"You’re right," he agreed, almost too happily.
"I just want to survive, but I will help people when I can."
"Totally rational!"
I pursed my lips. "You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?"
Braz gave me a blank look. "Why would you think that?"
I shook my head, exasperated. "Look," I said, no longer hiding the dissatisfaction in my voice, "if there’s anything wrong with my logic— with my philosophy— explain it to me. Don’t just mock me."
He paused, considering it for a moment. Then, he leaned forward, losing his laid back posture as he looked at me curiously.
"So you want to survive?"
I nodded. "Yes."
"But you want to help those you can?"
"Yes— and stop repeating what I just said."
Braz ignored that comment. "And to do that, you put your life in danger… which significantly decreases your chance of survival. And that’s counterintuitive, no?"
I stared at him for a moment, processing what he had said. He had more depth than I thought. Since when was Braz more than just the friendly, goofy pirate? However, I was not trapped. I did not hesitate before giving my reply.
"That’s only if I charge headfirst into a situation with no context behind it. I judge them not by some general rule, but on a case by case basis," I explained. "I am strong. I could be stronger, but I know I’m already strong. If I assess a situation, and determine it’s too much for me to handle? I will not fight. I will not intervene, for my life is more important than my conscience. "
"But what if you assess it wrong?" he asked. "What if you think you can win— but you lose? And you lose your life."
"It’s a risk, but everything comes with risks, Braz," I said simply. It was not some esoteric way of thinking I was espousing; it was rather straightforward. "Leaving your house comes with a risk, for you can be attacked by a Monster and die. Eating food— any kind of food— comes with a risk, for you can get food poisoning and die. Even just talking to others— what happens if they have the Noxeus? You could catch it and die too.
"Helping others may not be the same as that, of course. I understand that there is a distinction between going about and living your day-to-day life, and saving a child from a burning building. But I was that child once— I was trapped. I needed someone to save me. And someone did come, however he did not save me. He only made me think he did, to get what he wanted. I was still surrounded by flames. I was still locked in that burning room. And I had to break myself out."
I looked away from Braz, and towards the cave opening into the night sky.
"I had to break myself out, but it wasn’t easy. So when I see someone else in that same burning room, I am compelled to break them out. It is as simple as that. And that’s the thought I’ve put behind this. That is why I do the things I do."
Braz paused, considering this. He looked away from me, at some far off thing, before turning back.
"You’re like a Saintess, aren’t you?"
I hesitated, chewing my lower lip. Saints and Saintesses were the equivalent of heroes and heroines in this world; the terms heroes and heroines existed, of course, but they were synonymous in concept.
I closed my eyes for a moment, blocking out all other sensations as I focused entirely on my answer.
"I am not a Saintess," I said.
I opened my eyes, then turned heavenward, facing the dark rock ceiling
"Saintesses— they dedicate their lives to others. They fight for the weak. They lift up the misfortuned. They save those who need to be saved. I don’t do any of that. I simply help those I can: that is the difference between me and a Saintess."
I cared not for others; I helped people for the sake of myself, not for them. It could be argued that all lives were equal— and perhaps a neutral third party could carry out this philosophy for others so easily. But to me, an interested party, it was different.
It sounded cruel to even think it, but I believed from the bottom of my heart that my life mattered more than the life of a stranger dying in the street. If I could somehow reverse our roles to save that stranger, I would never do it. I held my life above theirs specifically because it was mine.
Was it selfish? Was it narcissistic? Was it a self-centered worldview predicated on my egotistical desires?
Yes it was.
But I had died once. I had my life unfairly taken from me. And I had suffered a lot in the past year. It was not the worst thing to ever happen in this world, sure. However, to die so soon after all that, and without living a fulfilling life? I did not want that to happen.
So I lowered my gaze. I placed one hand over my chest, and spoke honestly.
"I do not care for others, Braz. I care only for myself. For my needs. For my wants. For my fears. That is why I’m doing this. That is why I hate those thugs at the Elise who would permeate the enuim throughout the city of Luke. That is why I hate that Bahr for being behind all this."
Braz just nodded, listening to me. I thought he would say something back— either revert to his usual self and make an unneeded comment, or ask me another infuriating question— but he didn’t. Instead, he spoke softly.
"I was like that once."
I cocked my head, confused, but otherwise said nothing.
"Before Ginah became my Captain. I served under her father.
