Interlude 3.

Edgar. 27 years BA.

The waves crashing against the cliffs below Edgar’s seaside mansion filled the room's silence, a steady reminder of the world’s persistence. Standing by the tall window, he let his gaze drift over the horizon. The water stretched endlessly, its vastness somehow comforting. The sea was the only thing that seemed unaffected by what he had done.

Sasha was gone. And Edgar had just returned from facing the shattered lives she had left behind—her family, her friends. Ekaterina’s trembling hands clutched the memory device as if it were all that was left of her daughter - and in a way, it was. Alex, holding herself together with steel determination, ready to wait decades for her best friend’s return. And Stanis, confused, hollow-eyed, unsure what to make of a connection that Sasha herself had erased to spare him.

He had tried to offer them hope, to tell them she’d return and that she could survive. But deep down, Edgar knew that even if Sasha survived, she was also gone. He had faced Chaos and knew his truth: Chaos didn’t just destroy—he devoured, leaving behind nothing but himself.

A knock on the door drew him back to the present.

“Come in,” Edgar called.

The door opened, and Yonas Evergreen entered. Edgar felt his chest tighten—but this time, not with grief: he was simply glad to see an old friend.

“Yonas,” Edgar said, crossing the room to embrace the visitor. “It’s been too long.”

Yonas offered a faint smile, but his eyes were shadowed. He looked smaller somehow, his military uniform hanging a little looser, the silver insignia dulled. This was not the man Edgar remembered—the sharp, steadfast leader who had stood beside him through countless crises.

“It has,” Yonas agreed, though his tone lacked conviction.

“Sit,” Edgar said, motioning to the armchairs by the fire. He poured two glasses of whiskey and handed one to his guest before sitting opposite. “You look like you need it.”

“I think we both do,” Yonas replied as he lowered himself into a chair, taking the glass.

Yonas Evergreen had been Edgar’s closest friend for decades. He had joined the ACC as a fresh recruit nearly 60 years ago, around the time Edgar had finally recovered enough to resume his mission of safeguarding future Saviors and resisting Chaos in every way possible. Over time, Yonas proved himself a gifted leader, and together, he and Edgar rebuilt the Anti-Chaos Coalition from the ground up. They reshaped its strategies, redefined its priorities, overhauled its training regimens, and established its political stance and international autonomy. While Yonas, as head of the ACC’s military branch, took charge of action on the ground, Edgar served as the Coalition’s figurehead—a living legend, a Savior, a political force to be reckoned with, and, at times, a direct, undeniable threat to those in power. Together, they had averted countless disasters, turned the tide against Chaos, and brought the world closer to safety than it had been in centuries.

But Yonas’s greatest pride had always been his family. After decades of trying, he and his wife had been blessed with Victor, their miracle child. Edgar had watched the boy grow into a gentle, brilliant young man, more interested in studying the past than shaping the future. He had chosen the quiet life of a magical historian, far removed from the battles that had defined his father’s career. Edgar hadn’t seen Victor in years, not since he had drifted away into his research.

“How’s Victor?” Edgar asked, his voice casual. “Still chasing ruins and artifacts?”

Yonas tensed, his grip tightening around his glass. “Yes,” he said quietly. “He’s… doing well.”

Something in Yonas’s tone made Edgar pause. He tilted his head, studying his friend. “Yonas, what’s wrong?”

Yonas swirled the whiskey in his glass, his gaze fixed on the fire. “This past year,” he began slowly, “it’s been unlike anything we’ve faced. The eruptions, the search for a Savior, Alexandra…” His voice trailed off, and he took a deep breath. “It’s made me think about the choices we’ve had to make.”

Edgar frowned, his instincts stirring. “We did what we had to,” he said carefully. “There was no other way.”

Yonas set his glass down, his hands trembling. “Victor’s soul was suitable.”

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Edgar blinked, his mind struggling to process the words. “What?”

“When the tests were conducted,” Yonas continued, his voice barely above a whisper, “Victor’s soul matched. He could have been the Savior. - he paused - He should have been the Savior."

“He didn’t know,” Yonas added quickly, his voice breaking. “Victor had no idea. I couldn’t—he couldn’t have lived with that knowledge.”

The glass in Edgar’s hand shattered with a sharp crack, shards flying across the room. Whiskey dripped from his fingers, mingling with blood from the deep gash across his palm. Yonas flinched—but Edgar, of course, didn’t so much as glance at the wound. It couldn't truly hurt.

“You hid it,” Edgar said, his voice cold, trembling with restrained fury. "You hid him".

Victor had been absent for years, always someplace far away, always mentioned in passing. Now, the pieces fit. Yonas had kept him hidden— from Edgar, specifically, from his best friend and his soul vision.

