Sasha

  5 years BA.

  ACC Serenia research facility at the Door.

  The box and papers felt heavy in my hands. I didn't know what to do. Should I open them now? Later? Never? What did Edgar expect from me? He cared deeply for the real Sasha—the girl that was.

  But he knew this couldn't bring her back, didn't he?

  Edgar's gentle voice broke through my uncertainty.

  “Actually, Sasha,” he began slowly, the heaviness from before still present in his tone, “that's not all I need to speak to you about today. But it'll be better to have Chan join us. Do you mind walking with me to the library? She's there.”

  Why did he keep asking?

  I was grateful not to decide immediately what to do with the message, yet a new anxiety coiled in. What else could there be? Had something happened? But I followed him anyway, Red, Shimmering, Heavy, and Silent shadowing us quietly, as always.

  Chan was sitting at a long table, tense and alert, as if she were preparing for battle. In front of her lay several books, most unfamiliar, some partially read. All of them seemed to be about human culture, history, and traditions—the topics that I kept struggling with the most.

  Was it because I was failing at learning these things?

  Chan smiled when she saw me—warmly, but with tension still shadowing her eyes.

  “Sasha, sweetie, hi again. How was your break?”

  More small talk, despite we had a lesson just an hour ago. It didn’t help. Why couldn’t they just begin with the punishment?

  I mumbled something, blood pumping in my ears. What was it all about?

  “Sweetie—” Chan began.

  Edgar interrupted gently, handing me a large mug of coffee. I took it, confused. It was already past seven—too late for coffee, according to the rules. Something was definitely wrong.

  Edgar didn't explain; he just quietly placed Chan’s usual tea before her and sat down opposite us, steam curling above his own cup.

  “Sasha, as you know, we've been following a careful integration program with you.” Edgar's voice was steady, calm, and his expression earnest. “The next step would allow you more freedom, more interactions with people who…” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “who don’t yet know your identity.”

  He meant the "Savior".

  I didn’t understand why it mattered. And why did I need more people? There were already too many doctors, psychologists, and guards whose names I didn’t even know. But Edgar had explained the end goal: to recover enough to live among billions of other humans—a number incomprehensible in scale. I nodded slowly, unsure where this was going.

  Edgar’s eyes softened further. “It’s a major step, Sasha, and we’re incredibly proud of how far you've come and how fast.” He paused briefly, struggling visibly. “But there’s something we’ve kept from you until now, something you need to understand before we go further, and certainly before you read those diaries or watch the message.”

  Kept from me?

  Chan looked uncomfortable but supportive, silently urging Edgar to continue.

  He sighed. “We withheld this only because it’s complex, culturally embedded, and we wanted you to understand more about the world first. And also because…” he hesitated again, a shadow crossing his face, “…it might be difficult for you to hear.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. Edgar sipped his tea, then continued cautiously, voice careful yet firm.

  “Sasha, did you notice some of your books had sections covered?”

  I nodded. Chan had said vaguely it was "for later," so I hadn’t pressed.

  “Well, that was about this very topic.” Edgar cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable.

  Chan stepped in softly.

  “Darling, would you prefer reading and discovering this yourself first, or having us explain?”

  Why did they keep asking me to choose? What was correct? Chan enjoyed explaining, but reading by myself would be faster and less troublesome for them.

  “Can I read and maybe… ask questions?” I asked cautiously.

  Chan smiled, but her face had a complex expression as she pushed the books toward me.

  I picked up the history text from a couple of days ago. Previously blacked-out paragraphs were now brightly highlighted.

  “Serenia was the only natural choice to host the World Council Assembly, given that the Door stands upon its soil. Here lies the very cradle of human civilization, the sacred site where holy Saviors begin their Vigils, facing Chaos to shield us all—and where all but Holy Edgar the Lived have heroically perished. Nothing unifies humanity more profoundly than these poignant reminders of the endless sacrifices made for our survival.”

