[One day ago: Western Ventoria]

-Helvega-

The sky on this day felt particularly desolate; A gray sky appearing as if an eclipse obscured the sun from bathing the lands in its warm atmosphere. Soon after my departure from the Custody Agency, I drove to Zaccheus’ house which was situated not too far away from the Cyclone Cellar. It was a small neighbourhood comprising only a dozen mansions. After requesting his presence, his wife told me he had gone to ‘sightsee’ near the abode; a construction site where a new cooperative multi-storied building would be assembled.

I remembered Zaccheus commenting on the construction site, and how well it served as a sightseeing location due to the outlook it had over the vast landscapes. Because of this, it was my first option in my pursuit of reaching him. I made my way back to the car and sat in silence for several minutes. The interior seemed crestfallen, and depressive, as if it was encumbered by some sort of pessimistic gray fog. It seemed to have washed over me, as well, as I couldn’t shake off this prevalent dreadful sensation I had experienced ever since departing from the agency.

With a filled mind, and my hands hanging onto the steering wheel, I took a deep sigh and turned the car back on once more, my dishevelled hair falling over my face as I did so.

Zaccheus… please, be safe.

***

[Western Ventoria: Construction site]

The place Helvega sought to arrive at was indeed not barren as his wife suggested.

Despite reaching close to the age of fifty, Zaccheus had the countenance of a thirty-year-old young man. Despite all of his tresses having turned gray, his face was as slim and cleanly shaven as it always was. He wore a set of round silver glasses, which windowed his noticeably outraged eyes.

He was frowning deeply towards another man who was standing right in front of him, his lips drawn into a tight line of resentment.

He was dressed in a billowing black coat that matched well with the wide-brimmed hat of the same colour.

He wore a set of black gloves that blended seamlessly with his overall attire,

and like a final piece of the puzzle, he wore a dark gray mask that had an eerie smile etched on its facade.

That man was Michel.

They both stood on the second floor of the construction site; a vast, empty space with dozens of stone pillars connecting the surface to the ceiling scattered across the area, like some sort of labyrinth. The ground was wet due to the short rain that fell through the walls that had a large horizontal aperture behind Zaccheus. It coated the area in an earthy scent of petrichor, mingled with the faint aroma of dampened concrete and a subtle hint of freshly cut grass.

Right next to Zaccheus, a slow, rhythmic patter of rain droplets falling onto a puddle constantly rippled the tense silent atmosphere with each drop, which was then followed by a strong wind current gliding past their figures, causing their coats to flutter along in the motion.

“…Luria has never been the same ever since I was given this role,” Zaccheus spoke with a solemn, serious tone after the wind calmed down. “They have depended on me with their whole lives; not only regular staff members but even those of a higher echelon all viewed me as the guiding light that enabled them to traverse the stormy fields.”

Michel stood composedly silent, his arms crossed behind his back, as Zaccheus continued.

“Both leaders… both leaders I have witnessed, Michel. Clement was someone who kept his head in the orthodox culture of Urdall’s Church. Without him, Luria wouldn’t have been as close with the Church as it would have been today, with Phineas being the current ruler of the assembly.”

“Then, would you say the assembly has gotten worse than two decades ago?” Michel asked, his deep voice echoing in Zaccheus’ ears, causing him to gulp before answering.

“…Of course not…” he began to grind his teeth and swung his right arm wide in the air. “Look at him, look at what he has brought to Ventoria! He… he brought not only the city, but the entire country of Deneve to new heights! Most of our infrastructures have been elevated, the Rapid Decay Phenomenon is quite literally non-existent now, and the promises he made to his people, alongside the governmental force… all of it just seems like something we could only dream of! But, he… just…”

“What do you want?” Michel spoke with a cold, and determined tone, instantly piercing through the layers of admiration towards Phineas he placed before himself. This caused Zaccheus to gulp once more, as sweat began to arise from within his skin. Prompted by the silence, Michel added,

“Tell me, Zaccheus. You have spent the majority of your life serving Luria. Up to the point of almost retiring from your position, and giving it to someone you will deem worthy of taking the role of the greatest bureaucrat.”

