Sasha.
5 years BA.
ACC Serenia research facility at the Door.
Still no Chaos. No pain.
After I—foolishly—tried to probe this construct, this entity—Edgar—and it responded, I braced for Chaos to punish me, either directly or through that construct. But no pain came. I don’t understand why.
I stay in this semi-awareness, which comes from the net around me. Its weave urges me toward losing consciousness, but the pull is weak and easy to resist. This state feels still. Another word arises from my memories: peaceful.
A picture intrudes: endless water, rolling in slow waves under my—my?—feet, the setting sun staining everything gold. Sea. Sunset. It seems as if it belongs to me, but it can’t. Such things don’t exist. Yet the words remain: sea, sun, golden, peace.
My memories also say I’m “sleeping.” Another concept: rest. That also makes no sense. Why would Chaos let me gather strength? He’d only pause to wait for me to rebuild enough before tearing me apart again. And the pain never stopped.
Now it has. I almost miss it. Almost. Pain at least made sense. Whatever this is—doesn’t.
I drift closer to full awareness. I feel the body Chaos provided for this reality. It’s stable, intricate—more so than I recall. It feeds me data through… senses, yes. I remember bodies can do that. I haven’t occupied one in a long time, and this one is more elaborate than I expected.
Flashes of light and dark filter in—sight? A heavy sensation—sound? The body moves with a rhythmic pulse, the center expanding and contracting. Another rhythm aligns with it, a soft vibration. Beat. A beat. I try to unravel how it works, but the more I look, the less I understand.
I drift further, focusing on the other constructs. I must know. There are so many: dozens nearby, then hundreds—maybe thousands if I push my perception. It blurs beyond that. Hundreds. Impossible. Chaos can conjure infinite armies, but they’re simple, bound to his will.
These—entities, beings—aren’t like that. Each is a universe of countless elements and energies interacting in infinite ways. Each is distinct. I’ve watched them for a while, but I still can’t grasp it. Some trigger the same meaningless words that orbit near “Edgar”: mom, dad, Ilya, Alex, Stanis. Whenever one of these moves too close, I’m flooded with flickers of memories, but I can’t sort them.
What puzzles me most is how uniquely complex these beings are. I believed I was Chaos’s most intricate creation—my purpose is to be sentient enough to perceive pain, which he hates me for even as he shaped me so. I never saw him fashion anything else like me.
But these constructs seem more complex than I am. Could they… be sentient? If so, why aren’t they in pain? Chaos hates them. He’d have ripped them apart.
Yet they don’t seem to suffer—not like I do. Real torment leaves its mark, warps the essence. Only the Edgar entity bears that scar. When I probed deeper, I felt Chaos’s traces on it: burned holes, scorched edges. For a moment, I thought Chaos was here—but no, it’s only the damage he left behind.
It looks like… me. My essence.
I’ve solved countless puzzles of Chaos—warped time, loops in dimensions, unlinked cause and effect. But this feels more challenging.
I know it’s a trap. Yet this reality is even further from his usual patterns than I am from his simpler constructs.
Could these others be sentient? If yes and still unhurt, why? Would Chaos spare them? Unless… I know nothing about him, or he cannot torture them. But that's absurd.
I need more information.
Could it come from… them?
The “Edgar” tried to reach me several times, echoing the same essence-level nudge I used. It didn’t hurt, but I didn't react. What if it's what Chaos wants?
But maybe I should have? How?
I wonder. Chaos’s voice filled my existence, but it was always only him. If these are other minds, can we communicate? Is that even possible? I...
After some time, a new entity appears—equally complex, with no trace of Chaos or pain. I watch, ready to strike when it attacks me. It weaves energy—so real, as though it does so by itself—and then I feel it in my mind: not painful, but reminiscent of how Chaos intrudes, forcing his presence, his voice eroding my thoughts.
I shove it away by reflex. That never stops Chaos, but sometimes it buys a moment. And each moment is everything, so I always try.
Now, it works. The entity recoils, startled. I sense a flicker through its essence: it looks like... hurt. Is it... in pain?
No. Constructs don’t feel pain. They don't feel anything. But this one… it recoils, its essence trembling. Did I… cause that?
I brace for retribution—Chaos or these beings will strike back. But nothing happens.
Why not? Did I truly hurt a mind? I…
I don’t want to inflict pain. Chaos does that. I...