  My hand trembled slightly as I flipped to another highlighted passage:

  “One might wonder about a world without Saviors, a world without Chaos. Would our petty conflicts have escalated into unthinkable wars? Would our nuclear arsenals ever be unleashed upon fellow humans instead of held as a desperate last defense against Chaos? Who would we have become without the moral compass provided by the holy Saviors? Their stories teach us true kindness, bravery, sacrifice—symbols of purity and morality we strive toward, though they remain eternally beyond our reach.”

  Another book -

  “My heart fractured between love and duty. Should I abandon Duellan to the tyrant who unjustly claimed my throne to spare my beloved? Agonizing, I fell into a restless sleep, broken and desperate.

  A vision appeared—a miracle I never deserved but deeply craved. Holy Savior Helga stood radiant before me, her presence divine, sorrowful yet comforting.

  ‘I see your anguish, young prince. Your half-brother worships Chaos; he must be stopped. Do not fear; my blessing shields your love, and grants you strength. Rise and fight, and know I stand with you.’ Her compassionate smile both healed and shattered me, leaving behind clarity and courage. Upon awakening, determination filled my heart: the Holy Saviors were by my side.”

  The story Chan had insisted upon days ago, the once-hidden phrases, brightly revealed:

  “‘Stars and Saviors, John, put down that monkey!’ ‘Thank the Saviors, I survived!’ ‘By the Saviors, we will triumph!’”

  "Religion and Society", the heavy tome with thick pages:

  “Savior worship is not inherently religious, though the Church of Holy Saviors attributes specific post-mortem powers and guardianship roles to each. Understandably, millions sanctify them and pray for guidance. However, no evidence suggests supernatural influence after their tragic self-annihilations. Some argue that Edgar Miller’s enormous magical powers are an exception (see: Edgar Miller, Chapter 4). We do not discourage faith, but we question if sanctification is necessary to honor them. Would Alaric’s tragedy lose meaning without prayers for romantic blessings? Would Holy Nathan the Learned’s teachings diminish without students chanting his name before examinations? Do we worship true sacrifice, or reduce them to convenient symbols, diminishing their profound humanity?”

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Finally—my hands trembled, chest tightening—a children's picture book, cheerful: “Thank You, Saviors!”:

  "At bedtime, when the stars twinkle and the wind whispers, we say, 'Thank you, Saviors!'

  When we laugh with friends, safe under bright skies, we say, 'Thank you, Saviors!'

  When we run fast and swim deep and fly high, chasing dreams in a beautiful world, we say, 'Thank you, Saviors!'

  Because without their courage, there would be no stars, no songs, no tomorrows.

  The Saviors love us, even when they are far away beyond the Door."

  Chan

  Chan hated everything about this plan. Edgar wasn't exactly thrilled either—she could practically taste his anxiety during their quiet evening talks. They'd circled endlessly, fully aware this would hurt Sasha terribly—exactly what the poor girl didn't need right now.

  But what other choice did they have?

  Sasha was impossibly docile, brilliant, and adaptive beyond any expectation. Every test, puzzle, and challenge they presented her with was solved with unsettling ease. She wasn't lacking cognitive abilities; she devoured information like a starved mind desperate to understand. What she lacked was real-world experience—unfiltered interaction with people who had no idea who she truly was. Phase Four of Reintegration meant exactly that: unscripted encounters, outside the choreography of vetted professionals and psychologists.

  Yet Sasha still didn't fully understand what being a Savior meant. Chan knew Sasha doubted even the basic idea that she'd truly saved the world. How could she comprehend the deeper reality? Saviors weren't just symbols of sacrifice—they were humanity's moral compass, its cultural heartbeat. The myths, religions, the daily invocations, and whispered prayers were embedded into every layer of human existence. Sasha would stumble onto it soon, inevitably.

  Worse, she'd stumble onto it alone. Chan knew the girl's mind: brilliant, analytical, dangerously observant. The censoring spells they’d slapped over Sasha’s reading wouldn’t fool her much longer. A little bit more context, a little bit more understanding, and Sasha would fill the negative space herself. And once she realized they'd hidden the truth, trust—so painstakingly built—would shatter irrevocably.

