Part I: Present

I sit down in front of him, offering a small smile as I situate myself at the table. He smiles back. I take a moment to let my eyes scan across his features, landing on his eyes. He is young. I knew he would be – everyone has always talked about how young he is – but I didn’t know exactly how young. In order to preserve my objectivity, I have refused to read the evaluations of the other Interrogators.

“Good morning, Rain.”

“Good morning.”

“Are you well?”

He tilts his head. “Well,” a lopsided smile forms on his face, “no.”

“I’m sorry. Why is that?”

“I’ve lost something very important to me. I am well aware that I can never have it back, but it haunts me all the same.”

I almost reply without thinking. I almost guessed aloud, instinctively. Johan? Instead, I ask, “What did you lose?” I allow just the smallest hint of curiosity to slip into my voice. Curious at the level of politeness.

“My time. Sitting here. In your horrid little interrogation room. Not that the Interrogators are horrible. But you have a rather maudlin setup.”

I can’t tell whether or not he knows the reasoning behind the pale, oddly lit room. Even though he is not the one famous for his intellect, I assume he does know. I decide not to address his clear mockery of my mission. “I don’t care for it much either, but alas, we don’t get to choose where we work.” Seeing a small smirk appear on his face, I add, “Did you get to choose?”

“Of course. Why would anyone try to do their best work in an environment they disliked?”

“Is that why you defected from Fenrisulfr?”

His brows rise, I assume from my sudden forwardness. “The saboteur organization? Sorry, but I was never part of it in the first place.”

I take another moment to examine his features. His brows are up, his eyes have widened, and his lips are pinched slightly. Surprise. “I’m sorry. It’s a rumor I hear frequently, so much so that I have assumed it as fact,” I lied. There is almost no doubt that the famous mercenary from Fenrisulfr and Rain Leighcliff were one and the same. 

We sat in the room the color of paper, of dry bone, silent. His eyes, which had been bright, sly minutes ago, are now dulling, darkening. His face doesn’t change, serene but hiding a sense of constant activity. I settled back in my chair and threaded my fingers together, extending my arms to rest my hands on the table. Waiting.

“I would rather you be forward and have this done with sooner than you dance around and take hours,” he suddenly comments. “I know what you’ve come here to ask me about, and you know what you want me to say. Or rather, what questions you want answers to.” The lopsided smile returns. “I’ve learned that Interrogators become rather angry when I make up answers that suit their needs.”

I think for a moment, then ask, “How much do you know about the role of an Interrogator?”

He’s silent for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, and I realize he’s imitating my facial expression. I allow a huff of laughter and he smiles. He leans back in his chair and replies, “You play the role of psychologists, basically. You deal with people that your organization considers insane – sorry, ‘mentally unstable’ “-  he rolls his eyes, “to get information, instead of Questioners. Is that accurate?”

“Yes. May I ask where you got that information?”

He scoffs, features twisting first into distaste, then to amused annoyance. “You’re still being avoidant.”

I blink at him, keeping my features blank, before nodding once, sharply. “Very well. Did Johan tell you that?”

His eyes widen, features showing a cross between horror and amusement. “Again! How many times do I have to say this? I don’t know who Johan is.”

“Oh.” I allow my surprise to show. “Oh. I’m sorry. I haven’t read the transcripts. I was unaware of the situation and did not prepare for it. My apologies.”

He blinks, his face turns blank, and his lips twitch. “You don’t need to apologize. Who is this guy supposed to be again?”

“A very intelligent individual with unfortunately sinister motives.”

“Hmm. And why should I know him?”

“Because the series of actions you took to cause strife among The Six follows a pattern similar to that of crimes connected to him in the past.”

“Hmm.”

He stares at me from the opposite side of the table. A minute passes, then triples. Finally, he asks softly, “Do you know how old I am?”

“No,” I admit, curious despite my own refusal to read his file. I abstain from asking, waiting to see if he will tell me without prompting.

He nods slightly, eyes slipping from mine, settling on a point behind me. “In case you’re wondering, it’s not in the file, either.” A small, fond smile forms on his face, calming the implied turmoil on his features. “I don’t know, either. But I look young, don’t I?”

Unsure whether or not it’s a rhetorical question, I choose not to answer.

