Sasha

  5 years BA.

  ACC Serenia research facility at the Door.

  I followed Edgar into yet another room—how many rooms did this place even have? My body felt heavy, as if the meal inside turned into lead, but my arms wouldn’t stop trembling.

  (I hurt Chan. I caused pain.)

  Edgar spoke of “beating Chaos,” but the idea was absurd. Chaos was everything—omnipotent, or close enough—nothing could truly defeat him. Yet this entire world (if it was real; you know it’s not) existed in brazen opposition to him. Edgar claimed that existence itself was a victory, something I had apparently helped make possible—and could share in—

  (No. Don’t think about that.)

  He also insisted we remove the fail-safes, but I couldn’t see why.

  After everything I’d done—hurting Chan, nearly destroying an entire room and who knew how many devices—why would anyone trust me? Why offer to unleash my power? Surely they must be tired of wasting all these resources on me by now. I still couldn’t fathom why they bothered at all.

  Maybe Edgar wanted me fully untethered so he could order me to self-annihilate and end this. But if that was the plan, why did they fight so hard to stop me before? Or maybe they’d finally had enough. Yet if that were true, why surrender control? Right now, the nets gave Edgar power over me. Removing them made no sense.

  We sat at a table while Edgar explained the workings of the net. I already understood most of it, but some layers had stayed hidden. Only he could open them—though the final sequence required both of us tugging at tiny knots simultaneously. Half the weave drew on my own power, which made it especially hard to break: it latched onto my essence, reinforcing itself with my strength.

  But how?

  I stared at the patterns, baffled. There was no way they could have accomplished this without my… participation, right?

  Even Chaos, in all his eons of tearing me apart, never managed to shape my essence. He could destroy me or force me to change it in certain ways myself, but he didn’t own it. So either these humans had a power he lacked, or…

  I had made it.

  Helped to make it, in fact.

  I had no memory of that, but it wasn’t surprising. Memory was always the first thing Chaos shredded when he finished a cycle. Over time, I’d developed countless strategies to preserve scraps of knowledge, yet he always found a way to break me back down to nothing. Even if I’d gotten better at hanging on to certain facts, forgetting was expected.

  Yet the implications were staggering.

  I had mapped my essence over millennia—partly as a distraction from the pain. I’d noticed these odd hooks and knots before, dismissed them as “just more pieces of me.” But now, I saw they’d been shaped on purpose. Once I returned, they meshed seamlessly with Edgar’s external spell.

  It all fit too perfectly.

  It was planned, and it means...

  (this cannot be)

  Another surprise—my own contribution to the net looked sloppy. Uneven threads, jagged corners, misaligned flows. So weak. I could have done far better without effort, even amid intense torment. I’d crafted infinitely more precise spells countless times.

  This was… subpar.

  (how could it be my work and yet...)

  And yet it was unbelievably intricate in a small, fiddly way—so many tiny details, each one deliberate, each placed with that curious human precision I never thought I possessed.

  Edgar watched me, his expression thick with feelings I couldn’t decipher. His voice dropped quietly.

  “You had no formal magic training when we found you,” he said.

  (Why was he telling me this? That person wasn’t me.)

  “You were talented, strong, but you barely knew more than a single arc. You wanted to study magic so badly—you loved it. But you couldn’t afford an academy. Not enough… resources, money. Then…”

  His words trailed off. We both knew the rest.

  This person’s soul had met the criteria for the ‘Savior.’

  I tried to picture that girl—a real human named Sasha.

  Chaos would’ve relished devouring her mind and soul, erasing her until only this husk remained.

  Me.

  And for the first time, I wondered:

  Who was she?..

  Edgar kept talking, but I tuned back in only when he said, “They’re here—your family. Older now, but waiting. You even have… a surprise.” He gave a faint smile, a sadness edging its warmth.

  My chest clenched. For a second, the world threatened to skew again—like before, but milder. I inhaled, pushing air in and out, surprised at how it steadied me. (When did breathing become so effective?)