  So, despite every fiber of her heart screaming no one should ever, ever cause Sasha pain again, Chan herself had carefully selected the books, dissolved the censoring spells, and waited anxiously for this very moment.

  Now, watching Sasha’s blank, hollow expression after reading the last revealed page, Chan felt something inside her crack.

  Sasha looked up, her gaze direct yet vacant. Haunted. Trapped.

  “Is this…” Sasha began, voice utterly flat, “is this why you care?”

  Chan’s heart splintered at the quiet devastation behind that simple question. Her throat constricted painfully, the familiar, sharp ache of a migraine clawing at her temples. She'd anticipated this question, rehearsed the answer dozens of times, but all her careful preparation crumbled now in the face of Sasha’s fragile vulnerability. Four decades of teaching, of building bridges between impossible cognitive divides—none of it seemed enough in this moment.

  “Partly,” Chan finally managed, voice shaking despite her best efforts, “and... no.”

  She felt Sasha’s silent demand for explanation, but desperately struggled for coherence. Chan nearly reached for the mental link—longing for Sasha to feel her sincerity, for herself to understand the complexities swirling inside Sasha’s mind—but they'd agreed not to use it anymore unless Sasha explicitly requested it.

  And Sasha wasn't asking now.

  “No,” Chan repeated, steadier this time. “We—I care about you. Personally, deeply. Not the Savior. You.” She forced the words out clearly, urgently, hoping Sasha could believe them. “And remember—remember what we read about rehabilitation wards, hospitals, survivors? Humans care for those who suffer, no matter what.”

  Sasha blinked slowly, uncertain, unreadable.

  “But partly, yes, because what you did and... and endured” Chan continued, each word painful but necessary. “You did save the world, Sasha. I am alive because of you. And I know what... how terrible it was. I want to give back. It's part of why I need to help you. I won’t deny that.”

  Chan exhaled slowly. She wished she could lie to Sasha and say none of this mattered - but it wasn't possible. Nor would it really help.

  Sasha nodded, eyes cast downward, still not making direct contact.

  Edgar, who had remained silent until now, spoke softly, his voice gentle but thick with emotion:

  “I know it feels overwhelming, Sasha. Believe me—I truly do.” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped him. “If I could erase it all, I would, but the myth crystallized long before I was even born. And when I returned...” - he trailed off.

  Chan heard deep, familiar pain behind Edgar’s careful words. She couldn't help but wonder how exactly someone had explained this insanity to him a century ago—"Oh, by the way, Edgar, you're basically a living saint. No pressure."

  Well, at least I've never prayed to him. Stars forbid his ego gets any bigger.

  Edgar continued carefully, gently trying to reassure Sasha. “But it’s not as bad as you might think. We kept your identity completely secret. The world only knows that a Savior returned—not your name, not your face, nothing of your story. You can't escape the narrative they've built around us”—another labored chuckle, weary and bitter—“but you can remain invisible within it. That counts for something.”

  Sasha nodded again, almost mechanically. She clutched her coffee mug tightly, her knuckles pale. Although recent weeks had given her some healthier color and weight, now she seemed ghostly once more, fragile and lost.

  For a tense moment, no one spoke. Chan had to violently suppress the urge to reach through magic and anchor Sasha emotionally.

  I shouldn't. It's her call now. But will she ever again —

  Finally, Sasha spoke, perfectly polite, exactly as they'd practiced:

  “Thank you for telling me. I understand.” Her voice remained carefully flat. “May I be excused, please?”

  Chan could only nod helplessly. Edgar murmured quiet assent, his voice tight.

  They watched Sasha quietly leave, her back rigidly straight, dignity holding by a thread.

  Chan remained motionless, counting heartbeats, battling the overwhelming urge to follow her immediately. Not yet, she reminded herself, heart wrenching. She needs space first. They discussed it with a team. Give her time to process.

