Sasha

  5 years BA.

  ACC Serenia research facility at the Door.

  For a long moment, I stared at the open box. The magic was intricate, woven in subtle layers, impossible to trick or force open. Only one soul could open it. The one that closed it. Mine.

  (Could Chaos forge identical souls? Had he ever replicated a pattern so precisely that it fooled even this kind of lock? If so… how many me’s were out there, sealed in cycles I’ll never comprehend?)

  No. Humans insisted I had lived here before. That I had walked this world as Sasha Irving—a real person, the one who sealed this box before stepping into eternity.

  I chose to believe them, even if it felt impossible. My memory was unreliable. Chaos destroyed it too many times. I knew it. But their memories were intact. They had ways to record it. Their world made sense. Evidence made sense. I trusted them. Truly, I did.

  (Yet...)

  Inside the box lay a small, sleek data device. I already used similar ones. Sliding open the hidden screen panel embedded within the table, I inserted the storage unit, and it glowed immediately.

  A face appeared.

  I hit "pause".

  The face hovered mid-motion, lips parted as though ready to speak, eyes bright and focused on me.

  She couldn't see me, could she? Of course not. This was merely a recording—a message, filmed 22 years ago.

  My pulse hammered, too loud, echoing sharply through my body. I struggled for air, lungs tight, vision narrowing at the edges. Kiara said several times: "Drink water when you're overwhelmed, Sasha. It helps ground you."

  I moved toward the kitchenette, grasping a chilled bottle from the fridge. Water slid down my throat—cold, soothing. Unsettlingly safe. No corrosion, no poison, no dissolving flesh. Just coolness.

  I could do this. They wanted me to. I was supposed to. I had to.

  There was no reason not to press play. It wasn't Chaos. It couldn't hurt me. Why hesitate?

  I forced myself back to the screen, to the girl waiting motionlessly for me.

  She was… different. And the same.

  Until now, I'd paid little attention to my own face. It simply existed. Another vessel. I had so many, even if they said this one was "real". Maybe it was.

  I learned basic facts: no wrinkles meant the body was younger than Edgar and Chan's. Anthropology books suggested "northern ancestry," based on color, shape, and structure. It didn't matter.

  Until now.

  I approached the dressing table mirror, studying myself carefully. Gray eyes, precise cheekbones, slightly asymmetrical nose, the line of a jaw—all features I’d learned to recognize as “mine.”

  The girl on the screen had soft, golden-yellow hair. Now it was different. "Turned gray." Apparently, every Savior returned with gray hair; it meant something, but I didn't check what.

  But beyond that single contrast, she looked exactly like me.

  Or rather, I looked like her.

  But also, completely different.

  Even paused, her face radiated a vibrancy, a depth of feeling that my reflection utterly lacked. She seemed… alive. Real. While I was only a shadow, an empty shape, a frame left behind after the original had vanished.

  It fit.

  I looked again in the mirror, but there wasn't anything more to see.

  I pressed play.

  Movement flooded the screen. Each emotion distinct, fluid, bright. Worry tightened her brow. Determination pulled at her mouth. Then something else—something soft, unsure, like a half-smile learning to exist. I didn’t know how to name it.

  Finally, she spoke:

  “Hi, me.” She paused, reconsidering with visible confusion. “Or is it ‘I’? Or ‘you’?” She shook her head slightly, eyes brightening with self-conscious amusement. “Shit, this is officially the weirdest thing Edgar’s ever asked me to do, and that's saying something”

  She went on:

  “So, if you're watching this, I'm dead.” She chuckled, awkward and brittle. "Always wanted to say that," she added, laughing quietly, but then her expression sobered. "But actually—if you're watching this, I'm alive, which is so much better."

  She paused before continuing carefully. "Well, you're alive. I mean, technically it's me—I don't know. It's fucking confusing. First off, thank you for, you know, not killing yourself. Edgar said I'll do it right away, and I mean all of them did, right - and I'm—I'm so fucking scared. But Edgar knows his shit, he promised to stop me. I guess he did. So seriously, thank you for not doing it. I want to live. I really, really do."