“How old would you guess I am?”

This is unlikely to be rhetorical. I run my eyes over him once more, thinking. I open my mouth to give a reply, then close it. I wouldn’t put him any older than eighteen, but it seems unlikely. This boy, who has done so much, accomplished and discovered, planned and destroyed? Eighteen? I take a deep breath. Honesty is the best policy.

“I’d guess seventeen. No older than eighteen.”

His eyes flicker to mine briefly, then slide back to the distant point behind me. “That’s the only guess I have. Or, the best educated guess I’ve been given. It doesn’t make much of a difference to me.”

Suddenly his gaze is on mine, close. I realize he’s risen from his chair, and he’s crouching on the table. This is Ame, I realize. This is the mercenary prodigy of the hunting wolves. He isn’t a child. He could have killed me, and I wouldn’t have realized it.

“Does it make a difference to you?” he asks softly, head tilting with innocent curiosity.

“Yes,” I reply without thinking. This isn’t a time to play mind games. “It makes me wonder. What your childhood was like. What hell your life has been.”

He smiles, then starts laughing weakly, then cackling. He rocks back on his heels, collapsing into his chair with his feet resting on the table. “That was honest. Honesty is wonderful! Some people get hated for honesty, you know.” He allowed his head to loll, his smile looking even more lopsided sideways. “I’m tired. So very tired. I have been for a long time.”

He doesn’t continue, so I prompt, “Tired how?”

“Insane tired.”

“Insane being a type of tired or a degree of tiredness?”

He shrugs. “Too tired to explain. I’m making things up as I go.”

The room falls into quiet once again, but I say nothing. The room’s silence has a breath behind it, a word or sentence or story to be spoken. If I speak, it will shatter. I breathe, and wait, watching Rain fall.

“I’d like to tell you a story.”

I feel the silence dissolve, and I know it is safe to speak. “I’d like to hear it.”

A look of understanding crosses his face, and he offers me a knowing look. “Alright. Let’s see, where shall I start…”

He drops his trademark smile and focuses his features into an expression of concentration. He stares at the table, and some heated emotion reflects in his eyes. For a moment I am concerned, the boy becoming a patient rather than a villain, and I almost tell him to put off his story. But I am no longer a doctor, and there are still lives at stake. Torn, I wait for his story.

“Alright.” His feet are suddenly off the table, tucked beneath his body. He grips his shins and fixes his gaze on the familiar point to my left. “I honestly don’t remember anything of my true family. I know that I was with them up until I was around four years old. I know that I had – have? – an older sister, but I don’t know her name or how much older she is or anything like that. When I was four years old – or somewhere thereabouts – it was discovered that I had the Colors.

“I don’t know what led to this decision, but apparently my parents decided that they didn’t want to deal with the mess of raising a child who could use Colors. Whenever this was, it was before any of the public of the six were in Japan, where I was born. So, my parents had two choices: find an underground organization to take me or give me to the hospital. Unsurprisingly, they chose the latter.

“I’m not going to say that the hospital was bad to me. They weren’t really. Having the Colors is particularly rare in island regions, you know. They were curious, and they wanted to understand the Colors. From what I understood after I grew older, the staff didn’t know anything aside from the fact that Colors were used to power weaponry. They didn’t know about how it works as an energy source, or how some people with Colors have specific abilities, or anything like that. So, it was a given that they experimented on me.

“Don’t make that face. It wasn’t bad, truly.

“It didn’t take long for them to tire of me, though. I scared them. I could snap my fingers and a dark room would light up. I have a Gift, too, you know. I can make untouchable flames. They’re just light, really, but the one person who ever loved me called them flames. So, I do, too. I was called a monster for years. Bakemono. That’s Japanese for ‘monster’. I grew up hearing myself called that, so, of course, I believed I was just that. I actually used to introduce myself as such. ‘Hi there. My name is Rain. I’m a monster.’

“The only people I ever interacted with were nurses and patients. The nurses were nice to me – whether out of duty or sympathy I know not – and the patients didn’t know enough to think me anything but pitiful. I passed my time reading in the library, taking mental pictures of pages after pages of completely random information, though I preferred fiction. I have a photographic memory, have I mentioned that? It doesn’t matter. It’s rather unimportant in the face of what happens next.

