Alex.
5 years BA.
ACC Serenia research facility at the Door.
When Alex was told she could visit Sasha—still sleeping—just a day after her return, she hesitated. Of course, she wanted to see her, but the image of Sasha’s flayed body was haunting: the raw sinew where skin should have been, muscle glistening under sterile lights. Edgar’s words—calm and measured, almost indifferent—echoed in her mind: “She doesn’t even feel it.”
Now, standing at the threshold of the chamber, Alex braced herself for the grueling picture once more. She can do it. She is a doctor, after all.
However, Sasha looked… whole.
She lay on her back, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths, hands resting lightly at her sides. Every so often, a faint snore escaped her lips—a sound so normal, so ordinary, that Alex’s chest ached. Her younger daughter snored just like that. The bed was surrounded by softly glowing runes, and machines hummed quietly, their screens showing perfect vitals. Sasha looked peaceful. Healthy. Whole.
Alex took a step closer, her eyes scanning Sasha’s face. At first, it looked exactly as Alex remembered: youthful, serene, the face of an eighteen-year-old girl on the cusp of life. But she wasn’t eighteen, was she? Twenty-two years had passed. Alex’s body bore the marks of her years—laugh lines, scars, the softness that came with two pregnancies. Sasha, however, was frozen in time.
The longer Alex looked, the more wrong it seemed. Sasha’s face was flawless. The scar on her cheek—earned by falling from the tree during their adventures—was gone. “You cannot build a fort without some danger!” she had laughed back then. So was the faint birthmark on her temple. Her freckles, the ones Sasha had complained about but Alex always liked, were missing.
Alex’s breath hitched. Of course, the skin was new.
Her gaze drifted to Sasha’s hair. The golden strands were gone, replaced by shimmering silver. Alex expected it —Saviors’ hair always turned gray. But seeing it was different from knowing. On Sasha’s youthful face, it didn’t feel like a sign of age or wisdom. It felt like a monument to suffering. Wrong, like snow on a blooming tree.
Alex swallowed hard, her hands curling into fists. She wasn’t sure what she felt—grief, relief, or something in between. Sasha looked like herself, but was she? Not entirely. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“She’s resting,” a voice said softly.
Alex turned sharply. Edgar stood in the doorway, his posture as steady as always, though his face showed signs of wear. The deep lines in his features and the exhaustion in his eyes spoke of someone who had carried far too much for far too long. Yet there was also an uncharacteristic lightness in his gaze. Relief. He stepped inside, his eyes settling on Sasha.
Alex’s throat tightened. “Is she… really there?”
“She’s alive,” he said gently. “For now, that’s all we can ask.” He paused. “She’s tried to destroy herself several times already. The fail-safes are holding—for now. But she is very powerful" - he sighed - "She seems to respond well to memories, though.” His voice softened. “For now, she sleeps. And that’s a good thing.
Alex stared at Sasha’s still form, her chest tight. “She looks so peaceful,” she said quietly, almost to herself.
“She rests,” Edgar repeated. “She’s not in pain. She’s… not used to that.” His voice was flat, but something was behind it—something vast and incomprehensible.
“I’m sorry,” Edgar said suddenly. “For what you saw during her return. I should have warned you.”
Alex blinked, startled. Yeah, he should’ve.
Edgar hesitated. “I forgot,” he admitted finally, his voice low. “Her injuries—I forgot about it. It always happens, but they don’t… matter. Not to her. I focused on stopping her self-annihilation, ensuring memory transference, anchoring her here.” He glanced back at Sasha. “I wasn’t thinking about how it would affect you. I’m sorry.”
Alex looked away, her jaw tightening. He meant it. She could hear the sincerity in his voice, see it in the way his gaze lingered on Sasha. He cared—deeply. But he didn’t understand why it hurt her so much. He couldn’t.
“It’s fine,” she said finally, though the words felt hollow. “I understand.”
She didn’t. Not really. But Edgar was trying; she knew he was. But she also knew the chasm between them could never be crossed.
Would it be the same with Sasha?