  I wasn't sure what some of her words meant, but I kept listening, unable to look away.

  Her expression grew softer, vulnerable, fear flickering behind her eyes. "But I'm not really going to, am I? Not me, as I am right now. You're going to forget everything. I know it. I'll try to save some memories for you, but they'll be almost nothing, and you probably won't understand half of them anyway. Edgar said I'll forget—not just myself, but everything. I can't even imagine. It's fucking terrifying. But... I'm only afraid of it, while you've already lived through it. So, I guess, I'm not really in a position to complain."

  She paused, glancing aside to collect herself before continuing, her voice quieter. "I'm rambling, aren't I? Sorry. I've already recorded farewells for all my friends and family, but somehow this one—this message—is so much harder. Maybe because it’s not really a farewell at all. It's more like... like a 'hello again.' A welcome back." Her voice trembled faintly, eyes shining. "Welcome back, me. You did it."

  Her gaze sharpened suddenly, piercing through the screen, straight into mine. What did she want me to feel?

  Her voice tightened again, cracking slightly. "It's just so fucking unfair, you know? I don't want to go there—I don't want to lose myself. I’m so scared. I… I can't even think about what Chaos will do to me. I just... can’t. But for you, it's over now. You already went through it. You survived. And I... stars, I'm so jealous. I know I shouldn’t be. I can’t—not yet—even imagine what you've endured. But still… you're past it now. I won't be. But then again, I am, aren't I?"

  Somehow her words didn’t make sense. And jealous of me? For... existing?

  And yet, at the same time, her words were clearer than anything I'd ever heard before.

  "What I mean is—I’m more than my memories. I have to be. I'm this flicker of awareness, this feeling of existing—this I thing. And if you're watching this, then that means this thing—the I—survived. Even if you don't remember me, even if you feel like someone else, you are me. Or maybe I’m you. Either way, I survived."

  Tears filled her eyes, spilling over, running down her face. I paused the video again, breath stuck in my chest. Something about her pain, honesty, and this newly familiar face staring back at me reached deep inside.

  Why did she want so badly to live?

  I took another slow sip of water. Still cold. Soothing. Anti-pain.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The girl on the screen was… intense. I hadn't yet seen such raw emotion from other humans, not even through Chan's mental link.

  If I were human, if I had lived in this impossibly gentle world and then had to step into Chaos, willingly, knowingly, to suffer eternity—what would I feel?

  How could anyone possibly choose that? Did she even understand what Chaos would do to her?

  No. She couldn't. This world simply didn't contain the frame of what Chaos truly was.

  I pressed play again. Seeing her hurt, but different from all the ways I suffered before.

  She, too, seemed to have taken a moment to compose herself; her face was clear of tears now, eyes steadier. In her hands, a steaming mug—coffee? Edgar had said she loved it.

  "So, yeah. Welcome back." Her voice quivered faintly again, fragile and uncertain. "And you need to know—I am so, so sorry." She drew a shaky breath, eyes glistening with new tears she fought to hold back. "I'm making a decision right now that you will have to face the consequences of. And the worst part is, you won't even remember why. I am sentencing both of us—me now, and you then—to an eternity of unimaginable suffering. And I chose this. But once you forget, once you don't know anymore, it won't be your choice at all, will it? You'll suffer without even remembering why."

  Her voice broke, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks.

  Why did it matter? It never mattered why I suffered. It couldn’t—because there was never anything else.

  She shook her head bitterly, eyes blazing with a mixture of grief and anger. "It's so fucking unfair. All of it—to both of us."

  She paused again, sipping from her mug, letting the warmth anchor her, just as the cool water anchored me.

  "I don't know how much you've already learned about why this happened—about why I made this choice. Stars, you probably hate me right now. And you would have every right to."

  Hate her? If anything, she should hate me. I was here. She wasn't. And she wanted to be.