“Aside from reading, my only pastime was talking to patients, ephemeral in their presence. I heard stories of their lives, of their travels, of the different languages they spoke. We would talk about the weather, about books, about authors. It was the second group of matters I spoke with that man about.” I catch my breath from hitching just in time, and he continues, not seeming to notice. “He was just another stranger, average in appearance, dark-haired and soft-spoken.

“He had been injured in a fight. A fight against something he disliked, and that disliked him. I feel as though he knew me, somehow. Not from the past, but that he knew who I was, what I was. Beyond my Colors, my Gift. As a person. So, I talked with him more frequently than with others, basking in his brief presence before he recovered. Finally, he left, and I was again a monster.

“Years later, he returned. He had been injured again, and he sat on the same bench outside, arms folded, gazing at the wind’s presence among the trees. I approached him again, sat with him. He remembered me. He asked about how I was. I told him that I had done much. I had, you know. After he left the first time.

“He wasn’t the only one hurt in that fight. It was a really big deal, apparently. A bunch of people came in with injuries, and a bunch more were bustling around visiting. One of them saw me, then looked at me, then spoke to me. All she asked was, ‘Can you see the Colors?’

“I wanted to say no. I wanted to lie about the colors that greeted me around every corner. But I was so surprised to meet someone like me that I admitted to seeing them, to having a Gift. She took me away from the hospital that same day. They had been so desperate to get me away from them that they would have given me to anyone. She was better than others I could have ended up with, I guess. Training with her was difficult, and painful, and it only got worse as I got better. But I was good at it. At spying, and stealing, and killing.

“They put me out on the field much earlier than the other students. I was still young, but I was better than some of the senior members. They called me a genius, but that’s stupid. If I were a genius, I wouldn’t have had to train so hard, or study so often. I’m a fast learner and nothing more. Well, at least to myself. To them, and to the world, I was a spy, a thief, a killer. A monster. I was just that for years, until a mission came up in Nikko, a city close to where I grew up. The whole thing went really badly, for everyone really, but I did my assignment correctly. So, I decided to take my extra time to visit that hospital.

“That’s when I met him again. He was injured in the mess I had left behind, I assumed. He was just admitted and patched up, but he insisted on sitting outside anyway. I sat next to him and I told him everything I had done. I told him the names of the people who had trained me, who danced me around as their puppet, who respected my ability. I recognized that he was in the same world I was, and I let my guard down, just to let out my disappointment. Disappointment in myself, and my past, and my inability to feel loyalty, respect, trust.

“’Do you trust me?’ he asked. I did. I said so. He smiled, and embraced me, and told me I didn’t have to fight for something I didn’t believe in. That if I trusted him, then I should trust that he was right. I believed him. Maybe because I wanted to – that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? But even then, I still believed him. I didn’t have anything to believe in, I told him. ‘Then,’ he suggested, ‘believe in me.’

“I did. More than anything. More than anything or anyone, I believed in him, in his kindness. In the first person to not call me a monster, to tell me something I thought was right. That I won’t tell. That’s a secret. But the one time I ever made my own ideal was then and there, when he affirmed my wish. The ideal was simple: If I can make happy the person who made me happy, then I can continue to be happy. It was foreign, happiness. So, I indulged in it. Not just my own, but his. His happiness, now that I think about it, was far more important than my own.

“I had to do quite a bit to find out how I could be useful. I left my original group, obviously – they were his enemy – but it took a while to figure out what he needed. I realized that his general lack of action was due to lack of ability rather than lack of opportunity. He was brilliant. He could solve puzzles in an instant, and come up with perfect strategies in minutes. But he worked alone, and he didn’t have anyone to enact his plans. He would go out occasionally, when he believed it was crucial, but always ended up injured. He didn’t tell me for a while. He didn’t want me to think that he took me in to use me. I don’t think he ever realized that I wouldn’t have cared.

“I took on the role of his avatar quickly. I taught myself new techniques to be better than my old allies in a different way – a way that they couldn’t work their way up to being equal to. It was easier. I cared about it that time. I had someone to fight for. Someone to fight for? Maybe something is a better word.”