“I’ll come back later,” she whispered, her voice trembling. She turned and left before Edgar could see the tears brimming in her eyes.
* * *
Unable to think of anything else, Alex ended up in the facility library. It was silent, the air cold, the glow of the terminal casting long shadows across the desk.
“It happens every time,” Edgar had said. But Alex had never heard about it. The heroic Savior, suffering nobly for humanity, vanishing into motes of light—that was the story she’d grown up with, the story humanity told itself, depicted in holy books and all sorts of media. Now, Alex stared at the reports, the words blurring on the screen. Edgar had returned burned to the bone. Alaric had been corroded, his body half-dissolved. Others—Saviors who hadn’t even made it through their first moments back from Chaos—had come back twisted, mutilated, their bodies broken and warped in ways Alex couldn’t comprehend.
And Sasha.
The most terrifying part wasn’t the injuries. It was that, apparently, it didn’t matter. Edgar had forgotten. Physical pain was irrelevant compared to what Chaos had done to their souls. And it was far more horrifying than the public’s sanitized understanding of “Edgar doesn’t feel pain.”
Her hands shook as she closed the terminal. She thought of her children, Stanis, and the lives Sasha’s sacrifice had saved. For the first time, Alex truly understood what it had cost. And even more, she realized that she would never truly understand. She didn’t want to.
Straightening her back, Alex wiped her eyes. Sasha would need her strength, not her tears. And Alex would give it, no matter what—and no matter who Sasha had become. She didn't know how, what she could do for somebody so... changed, but she would try. Sasha deserved nothing less.
-------------------
Sasha
5 years BA.
ACC Serenia research facility at the Door.
There is no pain. No Chaos. Still, this impossible reprieve.
How do I make it last?
I drift in and out of partial awareness, brushing its edge only to retreat again. I’ve been here too long already. Measured against eternity, it’s nothing, but compared to the longest period I’ve ever known without pain, this is… staggering. Impossible.
What is going on?
I tell myself I sift through these memories to find answers, but the truth is, I am drawn to them like ions are pulled toward opposite charges. All my existence, my only drive was to avoid pain or distract myself from it. But this? This is different. New.
When I test the net—when I try to destroy myself—it sometimes triggers more fragments of memory appearing in my mind. That’s why I push it again and again. However, each attempt brings fewer and fewer pieces until, finally, there’s nothing. The last time yields no memory, only emptiness. I stop. Whatever mechanism produced them is spent, and for now, I won’t risk disrupting this reprieve for nothing. I know he plans to tempt me into shattering it too soon. To know I had the only thing I ever wanted and destroyed it myself. He would laugh at this, wouldn't he?
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
But the memories I’ve gathered are already too much. They contain both information and… experiences. I don’t dwell on the latter. They’re too overwhelming and impossible to process. They would break me before Chaos even returned. Information is safer—safer to analyze, to piece together.
But even the information feels absurd. It comes in flashes, incomplete, and disconnected. Each fragment brings an understanding that seems true within its own context but shatters against reality. It’s a puzzle, and I don’t have enough pieces. Yet solving it without pain is… the opposite of pain. I don’t have a word for it, but it compels me.
The fragments hint at something absurd: a world beyond Chaos. Sentient beings beyond me and him. Existence without pain. Existence full of...
It’s nonsense.
Chaos created illusions like this long ago. I learned to see through them. It’s not that hard. His illusions are never truly coherent.
These memories are different.
They feel authentic in ways Chaos’s fabrications never did. For all his omnipotence, he’s never controlled my thoughts or implanted memories. He projects illusions, bends reality, fractures my mind, but he’s never created something like this inside me.
Unless… he has, all this time.
The thought is terrifying. Do I truly know nothing about him?
But this fear won’t help. It's useless. If it's true, and Chaos power is so much greater than I thought, then nothing I do or think would matter – not that it matters as it is, actually. But if it's not true, there should be another explanation.
I drift closer to awareness, focus sharpening.
The net still binds me, intricate and unyielding. It resists when I test it lightly, but I don’t push too hard. Not yet. I need more information.