Michel then took a single step forward, closing the distance between them.

“What kind of motivation, or goal, could have possibly made you endure all these years of absolute slaughter and autocracy?”

Zaccheus squinted his eyes as his head lowered slightly, causing Michel to ask him,

“What did the assembly stand for?”

“…No need to ask me that,” he retorted. “He is turning the assembly into something new, Michel! You just… won’t understand!”

“Oh? Is that so? You never seemed like the person who prioritizes materialistic ideologies over basic human rights. You were born rich, you grew up rich, and you are about to retire as an even richer man. Your life was destined for greatness to begin with.”

Zaccheus fell silent once more, as Michel spread his arms wide in the air, continuing his anecdote.

“We are all humans, and thus do we have a voice. Your voice is as melodic as Phineas’ because despite his strong presence, he, too, is just a man.”

“…What are you trying to tell me?”

As Zaccheus voiced out his question, Michel took several seconds before slowly lowering his arms and folding his hands behind his back once more. His voice took an ever deeper tone, as Zaccheus noticed an evil glint flying past his eyes, knowing Michel was staring deep into his soul as he spoke,

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“You are here because your voice is trying to escape your lips.”

Zaccheus stammered over his words once again.

“But…”

“Tell me, Zaccheus,” Michel interjected. “You are here because you know that his actions are wrong. You know what you stand for, and yet you conflict yourself with attempting to justify Phineas’ actions by stating his accomplishments and aspirations.”

Zaccheus began to lose control over his breathing. It started to become stiff, as if he took a series of quick short breaths over a certain amount of time. As he recomposed himself, he spread his left palm out wide in protest as he responded, mustering up all his courage.

“I… I love this country, Michel. You would never understand… It wouldn’t be a challenging question for me if I had as much power as him, and the ability to change Deneve into something that acclaims its people.”

“It’s people’, you say… Then, are the dozens of innocent people he killed off not ‘people’? Was Dark not a human, after all? If he wasn’t, then he would not have both-”

“How do you know him?!” Zaccheus grunted, effectively cutting his words off. “Tell me, Michel! Who is giving you this information?!”

“…That fateful night, when Emon went his way to Eastern Ventoria…” Michel began. These words alone were like shards of glass holding consciousnesses, mercilessly striking Zaccheus’ chest which made realization slowly dawn on his face.

“Wait…”

“Yes, indeed. You are entirely correct, Zaccheus Winfield…” Michel said, knowing what he was thinking about. He lowered his head, and right after another raindrop fell on the nearby puddle, he said with a calm, but malicious tone,

“The person you saw Phineas depart with, was me.”

“Impossible!” Zaccheus shouted, instinctively spreading out his right palm, which summoned a small, dark-brown coloured with silver blunderbuss. It spun aggressively in his palm before he grasped its grip and pointed it towards Michel. The moment he raised his arm, a strong, explosive-like wind current gushed in between them, as if an invisible person slashed the air in between them as if they were dividing the Red Sea.

“You’re going to tell me everything, right now!”

“…Hm, a Divination Tool, I see,” Michel said calmly, unfazed by Zaccheus’ action. “Not a regular gun you’re able to buy off some local shop. Is that how much you resent me?”

“I don’t care if I will have to shoot every single limb of yours…” Zaccheus grunted, his face entirely laced with fury. “But trust me, I will make you talk. You’re not going anywhere, Michel! It was really you!”

He was correct.

Eighteen years ago, two hours well over everyone’s shift time, was when Zaccheus noticed Phineas departing from the Cellar alongside an unidentifiable figure in a black coat. Something about that figure and the person standing before him just seemed to correlate with each other. Even though Zaccheus never discerned that person’s face from back then, his intuition convinced him that Michel was, indeed, a key figure in Emon’s disappearance.