From the person who would've sent him to Chaos.

Yonas nodded, his face pale. “I falsified the results. I used my position to bury the truth. I couldn’t—I couldn’t let it happen, Edgar. Not to him.”

Edgar rose to his feet, his hands trembling. “Do you understand what you’ve done?” he asked, his voice rising. “You let a child take his place. Sasha just turned eighteen, Yonas. Eighteen. She barely had time to live, let alone train for what was coming. Victor is thirty-five. He is trained. Experienced. Prepared.”

“She was a stranger to me,” Yonas said, his voice breaking. “Victor is my son.”

“She was my daughter,” Edgar shot back, his voice cracking. “She was my daughter in every way that mattered.”

“You knew her eight months!” Yonas’s whisper came out raw, almost pleading.

Edgar froze. Eight months. He thought of her sharp, unrestrained laughter as she argued with cadets over whether “hitting the sky” should count as a score. How she sang for them on long evenings when Ron brought out his guitar, everyone huddled around the enchanted fire—“are we mages or what?”—and the officers pretended not to notice. How the cadets would sneak her desserts, thinking no one saw. Her determination in combat training, cursing him under her breath with mock-seriousness when he pushed her too hard, only to freeze at first, realizing she’d just told off the Edgar, Himself—and later cursing anyway. The way her hands had trembled the first time she managed a shielding spell, steadying only when she caught his approving nod. Eight months. It wasn’t long—not in the way it should have been.

“And it was enough,” Edgar said coldly.

The words seemed to pierce Yonas. He hunched over slightly, gripping his knees as if steadying himself.

Edgar’s voice hardened. “It wasn’t just Sasha. You know better than anyone what finding her cost us, the resources we poured into the search. These millions could have gone to people who still live—who are hungry, who need medical care, who don’t have schools to send their children to. Do you even care?”

Yonas flinched as if struck, his face a mask of anguish.

“And what about Carin Novak? Marcus Iseki? Nisha Verma? Harun Abbas? Tati Voronova? Edgar’s voice trembled as he listed the names, his fury mounting with each one. "Five of our people—your soldiers—are dead because of your decision, dead because they believed they were holding the line for a Savior you’d already hidden!” Edgar’s voice shook with fury. With each name, Yonas flinched. His hand tightened around the glass until it trembled, but he didn’t interrupt. By the time Edgar finished, Yonas’s gaze had dropped to the floor, his shoulders curling inward.

Edgar added, softer: “They didn’t have to die, Yonas. They didn't..."

Yonas swallowed hard, his face crumpling. “I prayed someone else would be found,” he whispered. “I prayed it wouldn’t come to this.”

“Who else? You knew they would be young! You knew we would search in universities and colleges,” Edgar almost hissed, his bloodied hand trembling as if the shards of glass still cut into his skin.“What did you expect? - he paused, his voice low - "You let her do it. You condemned a child to an eternity of torment because you couldn’t bear to lose him.”

Yonas’s hands shook visibly. “I know,” he said. “I know what I’ve done. I’m not asking for forgiveness, Edgar. I don’t deserve it. But I had to tell you. I couldn’t carry it alone anymore.”

Edgar stared at him, his chest tight. “You shouldn’t have told me,” he said bitterly. “You think sharing this makes it better? All you’ve done is make it worse. For me. For her.”

Yonas’s voice broke as he replied. “I couldn’t… it was crushing me, Edgar. I’m not as strong as you.”

“No,” Edgar said flatly. “You’re not.”

Yonas stood to leave, but the movement seemed to drain what little strength he had left. His hand lingered on the doorframe, his knuckles white against the dark wood. For a moment, he swayed, his head bowed slightly as if the weight of it all was too much to bear. He seemed smaller now, his silhouette sagging in the firelight, no longer the sharp, indomitable leader Edgar had relied on for decades.

A flicker of unease passed through Edgar. He leaned forward, his lips parting as though to speak, but the moment slipped away. Yonas straightened slowly, a mechanical effort, and stepped into the hallway.

“For what it’s worth… I’m sorry,” Yonas said, his voice quiet and hollow.

When the door clicked shut behind him, Edgar remained frozen for a long moment, staring into the fire. The flames flickered, consuming everything in their path, leaving only ash behind. Chaos, he thought bitterly, wasn’t the only one who destroyed. His hand, already healed by unconscious magic, curled into a fist.

Yonas had protected his son. Edgar had sent the girl he loved as a daughter to hell. And as the waves crashed against the cliffs outside, he wondered which of them had truly betrayed the child they loved —or had either of them ever truly been worthy of that love.

They never talked again. Yonas died two years later. Edgar suspected it was by his own hand, but he never knew.