Danger. Absent at the moment, but Chaos’s constructs hover nearby, silent. No need for immediate action.
Space. Chaos usually keeps his creations small and contained, but this feels vast—larger than anything I’ve encountered. I reach for its edges, but they’re too far, further than I can focus on.
Time. One direction, monotonic and linear. A single, unbroken thread. Chaos never lets time behave like this. He fractures it, loops it, makes it writhe and twist. But here, it’s… steady. Did he even try?
Energy and forces. There is plenty, as always. The energy in this place is intricate, woven into patterns. Chaos’s energy is here, as always, but muted, diluted, as though he’s absent, and his power exists without... him. That should be impossible.
Some force pulls me downward, constant and unwavering. Gravity? But for it to be that strong, the source must be immense—larger than anything Chaos has ever made—or impossibly dense. But space here isn’t warped. It’s smooth and stable. How?
Matter. The body I am in, the constructs, the environment—they’re all… structured. Chaos never tolerates structure. In his creations, atoms vary wildly in weight, are always unstable, and often decay even before he gets bored by them. Here, the atoms are consistent, and their structures are symmetrical, stable, and self-similar. They are not painful to look at.
It reminds me of my attempts to provoke him. I used to select similar particles, combine them, and move them into symmetry lattices. He hated it when I did it. He destroyed everything I made and punished me for the attempt. But I kept doing it. His rage felt… right, somehow. Like a tiny act of rebellion in the face of his omnipotence. This place feels like those lattices —but stretched across everything. Everywhere.
Why would he create this? He hates this. This entire reality is antithetical to him. If he made it, he would destroy it immediately. Why hasn’t he?
Unless he...
No, it cannot be.
The constructs. They weave energy, intricate and precise. The memories call it "magic". But they can’t. Chaos’s constructs aren’t sentient. They cannot weave. Chaos never creates sentience. He despises complexity, and sentience is complexity made manifest. It’s why he hates me, after all. He created me complex, so I can fully percieve the suffering, but he hates me even more for it. He wouldn't tolerate any more of it, would he?
I need to know. I drift even closer to awareness, almost fully, skimming the edges of perception. I choose the strongest construct - Edgar - memories provide the meaningless word - and look deeper into the reality beyond matter.
What I see is impossible.
It’s… It's not just as complex as I am. It's much more complex. A system of infinite elements interacting in infinite ways. It's a shimmering ball of energy, the most elaborate and unfamiliar thing I ever saw, and I cannot stop looking at it. It's... anti-Chaos. It's... beautiful; these new memories supply the word. It feels fitting, although I do not really understand what it means.
Chaos wouldn't ever create it. I don't even know if he could. I always thought I was the most complex thing he ever made. But this one is so much more than I am.
Before I can stop myself, I reach out with a fragment of my essence, trying to understand, to get more information. The connection is immediate, sharp, electric, and... warm? Akin to burning but without pain?
I pull back, recoiling into myself.
I brace for Chaos’ punishment. But the silence stretches on.
For now.
--------------
Edgar
5 years BA.
ACC Serenia research facility at the Door.
A sudden surge rattled through the air, sharp and violent. The fail-saves buckled, flickering for a moment before stabilizing. Edgar was already on his feet, hands raised as the complex magic lattice snapped into sharper focus in his mind. Sasha was testing the fail-saves again.
They were out of memories to give back to her. He feared what would happen when this moment came. Would they be able to stop her?
“Reinforce,” he commanded.
The mages flanking him moved with practiced precision, their hands weaving the supporting spells that bolstered the primary containment. They were the best that ACC - the world - had. Every one of them had been handpicked for this task. Their synchronization was flawless, their energy precise, but, of course, Edgar carried the brunt of it.
The net swelled with power, amplified by Sasha’s strength, feeding it back. Still, she pushed harder. The energy scraped against Edgar’s mind like a serrated edge, a reminder of the sheer magnitude of her power they were containing. She wasn’t giving it her all - yet, but even this was enough to make the air thick and oppressive.
