Sarissa had grown used to the scent of burning.
In the early days, during her first regressions, it had repulsed her. That bittersweet reek of charred wood, seared flesh, and smoldering metal.
Now, it clung to her armor, her cloak, her very breath. She no longer flinched when smoke stung her eyes or when the screams of dying allies echoed too close.
She simply moved, fought, lived.
She had chosen to live, to move forward, after all.
Until the light came.
At first, she thought it was just another anomaly of the [Dark Forest], some trap meant to draw her guard down. But no, it was warm, clean, a presence more than a force.
The monsters hesitated too, twitching limbs stilled by something they were not able to understand through that demented, warped form of intelligence instilled into them by Shinji, or whatever the hell that thing that looked like Shinji was.
And then she saw him.
Miles.
