"Do what you can, Doctor, but once the emergency treatment is over, I require strict monitoring of this warrior's vital signs. List him as a high-risk target for observation and await review by the interrogators. I know what you want to say, Doctor. He is my brother too. But in the face of sorcery, we must remain vigilant, even if it seems cold-blooded. Even if the Emperor himself helps us, we must be mentally prepared for this."
Wanda Maximoff clearly had no idea that her small act of assistance had deeply unsettled the soldiers of the First Secret Regiment. To her, it was merely a fleeting fragment, one of many similar scenes unfolding before her eyes in turn. At first, she had eagerly offered small bits of help—filling the waterskins of travelers in the desert, bringing peace to farmers struggling through hardship and poverty. Compared with the polished lives of the middle class and wealthy hereditary elites in great cities, she cared more about the ordinary people struggling just to stay fed and warm.
Her own experiences and the compassion instilled in her by the Emperor's teachings kept her attention fixed on the suffering of the world. Yet as more and more misery and grief appeared before her, even someone with her strength of mind felt exhausted. Compared to joy and beauty, there was simply far too much pain, enough to crush the breath from a person's lungs. She began to wonder what her teacher could possibly do to give these people lives free from worry over food, warmth, and family. Was that great ideal merely a colorful film of oil called idealism floating atop the water called reality, utterly incompatible with this painful world?
Imagine, she thought, in that familiar, tranquil voice. Imagine.
Imagine a boundless sea, calm at