Sasha

----Sixth Entry----

So, here it was—the big revelation. But not much of a revelation for you, huh? You lived through it; somehow, impossibly, you did. And I…

Well, back to it. Grand Master Torrent’s words lingered like a bruise: “We will insist you speak with him.” Edgar the Lived. The name echoed through every corner of society, synonymous with sacrifice, strength, and survival. Just the day before, I’d sort of prayed to him, hoping for a decent first date. And now I was on my way to meet him.

But the impossibility of it, the grandeur, didn’t fully register. My mind was numb, empty, circling the same thoughts: This cannot be. How could this happen? Some of me expected hidden cameras and voices calling me out on the world's cruelest reality show, with me as a star. That would make more sense.

The trip to Serenia should’ve been mesmerizing—the massive jet cutting through the sky, the world sprawling far below, vast and serene. I’d never flown before, never traveled further than Gorenza, and now… a helicopter to the capital, and a private jet across the Serene Sea. I’d never even seen the sea, and here it was, endless, turquoise, calm. Its peace mocked the storm inside me. My mind circled Torrent’s words, his heavy gaze, full of pity and relief. Relief. Because they’d found their next Savior. Good for them.

The cabin crew treated me like a guest, or maybe a delicate piece of glass, lavishing me with luxuries I couldn’t appreciate. Grand Master Torrent even returned my phone, with a quiet, “Be mindful.” But I hadn’t turned it on. That tiny piece of my former life now felt miles away. Hi, Mom and Dad. Guess what? I’m going to be sacrificed to save the world. And how was your day?

Once we landed, they rushed me through the towering halls of the World Council—grand columns, palatial paintings, like something out of a history book or a palace tour on TV. I didn’t care. The sunset in massive windows was a violent blaze of red and orange, casting the sky in flames.

And then they led me into another opulent room, and I finally met him.

Edgar rushed through the other door, his presence filling the space as if he’d been born to stand there, effortlessly commanding. He didn’t need magic for that, though even I, untrained, could feel the power that seemed to pulse from him, filling the air, pressing down on me. He looked older than on screen, but he was the opposite of frail. His gaze held the weight of lifetimes, his clothes marked by the remnants of magic, dust from a recent eruption still on his uniform. He just came back from the battle.

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The weight of everything crashed over me then, and all the dread, disbelief, and terror I’d been holding back broke. I cried, really cried, as I clung to him, the living legend, the only one who had survived what lay ahead of me. And he held me for what felt like hours, arms steady, silent, the first anchor I’d felt in this churning sea of fear.

When I finally stopped, he handed me a glass of water. I took it, grateful for the simple gesture, the kindness. It cooled my throat, easing the tightness there, helping me find a fragile thread of control. When I looked back up, his eyes were studying me with almost painful kindness.

“Hello, Sasha,” he said.

I tried to greet him properly, to meet him as a legend deserved, but my throat was too tight, my mind still fogged. He didn’t push me for words; he just watched, waiting with an understanding that felt both comforting and devastating.

His gaze softened as he shook his head. “You’re just a kid,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It shouldn’t be.”

It shouldn't. I was just a kid. I am just a kid.

“Is it really so bad?”

He met my eyes, steady, unyielding. “It’s worse,” he said quietly, with no hesitation. “And then it’s infinitely worse.” His words didn’t soften the horror; they sharpened it. He held nothing back, no illusions, no comforting lies. “A second of it can drive someone insane.”

A part of me wanted to scream at him, to demand he lie, tell me something, anything that might make it bearable. “Shouldn’t you tell me it’s not that bad?” My voice trembled.

He didn’t flinch. He met my gaze, his eyes both soft and piercing. “Not if I want you to survive,” he said. His voice was so certain that, for a heartbeat, I believed him.

I couldn’t look away. Something in his eyes—a solemnity, a knowledge—told me he had seen everything, endured every horror, and somehow he was still here, standing in front of me, whole in a way I couldn’t understand.

“You don’t have to tell me what you’ve decided,” he added softly. “We both know how impossible this feels. But I think we both know what choice you’ll make.”

His words settled over me, heavy. I didn’t respond; there was nothing to say, nothing that could change the inevitable. We both knew there wasn’t a choice, not when I was the only one who could do it. Not when the alternative was to let the world burn.

The silence between us grew thick, almost solid. And then he spoke again, his voice gentler, more cautious.

“Let’s talk about how we can save at least some part of you, shall we?”