The alarms began before Kaelen Vane opened his eyes.
A low, metallic hum pulsed through his ribs — the same sound the Surface always made when it tried to crush him. Gravity here wasn't heavy for normal people, but for him, it felt like a giant hand pressing him into the mattress.
He exhaled slowly.
The air cut his lungs like sand.
Temporal Rejection.
The doctors gave it a name, but not a cure.
He dragged himself upright. The room flickered. Every light on the wall panel dimmed, brightened, then dimmed again — Surface tech struggling to understand why the boy inside it didn't obey its Laws.
A voice crackled over the cracked speaker:
"Kaelen Vane. Report for medical evaluation. Level 1 Surface Clinic."
He ignored it.
He had ten minutes before they realized he wasn't coming.
Kaelen slid open the drawer beneath his bed. Inside, wrapped in black mesh, lay the thing that kept him alive — the thing nobody on the Surface could ever know about:
A Spinal Drive.
Twelve metallic vertebrae.
Six active ports.
One forbidden core.
He placed his hand on it, and the Drive pulsed… just once.
Like a heartbeat.
It wants me in the Deep, he thought.
And he wanted it too.
Kaelen lifted the device and pressed it against the grooves along his spine. The graft ports clicked into place one by one.
K-CHNK.
K-CHNK.
K-CHNK.
A violent shiver tore through him as the Drive synced with his nervous system. Reality around him bent for a second — the light stretched sideways, gravity softened, the floor felt like jelly.
Then it stabilized.
On the Surface, physics were fixed. Nothing should warp.
But Kaelen wasn't made for the Surface.
He threw on his jacket, stepped onto the balcony, and stared down at Layer 1 — a perfect, silver city arranged like a giant filing cabinet. Straight lines. Sharp corners. Zero chaos. Zero magic. Zero freedom.
Above, enormous machines floated inside the sky domes, tightening the Laws of Physics every hour, making sure nothing strange ever happened.
Below — far below — the earth dropped into a yawning darkness: the Excavation Rift, a kilometer-wide gash in the ground.
Past that?
The Crust.
The Deep.
The Abyss.
Layers where the world was alive.
He swung his leg over the balcony rail.
"Stop!!" someone screamed from above.
Kaelen didn't look back.
He jumped.
For a normal person, the fall would break every bone.
For Kaelen Vane, it was the first breath of freedom.
As he plummeted, the wind scraped against his face — too sharp, too clean. The Surface hated him. But the deeper he fell, the easier he could breathe. The pressure loosened. The world felt softer.
He smiled.
The Spinal Drive lit up along his back, one segment glowing with a faint red core:
ANCHOR ERA LOADED:
Layer-42 — Early Iron Age. Law-Suppression active.
Wind resistance dropped instantly.
Gravity tilted slightly sideways.
The air grew warmer, older.
He shot through the containment mist, down into the Excavation Rift.
Drilling mechs roared in the darkness. Sparks flew from the walls. Workers yelled as a human figure plunged past them like a meteor.
Someone shouted:
"Is that— IS THAT A PERSON!?"
Kaelen twisted mid-air, letting the Iron Age Law stabilize him.
He landed on a moving freight platform with a thud.
The workers stared.
Kaelen simply brushed dust off his jacket.
"Relax," he said. "I'm just passing through."
And then the ground beneath the platform shuddered.
A deep sound — like stone grinding against bone — echoed up from below.
Every mech froze.
Every worker went silent.
In the dark pit beneath them, something ancient was waking.
Kaelen felt the vibration in his spine, through the Drive.
He whispered:
"…a Fossilized Reality."
The workers turned toward him.
"Wait — kid, you can't go down there. That layer isn't mapped. Nothing should be alive that deep."
Kaelen smiled faintly.
"Exactly."
He stepped off the platform and descended the ladder into the unknown.
His lungs finally stopped hurting.
For the first time today…
He could breathe.