But if I did, why isn’t it retaliating? Why doesn't it attack me? Punish me?
It’s all too much. Something heavy crowds my thoughts. I let the net guide me under, surrendering to its pull back into this “sleep.”
----------------
Chan
5 years BA.
Luminara, capital of Serenia.
Professor Chan Yan did not appreciate being woken up in the middle of the night. At sixty-five, her life had settled into a well-deserved routine: tea, academic pursuits, and, blissfully, no more late-night emergencies—not even for grant application deadlines. You would think that being the Holy Savior Nathan the Learned Prize winner for inventing the universal magic translator would give you at least uninterrupted sleep.
Apparently, emergencies had other plans. This one announced itself with a firm knock at her front door at precisely 3:17 a.m.
The knock wasn’t hesitant, like a neighbor seeking help or an apologetic student. It had weight. Intent. Chan groaned, tightening her robe, sliding into her bunny slippers, and muttering a curse in Woxeinic as she shuffled toward the door.
She opened the door—and froze.
Standing on her doorstep, was Edgar. That Edgar. The Edgar.
It was surreal, seeing him up close. Edgar the Lived, the holy Savior. The man who faced Chaos and survived. She had seen him in broadcasts, read about him in textbooks, and even spotted him at high-profile academic conferences. But nothing prepared her for his presence: the hum of power, silent but palpable, pressing against her own magic. Even standing still, he radiated authority, though his dark brown eyes carried exhaustion.
Chan realized she was staring and stepped aside hastily. “Well,” she said, recovering. “I suppose if anyone has the right to disrupt my sleep, it’s you.”
A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested the shadow of a smile. “I apologize for the late hour, Professor Yan. May I come in?”
“Just Chan,” she replied automatically. “And yes, you might as well.” She gestured toward the living room. “Whatever this is, I need tea first. Do you want some?”
“Tea would be welcome,” he said, surprising her. “Thank you.”
As she bustled into the kitchen, Chan couldn’t help stealing glances. She knew he was old—well over a century and a half—but he didn’t look it. His posture was strong, his movements deliberate, and his face, though lined with years of burdens, carried a quiet vitality. Handsome, too, her brain unhelpfully supplied. She shoved the thought aside. He’s Edgar, for stars’ sake.
When she returned with two cups and a pot of her best oolong, Edgar was seated. His large frame somehow made her antique furniture look smaller. He accepted the tea with a polite nod, his hands incongruously gentle on the delicate porcelain.
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“Now,” Chan said, settling into her chair. “What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait until morning?”
Edgar took a sip, and his expression softened—just a fraction. He appreciated the tea. Noted, Chan thought.
“It’s the Savior”
Chan stilled. “The Savior?” Her tone sharpened. “They’ve returned?”
Edgar nodded. “Several days ago.”
She leaned back, her mind racing. The Savior. The current Vigil. Edgar’s announcement twenty-two years ago. She’d watched it live, like billions of others. She remembered how his voice cracked, and he busted into tears right before the cameras. That moment had made the anonymous Savior feel both distant and deeply personal. She prayed for them.
“And they’re alive?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” Edgar said, and the relief in his voice was unmistakable. “For now. But their state is… unexpected.”
“Unexpected how?”
“It’s complicated.” Edgar set his cup down, his expression tightening. “We anticipated fragmentation—shards of consciousness barely holding together. That was my state, and Alaric’s, when we returned. But this Savior…” He hesitated. “They might be aware.”
Chan straightened. “Aware? As in coherent? Already?”
Edgar nodded. “They attempted a soul connection.”
Chan blinked. “That’s unusual. Did it work?”
“Barely.” Edgar’s voice was soft. “They were tentative but deliberate. I responded, but they recoiled right away. Later, Dr. Tengua—you may remember him?—attempted to engage them. They brushed him off. Hard. He’s fine,” Edgar added quickly, “but he reported mental activity beyond his expertise.”
Chan frowned, recalling Tishyan Tengua. He had been one of her brightest students, a prodigy in telepathic reconstruction. His career had veered toward rehabilitation pedagogy, a field less aligned with her own. Still, if Tengua said this was beyond him, it was not about reconstruction. It was something else.
“He recommended contacting you,” Edgar continued. “And I apologize for the hour, I do. But it’s urgent. If the Savior is more aware than we thought, their actions might not be random. That makes them significantly more dangerous.”
