Sasha

5 years BA.

ACC Serenia research facility at the Door.

I keep thinking about time. I existed—they say "lived," but the words don’t feel the same. Even if Edgar’s story is true, even if Chaos only stretched time for me, it still was an eternity. And yet… a single day here feels both instantaneous and longer than everything before. Chaos always created—new torments, new agonies—but they were all the same. Only pain. Flat. One-dimensional. But here—here, my thoughts expand outward, like something unspooling into infinity.

Humans live short lives, Chan says. But if their lives are filled with this—so much everything, so much variety—that explains why they are so much more complex than I have ever been. Not just because Chaos didn’t crush them the moment they became… more. But because they had all these experiences to grow. To accumulate. Learning. Building memories.

(Could I? … No. Stop.)

Today was another impossible day full of anti-pain. A good day, as Chan said. It was a good day.

After speaking with Edgar in the morning, she offered to teach me how to move—how to walk. How to use this body Chaos gave me—no, wait, they say it’s actually mine—how to use it better.

“Why do I need to walk?” I asked, emboldened by their patience with my questions. I don’t know why they don't punish me for it, but I don’t understand almost anything about these humans. “I can just levitate.”

I could. The nets engraved in my essence were heavy and restrictive, allowing only a tiny fraction of control over the energy—magic—around us. But it would’ve been enough for something as simple as levitation.

Edgar made a short, hoarse laugh. It sounded different from Chan’s—heavier, deeper, vibrating in lower frequencies.

“Technically, you could,” she answered. "Technically"? “But it wouldn’t be very convenient. And it won’t help you blend in.” She smiled.

"Blend in?" What does that mean? Chan gave me "blended" food. Are they going to blend me? Chaos did that often—slicing, liquefying, reducing me to nothing. It wouldn’t be new. But that destroys the body. Chan said I should preserve it. Unless… that’s why.

- Didn’t you say I should preserve this body? – I asked, puzzled.

Edgar gave me a long stare. Then she chuckled.

“No, no, it’s an expression. Meaning “looking like others” – he paused - “People don’t levitate around, Sasha.”

Why didn't they? But I didn’t ask further. She had already answered too many of my questions. I shouldn’t waste more of her time.

But then she added, “Walking is a useful skill to have,” her face strange. “Trust me.” She smiled again. “But I feel you. I remember trying the same during my recovery—floating around like a kite for months.” She giggled. “You could do it later if you want, but let’s get the essentials down first, okay?”

She asked me? Why?

She said there was a special space for these walking lessons. We needed to get there so I could levitate for that. It turned out harder than expected. The nets—the fail-safes—held my essence tightly, strangling my access to magic. Floating with them felt like trying to move through a wall while dragging it behind me.

But I’d endured worse. Withstanding Chaos’s attacks was never possible, not even with my full power. Every time I tried and failed, he crushed me completely. Moving now, even with this net weighing me down, felt like nothing in comparison.

Edgar watched me closely, her presence coiled around the net, her control a constant weight. She told me earlier that these fail-safes were created twenty-two years ago—by them, by me, apparently—to let her control me when I returned. They expected me to be mindless, to lash out, to destroy.

It made sense. They didn’t want me to fight them. For now, I saw no reason to fight either. If this is Chaos’s illusion, fighting will only summon him sooner. And if it’s real… then I definitely don't want to destroy anything here. Chaos would want that; he would hate everything here, so it should be preserved.

The nets also stop me from self-annihilating. Edgar did use them when I first returned—locking me down, stopping me from doing it. But I still don’t understand why. Chan said it would hurt her if I were gone. But… why?

Now, Edgar was watching me struggle to levitate with the nets in place, but she didn’t say anything. Her soul suggested she was expecting something. But I don't know what. Did she want me to destroy the nets, maybe? Should I have offered? It would've been painful, but I could do it, I think.

The destination wasn't far, but it felt like a journey. My first movement in this world. I couldn’t stop wondering how big this space was. Chaos rarely created realities so expansive, and I could sense that this one was much, much larger than these corridors. I also knew there were many people around—I sensed them beyond doors and walls—but we didn’t meet anyone.