  Edgar must have noticed, because he didn’t say more about them.

  We were still unraveling sections of the net when Chan arrived. She carried drinks—mine was white and warm, called “milk.” I couldn’t understand why she was still kind to me after I’d hurt her, but I sipped it anyway.

  It was… profoundly good.

  Edgar went back to demonstrating how each knot interacted. Progress was slow; we had to release them in a precise order.

  I couldn’t believe how weak yet intricate human magic was—tiny puzzle pieces, each faint on its own, woven into a massive structure. In contrast, my spells had spanned higher dimensions, unwound time-space, annihilated matter and antimatter. They were big. Efficient.

  This was different.

  Countless minuscule knots forming a tapestry so complex, I couldn’t grasp it.

  Chaos would have hated this.

  Part of me wanted to replicate it—to see if I could make something this intricate myself. (find a new way to enrage him)

  “You’re… incredible at magic, Sasha,” Chan said gently.

  I had no idea why she thought that. Compared to all this intricate human spellwork, I was just a brute... and Chan, she could link minds, build telepathic bridges. I had no idea how to even approach such a feat.

  I stayed silent, unsure what she wanted me to say.

  Eventually, we finished dismantling the net.

  Edgar looked exhausted—I was tired too—but his eyes gleamed with some deep emotion. He let out a faint laugh. “Really well done, Sasha!” (What does he mean? He did most of it.) Then he added, “If anyone had told me we’d deconstruct a five-dimensional matrix with type-seventeen soul references, two-caster dependent, in three hours, I’d have called them crazy.” He exhaled. “It took us a month to build that—six hours a day, for a month.”

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  A month?

  They invested a month just to make these fail-safes?

  But why?

  Without those fail-safes, I would’ve self-annihilated the moment I returned. Wasn’t that the logical outcome? Why work so hard to stop it?

  That other Sasha must have been important.

  Chan murmured, “I’ve never seen anything like this,” glancing between me and Edgar. “It’s… a privilege…”

  She seemed on the verge of saying more when Edgar cleared his throat, and she fell silent.

  With the final knot removed, I braced for pain—for Chaos to return.

  But nothing happened.

  My body felt slightly lighter, as if gravity had eased by a fraction. The magic around me sharpened. Before, I needed concentration to keep my magical sight active; now it took no effort, the way it should have been from the start.

  (Do it. Destroy yourself.)

  I almost started.

  I should have.

  But if I really tried, Chaos would come, wouldn’t he?

  And…

  I promised Edgar I wouldn’t.

  Chan said it would hurt her.

  I didn't know why, but it mattered.

  So I stopped.

  (And that, perhaps, was a mistake.)

  * * *

  Edgar showed other spells connected to my body — bindings it to the machines, keeping it healthy, clean. He said I wouldn’t need these spells anymore (Did they even have more machines? I’d already ruined so many.)

  Another one let Edgar monitor my location and physical state. He asked if I was okay keeping it "for now."

  Why wouldn't I be?

  And finally, he showed me a spell to "prevent REM sleep."

  Apparently, humans enter something called REM sleep. A state where the mind generates hallucinations—dreams, Edgar called them.

  “The first time I dreamed after returning,” Edgar said, voice even, “my subconscious believed I was still in Chaos. I attacked. Nearly destroyed myself. Nearly destroyed the facility.” A hollow scoff. “We tried again. Decades later. And again after that. Same result. Worse recovery - he paused - Now we just… don’t. No REM. No dreams. It’s safer.”

  I waited for the revelation—the reason this mattered. But nothing came. Why would hallucinations matter at all?

  Chan paled. Her eyes flickered between Edgar and me—sharp, brittle movements, like something inside her cracked.

  Fear? Regret? Sorrow?

  Why?

  I couldn’t tell. She didn’t speak.

  When we were done with the spells, there was another meal. And, for some reason, they still included me.

  They had seen what I was. What I did. I hurt Chan. I destroyed their machines. I had no purpose here.

  But they set a plate in front of me anyway.