Chan tapped her fingers against her cup, her mind rapidly organizing the facts. Edgar didn't need to explain more. Savior-level of magic, deliberate action. If they would attack...
“And you think they’re aware enough to communicate?”
“We don’t know,” Edgar admitted. “But we need to find out. And if anyone can, it’s you.”
Chan studied him. Despite his composed exterior, she could see the tension in his face, the urgency under his calm. It was deeply personal for him. Chan thought again about his tears twenty-two years ago. She couldn't imagine what he felt, not really.
She leaned back, exhaling slowly. “All right. I’ll do it.”
Edgar blinked, as though surprised she hadn’t needed more convincing.
A Savior. One who faced unimaginable pain for humanity. Chan owed them... everything. And the intellectual challenge... Did Edgar really think she wouldn't agree?
“What?” Chan asked. “You thought I’d refuse? This is the professional opportunity of a lifetime, Edgar. A chance to work with a Savior? The honor alone is staggering. And the intellectual challenge…” She shook her head, a grin breaking through. “You had me at ‘possibly aware.’”
For the first time, Edgar’s shoulders seemed to relax. “Thank you, Chan.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she warned, straightening in her chair. “I’ll need access to all case files, a secure environment, and the assurance that no one interrupts my methods.”
“You’ll have everything you need,” Edgar promised.
“And tea,” Chan added lightly. “Plenty of tea.”
Edgar’s faint smile reached his eyes this time. “I’ll see to it personally.”
-----------------
Sasha
5 years BA.
ACC Serenia research facility at the Door.
Time passes.
I don’t know how long. Measuring time has always been meaningless. Chaos twists it—slows it, loops it, breaks it apart. Here, in this new, painless reality, time seems simple and linear. But this state of semi-awareness complicates everything. Time feels faster when I drift, slower when I think. It’s unfamiliar. Yet… I think it’s connected to my perception, not the actual flow of time. At least… I think so.
I don’t try to regain full awareness. I think about whether I should fight the net, break free, destroy this reality, and finally force Chaos to show his hand. But I’ll have to do it eventually. For now, I let it linger.
This state—this sleep, as the memories whisper—is peculiar. It isn’t just peaceful. It also… brings me something.
Strength? Clarity?
Each time I let the net pull me back into this state, I awaken with more… space inside my mind. It’s strange. But it feels… opposite to pain.
And so, I let myself linger.
-----------
Since I arrived in this impossible, painless reality, a thought has haunted me. Not new, but unrelenting. A taunt. A whisper. Before, I pushed it away as another of Chaos’s tortures. Now… now it’s harder to ignore.
Could there truly be experiences that are neither pain nor its absence?
For all my existence, I’ve wondered. I’ve never felt anything but pain or its fleeting reprieve. Pain is as constant as Chaos. It floods existence, infinite in its shades, but experience is essentially always the same.
Almost always.
There were moments—not the opposite of pain, not quite—but something. An addition to it. I hoarded them.
A victory: when I destroyed all the constructs sent to tear me apart. The fight itself—the raw energy of shaping destruction—brought… something. Or solving one of Chaos’s impossible puzzles—not relief, but the flicker of rightness as understanding clicked into place.
There was more. Perfecting my weapons. Unraveling a new pattern. Using Chaos’s own tricks to surprise him. His rage, his frustration—it always brought more pain, but it felt like… victory. I always tried to anger him again.
And I know Chaos feels things beyond pain. I know because I’ve felt him feel it. Satisfaction. Pleasure. Triumph. These things exist. For him.
But for me?
Chaos is all I’ve ever known. And he is pain. There is no opposite. Nothing.
And yet…
Now, here, with memories full of strange, alien experiences, the thought presses harder. Could there truly be… something else?
The memories whisper answers, full of experiences that feel… opposite to pain.
Joy. A blue sky. Laughter. “Yes, let’s split it!” Embrace. “We are so proud, darling.” Running up a hill, breathless. Ice cream. An old dog, its warmth soaking into my hands. Relief. A tree turning gold. Snow cracking underfoot. “I love this song; can you sing it?” Wind on my face. A book and a storm outside. Coffee. “This color suits you!” Flowers in my hands. The burning fire sphere at my control. Magic. The sea. A burning sunset fading into a starry night. Resolve. “Goodbye, daughter.”