The therapy room was bright, the walls humming with soft light. The air smelled sharp, like energy tinged with acid. When we entered, a new human was waiting—short, dark hair but not much on top of her head, wearing white clothes. Her magic pulsed lightly under her skin, controlled but noticeable. Much less potent than Edgar’s, though. Her name was Doctor Jim Kein. Edgar introduced us.

Doctor Jim Kein said:

“It’s an honor, Mistress Irving!”

Mistress?

“Irving?” - I asked, confused.

Edgar’s brow furrowed. “It’s your surname, Sasha.”

Surname. Right. The additional name. Chan told me that.

I forgot.

I forgot.

A spike of something—sharp, cold—cut through my chest. Not pain. But something close.

I should’ve remembered. Chan said it was my name. That names are important for humans. She taught me and gave me information, and I forgot.

I didn’t deserve her time. She gave me some of her short life, and I forgot what she taught me.

Chaos would’ve carved this word into my soul for forgetting. Will Chan do the same? When she finds out?

I didn’t know what happened, but Edgar took a moment to speak with Dr. Kein. The voices were low, just out of my hearing range. So I waited and looked at myself in the mirror across the room.

I’d seen this body’s face before. Chan showed it to me in a small, round mirror. But now, I saw everything.

I already understood the basic shape of this new—or old, if I believe them—body, and I’d seen humans. But still, the fact that I did look like one of them was… strange. My body was small. Short. Much shorter than Edgar'ss or the others. My face had fewer lines than Edgar’s, Chan’s, or Dr. Kein’s, but my hair was longer. It also was the same color as Edgar's.

I didn’t know what any of it meant. Did it mean anything?

This body is simple. Symmetrical. Two arms. Two legs. One head. No extra limbs folding into themselves. No melting, shifting, warping across dimensions. No constant unmaking and remaking. Just a body. Not in pain.

I looked at it for a long time; maybe even a "minute" or two. I did look like a human. There was nothing that differed greatly from these others; does it mean they would think I was one of them?...

...surely not.

When Dr. Kein and Edgar returned, Dr. Kein addressed me just as “Sasha” and spoke slower, in simpler sentences. I was grateful to Edgar. She helped me communicate, it seems. But why?

So the lesson started. Learning to walk was much easier than understanding humans.

In the latest part of my eternity, Chaos rarely put me in bodies because even the most excruciating ones didn’t produce enough pain. Torturing my soul was always worse. But bodies allowed for more… creativity, so I still remembered how it felt to inhabit one, to move in one, to use it.

I’d had thousands throughout my eternity. Balancing for bipedal walking wasn’t as challenging as learning to move without bones while burning and fighting the hoard of Chaos' constructs at the same time.

And, somehow, this body knew how to walk. Same as speaking, it seemed to remember the movements. It felt partly like learning and partly like letting it do what it already knew. It was… weird.

(Could it really live here as a human before? Could it really be... mine?)

Still, we spent the whole day doing exercises. It was… anti-pain. Moving, with no torture, no danger—just moving—was… good? I think I… like it? Is that the word?

The floor was covered with something, and it felt smooth when my feet touched it. I expected it to fall, to finally uncover the burning pit underneath, but it was just smooth, velvety "carpet", stable and... there.

Dr. Kein was strange. I looked at her soul—as complex as others—but I couldn’t understand anything. She was feeling a lot of things, but I couldn’t decipher them. Something like fear, but not quite. Something like… awe, maybe? When I saw Edgar’s soul for the first time—so complex, so anti-Chaos—I felt something similar. Or when I first tried water. And food.

But why did Dr. Kein feel anything like that about me?

She also kept saying things like “great!”, “good job!” and “wonderful.” I learned these words from Chan; she also used them a lot, and they meant even less here. I wasn’t doing a good job. I was still wobbly, and my balance was sometimes off. Compared to how these humans moved with effortless grace, I was not doing well.

Still, it didn’t feel like she was lying. Weird.

She also kept glancing at Edgar throughout the day as if silently asking for… something. It was strange. It made me wonder about how power worked among humans. There were so many of them—how did they organize themselves? In the stories Chan read to me, there were kings who ruled. Like the cat king. Kind Meow.

Was Edgar a king, too, then? She was the strongest around, after all.

(I am stronger.)

They brought me food - for "lunch" —soft, easy to handle. I still don’t understand why eating feels so… good. But it does. The warmth, the texture, the way it fills this body—it’s overwhelming. Even water feels like a revelation.