  She knew Dr. Terner was ready, fully briefed, waiting patiently in case Sasha needed her, but calling her in now felt far too soon.

  Wait. Just wait. The girl is stronger than you ever were.

  Stars and Saviors, for someone who supposedly specialized in communication, Chan sure felt spectacularly inept right now.

  This wasn't a betrayal. It was a necessity. Then why did it feel like she'd just driven a knife into Sasha's spine?

  She glanced at Edgar, his raw anguish reflecting hers. The migraine cracked behind her eyes, a vicious throb that pulsed in sync with her guilt.

  Please, Saviors, help us help her.

  Sasha

  It made sense.

  It made perfect sense.

  I had wondered, endlessly, why they bothered caring at all. They said it was gratitude, or kindness, or humanity—but those answers never fit. Something had always felt off. Why would they care for a broken thing like me—sentient enough only to suffer, aware just enough for Chaos to tear apart, again and again?

  Now, finally, I understood why they kept me here. Why they didn’t flinch from me. Why they looked at me with awe instead of fear. Why they cared.

  They didn’t see me. They saw her. The Savior.

  Someone brave. Someone noble. Someone worth their care.

  And then there was me. Even if I had once been her—even if a human Sasha had existed, full of purpose and dreams—Chaos had utterly destroyed her.

  I hadn't saved anyone.

  I couldn't even save her.

  I walked directionless, through empty corridors, doors opening and closing around me, people always near yet invisible. Four guards shadowed me still, their magic cautious. For protection? Containment?

  Spotting the familiar symbol—a bathroom—I quietly slipped inside. Closing the door, I sank to the cool floor, arms tight around my knees. The space was small. Safe. Simple.

  Why did my chest feel so heavy, though?

  It wasn’t pain—nothing could hurt here. Chaos was still gone, miraculously. I had coffee. Warmth. Safety. The puzzle of their behavior finally fit. This knowledge should have felt comforting. Instead, it pressed on me, making breathing hard.

  In hindsight, signs were everywhere: Dr. Lowernst's awe, psychologists glancing as if seeing someone grander, better, someone who wasn't me. Chan’s fierce protectiveness, her reverent care. Even Edgar himself—his quiet sadness and impossible gentleness paired with absolute power. The way people listened to him, followed him.

  He was the real Savior.

  (Yet… Chan openly teased him, many times? And he smiled back. Why?)

  Edgar was exactly what they hoped I'd somehow become—human, complex, strong, and impossibly whole.

  Could I ever grow into something like that?

  (No.)

  I was dangerous, volatile. My panic nearly destroyed everything once already. They knew it—Edgar explained it carefully, repeatedly.

  Yet they trusted me anyway. They never punished me. I couldn't understand it, but now I did. That's why. That's why they didn’t simply eliminate the risk.

  Should I do it for them? Self-annihilate, finally?

  Then they'd have the story they wanted—another Savior, tragically lost. A clean narrative.

  My continued existence disrupted their beautiful myth.

  But Edgar explicitly asked me not to. I’d promised.

  Somehow, that mattered. I didn't know why.

  And... I didn't want to vanish.

  I wanted another cup of coffee tomorrow morning. Try more food, this "chocolate chips" cookie Kiara said she’d bring next time. I wanted to finish the book about the four knights—“everyone loves that one,” Chan had said, eyes bright. I wanted all these impossibly real anti-pains—koi nibbling at my fingers, impossible mountains framed by windows, music gently trembling inside me.

  Just a little bit longer.

  (I already had too much. I should have known better.)

  But..

  But actually, it was all right.

  It really was.

  Yes, eventually they would see the truth—that I could never be what they need. Edgar would see I couldn't be her. He would understand I was too broken to fix. But what was the worst that could happen? They'd let me self-annihilate quietly, painlessly. And wasn’t that exactly what I'd begged for, throughout eternity?

  It would still be enough.

  (More than enough.)

  No pain, and no Chaos.

  Nothing mattered compared to that.