  "But there was no one else," she whispered, voice heavy and tired. "Believe me—I don't want to do it. Who the hell would? I don't think there is anyone masochistic enough to throw themselves into Chaos willingly." (I didn't know the word, but the intent was clear.) "But what else could I do? It was either me or the world. Everyone, gone. I couldn't—I cannot let that happen."

  Her voice faltered, weakened for just a heartbeat before regaining strength.

  "And so I'm sorry. So, so sorry, future me. I don't expect forgiveness—I chose the world over us. I don't regret it, but I betrayed myself. I betrayed you. And you had no idea why."

  Why did she want forgiveness from me? Her choice was logical. Necessary. And why would my forgiveness matter? I was no one. Not like her.

  Suddenly, a bitter edge of humor crept into her voice—a concept I still struggled to comprehend fully. "So yeah, welcome back, oh Holy Savior Alexandra."

  So she knew about that already. Of course she did.

  "I wonder what grand title they'll bestow upon you," she said dryly, her smile bleak. "Feels pretty hollow and ridiculous when it's you, doesn't it?"

  She took a deep, steadying breath, her expression shifting—defiant now, fiercely determined.

  "But you know what? Fuck this. Stars above, you're alive! And you're sane enough, healed enough, for Edgar—or whoever is there with you—oh, I hope the old man lived this long, stars I love him-to give this to you. And here we are."

  She smiled again, softer now, sadder, but somehow more real.

  "Welcome back."

  The video shifted slightly, as if paused and resumed later. The lighting had changed subtly, her eyes redder than before—but her voice was stronger now.

  "So," she began, drawing a steadying breath. "The future. You have one, you know. And because you do, so do I—and I want it."

  "They'll probably offer you everything. I mean, they're feeling guilty about throwing me into the abyss in the first place, aren't they? Did they tell you that you—I—am the youngest Savior ever? The one before me was thirty-nine. Thirty-nine! And here we are. I just turned eighteen. Eighteen, for fuck's sake."

  I had heard eighteen was considered "young," though human ages still felt vague and arbitrary.

  "You know," she continued, smiling bitterly, "I used to argue with Mum and Dad that I was 'old enough to make my own decisions'—that I was 'practically an adult.' Well, guess what. Turns out I was old enough after all—old enough to make the decision. And yet now, I finally get it: I'm not an adult. And I never will be."

  Her voice trembled, heavy with something I couldn't fully grasp.

  "But you—" She paused, determination returning. "You will. So listen closely, future me. Because I want things, and now you’re the one who will have them. For both of us."

  I listened.

  "Consider this my last will and testament," she said, a faint smile playing at her lips, though I didn't fully understand the reference. "First off, forget all this 'holy Savior' shit. I want a normal life. Edgar promised they'd cover for my absence, so please use it." Her voice softened, serious again. "That's important. Funny how fame and ambition seem so irrelevant now, huh? I wonder if you feel the same. Holy... Stars, I hope you do."

  So this was what Edgar meant by "invisible inside a myth." Was it truly possible? It would be... better. So much better. Would they allow it? If she had asked...

  On the screen, Sasha took another slow sip of her drink. "Second, magic. Did you know that I—you—never had a chance to learn it? It's so expensive, and my parents don't have money."

  I understood money as a concept, though it still seemed absurd. But apparently, to her, it mattered greatly.

  "So, I recently started studying general medicine instead," she went on. "But it's not the same. I want healing magic—well, all magic, really." She hesitated, then brightened. "And now, I'm pretty sure they'll pay for whatever education you pick. So choose the best." Her eyes sparkled eagerly. "Or even better—the Academy of Arcane Arts in Lovania."

  Some educational facility for magic users?

  "It's not necessarily the best, but I've always dreamed of going there," she said, sipping her drink again. "Also, you're supposed to be this super-powerful mage now, which sounds incredibly cool. I wish I could know what it feels like. So use it, please? Remember it was my dream, and I really, really wanted it."

  Super-powerful mage? She meant the strength in using magic, right? But it was... nothing. Simple. Useless. Just something I'd always been.

  "Next, travel," she continued, wistfulness coloring her voice. "I never had a chance—well, money—to go anywhere. So see the world, okay? After all, you saved it; might as well enjoy the sights." Her voice grew quieter, infused with an emotion I couldn't quite decipher.