I open my mouth, so caught up in the story that I almost make a mistake. I take a deep breath instead, and only when I let it out do I realize that Rain has fallen silent. He is looking at me. I wait. After hearing so much, it would be almost painful to not hear the rest. To not hear about Schlangenmeister, the most famous of Johan’s plots, would be unbearable. So, I wait, hands still threaded on the table, stiff, but unwilling to break the room’s silence of movement or sound.

“You’re waiting to hear about Basilisk, aren’t you?”

I allow myself to blink blankly, expressing my confusion. I’m not sure whether or not I can respond without compromising the continuation of his narrative.

He tilts his head. “Well?”

An answer is expected, then. “I’m afraid I don’t know what Basilisk…” I pause. Basilisk. King of serpents. Schlangenmeister. German for master of snakes. “…Schlangenmeister?” I suggest.

Rain looks at me thoughtfully, then smiles gently. “Don’t be afraid.”

I note that he doesn’t confirm my guess. It’s possible that I just ruined this interview, I realize. If he had not known that Schlangenmeister was on my mind before, he certainly did now.

“I already knew.”

I meet his gaze. He is still smiling. It isn’t his lopsided smile, just an encouraging expression. “I meant it. Don’t be afraid. I’m good at this. You should be calm. You have no reason not to be calm. I’m not going to hurt you, you know. I don’t do that just because anymore. You’re panicking over failure. I wonder why people fear failure so much? It’s never mattered to me, so I can look on in wonder, but I can’t understand. Isn’t it the same for you? You don’t know what it’s like to be tied to one person, to love them as your only world, your father, yourself almost, and then…”

His voice was so calm throughout his rant that it takes me a moment to realize he’s stopped talking. And then what? I abstain from asking. It is clearly something important, and not something to be dragged out, but to be charmed and soothed. I decide to speak, to comfort him, but he begins talking again, this time with much more animation. The broken smile appears again.

“Don’t fear short-term failure. Not hearing about Schlangenmeister in this sitting won’t ruin your career, or my mental health if you care about that.” He waves his hand dismissively. “You see, the only failure I’ve ever feared is compromising his ideal. I’ve never done it, not since I knew what it was. He’s trusted me since then because he knows that even if I don’t have orders from him, I can still act in the favor of his ideal.”

He looks at me. “You may not remember, but I told you at the beginning of our meeting to be forward. Since you will not be, I will try to take words out of your mouth, and if I accidentally put any in, please stop me.” He smiles childishly.

I release a sigh of laughter, and with it a good portion of my tension. “Very well. Go ahead.”

“You want to know about Schlangenmeister. The information on the plan and execution will allow you to prevent – what are you calling it? – Drachenkind. Once you hear about this, or rather once your superiors receive your report on this, you intend to work on me personally. Where to put me, I suppose, or what to do with me. You wouldn’t allow me to be put in any of the traditional prisons, but a mental hospital would be too insecure.”

He stops abruptly and nods at me. I assume it’s an invitation to speak. “You are correct. Very astute.”

“You’re an idealist with a job. Once your job is done, you may pursue your ideals.”

“How do you know I’m an idealist? Not that you’re wrong.”

An impish grin breaks across his face. “You may have not read my file, but I certainly read yours.”

I raise my brow. “Why and how, pray tell, did that happen?”

“You’re really involved in upper politics. Maybe more than you think. You have a lot of indirect influence.”

“Huh.”

“Well. It’s more about your existence than anything you do. You’re a lot like the founder, in terms of ideals, and…”

“You’ll have to excuse me, but we did have a rather important thread of conversation going earlier.”

“Ah. Yes. To review, we call Schlangenmeister ‘Basilisk.’ We call Drachenkind ‘Siegfried.’ And you’re absolutely correct, the execution plans for the two are practically the same. As for where to put me, there’s nowhere that will suit your ideal. Anywhere short of a maximum-security prison is a deathtrap, and everyone goes insane in those places anyway. Questions?”

 “A few. You say ‘deathtrap’ because you believe Fenrisulfr will come to eliminate you?”

“I’m certain of it. I performed similar missions during my time.”

“I see. And if I find a place that is both safe and nurturing” – Rain chuckles at the term – “but low-security, would you be cooperative?”