At some point, Dr. Kein asked if I was "tired".

Tired.

I didn't know what that meant.

I almost fell a few times while practicing, and Dr. Kein panicked. Her magic spiked; her voice tightened, sharp and frantic. Edgar's soul reacted, too, but she didn't make any move, at least.

But I didn’t understand why they did it. I wasn’t hurt. There was no pain. This body cannot hurt, so why did it matter?

Dr. Kein also asked me questions. I don’t know why she cared, but I answered. It was… something I could give her, at least.

But I noticed her discomfort with my words. Her face twisted when I mentioned how Chaos used to peel my essence from the bones or when I described the bodies he gave me and how it’s… good to move without being torn apart.

Did I make a mistake again? I tried to explain in more detail, thinking maybe I was missing something—speaking was still hard for me—but she just grew paler and paler.

Edgar didn’t stop me. So, it wasn’t a big mistake? I couldn’t understand.

When we finished, Dr. Kein beamed at me, thanking me. Thanking me? For what? I should be thanking her for wasting her precious time on me. I did. And when I did, her face lit up, as if I'd given her something valuable. I didn't understand.

------

Later, we had dinner. With Chan and Edgar. They explained that eating together is a human ritual. But why did they invite me to join?

This time, they gave me something new: a fork. The material was cold and heavy. Chan helped me hold it correctly. Edgar guided my hand once when I fumbled. It was strange. The fork could be a weapon. A tool for pain. It could carve, stab, strip flesh from bone. But… Chaos wouldn’t use something so simple. Too quick. Too... merciful.

Still, they used it as if it was just for eating. Maybe it was? Almost everything around me could’ve been used as a weapon or for torture, after all.

I tried to mimic how they were using their forks, but they also had another piece and held it in a different hand, and I didn't know if it mattered, so I just focused on piercing food correctly. My hands were shaking. Why? I forced them to stay stable.

For some reason, Chan and Edgar tried to involve me in conversation. They asked about my day and if I had questions.

I had so many.

But I didn’t voice them. It was all just too much. Sitting here, using a fork, the overwhelming plethora of tastes in my mouth—another, different food-anti-pain—it was impossibly intense. I forgot to breathe when I tried it. And then there was juice, and it was like applesauce but liquid, but also not the same, and it was so much. So… good.

(I don’t deserve any of this. Why do they waste so much on me?)

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I couldn’t understand why they spent time on me, why they wasted food on me, why they helped me. Why they don’t hurt me. It makes no sense.

I stayed quiet, answering only when asked directly.

I must’ve shown something because they let me be after a while. They always seem to know more about what I’m feeling than I do. I don’t understand it.

By the end of the meal, I felt… weird. My body grew heavy. At some point, my thoughts became messy and unclear, and my sight blurred. When my head drooped forward, something inside me screamed—panic, sharp and blinding. I jolted awake, my heart racing.

Where is the pain? Where is Chaos? Why hasn’t he torn it all away yet?

But there was nothing.

Just Edgar’s steady hand on my shoulder.

She escorted me back to my room, promising a cozier space soon. I nodded, but why does it matter? What does "cozier" even mean?

Now, lying in this bed, staring at the ceiling, I wonder—why do they bother? What do they want from me? I have nothing to give. I am nothing. I don’t understand any of this.

But I think… I want to.

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

Chan.

Chan Yan never expected to find herself on a Savior Recovery team. Her life had been neatly ordered—lectures, research papers, the occasional duel of egos at academic conferences. Then Edgar knocked on her door, polite and weary, carrying the weight of a world she had only studied from a distance. She hadn’t hesitated. Of course, she came.

Now, as she entered the ACC’s secure conference suite, a coil of doubt tightened in her chest. Half a dozen of the world’s foremost magical rehabilitation experts had already gathered, their hushed conversations halting as she approached. She was the newest member—recruited after Sasha’s return defied every plan. The rest had been selected years ago: meticulously vetted, world-renowned, and prepared, at least as much as anyone could be for this.

She recognized most of them by reputation, and a few from brief encounters at conferences. She wasn’t exactly a minor figure herself—she had won the Nathan the Learned Prize for her universal translator research, after all. Still, being here felt surreal.