  "Then, family. That's an easy one. Keep them around, okay? They really love you—even if they often think they know what's best." She sighed softly. "Stars, when you come back, Kostya will be older than you. Fucking bizarre."

  I remembered "Kostya." One of the few memories she'd preserved for me was holding a tiny baby in my arms—a nephew. Kostya. It had meant so much to her—so much warmth and something else, something more.

  "Friends," she went on, and her voice wavered painfully. "That's trickier. I saved some memories for you, but I'm not stupid. I'll be gone for decades. They'll move on—probably have families, even kids who might be your age by now. Crazy, right?"

  She paused, visibly gathering courage. "And honestly, I don't know if they'd want to hang out with a holy-fucking-Savior—even an anonymous one. They know who you really are. So..." Her voice cracked, tears returning. "I love them so much. But I don't think it'll work—not the same, anyway. So, please, find new friends, okay? I was truly happy having friends. I don't know if you can, given... well, everything you've been through. But please try."

  I could feel it truly mattered to her. But I struggled to understand. Family bonds were based on shared DNA and shared experience, and friendships on experiences only, right? So it's DNA that made her insist one is different from another? But why? I felt deeply unprepared, missing so much context for this world.

  Then, hastily, she added, "Oh, and here's a chore for you. I was a real jerk—I didn't contact them once I learned about my fate. I just couldn't face it. Face them. I recorded messages, but that's not the same. Could you please tell them I am—was—so sorry?"

  But immediately, she shook her head, frustration clear in her voice. "Or don't. It's unfair of me to ask you, considering you don't actually remember them, or remember being a jerk. Forget it."

  She didn’t want to ask me, but she did anyway. That felt important. I should do it, then?

  Finally, a gentle smile returned to her face. "And another thing: get a dog, okay? A golden retriever, preferably. They're really expensive, but they're just so cute."

  After she mentioned the dog, the video jumped slightly once more. Sasha paused again; now, her cup of coffee was refilled, steam drifting quietly upward. Her eyes were steadier, sharpened by something determined yet delicate.

  “So here are my words of wisdom, oh future me. Honor them.”

  Something faintly off hovered beneath the words. Before I could consider further, she leaned closer, eyes locked straight into mine, voice softer but clear:

  “And the last, most important thing—fuck this shit.”

  I blinked. Had I misunderstood? What did these words mean?

  “Seriously. Do whatever you want. Ignore everything else I said. You don't remember me, so you don't owe me anything.” Her voice trembled slightly, yet stayed steady. “The only thing I really, really want is for you to live. And—to be happy. As happy as you possibly can.”

  Happiness? Me?

  She drew a breath, gripping the mug tighter, letting its warmth steady her shaking hands.

  “Please do this for both of us, okay? Because if you're happy, somehow—I have to believe I'll be happy too.”

  Then the screen faded quietly to black.

  I stared at the screen, breath tight, heart racing. Empty. Gone. I only understood fragments—too many words, too many feelings. All of them just out of reach. And yet, her voice struck something deep inside me. Something raw and intense. A kind of overwhelming I had no name for.

  Eighteen years. A blink against my eternity. And yet… those years shaped her into someone impossibly brave. Real. Someone willing to give it all away, without hesitation. To save everything.

  I hadn’t saved anyone. I hadn’t even saved myself.

  I hadn’t saved her.

  My fingers reached out, pressing "play" one more time.

  Her voice flowed softly into the quiet, filling the silence around me, pulling me back again and again. I memorized every word, every hesitant breath, every flicker of her expression, trying to etch it deep into my soul, so it would stay.

  Eventually, I transferred the recording to my phone and slipped into bed, the device clutched tight. I listened in the dark, long past the time I should have slept, her words repeating like a quiet incantation, seeping into me, until I started to cry too. I didn't fully understand why—only that it hurt differently, gently, in a way I didn't recognize. In a way that felt right.

  I drifted into sleep, her voice still in my ears.