When Yonar was eight, the subtle system they relied upon was abandoned.
In truth, there had never been much need for a human lie detector in the broader sense. But the real intention behind Zatch's design had already borne fruit. Yonar could now perceive far more than deception.
Certainties, doubts, objects of fear, liabilities, and most damning of all, goals.
All of it could be gleaned from a single glance.
With that, there was no longer any need for the Colonel either. Yonar could now stand in the room as a figure of consequence in his own right. The doll still remained, seated somewhere in a corner, outgrown, reduced to ornamentation rather than necessity.
By the time Yonar turned ten, he was occasionally entrusted with acting as the family's primary voice.
At eleven, he attended his first summit, marking the first occasion he participated in the family's affairs beyond the walls of his home.
When Zatch left him in charge, it was always with a deliberate hands-off approach. Anne, however, was never far. She was present to protect, assist, and to handle any disparagers.
It was not, by any means, a lonely life.
Though people and outcomes were shaped as necessary, Yonar was permitted friends of his own. And despite his ability to see through circumstance and intent alike, he still managed to extract genuine joy wherever it presented itself.
He did not resent the responsibilities placed upon him, either.
To Yonar, he had already been handed a blueprint for success in a lifetime that others could only hope to keep as long as they could.
Then, on the day he turned twelve, Yonar stood across the table from Zatch to pose a single question.
They were alone with Anne, as her presence had always been a necessity for both of them.
Yet for long moments, none of them spoke.
Then, at last–
"The way you brought yourself to me…" Zatch began, his tone wavering between amusement and suspicion. "Is your coup finally underway?"
"That kind of thing's beyond me. Besides, I'm having a lot of fun. Why would I throw that away?"
"..."
"..."
"That manner of speech," Zatch said. "Since when did you adopt it, and why?"
"I couldn't tell you," Yonar replied. "It just sort of happened along the way. Looking back, that day might've left such an impression that I can't imagine speaking any other way."
Of course, there was a reason.
It was the same reason that guided his actions throughout the five years that followed the incident. Klein's words replayed in his mind like a lullaby, and in time, he had taken on the tone that accompanied them.
He knew that dialect would earn Zatch's disdain rather than favor. But the question he intended to ask outweighed that risk. Which was why he had waited, until he was certain he had become indispensable to the family, before making his move.
"It would seem talkativeness came along with that change as well."
"Maybe," Yonar hummed. "Then again, we hardly talk enough for it to bother you. No sense worrying about it. Right, sir?"
"Hm…" Zatch muttered, a note of perplexity slipping through as he finally lifted his head from his work.
Resting his chin against his hand, he asked,
"So, will you enlighten me as to the wish you've finally settled on?"
Yonar's eye twitched faintly before he answered.
"You remembered?"
"I'm a man of my word," Zatch replied. "And it's safe to say you've earned the right to hold me to it."
With that, Yonar dropped the pretense and spoke plainly.
"There's a question I've always wanted to ask you. It's something I knew you'd rather keep buried. If I may–"
"Is that all?" Zatch interrupted.
Yonar swallowed before Zatch continued.
"I assumed your contribution would warrant something more substantial than such a modest request. Ask it. If it isn't damning, consider your right intact."
"I don't need much more from you than what I already have," Yonar said. "If I'm guaranteed a full life, nothing else really matters."
"Is that so?" Zatch chuckled. "You turned out simpler than I expected."
Yonar dismissed the remark with a nod, then shifted his tone.
"This question is about my mother."
Zatch fell silent.
His expression did not change at all.
"I want to know," Yonar continued. "Did you truly believe she hated you? …That everything she did was out of spite?"
Another long silence followed before Zatch answered.
"Of course. That woman was exactly that sort."
"..."
"At first, we were drawn together by a shared disposition, similar circumstances and ambitions. That relationship wasn't like any of the others." Zatch said, his voice calm as Yonar listened. "But as time passed, I found myself walking taller, while the heights we once aimed for faded from her sight."
He paused.
"Looking back, I can't even recall the place she occupied in my mind. I chose to abandon those fruitless gambles after our first child, and I did not hesitate to leave her behind."
"...why?"
"Because something had replaced the woman I knew," Zatch replied. "I can't say what it was. But I knew whatever diverted her from our goal had to be shut away, along with her."
The words stirred something in Yonar. A tight frustration, and quiet astonishment at their sheer absurdity.
"So…" he said carefully, "...the feeling you identified through those signs you noticed, after six years… Why was it 'hate'?"
"..."
"Why did you want so badly to deny the possibility…" Yonar pressed, "…that she genuinely–"
ZIP!
The air split open.
A black void peeled open, revealing a figure that stepped through without ceremony.
He was unmistakably out of place.
A dull black coat hung from his frame, his hair a tangled, unkempt mess, and his right hand had been replaced by a four clawed mechanical hook.
Zatch rose from his seat, wary.
"An Eminent? What business do you have–"
"Annabeth Sullivan," the man said sharply. "You'd better have a good reason for your excessive tardiness."
Zatch's words were discarded as the man turned his attention entirely to Anne.
