Interlude 2.

  Edgar. 27 years BA.

  The snow clung to Rovalia’s narrow streets, muting the world into a silence that felt both reverent and suffocating. Edgar Miller adjusted his coat, its heavy fabric gleaming faintly under the blue-white glow of Vigil Dawn candles flickering in every window. The world celebrated the beginning of the new Savior's vigil - Sasha's vigil - the festival of gratitude, reverence, condolence - and relief.

  Relief was the last thing Edgar felt.

  The cold bit sharply with each breath, but Edgar welcomed it. Rovalia smelled of wood smoke, frost, and the faint tang of iron from the nearby mines—a scent that settled deep in his lungs, grounding him.

  He stopped in front of the Irvings’ modest house, a weathered but resilient structure whose faded yellow paint testified to years of enduring northern winters.

  He hesitated.

  Not from fear; Chaos had stripped the last remnants of that from him eons ago. But this was different. Edgar had delivered speeches to billions, faced the world's collective reverence, and borne the weight of its gratitude. Yet standing before this door, knowing what he would bring to the family inside, felt heavy. He had seen their faces in the ACC dossiers—Ekaterina, Robert, Ilya, Maria, little Kostya. But dossiers couldn’t prepare him for the weight of breaking their lives.

  Edgar knocked.

  Inside, muffled voices fell silent. There was the scrape of a chair and footsteps. The door opened to reveal Ilya, taller and sturdier than Edgar had imagined. His features bore the unmistakable echo of Sasha's, but his expression lacked her warmth.

  “Holy Sav... stars,” Ilya whispered, his voice hollow. “...Edgar.”

  Behind him, Ekaterina appeared, clutching a towel in her hands. Her grey eyes—Sasha’s eyes—widened as recognition dawned. Her breath hitched audibly, and she swayed, gripping the doorframe for support. “No,” she murmured, her voice cracking. “No, no, no.”

  “May I come in?” Edgar asked, his voice steady but quiet. He wasn’t really asking.

  Robert stepped into view, his broad frame filling the hallway. His face darkened, lines of confusion and dread carving deeper into his features. “Who’s—” His words faltered as his gaze locked on Edgar. The disbelief in his eyes quickly gave way to something far heavier.

  For a moment, no one moved. Ekaterina’s knuckles whitened around the towel.

  “Please,” Edgar said gently. “We need to talk.”

  The living room was warm, almost stifling, the air thick with the scent of roasted potatoes and wood smoke. Edgar realized with surprise that the Irvings still used firewood for heating. Framed photos lined the walls—Sasha’s face was in nearly all of them, radiant and unguarded in ways Edgar had never seen. The sight hit him harder than he anticipated.

  Maria entered, carrying Kostya on her hip. The boy clutched a plush toy, his wide eyes darting to Edgar with curiosity. Maria held him closer, her expression shifting from confusion to alarm as she registered who stood in the living room.

  Robert gestured stiffly toward a chair. “Sit,” he said, his voice tight. "Please."

  Edgar lowered himself into the seat, his hands resting lightly on his knees. He let the silence stretch, giving them time to process his presence. He knew how overwhelming it was, especially for Ekaterina, who, he knew, had magical talent although never learned properly, just like her daughter.

  Irvings' gazes flickered between him and each other, the weight of unspoken understanding thick in the room. Finally, Ekaterina spoke, her voice trembling. “It’s Sasha, isn’t it?”

  Edgar nodded. “Yes.”

  Her knees buckled, and she sank into a chair, her hand clutching her chest. “She’s just a child,” she whispered. “She’s only eighteen. Eighteen. You sent a child to—” Her voice broke, and she pressed her hands to her face.

  “She was,” Edgar said softly. She was very young—too young “. The past tense felt like a betrayal, but it was the truth.

  -------

  He explained carefully and deliberately how Sasha had been identified as the only suitable candidate. Her soul’s rare energy was the world’s last chance to keep the Door sealed.

  “We searched for years,” he said. “Every possible candidate across every corner of the globe. Sasha was the only one. She understood it. She was... extraordinary” - his voice trembled.

  Ekaterina was crying now, her tears falling freely. Robert’s fists clenched. “She’s suffering,” he said, his voice low and furious. “Because the world couldn’t find anyone else? Because you failed?”

