Training did not begin with movement.
It began with pain.
Aarav stood barefoot on a circular platform deep within the Interstice. Symbols—old, angular, and incomplete—floated in the air around him, rotating slowly like broken constellations.
"Do not run," the man in white said.
The platform ignited.
Gravity twisted violently. Up became sideways. Down became irrelevant.
Aarav staggered.
The planetary hum inside him spiked—sharp, nauseating.
He cried out, dropping to one knee.
The silver-haired woman's voice cut through the distortion. "He's syncing involuntarily."
"Exactly," the stranger replied calmly. "He must learn to decouple."
Aarav clenched his fists.
Every shift in gravity echoed Earth's movements—ocean surges, tectonic drift, atmospheric pressure.
He wasn't just standing on stone.
He was standing on a world.
"Again," the man in white said.
The symbols flared.
Gravity inverted.
Aarav screamed as the hum surged.
He reached instinctively—
Then stopped.
Don't pull.
Don't anchor.
Separate.
He imagined Earth not as a weight—but as a distant rhythm.
A song he could hear without dancing to.
Slowly, painfully, the pressure eased.
He stayed upright.
Breathing hard.
The platform stabilized.
The silver-haired woman let out a low whistle. "That was fast."
Aarav looked up, sweat dripping down his face.
"I can't carry it all the time," he said hoarsely. "I'll break."
"Yes," the man in white replied. "Which is why you must learn when to let go."
The chamber lights dimmed.
A new projection appeared.
Not Earth.
Another world.
Red skies.
Broken continents.
A city being lifted piece by piece into orbit by colossal machines.
Screams—frozen in motion.
Aarav's blood went cold.
"Who are they?" he asked.
"The Accelerants," the older man said. "A coalition of predatory civilizations."
"They don't reset worlds," the boy added quietly. "They harvest them."
The projection zoomed in.
People—humanlike, but not human—were being pulled into containment arcs, their planet's core stripped for energy.
"They value speed," the silver-haired woman said. "Innovation. Rapid expansion."
Aarav clenched his jaw.
"And Earth just proved it has both."
"Yes," the man in white said. "And something more."
He looked directly at Aarav.
"A regulator."
The projection shifted again.
This time—
Earth.
Highlighted.
Marked.
A symbol pulsed over it.
CLAIM INTEREST: PENDING.
Aarav's chest tightened.
"They're coming."
"They already changed course," the older man said. "Their scouts will arrive first."
"When?"
The man in white paused.
"Sooner than the Collectors would have returned."
Silence stretched.
Aarav exhaled slowly.
"Then I don't just need control," he said. "I need to fight."
The silver-haired woman shook her head. "You can't outrun them head-on."
"I don't plan to."
The man in white raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Explain."
Aarav straightened, pain still lacing his limbs.
"You said they value speed," he said. "Velocity. Growth."
"Yes."
"Then I make Earth look… boring."
The older man's eyes widened.
"You'd suppress the curve again?"
"Not like before," Aarav replied. "Not by locking it."
He looked at the symbols floating around the platform.
"But by misdirection."
The man in white was silent for a long moment.
Then—
He smiled.
"That," he said softly, "is why you survived."
The chamber shifted.
New symbols ignited.
More complex.
More dangerous.
"Very well," the stranger said. "Lesson one against those who take."
The symbols collapsed inward—
And the Interstice opened a window to deep space.
A scout construct drifted there—sleek, fast, predatory.
The silver-haired woman's voice hardened.
"Your job," she said, "is to make it look the other way."
Aarav swallowed.
The planetary hum inside him rose.
He stepped forward.
"Then teach me how to lie to the sky."
Far beyond the Interstice—
The scout adjusted its trajectory.
And somewhere in the dark between stars—
A signal was sent.
Potential asset detected.
Earth was no longer just watched.
It was being evaluated.