His mirth disappears, and his face becomes blank. His eyes dull, his jaw loosens, and his head lowers slightly. It’s an expression I recognize, one that I’ve seen on countless faces of depressed patients falling into complete apathy. “Hey-” I begin comfortingly, but he snaps his hand forward, slamming it on the table. He smiles oddly.

“I’m sorry. I think you should wait until I have completely finished talking to ask that question.”

I blink uncomprehendingly. “All right. I’m sorry.”

He relaxes. “Don’t apologize. You shouldn’t apologize for not knowing something.”

I disagree, but don’t oppose his statement. All I can do is wait.

Then I realize. “I must say, you’re being surprisingly open.”

He laughs, eyes still dull. “I’m tired. There’s a reason to this, and I could explain it now, but it will be much easier once I’m done talking. Everything will be easier once I’ve explained everything.”

I’m tired, too, and tense, and uncertain. It seems as though something is terribly off, and I want to stop the interview for the day. But if he’s about to talk to me about Drachenkind, or even Schlangenmeister, I can’t give up. We only have two days left. I bite my lip, then nod, indicating for him to continue.

He sits back in his chair, then curls up, leaning on one armrest with his legs tucked beneath him. He shifts, settling himself in place, then takes a few slow breaths. “Okay. Here goes.”

His shoulders hunch, his head drops, and he begins to speak.

Part II: Past

The first time we launched a mission, not to sabotage or interfere with another organization, but to accomplish something for ourselves, it went completely unnoticed. We stole one of the natural Color sources from some school or other. In general, we didn’t need Gems or anything like that to enact the “ideal.” All we needed was to manipulate other groups. It became what we were known for, apparently. Using other people to get things done…

We stole that one Gem because I was sick. It’s not really important, but I got the Blight. It started eating away at my Gift, but I wouldn’t give it up. He asked me if I would, and when I said I didn’t want to, he didn’t tell me to. He knew that if he told me to, I would have. So instead, he went out of his way to find the most easily accessible Gem in our region. Although schools are usually really careful with these kinds of things, they let their guard down when I enrolled as a student. I admitted that I was a defect from Fenrisulfr, and I asked for protection. I got in easily, and despite my sickness, I managed to slip into the place where they kept it – the old alchemy room – and take the Gem.

It was done in the quietest way possible. Since I asked for protection, they had the most trusted person in the school be my guide on the first day – that is, the Student Defense Committee president. She had the Colors, too. Since I had it, too, she told me a lot of things. Considering how we used that information later, I assume she wasn’t supposed to talk about it. I do hope she never got into trouble, or gets into it. It’s nice to be foolish when you’re young.

Anyways, she told me about Prism Beasts. I knew about them, of course, vaguely. Just that they were animals that had Colors inside, but didn’t have Gifts. Since they couldn’t control the Colors, they become mutated, sometimes harmless, but sometimes violent. Her sister had been involved in that huge mess at Amsterdam – I believe they called it Deluge? – when a horde of Prism Beasts broke through the local barrier and attacked citizens. Apparently, they were being contained at a facility a matter of miles from where he and I were camping out at the time. Not just those particular Beasts, but a large number of rogues.

After I attained the Gem and returned to him, I told him about my time at the school. I had met some interesting people, and I talked about what we had discussed. He was interested in the Prism Beasts, and he told me more about them while he plotted. He had a lot of ideas for plans that he wanted to enact but couldn’t for any reason stored away. He pulled out one of them, the one to destroy the Julia System, and told me that he could use the information about the facility to pull it off.

I didn’t know about the Julia System, either. I didn’t know about anything, really. I still don’t. I know it was important to all of the major six, but that’s basically it. And I know that people have been trying to destroy it since it was created, but that no one could.

Until us, of course.

The plan was pretty simple if you look at it objectively. It required a lot of legwork for me, but it wasn’t too difficult with my skills. I used my Gift to make it seem as though a wildfire had broken out, accompanied by some candles for the smell of smoke. The Prism Beasts were upset by the trick, and internal security measures were increased while personnel went to put out the “fire.” I left as soon as I set up everything, and arrived at the facility just as the personnel left to the surrounding forest.

Breaking into the facility required a bit of “spy work,” I suppose. I had to pick through nine locks in total, four of which were keypad-based, six of which were fingerprint-sensitive. To avoid revealing any of my personal tricks, all I will say is that I didn’t harm anyone to get through these locks. He has a rule against permanent harm. It’s part of his ideal.