  “She’s not just suffering,” Ilya spat, his voice raw with anger. “She’s dying. Over and over, isn’t she? That’s what Chaos does.”

  Edgar didn’t flinch. “Yes.” And worse, he thought.

  He let their anger in. He deserved it, every bit of it. Yet, he would've made the same choice again.

  Maria’s soft sob broke the silence. Kostya wriggled in her arms, sensing her distress but unable to understand.

  Ilya turned on Edgar, his voice cracking. “And you let it happen? You’re supposed to be the hero! Why didn’t you—”

  “I couldn’t,” Edgar said firmly, cutting him off. “If there had been another way, I would have taken it.” He paused, his voice tightening. “If I could trade places with her, I would.”

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  Would he? The old, familiar doubt echoed in his mind. He wanted to believe he would, but he was grateful he would never know—and hated himself for it.

  Ilya froze, his fists trembling at his sides, his shoulders heaving with barely contained grief.

  Maria’s grip on Kostya tightened, her face pale. “Why didn’t she tell us?"

  "You people didn’t allow her, did you?” Ilya snapped.

  Robert’s voice was bitter as he added, slower, “We’re her family. We should’ve been there for her.”

  “She chose not to,” Edgar said gently. “She wanted to protect you. Saying goodbye—explaining what was coming—would have been unbearable. For her and for you.” He reached into his coat, pulling out a small arch-tech device. “She recorded messages for you.”

  Ekaterina reached for it, her hands trembling so much that Robert had to steady her. "We'll see it now," she said decisively, but her face got confused when she looked at the device: “How do we use it?”

  Realizing his mistake, Edgar took out his laptop. The sleek, thin, black device with archs faintly gleamed purple on its polished surface looked out of place in the cluttered living room lit by a fireplace.

  The family gathered around the screen, their movements stiff and deliberate. Edgar stepped back, gesturing toward the doorway. “I can wait outside if—”

  Robert’s voice cut through the silence. “Have you seen it?”

  “No,” Edgar said after a pause, his voice quieter than before. “But... I was there when she recorded it. It was...” He swallowed, the words catching in his throat. “It was hard for her.”

  Robert’s face tightened, but he gave a curt nod. “Stay.”

  The video began, and the room stilled. Sasha’s face filled the screen, achingly familiar yet heartbreakingly distant. She looked healthier than they remembered—better fed, stronger—but the weight in her tight smile and shadowed eyes was unmistakable.

  “Hi, everyone,” she began, her voice steady, though tinged with nervous energy. “I, uh… I guess I should start with ‘I’m sorry.’” She let out a weak laugh. “Not the best way to open, but here we are.”

  She spoke of her choice, fate, and regret for not saying goodbye in person. “I couldn’t,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I couldn’t look at your faces and say goodbye. I guess I’m a coward for that. I’m so sorry. But I… I just couldn’t.”

  She told them how much she loved them, pausing to address each. "Hey, Ilya, I actually beat your score in "Fields and Fiends." Can you imagine? I am here training for... you know what, and yet they let me play video games"; "Mum, please, can you continue to sing on Sundays? Imagine I am there like we did when I overslept to call?"; "Kostya, you won't remember me, I know. Don't believe what they would tell about me, all that heroic nonsense - I actually was a fun aunt, okay?"

  Her gaze softened as she addressed them all, her voice shaking lightly. “You’re the reason I’m doing this,” she said. “The reason I can.”

  Not that she had a choice.

  Her sarcasm flickered to life in brief moments, a brittle thread holding her together. “And when I get back, no chores, okay? At least for a couple of months,” she chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Pretty sure I won’t even remember how to do them anyway.”

  The humor felt forced, but it was unmistakably Sasha.

  As the video ended, the room fell into silence, save for Ekaterina’s trembling breaths. Her hand hovered over the "play" button. She glanced at Edgar, hesitant.

  “Oh,” Edgar said quickly. “Just keep the laptop.” His tone was casual, and the words hung awkwardly in the air. He scrambled to clarify, “I mean… you’ll want to watch it again. So, just keep it.”

  Ilya scoffed, his muttered words too low to catch. Robert shifted in his seat, his jaw tightening as his gaze flickered briefly to Edgar, but he said nothing. Edgar felt the sting of his yet another mistake, sharp and undeniable, but he held his tongue.

