The clock on the wall didn't tick; it groaned. In the dim light of their basement apartment, Nars sat between his parents. Outside, Oakhaven hummed—the sound of a million souls paying their nightly taxes to the Siren.
"A few more seconds," his father whispered. "Whatever it is, Nars, we'll make it work. If it's Laughter, I'll tell you every joke I know. If it's Pain... I've got plenty to give."
Nars couldn't speak. His chest felt like it was being hollowed out by an ice-cold chisel. Then, the clock struck midnight. A spectral light, the color of a fading bruise, erupted from Nars' chest.
[FIRST TOLL INITIATED]
Audit Complete. Domain: Primordial Vitality.
Deficit: The Rot.
Talent Unlocked: [Sovereign's Appraisal].
Initial Loan: 01:00:00 (One Hour).
Nars' vision fractured. He saw "Price Tags" on everything. The table: [Cost to Splinter: 5 Minutes]. His father's heart: [Remaining Life: 24 Years].
"It's... it's Life," Nars choked out. "Vitality. I have to take it to live."
His father's face went deathly pale. "Primordial? No. Nars, listen. You tell the Registry it's Pain. It's common enough to be ignored. Lie, Nars. Lie like your life depends on it."
Boom. Boom. Boom.
"Registry Police!" a voice barked. Two officers in soot-stained uniforms stepped in. One swept a glowing brass compass—a Ledger-Reader—toward Nars.
"Name?"
"Nars Van-Gale," he stammered.
"Domain?"
Nars looked at the officer's throat. A tag hovered there: [Cost to Silence: 12 Hours]. He swallowed hard. "Pain," he lied.
The officer squinted at his compass. The needle flickered wildly. Primordial energy was so rare the device didn't have a setting for it; it just registered as a massive, surging Tier-3. "Pain, huh? Report to the barracks at dawn."
The second officer poked around, stopping at a loose floorboard where they hid their savings. "What's this? Unregistered assets?"
"That's for medicine!" Nars' mother cried, stepping forward.
The officer laughed, shoving her hard. She stumbled, her head heading straight for the sharp corner of the iron stove.
"No!" Nars screamed.
He didn't think. He didn't check the ledger. He reached out his hand, subconsciously trying to "pull" her back, to "anchor" her to the safety of the room.
The Default
Because Nars' currency was Primordial, the exchange rate was $10,000 \times$ heavier than anything reality was prepared for. He hadn't just cast a spell; he had rewritten the physics of the room with the "Weight" of a God.
[ENACTMENT TRIGGERED: GRAVITATIONAL ANCHOR]
Error: Personal Balance insufficient for Primordial Weight.
Action: Defaulting to nearest Vitality sources to fuel the output.
Nars felt a horrific, tearing sensation. It wasn't his one-hour loan that vanished. The room didn't just stop his mother's fall—the gravity inverted and multiplied.
A localized, crushing force slammed upward. His parents didn't have a chance to scream. In a sickening blur of motion, they were launched toward the stone ceiling with the force of a falling mountain.
Crunch.
The sound was wet and final. Nars watched, paralyzed, as the ceiling became a red canvas. The sheer pressure of the enactment held them there, squashing their bodies flat against the cold stone, their bones snapping like dry kindling under the weight of Nars' unintended power.
The system had liquidated their lives to pay for the "Anchor."
[Vitality Harvested: 62 Years, 4 Months, 11 Days]
[Current Balance: 62y: 4m: 11d : 00:54]
The gravity snapped back to normal. Two broken, unrecognizable shapes slumped from the ceiling, hitting the floor with a hollow thud.
Nars fell to his knees, staring at the blood on the stones. The officers stood frozen, staring at the ceiling, then at the boy.
"Monster..." the lead officer whispered, fumbling for his whistle.
Nars didn't hear him. He looked at his hand, where the first sign of The Rot had already begun to recede, healed by the stolen years of the only people who loved him.
Kill to breathe.
The despair hit him. He had all the time in the world now. And he was entirely alone.