The really difficult part was getting all the containment units open. They were controlled by an intelligent program run by the security detail. Getting past them was easy enough – it just required some temporary harm – but I’m no good with computers. He’d given me a flash drive with a destructive program on it, but I still had to… download… upload… do something with it. It was difficult for me. But I managed it, of course. If only for his ideal.

The Prism Beasts escaping was a disaster. I wonder how many casualties there were, sometimes. I didn’t have time to think of these things right then, mind you. I had to get to IRIN, and the only issue I had with the Prism Beasts was their disregard for the importance of my mission. I ended up confusing them with my Gift, and in the process, rerouted them toward the city’s main barrier. No, that wasn’t planned, as effective a distraction it turned out to be.

IRIN was… strange. You can admit you’re curious, you know. Everyone is. It wasn’t nearly as special as one would expect it to be. Actually, maybe it is. Was. You see, when you’re in the main area, where people check in, the lights are normal. Then you’re in the labyrinth, and it seems completely dark. Except it isn’t. You can see the floor ahead of you, and your feet, but not your hands if you raised them in front of you. I couldn’t see the Colors, either, not that it’s relevant. But the whole feel of the place was… cold. The best word is cold. The light seemed cold, the darkness seemed cold, the silence seemed cold. I wasn’t even aware of the air around me, but I had never felt colder in my life.

Then I took one step and didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know where I was going, or what I was doing. There were no Colors to guide me. The floor seemed to travel endlessly in every direction, just bright enough for me to see, but mirage-like, and I was scared to walk on it. I’ve never been so cold in my life, and now that I think about it, I’ve never been that afraid either. Not before, and not since.

I realized that that hallway was likely the greatest security measure I would ever see, that ever existed. Who would care about the Julia System, about the world, when they were in this horrid place? If you tried to think about something to encourage you, you would remember that whatever you loved was out there. If you tried to remember why you cared so much, you would remember that whatever you were fighting for was out there. No matter what you could think of, it was far away from that hallway. And whatever was outside of that hallway seemed to be in a completely different world.

I was so cold and afraid – frozen by fear, I suppose – that I couldn’t think for a few moments. But just like when a soldier pulls out one last ounce of will to take one more step, and it turns into ten more, I dredged a single name from my memory. It was enough to remind me of what I had to do.

I ended up closing my eyes. I’m sure other people have tried the same and found it ineffective, but for me, it was a minute of catharsis. As I walked down that hallway, eyes closed, I cried, and thought of all the things I hated about myself. All the things he loved about me. How I could be loved at all. How anyone could call me their child, how anyone could look at a monster to the world and think himself its guardian.

The next time I opened my eyes, I was facing the Julia System.

Interesting wording, no? I won’t tell you about it, though. It still seems special to me. Something I know, that I’ve seen, that others haven’t. Not Colors, which are gifts, but something created by humans and hidden away. Something that I had to work to see. It was amazing, I will say, because if I say nothing about it I fear everything I think will come pouring out. That happens to me a lot. I think of something, and all the pictures in my head come rushing forward, and it’s so hard not to talk about any of them.

Anyway, I destroyed it. I used knives, because I don’t like guns, and a railgun, because it’s cooler than a stun gun. I’ve always thought that if I’m a child, but I have to be a spy and thief and killer, then I can at least be childish in my work. It’s liberating, funnily enough, to act the way the world would expect you to. It allows you to be, just for a while, something you’re not.

Looking over my story, there’s nothing exceptional that we did, is there? We made a big crash, and when everyone turned to look, I broke the world’s most important toy. That’s all the System really was, when you really think about it. It danced the whims of fools, children. Whatever.

So, the question arises, why is everyone so concerned about Drachenkind?

Once you see how simple it is, there’s really no problem, is there?

There are only so many things as important as the Julia System, and it’s certainly not difficult to keep an eye on them.

Well.

Who knows what’s the most important thing to a maniac?

His puppet, of course.

Part III: Future

Rain’s smile widens suddenly and gruesomely, insanely. His shoulders shake, and though he doesn’t make a sound, it’s obvious he’s laughing. Cackling, my mind supplies. Laughing isn’t sinister enough for the emotion he’s currently expressing, though I can’t quite place it. Perhaps mirth, or scorn.