  They mostly talked to each other. The food—“mashed potatoes,” they called it—assaulted me with “salty,” “sweet,” “savory” at once. I’d just learned these words, and they felt like a detonation of flavors. Do humans always eat such intense things?

  It was so overwhelming that I barely noticed Chan speaking. I apologized, expecting reprimand, but she didn’t punish me.

  “Sasha, how are you feeling... after everything?” she asked.

  I wasn’t in pain. No Chaos (not yet). They couldn't send me back.

  Instead, I was… here. Eating. Soft, warm potatoes, heavy on my tongue. Rich. Dense. Too much. Overwhelming in its absence of agony. Crushing waves of anti-pain.

  I didn’t deserve this.

  I had hurt Chan. I had destroyed things. Things more valuable than I had ever been. Than I could ever be.

  And they still hadn’t punished me.

  I didn't know what to answer Chan.

  "I am... sorry I hurt you?" I asked, uncertain. Hoping that was what she wanted. I wasn’t sure what sorry meant. I only knew that the knowledge of her pain - and that I caused it - seared me—constant, almost like Chaos’ essence burning through my own.

  - It's okay, dear - she repeated, and I still couldn't understand how it could be okay - But how do you feel?

  I lifted my shoulders in what Chan called a shrug—a gesture meant to convey uncertainty or lack of an answer. It felt artificial, but I tried anyway.

  She smiled. (Why? Does this amuse her?) Then she continued, her voice low and measured.

  “Sasha, I’ve been thinking about your panic attack…” Her gaze locked onto mine. There was no fear in her eyes—at least, not of me. Something else stirred behind them, something I couldn’t name. (She should be afraid. Why isn’t she?)

  My throat went rigid.

  “...and I wonder if I can help you understand it better,” she finished.

  She paused, giving me time to process. “You feared we’d send you to the Door again, didn’t you?” I nodded, stomach twisting at the memory. (Pathetic. I had no right to doubt them; still, they don’t really care—they cannot. I was made to suffer. That’s my only function) “That was completely reasonable from your perspective,” Chan added, voice gentle but precise, like a blade cutting to the core.

  (reasonable? What?..)

  I nodded anyway.

  “Then let me ask this,” she said. “After your sessions with Doctor Kein, you always thanked him, correct?” I nodded again. “And after our speech lessons, ever since you learned the word ‘thank you,’ you kept using it. Why?”

  I did. Of course. Why wouldn’t I? I had to, right?

  I forced my mind to assemble an answer.

  "You both… spent time. Energy. Did something for me. And I'm sure it wasn’t pleasant."

  Wasn’t that how it worked? They gave something. It must have cost them. So I owe them.

  She scoffed again. (Why?) and then the corner of her mouth arched in a tiny smile, for just a moment.

  “So...” Chan inhaled, gaze locked on me. “You protected all of us, holding Chaos at bay. You suffered through something I can’t even imagine.”

  Her half-smile vanished, replaced by something raw.

  “How grateful do you think we are?”

  The logic was clear, but the conclusion felt wrong. I wasn’t like them. I wasn’t meant to be thanked.

  She didn’t push further. I almost thanked her for that, but something in her stare said it wasn’t time.

  After "lunch" they said it's time to see "the outside". I didn't understand the concept. Apparently, if something was surrounded by walls and had a roof, it was "inside", and all this time I was "inside". And that "outside" was much bigger.

  It was too big.

  Chaos never wasted space. He got bored by creating it. Space requires some physical laws, which he never bothered with, so it eventually collapses under its own contradictions. He shaped only what was necessary—enough for his purpose, no more.

  But this?

  No boundary of unmaking. No paradox spiraling inward to erase itself. Just existence. Just space.

  And it wasn’t empty.

  They called it a “park.” A small one, apparently. If this was small, what did large even mean?

  So many living things. Everywhere.

