Sasha

5 years BA.

ACC Serenia research facility at the Door.

Chan returned. I didn’t expect her to. She said she would, as though she knew what would happen—as though she could make it happen. Such consistency is unfamiliar. Chaos plans ahead, but he changes his plans on a whim. Predictions are pointless. Yet Chan returned, just as she promised.

I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know how to react. I keep falling into his traps, don’t I? After all this time, I keep doing exactly what he wants.

I cannot stop.

I want to have this illusion, this "communication." I want to feel this... anti-pain, this presence, this... connection. I don’t know why, and I know I shouldn’t, but I cannot resist.

As always. I never could, could I? But what I did never mattered, so why not?

Today, Chan said it was the "seventh day." She said she'd help me to learn "speeching" - "speaking" is the right word, apparently - and that it was time for me to "wake up fully." She meant this body and the energy weave pressing me toward sleep. She said it was here to keep me "safe." I still don’t understand what that word means.

But first, she asked about attacking and self-annihilation. Her mental state shifted when she did. I sensed fear. At first, I didn’t understand it, but then I thought I did. She was afraid of me.

I… I felt something at that moment. Not quite pain, but a twist, something warped. It was sharp and wrong, like a piece that didn’t fit the puzzle. I am not something to fear. I don’t… want to be something to fear.

What is there to fear? I am nothing more than something Chaos tortures.

But I can destroy things, can’t I? The energy I used all my existence—magic—is around me. The net restricts my ability to use it, but I could take it apart. It would be painful, really painful, because it’s somehow—how, by the way?—connected to my very essence. Still, Chaos tore my essence apart endlessly. It’s nothing new.

And when I am free from the net, I can attack. I sense humans around; there are many, but they seem... weaker, much weaker than I am. Weaker than most constructs Chaos fought me with. Only Edgar is strong, but I think I am more powerful, though not by much.

Is this why the net is here? To prevent me from attacking? But if so, why not just send me back to Chaos or destroy me if I am a danger to them? Why did the net stop my self-annihilation attempts? Wouldn't it be so much easier to get rid of the danger?

I don’t understand any of it. But I don’t want to attack them. At least not yet.

- I... - I sent to Chan through the connection she established - I... don't know. If this reality is an illusion, - most probably it is - attacking or self-annihilating would force Chaos to stop it sooner. And I don't want it. - I sense something complex in Chan's mind, but I cannot decipher it. I go on: - But if this reality is somehow real and exists outside of him, as you claim, it should last. Knowing that something like that exists... - I didn't finish the thought.

I felt something from Chan again, like a small weight in her mind disappeared. But she still was afraid, and the question lingered.

- And for me - why does it even matter? - if Chaos can take me from here at any point, self-annihilation will again just force his hand to do it earlier; he would never allow me an easy escape. And if he cannot take me at all, as you claim - Chaos. Cannot. Take. Me. What can be more... absurd? - then there is no pain. I... I don't know what this means.

I paused. I couldn't really consider this option, could I?

I continued:

- This leaves the situation in which Chaos cannot take me now for some reason, but he will do it later. Then, I should self-annihilate as soon as possible. But this scenario is odd because why would there be a barrier to his power now?

I sent all that to Chan, hoping to make it clear. But it doesn't seem to work. Her mind still shows fear and more: sadness, grief, deep and incomprehensible. I don’t understand it. I know these feelings; Chaos used them as tools, making them sharp and unbearable. But Chan’s grief doesn’t feel like that. It feels... real. Something must have caused it, but what? I told her I wouldn't attack. She doesn't believe me, probably.

"Don’t be afraid, please," I sent, the word "please" clumsy and strange. I just learned it from her, and I’m not sure I used it correctly or what it actually means. Still, I try. "I’m not lying. I’m not going to attack. There’s no reason to destroy this reality. I can self-annihilate so that nothing here will be damaged; you don't need to fear."