She stood off to the side, muttering under her breath.
"I am speaking to you."
"...screw you… die… drop dead… damn it, shut the hell up, you decrepit fossil!"
"How dare you?"
"How dare you?!" Anne snapped. "The story was just getting better. Why'd you have to shove your ugly face into it now?"
"I don't have time to indulge your tasteless hobby," the man said flatly. "You were assigned to locate and retrieve the Gabral Key over nine orbital ages ago. Are you telling me you've been wasting time playing puppet?"
"Of course I already found it," Anne replied, walking toward Colonel Blanchard.
She tore the doll apart without hesitation, extracting the blade hidden within it. "This is what you're after, right? I had it handled long before you barged in."
Yonar and Zatch stared, equally bewildered.
It was impossible to reconcile the woman before them with the one they had always known, their constant, their backbone.
To say she merely seemed different would have been an understatement.
"Annabeth," Zatch said. "What is the meaning of this?"
She ignored him entirely, as though he were no more than air passing through the room.
"Ugh… what a waste," she muttered. "It was getting so good too. There were finally some solid elements coming together, betrayal, suspense, emotional tension…"
She continued rambling.
"Sure, it got repetitive for a bit. 'Then so-and-so dies, then someone gets shot, then someone else gets killed,' over and over. But it was finally hitting its stride–"
"I have no interest," the man interrupted. "All that matters is the timely completion of your assignment."
"That's bullshit," Anne snapped. "You never even gave me a deadline. Probably because we won't need it anytime soon. I could've enjoyed myself and wrapped it up neatly if you weren't so impatient. Try savoring things for once."
"Having the extended lifespan of an Eminent does not make your time infinite," he replied coldly. "You would do well to learn how to use it more efficiently."
She clicked her tongue and began tying her hair back.
"I agree, but for the opposite reason," she said. "When time is limited, you live for yourself. Sweetie Root taught me that."
"No wonder it sounds so revolting," he said. "Return immediately. And remember to leave no witnesses. At the very least, do that right."
With that, he stepped back into the tear, and the void sealed shut behind him.
Then, the room was left looking nothing like it did before.
"So… is it too late to pretend we saw nothing?" Annabeth asked as she stuck the sword in her hand into the floor.
They continued staring at her, neither of them knowing where to begin.
"Yeah. I figured as much," she went on. "Before either of you say anything, I never lied to you. Not even once. I was your irreplaceable assistant, Annabeth Sullivan."
"Yet you never once told me the truth," Zatch replied. "Is it true? Were you an Eminent this entire time?"
She offered nothing but a smirk, then snapped open the upper buttons of her shirt and stretched. The motion resembled the removal of something heavy. Almost like unlatching armor.
Yonar said nothing.
He was completely overwhelmed.
Not once had the lights revealed this to him.
Had she truly never lied? Even now, the signals within her were unfamiliar, entirely unlike anything he had ever seen before.
Each of them fractured into additional streaks of their own, branching and overlapping in ways that flooded his senses.
They were too bright, too dense, until his thoughts began to collapse inward, regressing to a time when forming words had been impossible for him.
Was that what an Eminent looked like within?
There was no denying it anymore.
Annabeth Sullivan had committed herself fully to the role she played. So completely, in fact, that she had suppressed her Authority and lived as an ordinary human being.
"Were you mocking me?" Zatch asked, his fist tightening. "This entire time, were you laughing at my humanity while indulging my ambitions?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Zatch," she replied lightly. "You were a perfect deuteragonist. I supported you wholeheartedly. People like you are hard to come by these days. I was just enjoying myself and playing my role properly. Your problems were my problems."
As she spoke, strands of her hair slid down her arm. Moving unnaturally and flowing without resistance, yet her scalp showed no sign of thinning.
The strands gathered, condensed, and reshaped themselves into a long-barreled handgun.
"So," Zatch said slowly, "it is true, then. You see humans as livestock. As mere playthings."
His gaze fixed on the weapon.
"I suppose that's only natural. I imagine what it must feel like, to have your desires within arm's reach at all times."
"I have a gripe with your constant hypocrisy, Zatch. However, as per my client's orders, I cannot pretend I was never here. It's time I clean up after myself."
"I see. That's understandable as well. But I hope you know me better than as someone who'd just take that lying down."
Zatch responded as his left hand now rattled with adrenaline.
Of course, his own pistol was not far from the desk.
"Indeed," she replied. "I should tell you, however, that there's a chance I've grown too attached. I might hesitate. After all, we've spent quite a long time getting to know one another."
She said this as she rubbed the gun against her cheek.
"Our likes, our wants. Each other's touch. And even our–"
CLICK!
BANG!
"Or I guess not, haha! Annie, you're such a bad girl!"
Two shots were fired from two different guns, yet their lines of fire were nowhere near parallel.
The first shot pierced straight through Yonar's shoulder, leaving him bleeding on the floor.
'Why?' was the first thought Yonar managed to form once he could think again.
What reason could Zatch have had for shooting him instead? Was it to extinguish Yonar's light on his own terms?
As his mind began to drift from the question, his eyes tracked Zatch, desperate for an answer.