“What would a crazy psychopath with no motive want? What could he possibly target? Why would he announce a date in advance? Why would he advertise his actions beforehand?” He throws his hands up in the air and laughs in delight, expression turning into that of an excited child. “How can there be only one person with a certain ideal? How can no-one know what he wants? How can no-one understand his brilliance? How can no-one see such an obvious clue?”

He falls silent and drops his head, and I brace myself, determined to speak. To be forward. “A lot of people are asking those questions. But I’m not.”

He lifts his head slightly, giving me a questioning look. “Hmm?”

“I’m not. You are, certainly. But the only thing I really care about is whether or not you’re talking about Johan.”

He releases a strangled groan of exasperation and throws his hands up. “Really? After all I’ve just told you? Why is that your first question?”

“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine. It’s only fair.”

“It’s not really.”

“My answer is more likely to affect your honesty than vice versa.”

He huffs in annoyance. “Fine! Yes, it’s Johan. And?”

I lean forward in my chair and rest my chin on my hand, smiling slightly. “You become tense every time you talk about ‘him.’ If you were talking about Johan, then I would know that you were telling the truth the whole time.”

“So,” his lips twitch, “now that you’re sure, the weight of it all is hitting you?”

I take my own turn huffing and slouch slightly. “Yeah. Although there’s a whole host of questions I need to ask you, I need to say that you’re not a puppet. And nobody truly thinks that Johan is insane.”

“But a psychopath?”

“Has he ever expressed guilt?”

“Why would he? He’s just following through with his ideals.”

“Hmm. Probably then, but not certainly. Does it make a difference to you?”

“Not really. I don’t like that people think he’s crazy, though. They say that the successful are genii and the unsuccessful are crazy, but it’s really just who the world likes.”

“You’re probably right. Does that upset you?”

“How very psychologist-like. I want to say no, because it doesn’t upset him, but that would be a lie.”

“Do you get upset in his stead?”

“Yeah. A lot. I’m not sure anything upset him, ever.”

“Did you think he wasn’t upset by things he should have been upset by?”

“Not really. He would have to care, and all he cared about was his ideal.”

 “I see. Since you’d rather I be forward, shall I ask what I’m expected to?”

He suddenly looks tired. He drops his feet to touch the floor. He recoils for a moment when he first touches the cold tile with his bare feet, then relaxes. He nods. “Please do.”

“What is the main target of Siegfried?”

“I appreciate the gesture,” he huffs with gentle laughter, “though it means nothing.”

I pause, then ask, “If you’re going to say something like, ‘I’m not going to answer your questions just because you’re being forward with them,’ I’d like you to do so quickly and get it over with.”

He looks up at me in surprise, eyes wide with horror. “No! Goodness, no. I wouldn’t do something that mean.” He drops his head again and begins intertwining his fingers carefully. “I was just thinking about something. The girl with nineteen Gifts at Albion Academy. Ella.”

“You were going to kill her?”

“I…” his fingers tighten suddenly, and his face twists in upset. “I don’t… I can’t… Since Nikko, I haven’t…”

“Killed,” I breathe, understanding. I struggle to recall his words from earlier in our session. Permanent harm was prohibited by Johan’s ideal. Death would be considered permanent, of course. “Hey,” I reach across the table and touch him on the shoulder, “it’s okay. You’re okay.”

It takes a minute for him to calm down, but once he does, he returns to his curled-up position in the chair. Defensive when he had been open but a moment ago.

“I wasn’t going to kill her,” he says quietly.

“I know. You were going to abduct her?”

He shakes his head, and my brow furrows. “What, then?”

“I was supposed to take away eighteen of her Gifts.”

“Take…”

“Her Gifts. All but one.”

My mouth opens, then closes. I know I look ridiculous, and I know I have to say something in reply, but I have no idea what to say. Taking Gifts, removing them in any way, is unheard of. There’s no ongoing research on how it would be done, and no reports of it having ever been successful. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

He clicks his tongue and waves his finger in admonishment. “Didn’t I tell you before? Don’t be sorry for not knowing something.”

I take a breath, trying to calm my nerves. “I’m afraid I simply have no idea what you mean.”