Chan’s mind rippled, sharp and unsteady, like glass about to shatter. She didn’t speak. Her essence twisted with something heavy, and for a moment, I thought the link might break. Was it something I said? Why? I told her I wouldn’t attack.

Finally, her reply returned, softer than before, threaded with something I didn't understand.

“Sasha… I’m not worried about you hurting us. I’m worried you’ll hurt yourself.”

That makes no sense. I fall silent, unsure how to respond. She sounds… sad, as if in pain. Did I do it? How? And she couldn't mean what I thought she said. I must have misunderstood again.

But she didn't break the link. Finally, she sent: “Thank you for telling me what you think. I wish I could prove you’re safe from Chaos. But for now…” She trailed off, her feelings shifting again—resignation, sadness, warmth, something I can’t name.

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The hush stretches until she speaks once more:

“Are you ready to fully wake up? I’ll tell them to remove the sleeping spell.”

I felt... lighter. She didn't want to stop communicating. Whatever I did, it didn't destroy the connection.

She was asking about waking up. Inhabiting this body fully. What would it mean? Will the pain finally start again? Or... could there be more of these... other sensations? The... anti-pain?

I could probably take away the spell myself. But I didn't. I didn't want to mess up even more than I already did. I sent her my agreement instead.

I don’t want her to be afraid of me. I don’t know why that matters to me, but it does.

--------------

14 hours later

“Good… night, Chan,” I said, carefully shaping each word.

"Excellent!" - she smiled, her voice warm. - "Good night, Sasha. See you tomorrow." Then she left, her presence fading from the room.

It wasn’t “excellent,” whatever this word meant. The sounds felt clumsy in my mouth, awkward and forced. The rhythm of my speech didn’t match hers. I’d memorized “good,” though its meaning stayed slippery—part “greeting,” part “anti-pain”—and “night,” a time label she insisted on. Humans lived in cycles called “days.” They reminded me of Chaos’s torment cycles, though his stretched for hundreds of thousands of these "days."

But this single “day” contained more variety than entire "years" of Chaos’s torment.

In the morning, they let me “wake up” fully. As sedation spells lifted, an avalanche of sensations crashed in. I’d known about sight and hearing, but fully awake, both poured in unstoppable streams of data. I’d inhabited bodies with far more senses under Chaos, but those were tormenting, crushing, maddening—attacks from within. Here, none of it hurt. Not neutral, either. It was anti-pain. Overwhelming.

First, the body itself didn’t hurt. Chaos’s bodies always hurt by default, then worsened when destroyed. This one simply was. It even radiated faint energy, thrumming under the skin like potential waiting to be used.

Second, breathing. Apparently, it needed “air.” I couldn’t fathom why, and Chan’s explanations about “oxygen” made no sense. When I used energy sight to investigate, the complexity was staggering, beyond anything I could process. To understand more, when we had a break, I tried not breathing to see what would happen. No pain came—just a heavy tension in my chest—until the body did it anyway. Restoring air felt like lifting a weight. I wanted to test again, for more information, but red lights flared, alarms beeped, and Chan came rushing in. She re-linked mentally, her voice sharp as she demanded I promise not to experiment like that again. She muttered something about “two minutes” and “cursed crazy Saviors.” I didn’t understand, but I complied.

Then came food and water. I understood both—parts of me were often consumed by Chaos or his creations. But now I was the one to eat, and it was supposed to be “normal” or even “pleasant.” Hard to believe. Yet I tried.

It was too much.

We started with water. It was so intense, I forgot to breathe (again). A cold slip against my tongue—not freezing or corroding, just anti-pain, soft and calm. It reminded me of a memory: ice cream. It filled my body from the inside, somehow, with this calming cold. I drank the whole glass. Chan chuckled, saying water was “good for me.” "Good", this concept again.