  A fierce onslaught of green—“trees,” “grass,” terms I recognized from pictures—erupted all around me. They weren’t just shapes: they exhaled scent, breathed color, and rustled with hidden life I couldn’t quantify. I tried to dissect it as I would a Chaos construct—mapping edges, identifying patterns—but the deeper I looked, the more infinite it became. Too many layers, too many systems, every piece interlocking with another. I couldn’t hold it all in my mind at once. I think that these green things absorbed the radiation from this blazing sphere above in order to maintain themselves. That was so bizarre, but also... beautiful.

  The glazing sphere - the “sun,” apparently - emitted so much heat. I waited for pain. Fire or scorching or at least the meltdown of my skin. But nothing happened. The heat just sank into me, oddly... pleasant, no agony attached.

  The sun’s brightness stabbed my eyes, and tears welled up against my will. I tried closing them, but the afterimage pulsed in my vision—rainbow spots dancing behind my lids. Chan quietly told me not to look straight at the sun. I obeyed, surprised by how it lingered even when I wasn’t looking.

  A light breeze brushed my arms—gentle, not flaying. Even the air here felt soft. Then Edgar guided me to a “pond,” a vast container of water far greater than any I’d witnessed. Chaos rarely bothered with water, it was too simple a tool of torture. Here, it just existed, shimmering in the sunlight, home to small creatures flicking around below the surface. They had vibrant scales of orange, black, white, snapping at empty space.

  “They’re hungry,” Edgar explained. I froze, expecting them to surge onto land and devour us. Instead, he held out a chunk of bread, urging me to scatter it. “Go on. Give it to them.”

  The fish swarmed, orange scales flashing, mouths snapping at the crumbs I dropped.

  I had fed someone. Given something. And they… took it.

  And…

  And I felt... warm, but inside.

  (Was that warmth why they kept feeding me?)

  The bread ran out too quickly, thought.

  Something sharp cut through the air. A high, piercing sound. A warning? An attack?

  I flinched, readying my to-go attack.

  A tiny creature. With wings. But it didn’t strike. Didn’t charge. Just sat there, perched on the branch, its small body puffed up, chirping at the world.

  A "bird".

  It wasn’t a threat.

  Was it… talking?

  Did it also want bread?

  I also saw and felt the presence of at least ten humans at the perimeter; I think they were ready to use their magic against me; it made sense. But I didn't sense any hum of immediately ready spells.

  (not yet)

  All that - the sun, the smells, the sounds, the creatures, the shadows and light in these small plants... the air that felt alive, so much fuller than "inside".

  All that was too much.

  Still, some part of me didn't want to leave and go inside, but Edgar and Chan insisted it was time for "dinner." Apparently, hours had passed.

  Why do they consume food so often?

  Throughout the dinner - with them, again! - my mind started to drift. I barely kept it focused, but everything became blurry. I recognised this state from before - "exhaustion".

  Still, I noticed when Edgar said they would take me to "my" room. He explained that people need "privacy" and that I should have "my own space." This was absurd. I didn't need anything like it; there was no pain and no Chaos, what more could I possibly need?

  But I didn't argue. I wasn't sure I was allowed to.

  Chan smiled. “Well, you clearly needed your own space—after all, you redecorated the hospital room so thoroughly, didn’t you?”

  Something in me flinched.

  Mockery. Chaos did that. Twisted words into knives. Laughed while they cut deep.

  I braced for pain.

  But… nothing came.

  Chan’s smile wasn’t cruel. No sharpness in her tone. Just warmth.

  I hesitated. Then, cautiously, I smiled back.

  I didn’t know why.

  I was so exhausted that I barely remember how I got to the room. Edgar almost dragged me, I think.

  The room was too big. (Why did they waste so much space on me?) My body felt heavy, as if it turned into stone (it didn't, that's not how petrification felt, now wasn't painful). I fell into the bed. Too soft, terrifyingly so. It was wrong.

  "Don't forget to take off your clothes before you sleep, sweety." Chan's voice.

  I barely had enough awareness to weave my sentinels. No net stopped me. (finally)

  And then, for the first time in this world—

  For the first time in eternity—

  Without the spells nudging me to lose awareness, —

  I fell asleep.