  After several awkward seconds, Ekaterina finally whispered, “Thank you," her eyes still locked on Sasha’s image on the screen.

  A timer beeped in the kitchen, breaking the silence. Edgar was grateful for it. Ekaterina rose, her movements slow and brittle. “Dinner’s ready,” she said softly, her tone fragile and distant.

  -------

  Dinner was served in silence. Edgar wanted to refuse, but something in Ekaterina's eyes told him she needed this moment of normalcy. The stew was simple but warm, paired with thick slices of rye bread. Edgar ate quietly, his movements careful and deliberate, conscious of every glance. The spoon was too shallow—clearly a dessert spoon, not suited for the hearty soup—and felt awkward in his hand. Still, the meal’s warmth seeped into him, grounding him more than he had expected.

  Robert watched him closely, apprehension and sorrow warring in his eyes.

  “This probably isn’t what you’re used to,” Robert said gruffly.

  “No,” Edgar admitted, setting his spoon down. “It’s better.”

  The sincerity of his answer seemed to disarm Robert, who glanced away, his expression conflicted.

  Kostya smiled at Edgar, wide and innocent, between his mother's attempt to feed him. Edgar was reminded of his grand-nephews who had all grown up now. He smiled back. The boy inherited the family's magical talent; he could feel it. He made a mental note to ensure he would receive a proper education. Sasha would've wanted it.

  As the meal wore on, Ekaterina stood and began preparing coffee. Edgar watched the family settle into what was clearly a well-worn ritual: cups set carefully on the table, sugar and milk placed within easy reach, Kostya babbling as Maria tried to distract him with a biscuit.

  After some hesitation, Ekaterina handed Edgar a ceramic mug with a dragon on it—slightly chipped but clearly cherished. “This is... was Sasha’s,” she said softly. Edgar hesitated, glancing at the cup. “Thank you”. He didn't like coffee, but he understood the gesture.

  He vividly remembered Sasha, who never parted with the coffee mug for long. To this end, he started bringing her a fresh thermos every time he saw her.

  “This explains a lot,” he said, his tone lighter. “Why Sasha drank coffee in truly frightening amounts at any hour of the day.”

  Ekaterina’s lips twitched into a bittersweet smile. “She always said there isn't such a thing as "too much coffee." Guess that runs in the family.”

  The room softened. Edgar found himself speaking more easily. He shared glimpses of Sasha’s final months—her awe and talent at finally learning magic, her struggles with anything combat-related, the petting zoo on her birthday, her first time seeing the sea, her laughter with the cadets. He reached into his coat and pulled out the printed photos, passing them around; there was his favorite one, with that enormous alpaca, Sasha's smile wide and almost carefree. Ekaterina squeezed the photo tightly and let out a broken laugh, tears streaming down her face.

  “She found joy where she could,” Edgar said softly. “She wanted you to know that.”

  -------

  Before leaving, Edgar addressed the crucial matter. “Her identity as the Savior must remain a secret. At least until she decides otherwise.”

  Ekaterina’s gaze sharpened. “She’ll decide? After?”

  Edgar nodded. “When she’s ready.” If she ever is, he didn’t add.

  “When she returns,” Edgar continued, “she'll be... shattered. She won’t remember you, or herself, or anything but Chaos. He will strip everything away. But we’ve preserved some memories, fragments that might help her hold on—memories of you, of her love so that you would anchor her back to life.”

  He explained how they would protect the family, ensuring their safety and support. Although the promises felt hollow, insulting even, Edgar pressed on. He didn't really care how they felt about it; he wouldn’t let Martha’s tragedy repeat.

  “Your suffering won’t help her,” he said bluntly. “But you living—and thriving—being here for her when she returns—will.”

  As Edgar stood to leave, the family gathered by the door, their grief a palpable weight.

  “Thank you,” Ekaterina said, her voice trembling but sincere, her eyes—Sasha’s eyes—locking with his. “For being there. For her.”

  “It was my honor,” Edgar replied softly.

  He looked back at Sasha's family, committing each face to memory. He knew that the Irvings didn't forgive him—maybe they never would—but they understood. That fragile understanding would be enough to carry them through the years to come. It was the only thing that mattered.

  As he stepped out into the cold, the flicker of Vigil Dawn candles followed him, their light steady against the darkness until his frame disappeared into the night.