Most of these individuals—healers, mages, psychologists—had served on Alaric’s recovery team five decades ago. For Edgar's recovery, only one person present had personally seen it: Professor Raudi. Nearly two centuries old, he stood hunched in a plain gray robe, quietly conversing with a younger mage in the corner.

The room carried the weight of centuries. Stone walls, worn smooth by time, towered around them. Tall stained-glass windows cast shifting colors across the polished floor, their panels depicting the history of battling Chaos. Runes glowed along the vaulted ceiling, thrumming with ceaseless vigilance. At the center stood a broad table, ringed with enchantments, evoking a war council more than a simple meeting. And at the head of the table sat Edgar—the Savior, the legend, the most powerful mage in the world. Once, anyway.

He rose upon Chan’s entrance, inclining his head with a faint, genuine smile.

Edgar was regal without effort: tall, broad-shouldered, wearing the standard ACC uniform with the easy poise of someone who had led for decades. Chan still sensed tension beneath that facade, recalling how he’d fussed over Sasha—she privately called it “mama-henning.” Officially, he radiated an impressive calm, if verging on over-controlled, at least, to her eyes.

Once everyone settled, Edgar spoke with clipped composure. “Thank you for gathering. As you know, we have a new member: Professor Chan Yan, a foremost expert in telepathic bridging and advanced soul communication. She’s been working with Sasha these past few days, and I’m grateful she joined us so quickly.”

They hadn’t planned for her. Saviors—well, the only two before—returned as shattered minds, barely aware, requiring speech therapy but not telepathic bridging. There had been no mind to reach. Then Sasha emerged lucid, reasoning, whole. Within a week, Chan had a deeper insight into Sasha’s psyche than the entire team.

Taking her seat, Chan allowed herself a wry smile. “Honored to be here. But after meeting Sasha, you’d have to pry me loose.”

A soft wave of laughter circled the table, and Edgar’s mouth lifted slightly—part relief, part approval.

Grandmistress Tsuro, bright ginger hair neatly braided, regarded Chan intently. “We appreciate your ongoing involvement. You’ve built the strongest rapport with Mistress Irving so far—no small feat.”

Her gaze flicked from Dr. Kein to Edgar. “We’d like a more in-depth assessment of her progress, beyond the daily reports.”

Chan, never one to mince words, nodded. “Certainly. So far, only Dr. Kein, Edgar, and I have interacted with Sasha directly. We’ve limited her exposure so she’s not overwhelmed. Even so, her progress is… off the charts.” She paused, letting the team lean in. “She’s lucid, aware, and cognitively advanced—much further than Edgar or Alaric at this point. Surprising, yes, but it fits the theory of Chaos’s destruction cycles; she might have returned during a "higher" moment.”

A few heads bobbed, eyes shining with both intrigue and dread.

“Does she believe any of this is real?” asked a psychotherapist.

Chan pursed her lips. “She… entertains the idea. But as for trusting it? No. She still views this as a potential ultimate illusion of Chaos—his perfect trick. She’s essentially waiting for reality to rip away. Yet,” Chan added with a crooked half-smile, “she can’t resist every new ‘anti-pain’ sensation. If something doesn’t hurt, she’s enthralled—for now.”

She glanced at Edgar, who gave a brief nod.

“Sasha’s analytical to a near-frightening extent,” Chan went on. “She’s brilliant. But she lacks any notion of agency. Faced with a decision, she just… waits. It’s not hesitation so much as it is the idea never crossing her mind that she’s permitted to choose.”

Over the last few days, Sasha had obeyed every instruction, reactive without ever initiating. Chan’s throat felt tight. “It’s not defiance or passive resistance; it’s an absence of the concept.”

Dr. Noran, who’d known Sasha pre-vigil, frowned. “Does she recognize any of the preserved memories as her own?”

Chan nodded slightly. “Cognitively, yes. But not emotionally. She cannot believe she had any past pre-Chaos. She can glean factual details from these memories, but it overwhelms her—she lacks any real frame of reference for the positive aspects." - she paused - "And anything unpleasant—confusion, fear, physical strain—pales in comparison to eternity with Chaos. From her perspective, there’s nothing here worth complaining about.” Chan sighed, massaging her temple.