The fight was tense, but something was off. Since Sasha's return, she had regularly fought the fail-saves, trying to self-annihilate, just as they expected. He dreaded these attacks, knowing that she returned stronger than he expected. Yet, for now, all her attacks felt weaker than she was capable of. She wasn’t lashing out wildly; her movements felt deliberate and calculated, testing.
That wasn't possible.
“It’s holding,” one of the mages said, her voice steady but tight with focus.
“For now,” Edgar muttered. He adjusted a binding thread, reinforcing a point where the energy threatened to fray.
He knew how this was supposed to go. He and Alaric had been in her place, both barely aware of their own existence in the aftermath of Chaos’s torment. They had lashed out constantly, instinctively, their shattered minds perceiving every barrier as a threat. He was there to hold Alaric, and he barely slept for the first several months after his return. For Edgar himself, the mages who had contained him described it as unending, exhausting work—teams working in shifts, battling around the clock to stop him from annihilating himself.
Sasha was both stronger than him and Alaric yet more restrained. Why? How was it even possible?
“Hold position,” Edgar ordered, his gaze fixed on the net as Sasha’s energy receded. The room settled into an uneasy stillness, the hum of containment spells resuming their steady rhythm.
He let out a slow breath and turned to the mages. “Good work,” he said, nodding toward them. “Call team four. Take a break. You’ve earned it.”
They dispersed without question, but Edgar stayed. He couldn’t bring himself to leave the room, not when the answers he sought were lying there, just out of reach.
He sank into a chair near Sasha’s bed, his hands rubbing his temples. Her sleeping form looked peaceful—almost serene. She was resting, not in pain. This thought alone filled him with the steady relief he had felt since her return. Whatever happened, the worst was over for her. Now, they just needed to hold as long as they could. This was a war of attrition, in a way; the only hope they had was to give her enough time to get used to the absence of pain and start recovering parts of herself.
Edgar’s gaze drifted to her face, the faint silver streaks in her hair, and the youthful smoothness of her skin. Twenty-three years ago, when he first saw her soul, it had been radiant—a brilliant, golden glow, the glow of just the right type of energy that Door needed. He’d known instantly that she was the candidate they were looking for. Her soul had sealed her fate before he even saw her face and realized just how young she was.
Now, her soul was… different.
It was fractured, shattered, and scarred from an eternity of torment. It was torn to pieces, impossibly held together, like something that just shouldn't have been whole. It resembled a storm, dark clouds swirling endlessly, broken by the occasional gleam of light shining through. That light—small and faint—was all that remained of the radiance she once carried.
It was the same with Alaric, the same with Edgar himself.
Nevertheless, Sasha's soul was still beautiful.
He leaned forward, his magic still attuned, when something shifted. A flicker of movement, faint but unmistakable, brushed against him.
Edgar froze.
It wasn’t the fail-saves or the containment spells. It was her. A fragment of Sasha’s essence reached out, tentative and curious, like a wild animal testing unfamiliar ground.
Impossible.
Sasha couldn’t be aware. Not yet. Her mind was shattered, lost in the eternity she had endured.
And yet…
The connection was so light and delicate that Edgar doubted it for a moment. Was it his hope, his wishful thinking? But then it came again, brushing against him.
She’s reaching out.
His breath caught. Edgar hadn’t prepared for this—not so soon. Still, instinct guided him. He didn’t learn this as a soldier, a scientist, or a Savior. This was something else entirely, something he’d picked up decades ago as an uncle to a family of magically gifted children. Before they learned to speak, their tiny souls would reach out like this, and he learned how to communicate his love and care without words.
With a thought, he sent the simplest message he could manage: you are safe.
The response was immediate. Sasha’s essence recoiled, snapping back into herself like a startled creature retreating into its burrow. The connection was gone.
Edgar sat back, his heart pounding. For a long moment, he stared at her still form, uncertain if what had just happened was real.
But deep down, he knew.
Sasha was reaching out. Slowly, cautiously—but she was there.
Still there.
Was she?