Sasha

  5 years BA.

  ACC Serenia research facility at the Door.

  I sat on the bathroom floor. The tiles felt cool through my clothes, but it was a gentle cold—soft, steady, harmless. Like everything else here.

  I should leave.

  Return to the library. Ask questions. Find out exactly what shape Edgar and Chan expected me to fill, and maybe even discover what he truly meant by “invisible inside the myth.”

  And Kiara—should I seek her out? She'd said, “If you need it.” She must have known they’d planned to tell me today. So why hadn’t she warned me?

  (No. Stop.)

  Instead, I stayed exactly where I was. On the floor. Silent, breathing, and... fine, really. I was genuinely, really fine. Nothing hurt. Chaos wasn’t here. What could possibly hurt if Chaos weren’t here?

  Red, Shimmering, Silent, and Heavy hovered nearby, only a room or two away. Edgar and Chan were still in the library.

  I let my eyes drift down, losing myself in the subtle patterns of the tiles beneath me. The floor was grey, unevenly textured, woven with delicate, branching veins of lighter stone—almost like cracks, or the veins in leaves. The pattern wasn't symmetrical, but neither was it entirely random. Complex, again.

  Some atoms were wrong. Not unstable—just wrong. Heavier or lighter than their neighbors, slightly out of step. Isotopes, the books called them.

  I knew them well, though, before I used to just call them ‘other ones'.

  When Chaos bothered to create matter at all, he pushed together all types of unstable atoms, arranging them carelessly, with no regard for balance. His creation inevitably crumbled under its own contradictions—decayed, radiated, collapsed. It was always a weapon, a torture device, never meant to linger.

  And I—I liked—I think that was the word—fixing it. Although back then, of course, I never thought about it that way; the concept of liking something didn't exist. Still, when I could, I'd reach out, plucking atoms from his warped creations and rearranging their nuclei. Making their isotopes uniform. Symmetrical. Stable.

  (I wondered if they preferred it this way. To stay. Just for a little bit.)

  Doing it had felt... different. It let me focus on something—anything—other than pain. And, most importantly, Chaos absolutely hated it. And I always seized every possible opportunity to enrage him. Yes, it led to punishment. But following his rules also always ended in punishment, and at least defying him felt... better. (Another concept I only recognized now.)

  Here, matter was already stable. That was one of the first things I noticed, one of the reasons to doubt Chaos made it.

  (Who, then? Edgar said nobody really knew. Maybe it was the same force that wove the Wall.)

  Yet still, even here, a few atoms were bulging slightly, like off-rhythm notes in a quiet music.

  Eventually, I located one. Just a little heavier than the rest—a neutron too many. Carefully, delicately, I plucked the extra neutron out, annihilating it and catching the burst of released sharp energy in a small pocket dimension. This was important; such energy could destabilise matter. I didn't even remember when I learned to deal with it. Many cycles of Chaos' tortures ago. I tucked the atom neatly back into place. It settled perfectly into the lattice with an imaginary "clink" I couldn't truly hear but still imagined.

  Now, here, without Chaos, without pain, the action felt... nice.

  (Did it feel better now being perfectly aligned?)

  I sensed Red's energy shifted—spiked sharply, then hesitated. Caution, not alarm. A held breath of magic.

  Was it because of me? Did I make a mistake again? Edgar said I can use magic if it's not attacking or self-annihilating. It wasn't.

  I waited. Nothing happened. No punishment, no warning. No one knocked. So I returned to the floor.

  Another atom was one missing two neutrons. Making these was hard, so I annihilated a spare atom from the air to draw energy, collected it all in the same pocket, and fashioned two new neutrons and gently guided them into the nucleus. Another imaginary "clink."

  Nearby, a common element seemed unsure of its own preference—two isotopes, nearly identical, but slightly unequal in weight. Roughly three to one, spread through the floor in asymmetric repetition.

  I considered forcing the one to dominate, but they didn't seem to need it, being fine in two stable versions, so I decided to let this one be.

  I continued slowly, steadily. Atom by atom. Focus, gentle nudge, “clink.”

  My hands were still folded in my lap. I hadn't moved. The world outside the floor might as well not exist.

  Meaningless. Trivial. I knew that. It wouldn’t fix anything, wouldn't change anything.

  But it felt... good. Nice, soothing. Somehow, it was.

  (Was it alright? Something so simple shouldn't matter? Should I have asked?)