The group went silent as Dr. Kein chimed in, recapping Sasha's physical progress. “Yes, exactly. She shows no concept of ‘complaint’ or any notion that we’d accommodate her. She’ll attempt everything we suggest, never balking, even when she’s clearly pushing herself too far. I couldn't get any feedback from her beyond "it doesn't hurt", no matter how I phrased it. I think she understood me; she just couldn't assess the discomfort”.

An uneasy silence followed until Commander Charles Bisset, head of ACC military operations, broke it: “What about the fail-safes?”

Edgar’s face stayed neutral, but something hardened behind his eyes. He folded his hands, clearly containing himself. “I told her everything—what they are, why we use them, what they prevent. She listened, nodded, and… that was it. No questions, no objections, no request to remove them.” He exhaled slowly, though Chan detected the tension beneath it. “She didn’t resist. Not because she agreed—because it never even crossed her mind that resistance was possible.”

Chan’s chest tightened. “Yes. If you offered to take them off, she’d likely say yes, please, thank you—but she’d never request it on her own.” She paused. “I’m not sure she realizes that’s an option.”, she went on: “Sasha's reactive, hyper-analytical, but never initiates. It’s like the world just… happens around her.”

A quiet ripple of dismay passed through them—a chilling notion of such profound learned submission housed in a soul with unimaginable power.

Commander Bisset coughed. “And about self-annihilation or… potential aggression?”

Chan answered slowly: “Her mindset revolves around two extremes: endure quietly or fight to the end. She won’t fight unless convinced Chaos is attacking, or we become a direct threat. As for self-annihilation—again, only if she believes Chaos’s return is inevitable and inescapable.”

Grandmistress Tsuro pressed her lips together. “So… stable?”

Chan paused. “Calling her stable might be too generous. Yes, she’s lucid and aware, but also severely traumatized beyond anything we’ve seen. Her moral compass is simple: if we aren't Chaos, we should exist.” She gave a thin smile. “Unconventional ethics, but it suffices for now.”

A younger mage, Master Arrin, fiddled with a pocket notebook, eyes gleaming with the mixture of reverence and nerves. “So we’re dealing with someone of staggering magical power—and we’re just hoping she stays docile?”

“Precisely,” Chan quipped. “What could go wrong?”

Bisset inhaled sharply. “But is that enough?” He glanced around the table before lowering his voice, as if the words themselves might invoke disaster. “What if Chaos planned this? What if he let her stay aware to follow his command? Even unwittingly?”

The room’s temperature plummeted.

Edgar’s palms flattened on the table, tension rippling outward. Chan felt a deeper sting than mere anger—something raw, hurt. His shoulders went rigid, jaw set, and a flicker of fury darkened his eyes.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, dangerously soft.

“That’s insulting.”

He didn’t shout; he didn’t need to. The quietness cut sharper.

“To her. To me. To every Savior before her. She endured eternity for us—yet we sit here, protected by her sacrifice, and question if she’s our enemy?”

A charged silence followed. Commander Bisset swallowed hard and fidgeted uncomfortably at his seat but still kept his gaze on Edgar.

Finally, Professor Raudi cleared his throat gently. “Edgar, lad, we do respect her sacrifice. But we must consider all possibilities. You requested honest opinions, yes?”

Edgar slowly exhaled, the tension in his posture marginally loosening. “Yes... You’re right. I’m sorry, Charles.”

A heavy quiet sank over them. If Chaos had planted a ‘sleeping agent’ in Sasha, the fallout could outstrip any war in recorded history. Both she and Edgar were akin to living nuclear arsenals.

The very idea of the Savior - holy Savior - twisted to Chaos’s ends was both blasphemous and terrifying. Still, Sasha had spent that eternity in his grip. Who truly knew what he’d done inside her mind?

On the other hand, Edgar had endured the same—and spent a century proving that he wasn't tainted by the entity he hated with all his being.

Was it enough?

Chan had never doubted Edgar’s loyalty. The thought never came before. Now, the possibility twisted her stomach. But surely his loyalty wasn't a question anymore? He had infinite opportunities to destroy everything and more at this point.

And then came the thought: did Edgar himself lie awake at night fearing Chaos had left a hidden command in his soul? Another torment he silently bore? Compassion - and guilt - filled her heart. How much should these people endure? Is there an end?