Next was soup. Even more intense. I froze, my thoughts drowned by taste, heat, the anti-pain of warmth flooding me. I’d never felt anything like it. Chan called it “bland soup.” She looked at me oddly, her eyes glistening. When I asked about it, she claimed it was “nothing.”

I couldn’t understand why they offered me food—so intense, so essential for humans. Why waste it on me? Chan insisted they had plenty. Strange. But I didn’t question it further.

Then came speaking lessons. I was slow. Excruciatingly so. Chan protested I was “too fast,” but I wasn’t. I knew words - well, some of them - but connecting them to sounds—hearing them, pronouncing them—took the entire “day.” If I’d been this slow under Chaos, he’d have changed the puzzle long before I adapted, punishing me for the delay. I tried pushing myself, but Chan told me to slow down, that “there was time.”

Time? She stayed the whole day with me. I didn’t understand why. Her remaining life—she said humans only lived about a hundred years—was so short, yet she spent a significant part of it teaching me about this world, this body she claimed was mine, and how to communicate with “humans.” I asked why she bothered, but her answers were difficult. Without the mind link, I couldn’t interpret her emotions. And her essence—her “soul,” as she called it—was too complex to read.

The only thing I could decipher in her essence was pain.

That was the strangest part. Chan insisted this reality existed beyond Chaos’s grasp—“safe” from him—so no constant torture. I felt no pain, which matched that claim, but later, in the evening, I noticed her movements stiffening. Her essence showed something familiar: pain. I braced for torture, thinking that Chaos finally came, yet I still couldn't sense him, no matter how I stretched my senses. Yet she somehow was in pain.

When I asked, she laughed and said it was “old pain from sitting too much, part of an academic career.” I didn’t understand. Pain could exist without Chaos? And she could avoid it, yet kept teaching me. Why? I am not worth feeling pain. I insisted she stop. Pain should be minimized. She reacted oddly, her voice trembling, saying, “You’re right, let me take care of it.” Then she left. I thought I’d driven her away, another mistake like when I explained why this body felt wrong for not being constantly destroyed.

But she returned, her hurt nearly gone, and that gave me a strange rush of… warm anti-pain. It was similar to when she praised me, saying, “You’re doing so well.” I knew I wasn’t, but her words sparked something inside me.

No. Stop. Chaos would twist these feelings into agony. I can’t let him.

Chaos twists everything he touches. I should ensure Chan doesn't fall into his grasp. When he comes, I’ll destroy her myself before I try to self-annihilate again. It’s the only way to stop him from using her complexity and anti-pain against me—or her. The thought of him taking her, warping everything into a new torture, pained me in a way I didn’t understand. That must be his plan: let me grow attached to a “real” world, then raze it. Maybe he has already done it many times. Maybe a thousand versions of me exist, forever his toys. Maybe he wants to do the same to Chan.

I can’t let him. I don’t know why it matters, but imagining what he’d do to her hurts.

I told Chan. Another mistake. Her skin paled, and her breathing quickened. She said I was wrong, and this story again - that I’d saved this world with my suffering, that I was free now. She believed every word. I stopped arguing. If it’s an illusion, nothing I say changes anything. If it’s real...

Maybe tomorrow, if it comes, if Chan returns, she’ll explain more. She said she would come, and I almost believed her. If Chaos won't have snatched me back by then.

For now, I remain unhurt. I don’t feel him anywhere. I want to trust this, but I can’t. And yet, I want more—more of this impossible world, more communication with Chan (and maybe with other sentient beings), more sensations that don’t hurt, more of this… anti-pain that fills the emptiness inside I didn't know I had. I want it so badly that I fear what would happen when Chaos finally decides to destroy this reality.

No. If he could destroy it, he already would have. I know he would've.

So if this reality stays, if he takes only me… it doesn’t matter. He’s destroyed me before; he will again. But if this world is real, beyond him, I think he might've... made a mistake showing it to me. Because if it lingers—if it remains—even if I forget, it exists.

And that’s not just enough.

It’s everything.