  I didn't know, so I continued.

  Footsteps—light, measured—approached down the corridor. Kiara. Her aura rustled gently nearby, soft and steady as the koi pond. I knew she was coming, yet when she knocked on the bathroom door, I jolted anyway, hastily dispersing the energy from my grasp.

  "Sasha?" Kiara’s voice came softly, muffled through the door. "We had a standing appointment—you don’t have to say anything. Just letting you know I’m here."

  I couldn't imagine why I'd ever choose to bother her. People always said things like that—polite, careful.

  I wasn't sure if I wanted to speak with her - or with anyone - but she was already here, offering me time and presence (not me - the Savior). I unlocked the door with the smallest nudge of telekinesis.

  Kiara stepped in slowly, carefully balancing two steaming mugs and a plate stacked with something that smelled sweet. A folded blanket rested over her arm.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Oh, good," she whispered, as if louder voices might fracture the tiles. "I brought milk. And cookies—chocolate chip." She offered a small, warm smile, nudged the plate toward me, then—with no hesitation—eased herself down onto the floor beside me, legs folding stiffly with a quiet pop.

  I stared. Do people usually do this?

  Kiara just smiled again, tucking a curl behind her ear. "I've held sessions in stranger places."

  We sat quietly. The blanket draped lightly across my lap, smelling faintly of something floral. Kiara left it there, letting me choose to pull it closer or push it away. Her presence felt like morning sun—warm but careful, without burning.

  (I didn't deserve it.)

  The silence stretched too long. Words tangled behind my teeth.

  "You… want me to talk about the Savior thing?" My voice sounded small.

  Kiara shook her head gently. "Only if you want. We can talk about koi, or what you were doing with the floor, or not talk at all. I'm simply here."

  I tried to parse that. She should have wanted something. What was the right answer?

  "Is it because I…" I stopped myself. She'd say the same thing Chan had, wouldn't she? What was the point? Instead, another question slipped out:

  "Did you… know her? I mean—me, before…?"

  Kiara's brow knitted slightly, earnest and soft. "I never met the girl you were before the Vigil, Sasha."

  I blinked. I'd assumed everyone here had known her, cherished her. Or was being the Savior enough reason to care? It might have been then.

  Kiara continued, her tone gentle. "The team shares notes, yes, to keep you safe. But memories, stories? Those I only know if you choose to tell me."

  My hands pressed lightly against the cold tiles. "Edgar… gave me a box today. A message from her. And diaries."

  Kiara's expression softened further. "I heard he planned to. How do you feel about that?"

  Feel. Such a complicated word. How could I truly feel anything when there wasn't pain?

  I didn't answer.

  Kiara tilted her head thoughtfully. "Do you want to watch it?"

  Want. Again. As if I knew. As if what I wanted mattered. It shouldn't.

  "I… don't know."

  She nodded softly. "I see."

  Kiara shifted slightly, wincing as she adjusted her hip. Lines formed subtly around her eyes, tense, familiar—hurt.

  Chan got the same little wrinkles around her nose and eyes when she felt pain, but tried not to show it; when her chair was bad or she stood for too long.

  Or earlier today in the library.

  "You're uncomfortable," I said quietly.

  Kiara smiled ruefully and rolled her shoulders. "Old joints.".

  "We could… move?" I offered.

  She didn’t want me to see her relief. But I did.

  "Only if you're ready."

  I stood, carefully folding the blanket to my chest. Kiara led me gently to a small lounge across the hall. Plush chairs, warm, muted lamp-light, no one around—though I still felt watchers hovering somewhere nearby. Edgar wasn't far, either—he hasn't moved at all.

  We settled into chairs. Kiara seemed to feel better.

  The buttery scent of cookies curled upward, coaxing gently. I picked up one—warm, soft, sweet—an intense burst of anti-pain on my tongue.

  Minutes passed quietly. I had to speak, right? That was what Kiara wanted from me? But she didn't ask anything. Could I?.. What if I said the wrong thing? What if I said too much? I already had, I saw them hurting from what I -

  Kiara glanced at her phone, then angled it toward me.

  "Stella found a mud puddle today."

  On the screen, a huge dog beamed through a dripping mask of brown sludge, tail blurred with joy. She looked immensely pleased. And exceptionally dirty.

  I… smiled.

  We lingered quietly until only cookie crumbs remained and the milk cooled. Kiara didn't ask anything more. She simply stayed, showing me more photos of different animals and even a video of tiny kittens crawling sleepily over each other in a box.