These things flash by too quickly to hold, but they linger like echoes. They feel as though they belong to me.
But they can’t.
And yet…
They feel so real.
If Chaos could implant memories like these—so vivid, so real—why hasn’t he? Tortures like this would be devastating.
But… could they be real?”
Could they be?
I think about this and about the sentience of the entities around me. I don’t believe they’re aware, not really. But the memories suggest they are. Humans.
If the memories are reliable.
The loop continues: I question, I dismiss, I question again. I need new information, but I hesitate. Chaos would want me to destroy this reprieve myself, wouldn’t he? So, I wait. I observe. I think.
And for the first time in eternity, I linger in a state that I…
Like.
I am not going to squander it. Let Chaos make his move.
-------------
The change comes from these entities.
After I pushed one of them from my mind, I expected retaliation. I prepared to fight. But nothing happened.
Part of me wanted them to act—to give me a reason to dismantle this reality before Chaos’s trap inevitably closes. But if… if they are sentient. If this place is beyond Chaos. If they can feel the things the memories suggest…
No.
The thought is dangerous.
But I can’t escape it.
-------------
I study them—these humans. Do they communicate? I probe the memories for confirmation, but they’re too fragmented, too tangled with those overwhelming… positive feelings.
Still, they suggest speeching, I think?. Words sent through sound waves. The idea is intricate. Strange. I focus, using the body Chaos provided. The body picks up the vibrations of sound, and there are many—too many. The space is full of overlapping noises.
So, I watch, trying to find patterns in sounds. The entities seem to react to each other’s sounds, in ways that suggest reciprocity. I focus harder. There must be a way to decipher the signal.
That’s when the Edgar entity approaches, together with a new one.
It’s like the others—intricate, beautiful; it holds no trace of Chaos. It is less powerful than Edgar. Yet its essence is no less complex.
I hear it speeching. Then… it reaches for me.
Not like Chaos. Not like the other one I pushed away. This one doesn’t force its way in. It… asks.
Asks.
What does it mean?
Chaos never asked. He took. He was. He never left space for me to choose.
But this entity… it’s waiting. For me to decide.
It’s absurd. Chaos never lets me decide.
...I let it in.
I need information. I need to understand. And... what do I have to lose? Chaos broke my mind an infinite number of times. I can rebuild. I know I can.
“Hello, Sasha.”
The voice fills my mind—not burning, not tearing. It doesn’t destroy. It doesn’t hurt.
It smooths. Like the sea. Like sleep. Like… the ice cream.
And it doesn’t consume me. It lingers at the edges, present but not overwhelming. I could push it away easily. But I don’t.
I don’t want to.
The mind is… sentient. I know it now, without a doubt. I can feel it, sense it. Fully. It’s like me, but more. It’s more complex, more layered, more deep.
And it wants to communicate with me.
Why?
“I don’t understand,” I send. Tentative. Hesitant. Then, afraid it will leave, I add, “I don’t know how communication works.”
The mind shifts. It doesn’t retreat, but it ripples. There’s movement—something I can’t decipher. Feelings. So many feelings. Layers and layers of them. Too many to understand.
One rises to the surface, briefly: surprise.
Then the voice returns. “Sasha is your name. Do you know what a name is?”
Name.
The memories stir. Names. Labels for sentient beings. The concept feels… strange. If beings are unique, why would they need labels? Their essences should be enough. Shouldn’t they?
But things have names. Maybe sentient beings do, too?
Another memory surfaces. A girl, small, with bright eyes and laughter like light.
“Alexandra!” she shouts. “I’ve never met another one! Let’s split the name!” The idea feels just so right.
“I’ll be Sasha,” I hear myself say. She laughs. “And I’m Alex!”
Sasha.
My name?
“Sasha is… the name?” I ask.
The mind ripples again. Approval. It feels like approval. I… I want to feel more of it.
“It is your name. You are Sasha. Do you understand?”
I do. And I don’t.
The words are clear. But it can’t be true. I don’t have a name. I cannot have a name. There was never a need for one. There was only Chaos. And me.
But something pulls at me. The memory. The word.
Sasha.
It feels…
Right.
It cannot be.
“Yes,” I send, slowly, carefully. “I understand. Sasha is... my... name.”
The words feel strange. Fragile. Like something that could shatter at any moment.
And yet…
They stay.