Vertical Hills," the figure rasped. The porcelain mask tilted, the painted smirk gleaming under the sickly violet light of his lantern. "The Shallows do not permit loitering. You will be crated and sent to the mines of the Grey Silt to pay for the breath you stole from the void."
He raised his crooked staff. The violet light flared, turning into a swarm of ethereal, shadowy chains that lashed out toward my throat. In Aizawl, I was just a ghost in a kitchen. But here, as the shadow-metal touched my skin, the "Basement" of my own soul rebelled.
As the chains tightened, the Underworld didn't just fade—it was violently overwritten.
My vision didn't go dark; it went Silver. The transition felt like a physical weight being lifted off my chest, a sudden silence so loud it made my ears ring. I was standing in an endless expanse of shimmering, pearlescent white—a place where the floor and sky were the same substance, a material that felt like solid light. There was no wind, no scent of death, only the smell of the very first morning of the world—crisp, ozone-heavy, and terrifyingly pure.
In the center of this void stood a silhouette. It wasn't a man, but a pillar of radiance that stood taller than any human. As I looked at him, a name bubbled up from the oldest part of my brain—a name I had never heard in the kitchen in Aizawl, but one I knew as well as my own.
"Genesis," I said. The word didn't feel like a name I was learning; it felt like a memory I was finally allowed to access.
The silhouette—Genesis—tilted his head. The light around him shifted, and I felt a warmth settle into my marrow.
"You're early, Zany," the voice hummed, vibrating inside my bones. "Most take the long way through the Gate. You chose the shortcut through the windshield."
"I don't care about the timing," I snapped. My fear was being burned away by a strange heat in my chest. "Where's Leo? I'm not letting him go into that grey hell alone. I'll give you whatever you want. Let's make a trade. Take me, just let him go."
Genesis let out a low, melodic sound—a cosmic chuckle that made the silver void shiver. "A trade? Little Mediator, you speak to the Beginning as if you are a beggar asking for a coin, but you do not realize you own the vault."
The silhouette stepped closer, and for a moment, the light was so clear I could see the golden gears of the universe turning behind his eyes.
"You think your 'spite' is just a human emotion?" Genesis whispered. "When you were born, the stars didn't just align; they paused. Existence was never a gift given to you by the Beginning. It was yours from the moment you took your first breath. It is your birthright. You don't need to trade for Leo's life... you just need to claim the authority to move him."
"Existence is mine?" I breathed. The heat in my chest was spreading now, turning into a dull, golden thrumming in my veins.
Before I could ask more, the silver space behind Genesis distorted. A sudden, jagged tear of pure black and ticking gears appeared in the distance. The pressure in the room tripled. I felt my knees buckle—not from fear, but from the sheer force of something massive approaching.
"Who is that?" I gasped, looking at the dark rift.
"That is Chronos," Genesis said, his voice growing urgent. The silver light flared, pushing back the encroaching shadows. "He is the Clockmaker, the Auditor of the Timeline. To him, you are a stain on a perfect script. He does not like the idea of a Mediator who remembers the taste of petrol and the weight of his own will."
The rift widened, and I heard the sound of a thousand clocks striking midnight at once.
"Go now," Genesis commanded, waving a hand. "Before he decides to argue with me for a century about your erasure. Go to the Underworld, Zany. Find your friend. But remember—you are the scale, not the soul."
The silver light exploded, and the "Weight of Silence" returned.
I was back in the Shallows. The Collector's chains were wrapped around my neck, pulling tight. The masked entity leaned in, his porcelain smirk inches from my face. "Do you feel it, ghost? The weight of your debt?"
I looked him dead in the slits of his mask. I didn't feel the debt. I felt the Gold.
"I don't owe you a thing," I said.
I didn't struggle. I just... blinked.
In a heartbeat, the shadow-metal vanished—simply deleted from reality. The Collector recoiled, his violet lantern flickering violently as he stared at the empty space where his chains had been.
"What... what are you?" the mask stammered.
"I'm the guy who's had a very long day," I said, the gold veins in my arms glowing through my sleeves. "And I'm done talking to the janitor. Lead me to the Gates. Now."