  Fluffy, stumbling, warm.

  When she finally walked me back to my room, the air felt lighter, somehow.

  Back in "my" room—I still couldn't fully believe a space could be "mine"—something was missing.

  Everything looked the same. My spell wardens pulsed, untriggered. Lamps glowed softly. Stillness pressed in. The warmth of Kiara's blanket still lingered in my skin. My hands smelled faintly of cookies.

  And the box and diaries—

  —were gone.

  Oh no. I must have left them in the library.

  How could I? It was precious. They’d trusted me with it. Told me how important it was. And the first thing I did was leave it behind?

  (I needed punishment.)

  I went back. I was allowed to roam freely, even at this hour. I could retrieve the items and correct my mistake. It wouldn't be enough, but maybe...

  The library doors were slightly ajar. Warm, inviting light pooled beneath them in a thin, glowing line.

  I slowed. They were still there.

  Familiar souls. One, shattered and tainted by Chaos yet still radiant in its complexity, held together by something I couldn't name—Edgar. Another, gentle, soft, yet vibrant, dynamic, and layered beyond simple definition—Chan.

  Voices.

  I shouldn’t interrupt. They’d taught me about “personal space,” though I still wasn’t entirely sure how it operated and where it began or ended.

  But the box…

  Should I turn invisible, perhaps? But Edgar would know anyway.

  I opened the door just enough to slip soundlessly inside.

  The stack of books from earlier remained untouched, and beside them, exactly where I’d left them, sat the small ornate box and the bundled diaries.

  Chan sat sideways in one of the deep lounge chairs, a steaming cup balanced on her knee. Her spine curled inward, pain clung to her aura, faded already but still there. Not her usual back pain, something sharper.

  (Kiara was also in pain. Was it my fault? Could I - )

  Edgar stood behind her, his hands gently resting on her shoulders. Steady, calm, pressing and kneading against her tension as if it were something fragile, something he needed to hold carefully. They didn't speak. His movements were slow. Gentle.

  Massage. I knew it. They'd done it to my body, too—"medical massage" for "post-stasis muscle recovery." Afterward, the movement was smoother, easier.

  But Edgar's gestures now were somehow different. It wasn't medical. It wasn't an intervention. He wasn't fixing. It was…

  Something else. Something I couldn't quite define.

  Care.

  I recognized his expression. I'd seen it before—when he handed me coffee, when he smiled because I liked the taste. When he stopped, his hand frozen mid-air, because I flinched. When we fed the koi together. When he sat in the library with Chan and me, and sometimes, when he glanced up and simply smiled. The exact same warmth filled his eyes now.

  But it wasn’t directed at me. It was for Chan.

  Her shoulders seemed to gradually soften beneath Edgar's hands, tension easing. Her eyes were closed, and her expression turned slightly more peaceful. It looked… nice.

  Warm and comforting.

  (Why?)

  Before I could decide whether to leave, Edgar glanced over, not startled, not alarmed—just aware. Of course, he knew I was here—how could he not? His gaze met mine, and something softened. A smile:

  I see you. Hello.

  Then he looked away, back to Chan.

  No one spoke.

  Decision made, I silently levitated the box and diaries into my hands and slipped quietly away.

  Back in my room, I set the box down carefully. It felt slightly less heavy now. An ornate, beautiful thing—and magic woven around, delicate, elegant and complex beyond anything I'd ever made. A soul-lock.

  Closed twenty-two—and eternity—years ago, by someone they said I once was. A lock only my soul could open.

  (If it's true and I ever...)

  They kept saying I didn’t have to open it—again and again. But they’d given it to me. Clearly, they wanted me to see it. Why else would they give it to me?

  And now something within me wanted to as well.

  (I shouldn't.)

  I wasn't sure what I really wanted.

  Maybe just to know.

  About her. The one who left this message.

  The one who’d told Edgar to wait until it was "clear I was going to live."

  The one who cared, for some reason, that I would. Even when she knew she'd disappear. And I'll forget everything. She left it anyway. For me.

  (Or for the Savior? But she couldn't...)

  My fingers brushed the lid without quite meaning to. My heartbeat pumped faster.

  What if it didn’t open? What if it rejected me? What if this soul-lock proved what I already knew—that I wasn’t her. That I had never been. -

  Click.

  The box opened.