That was when he saw it.
Those lights. The ones he admired. The ones set for the stars. The ones that longed to fly. They were gone. Nothing remained but a hollow shell, head pierced through, body slack against the desk.
That was it. Nothing else remained.
There was no blaze to the end. No spectacle. They had been snuffed out in an instant, and the world had lost Zatch.
'No. No. No. No. No.'
'That can't be it.'
'It shouldn't have been that simple.'
'You were not that weak.'
'Where did you go?'
'Come back.' 'I don't want that.'
'You have somewhere to go!'
'You haven't fallen off yet!'
'Come back here and fly!'
'I'm going to die.'
'I don't want to get off yet.'
'I don't know my destination.'
'I don't want to die here.'
"Help."
His head drowned in thought as his blood spread across the floor.
It flowed, dragged outward, stretching across the room in a desperate reach, until it met the steel of a blade embedded in the floor.
"Ah… that's where you were… Colonel."
Annabeth's laughter ceased as an invisible force swept through the room, blowing away everything except her.
And as she watched the sword fly into the grasp of the body that now rose to its feet, exhilarating answers began to flow to her.
The answer to why Zatch had wanted that artifact placed in Yonar's grasp through the doll.
The reason he had allowed the doll and the blade to serve as the channel for their charades all those years ago.
And the reason he had pulled his never-failing trigger toward his son while death stood before him.
When those answers finally reached her, she began to laugh hysterically.
"No way! This is too good. He finally made a gamble with his own life this time, and you mean to tell me that's how he completed his first fatherly act? This is so damn hilarious!"
Through the ear-splitting laughter, Yonar held the blade. He could tell it had changed from its original form, but as it had always been embedded through the Colonel's body, he couldn't remember what it had originally looked like.
No matter. Because when the power it held surged through him, he somehow knew how to wield it.
No, it told him.
It would grant his wish, and allow him to repel a future in which he would not finish his journey.
For better or for worse, however, he could no longer see the lights that had once guided him. He was finally able to see others as others saw him.
Annabeth no longer looked so bright, yet the threat she posed did not escape his awareness.
"Alright, I've decided that we're perfect together," Annabeth said, her tone bordering on erratic. "Come here. You are my new favorite toy! So let's get on with a new chapter, shall we?!"
Yonar was puzzled by her strange declaration.
"Sorry, but it's already chosen me as its wielder. You can't make demands like that."
"I wasn't talking about the stupid key, I meant you! I've always meant you! My awesome, appetizing protagonist!"
He became even more confused. However, he could sense that his time was running out.
The blade was drawing something out of him.
Something that had grown scarce alongside the sheer amount of blood he had lost.
If he had to guess, she knew how the artifact worked, meaning she couldn't attack carelessly.
However, he was in the same position, if not worse, as he was neither in a physical nor strategic state to strike first.
He would have to make her cave.
If Anne and Annabeth had truly been one and the same, then the same vexes should apply to both. Meaning there was one thing that could help.
"Screw that… ya hag."
"..."
"..."
BANG!
The offer was forgotten in an instant, and a single bullet shot toward the center of his head.
He had been right about where the blade needed to be to save his life, because every time he had seen Anne shoot someone, it never missed the same spot.
Whether habitual or intentional, her aim was always for a fatal headshot. It would now work in his favor.
At least, to some degree.
But when the bullet struck the side of his sword, it only shoved both it and him aside with incomprehensible force.
Even after he activated its ability and tried to send it back, all it did was hurl him and slam his body across the floor with its momentum.
It wasn't a shot that could have been stopped.
"Tch, you got me there." Annabeth spoke as the gun in her hand reverted into hair and slid back up through her arm.
"And lucky for you, my Authority's covenant only allows for one shot per person, in exchange for a bullet that cannot be stopped so easily."
As her words settled, loud sirens began to blare from the streets outside, triggered by the hole that had been torn through the side of the building.
Footsteps simultaneously resounded, drawing closer to the room, most likely by the other members of the family responding to the commotions.
"We'll see each other on a later date, okay? My sweet protagonist." She moved toward the door to greet the approaching visitors. "Also, keep the key for me. I'll come back to get it sometime in the future. Hope you'll wait for me."
With that, she left his blurring field of vision.
His consciousness faded in and out for a stretch of time he couldn't track, until eventually, others rushed into the office.
"There's a child here!"
"He's losing a lot of blood! Call the medics."
"There are too many casualties outside, make sure to clear the entire building."
Then, he finally allowed himself to black out.
…
His eyes opened to greet a ■■■■
■■■■
■■■ to the academy. The four years he spent were the same, however.
At some point. Yon stopped being able to
Through that eye, he saw the lights once again.
The lights he could now only perceive when the purpose of his blade was challenged.
That was why he could only see them on Shadowbeasts. Those things that spoke only the language of death.
They were bright.
Bright enough to make him run at the mere sight of them.
But when the amalgamation gazed back at him, he was forced to accept, immediately, that there was nowhere he could escape to in Hortusole where his journey would not be cut short.
So he didn't run.
And this time, there was no one to call for help.