Nothing.
Akio floated in a dark so dense it pressed against his skin like wet cloth. Time had no hand here. He couldn't feel the passage of seconds, only the steady awareness of still being. The endless black was no longer terrifying—it was numbing. Neutral. Blank.
But then something changed.
It was subtle at first. A change in the texture of silence. As if the darkness had begun to listen.
A ripple moved through the void—not in light or wind, but in attention.
And then, a voice arrived.
Not sound. Not breath. Just presence, forming meaning in the core of his mind.
"Well now…"
The voice was calm, smooth, and impossibly vast.
"I wasn't expecting company."
Akio froze.
The voice chuckled—or gave the impression of it. Not with humor, but something quieter.
Something curious.
"Forty-five years. That's how long it's been since someone stepped this far into the sub-layer. Forty-five human years, give or take a few slivers of time. And even then, the last one barely lasted long enough to scream."
Akio's breath caught, though he wasn't sure if he had lungs here. The void didn't obey those rules.
"…Who are you?"
A pause.
"Ah. The question every child asks when they see shadow take form."
The voice didn't answer immediately. It let the silence linger like a smile.
"I have been called many things. Guardian. Warden. Echo. But I prefer 'witness.'"
"I watch the doors most forget exist. I listen when the world above grows quiet. And when someone like you stumbles through one of those cracks…"
The voice trailed off, like a shrug.
Akio didn't speak. He was too focused on staying real.
The voice returned—lighter this time.
"You look confused. Let me clarify: You are not dead. Not quite. But you are not awake either."
"You are, in simple terms, in between."
Akio frowned. "Between what?"
"Between moments."
"Between collapse and return."
"You should have died. But something in you resisted. Something… recursive."
The air around Akio rippled again, and then it formed.
A shape.
Not a person. Not even a creature. Just a ripple in the void that resembled form—a tall silhouette, undefined at the edges, cloaked in negative light. Its "face" was a smooth circle of white, pulsing gently like a heartbeat.
"Curious little sovereign," the voice said, amused. "Simulation-bred. Time-bent. You've access to a sub-realm through your mind—a mental circle to think faster, speak clearer. It was never meant to be touched by the outside."
Akio's eyes narrowed. "You know about it?"
"I know everything that touches this layer."
"You made a simulation, but it leaked. And when your mind was falling apart under pain and death, the realm pulled you in—to protect you. To contain the crash."
Akio looked around. "This is mine?"
"No," the entity said, gently. "This is under yours."
The circle pulsed once, slightly brighter.
"Your mind is a surface. Your realm—a bubble of slowed time. But this? This is the deep. The system under the system. A backdoor. Most never find it. And those who do…"
Another pause.
"…don't return."
Akio swallowed. "Then why am I still here?"
The entity tilted—no, leaned—as if amused.
"Because you didn't panic."
"You adapted. You didn't try to control. You listened."
"And, well…"
It paused.
"You interest me."
Akio's heartbeat—if he had one—thumped louder.
The entity floated closer, its voice wrapping around him like breathless wind.
"You're clever. You've spent years inside your own mind, shaping dialogue, anticipating behavior. You've lived your life watching from behind glass. That kind of mind doesn't break easy."
"It bends. It simulates."
Akio glanced down. His body was formless here, just a glowing outline.
"Am I going back?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On your answer."
"To what?"
The entity raised its head—or gave the illusion of doing so.
"Do you want to return?"
Akio hesitated. He remembered the pain. The cold. The impact. The emptiness of school. The muttered insults. The meaningless nickname.
Simulation Sovereign.
A joke. A mockery. Something to laugh at.
But… also something more.
He had seen things others hadn't. Practiced things they couldn't. Built a mind fortress so strong it had caught him in mid-death.
"…Yes," Akio whispered.
"Good."
The void trembled.
"Then I will grant you passage."
Akio's form tensed.
"But why?" he asked. "Why help me?"
The entity didn't smile. But it felt like it did.
"Because favors are investments."
Akio's brow furrowed.
"What do you want in return?"
"Only one thing."
"A promise."
"To do what?"
"Nothing now. But later, I will call."
"And when I do, you will listen."
Akio felt something coil in his chest. Not fear. Not resistance. Just… inevitability.
"…And if I refuse?"
The circle of light behind the entity pulsed—once. Darker now.
"Then I will take back what I gave."
Akio understood. This was not a contract of words. It was survival. A cosmic loan.
He nodded.
"I accept."
The entity stepped back into the dark.
"You'll awaken soon."
"The world will feel the same. But you will not."
Akio opened his mouth to ask something—anything.
But the voice was already fading.
"Oh. And Akio?"
"…Yeah?"
"You're not the first one to wake up inside the simulation."
A pause.
"But if you're clever… you may be the last."
And then—
Light cracked across the black.
A heartbeat.
Sound returned. The beeping of a monitor. The cold of sheets. The taste of metal and air.
Akio gasped—real, sharp, sudden.
And he opened his eyes.