Chan pursed her lips. “I’ve seen no sign of Sasha serving Chaos knowingly. In fact, her whole sense of self is built in direct opposition to him.”

Edgar glanced at her, a fleeting gratitude in his eyes.

Master Arrin asked quietly, “Could she still be compromised without realizing it?”

Chan hesitated: "I think it is... unlikely." For an unsettling heartbeat, she thought, "What if I’m wrong?" but shoved that anxiety aside. "Of course, I can’t guarantee a thing—not without deep mental scanning.”

Her words hovered in silence, conjuring the image of Sasha’s resigned acceptance if they insisted on such an invasive procedure. She’d probably say, “I've had much worse,” with that flat calm of hers.

Edgar’s voice split her reverie: “Dr. Tehiana.”

The name fell like a stone into a still pond. A few older members stiffened; Professor Raudi flinched.

Edgar leaned back, face unreadable. “This isn’t a new dilemma. During my own recovery, people asked the same question: ‘What if Chaos let him survive for a reason?’ They wondered if I was his weapon.” His tone was disturbingly calm, as though describing a case study rather than himself.

His fingertips tapped once against the table, crisp as a gavel. “Dr. Tehiana led that effort. She was the best,” Edgar went on. “Decades dealing with Chaos cultists, war criminals, serial killers—no mind too dark. Then she tried scanning mine.”

He paused, a humorless twitch at his lips. “She lasted minutes. By the time I was lucid enough to learn about it, she’d already taken her own life.”

A suffocating hush gripped the room.

“I’m sorry,” Edgar said softly. “But there’s no safe method to fully dissect a Savior’s mind. No one could survive it.”

Chan turned a long gaze on Edgar—really seeing him.

For the first time, she recognized Sasha’s reflection in him: the same crushing burden, the same resigned certainty carved into his very being. She had spent days wondering if Sasha could ever recover. If healing was even possible for someone who had known nothing but torment. And now, for the first time, she wondered if Edgar ever had.

Guilt and respect tangled in her chest. Thinking of Sasha’s fragile bewilderment and her impossible but genuine kindness, she was furious at the room’s doubts. Yet she understood, too. Chaos was cosmic horror, and Sasha was a living weapon—heartbreakingly gentle, but still unbelievably dangerous.

“All right,” Edgar said after a tense moment, surveying them with a calmer expression. “We stay vigilant and supportive. We give her time. Dr. Kein, Chan—your insights will guide us.” A faint glimmer of humor lit his eyes. “Feel free to challenge me again, but maybe avoid making me want to flip a table next time.”

He sighed softly. “Regarding the fail-safes: she hasn’t asked to remove them and likely won’t. She doesn’t conceive of it as an option. If that changes—” an uncertainty dimmed his features “—I’ll handle it.”

“How?” Bisset pressed.

Edgar hesitated for a moment, then answered, his voice final.

“As I see fit.”

Nobody contested that.

Exiting the conference suite, Chan was thinking of Sasha —silver hair, wide eyes brimming with guarded wonder over something as simple as a glass of juice. Such rapid progress in a handful of days. Yet how many endless eons still haunted her?

Edgar came up beside Chan, but neither spoke at first. Finally, she shot him a wry look. “That was… cheerful.”

His lips curved wryly. “We expected it, right?”. He exhaled, voice quieter. “Thank you, by the way, for steering them away from spiraling paranoia.”

Chan huffed lightly. “They didn’t go too far—just the right dose of caution. Better paranoid than annihilated, I suppose.” Her dry tone masked the heaviness they both felt.

His expression gentled. “I appreciate it, Chan. Truly.”

She cleared her throat, feeling a surge of unexpected need to embrace him. It would probably be inappropriate? “I’ll check on Sasha. If she’s awake, I suspect she could use a visit from King Meow.”

Edgar almost—almost—smiled. “Give her my—” he paused, then finished softly, “Take care.”

They strolled out together, the last to leave. A faint prickle of anxiety crept along Chan’s neck, the sense that Chaos’s shadow still lingered. But remembering Sasha’s hesitant steps in therapy and

Edgar’s steady support, a glimmer of hope anchored her. Perhaps tomorrow would be a bit brighter—for both Saviors and for everyone who owed them everything.