“Tell me. Was it you who sent Emon that letter?” Zaccheus asked, his firm grip on his Divination Tool unwavering.

“…You mean the letter regarding the abducted Church members? Yes, that was me.”

“Then, tell me… what happened to Emon? You should know since Phineas is the one who brings you all the information you need, no? He was the last person to have seen him alive…”

His grip tightened even further, as he slightly turned his body outward, and stretched his arm further towards Michel.

“The both of you! What did you do to him? Was it the throne of Luria? Is that why Phineas sought after his supposed death? Huh?!”

Right then, he began chuckling, raising his head and planting his left palm on his face.

“Ah…! Now I understand! You helped Phineas take Emon down so that he would be the head of the assembly! That was it! It seems so simple, right? It seems so simple, and yet it took me this many years to figure it out precisely!”

Michel remained silent in response as if non-verbally telling him to reconsider his words. Zaccheus contradicted himself without realizing it. Michel’s silence caused him to ponder,

Wait, but… why would he betray Phineas like that, then?

That doesn’t make any sense!

Right before he opened his mouth, Michel began to speak, in a manner as if he was keeping in a laughter.

“You wonder what happened to Emon…”

He slowly lowered his head once more.

“…You see, I am a caring individual, even standing face to face with a Divination Tool. And thus, will your answer be given.”

The raindrops began to drop more frequently as if the tension caused time around them to move faster.

“However, I believe I am not the one suited to bring it to you.”

“Wh- what do you mean?” Zaccheus asked, sweat gliding down his face. “Who else is going to give it?”

Michel threw a quick chuckle with closed lips before he answered with an eerie tone.

“…I think it is best for Emon himself to give you the explanation you need.”

Right as Zaccheus opened his mouth…

…A third figure slowly peeled away from the concealment of a pillar a few steps to Michel’s left.

Zaccheus slowly turned his head to the left, as he beheld the figure draped in a closed-off black trench coat.

His face was obscured beneath a black hat, but it was already far past recognition for Zaccheus.

The sounds of the man’s steps echoing throughout the construction site blended with the falling raindrops as if each step and each raindrop further tortured Zaccheus’ state of mind; his eyes widened in absolute shock, right hand holding the Divination Tool trembling, his composure gradually left his body the closer the man got to him.

And as soon as the man stopped just three steps away from both Zaccheus and Michel, whose head remained lowered, the man raised his head…

“E- Emon?!”

Zaccheus began to hyperventilate, yet still managed to spew out words of befuddlement.

“What is this?! What is happening?!”

“…It has been a good while, Zaccheus.”

“No! This is not real! You’re a decoy! It must be!”

Emon seemed to have aged finely, as well. His face was cleanly-shaven, and he still wore the same kind of glasses as he did almost two decades ago. His distinct high and hollowed cheekbones were enough to convince anyone that he truly was the real Emon. However, he decided to take a step further by summoning his Grimoire.

The dark brown-coloured, tarnished-looking book floated right next to him, causing Michel to speak once more.

“It is impossible for one to copy another’s Grimoire, for each is linked with one’s singular soul.”

Zaccheus fell on his knees, holding his hands against his dishevelled hair.

“But… this can’t beee!!!”

Right before he could even process what was going on…

…A sequence of footsteps ascending the nearby staircase leading straight to them could be heard, and it was then followed by a voice.

“Zaccheus? Are you here?”

Zaccheus widened his eyes, his heart racing even faster, as he muttered,

“He… Helvega…”

It was already too late.

Helvega had ascended the staircase,

And as soon as she stepped past a wide stone pillar…

…Both Michel and Emon looked at her approaching figure over their shoulders, with Zaccheus mindlessly staring forward, still knelt down.

Helvega then took a sudden stop, silently gliding her pupils from Michel, to the man in the black trench coat, to Zaccheus, who was kneeling down, and then back to the man in the black trench coat.

Her fingers began to tremble, as realization dawned on her shocked face.