“Have you learned anything from me today? Don’t be afraid, either.”

I huff and drop my head into my cupped hands, leaning my weight on the table through my elbows. “How… I don’t understand.”

“Most people couldn’t understand him.”

I force my head to rise so that I can look him in the eye. “Johan?”

“Of course.”

“He can take Gifts?”

“No. He figured out how to. He told me how to.”

“And how is that?”

He taps the side of his nose and whispers conspiratorially, “That’s a secret.” He smiles impishly, but the smile looks so much more tired than it was before. His face suddenly turns serious, and he asks, “Do you want to know how to stop it? Siegfried?”

“I do,” I admit, “but I don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me right now.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not going to happen.”

“What?”

“Siegfried. Drachenkind. The slaying of a future disaster. It won’t happen. It was decided nine days ago that the operation would be cancelled. Ella will continue to live in her little box, and the world will continue to move around her, and I can watch how she ruins the world.”

When he falls silent once more, he is looking at me, meeting my firm gaze with just as much grounding, with calm conviction. My eyes momentarily flicker to the monitor on his wrist, which tells me that his vitals did not flinch. It doesn’t mean nearly as much as the pure, melancholy honesty in the boy’s eyes.

“You’re telling the truth,” I finally breathe.

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Why I am I telling the truth or why was it cancelled?”

“The former.”

He shrugs. “Like I said, nothing matters anymore. Now that you’ve heard everything, I have nothing to do. With myself or anyone else. The world may do as it wishes with me. You can try to save me. Fenrisulfr can kill me. I’ve done my best for Johan, I’ve spent years in the shadows, and done my one round in the spotlight. I’ve done everything I can, and now that I can do nothing more, I don’t care about anything.”

I stare at him, thinking. Running over facts in my mind, his expression, the board game of conversation, I try to decide what to do next. I force myself back into the moment, addressing Rain.

“Are you completely done talking?”

“Yes.”

“And the reason you’re so tired is because you no longer have any reason not to be?”

He thinks for a moment, I think more for an answer than to recall our earlier conversation, and replies, “Yes. That’s most accurate, I suppose.”

“In that case, I’d like to restate the question you asked me to hold until now.” I lean forward, drawing his unfocused gaze into my eyes. “Rain Leighcliff. If I can get you into a supportive environment that would keep you safe, but has little to no security to apply to you, would you be cooperative?”

His eyes search mine, and for a moment, I can see his innocent curiosity. Then it is once again covered by dullness. “If that’s what the world wants.”

“It’s what I want,” I tell him fiercely, standing swiftly. “I want people to care about you, and I want you to learn to care about people. I’m going to send you to a branch of Albion’s field academy. There’ll be children your own age. Yes, children,” I restate firmly, noting his somewhat incredulous expression. “This whole mess is over with, and you’re just a child. That’s why that school took you in as a defect from Fenrisulfr. Not because you would be useful, but because you still need to learn.”

He smiles up at me and holds up a hand, as if awaiting permission to speak. My face heats as I recognize the degree of my outburst, and I sit down. “I’m sorry. Please, speak.”

His head tilts. “Thank you.”

I blink. “For what?”

“For being odd.”

I think for a moment, then smile back, deciding that my understanding of his statement is good enough for me. “I hope you can find happiness in other people.”

His smile widens. “I’ll try. I look forward to trying. Thank you.”

This time I stand and turn, leaving the room. Once I’m in the central office, the secretary Jean smiles at me, giving me a thumbs-up at my relieved expression. I smile back, reaching for my tablet to write my report, when I freeze.

I turn and run back to the small, dry-bone room. After several minutes of scrabbling through entry protocol, I burst through the door, and face the boy with dark hair and darker eyes. Bright blue-grey, they rise to meet mine, a twinkle of knowing shining in them. “I nearly thought I would get away without you noticing.”

I pant, grasping for air, for reason. “You will watch Ella ruin the world. Most people couldn’t understand Johan. All he cared about was his ideal. You’ve done everything you can.” I finally manage to catch my breath, but I still can’t slow my heart. “Is Johan dead?”

He’s expressionless for a moment, then a sad smile slowly crosses his face. He raises a slim, pale finger and taps it against his temple. Still smiling, he says softly, “He never existed.”