When a person is removed from a toxic environment, forcefully or otherwise, they will eventually be able to see through the toxicity and understand that they're better off without it. I'll admit I'm expediting the process here in this story, but effectively what little Aleister is going through is what anyone goes through when they leave a cult.

If they're lucky.

.

Aleister was escorted into the drawing room, where the Kaiba children were waiting for whatever came next. Seto and Noa sat with Joey, murmuring softly, while Mokuba was busy with one of his coloring books. Isis, meanwhile, was perusing an almanac she'd found on one of the end tables. She glanced up as Amaya strode inside, and she looked only mildly surprised to see Aleister follow her.

The lady Kaiba opened her mouth to speak when the room began to shake.

That damnable hexagram split the floor, and they all stared as green fire flared up from Dartz's sigil like bellows at a forge. There wasn't a figure who came into being, a person made manifest, but a voice—huge, heavy, the declamatory fire of God—that festered in the air like inexorable rot.

You have failed me, boy. Do you believe that I have not seen the mockery you have made of my mission? What have you to say for yourself?

Aleister went pale as a sheet, staring at the green veil, eyes widening to saucers as his body trembled. He opened his mouth, struggled to work his vocal cords, tried to say something, but he couldn't. The best he could manage was a strangled gurgle, wet and desperate and barely audible. The boy fell to his knees.

Amaya Kaiba's eyes narrowed to slits.

Speak! I would hear from your own lips the justification you can bring to bear for the waste you have made of my grace and my patience. I have taken you in, I have taught you the greatest of all lessons in this world, that you might be a warrior for peace. This is how you think to repay that debt to me?

"A child has no debts," Amaya said, steady, unwavering, immutable, as she stepped in front of Aleister to block that sickly green light; Aleister looked up at her back, confused, frightened, relieved. "Your grace and patience mean nothing here. You, who sends a boy to murder boys, want to discuss the lessons you have taught? Weak. Pathetic."

BE SILENT, WRETCH!

Amaya stumbled back from the force of magic that radiated out from the hexagram, but she kept her feet. Her teeth clenched.

"You lie, you cheat, you hide behind children," she hissed. "Faced with the truth, you throw a tantrum. You are nothing! You wore my husband's face, you used his name, to manipulate this boy into doing your work for you. You led him to believe that my husband was responsible for the deaths you caused! Say it. Why don't you be done with this charade? You killed this boy's family, didn't you? You made him an orphan. Just so you could sweep in and save him. Do you think me a fool? I know the region of Croatia this boy once called home. My husband has never been there. Not once. Speak the truth before you demand anything from this child."

The silence that followed was a physical thing.

. . . I will show you what I am. You will know despair. I will break you such that your bloodline will forget you ever belonged to it. I will—

"Quiet."

The light from the hexagram dimmed, as though from numb confusion. All eyes turned to the same corner of the room, where Mokuba was looking up from his avocado tree with a serious look on his chubby face. He gripped his Deep Gold crayon in one little fist. His grey-violet eyes were flaring; every shadow in the room, but especially those cast by the green glow, were slowly, almost casually, coalescing behind the young Kaiba.

Aleister looked ready to collapse in a dead faint.

"Gween light being mean," Mokuba declared, and the shadows behind him swirled. "Mean to Mama, mean to new friend." He set his crayon down and stood up, placing both hands on his hips the way his brother did when he was saying something important. "Go 'way."

Everyone could hear the blasphemous confusion in Lord Dartz's voice when it thundered into the room again: There will be no absolution for you. For any of you. The time will come, much sooner than you will ever believe, for your punishment. You will—

"Go. 'Way."

The shadows moved in concert with the boy's words; they danced, twitched, fidgeted.

An arm, too long, too large, snatched out over Mokuba's left shoulder and grabbed the glowing green light like it was a physical thing. There was no sound, no voice, no whispers. Absolute silence fell upon the room as the shadow strangled Dartz's presence and snuffed it out like a cheap candle.

All the while, Mokuba watched with a thunderous frown on his face.

Days, weeks, eternities passed in the next moments.

The shadows departed, pulled back, and Mokuba settled himself on the floor again. He returned to his coloring.

.

Aleister sat with Isis. It was well after midnight. His hands were grasped in hers, and his face was haunted. He looked hollowed out, like someone had taken a melon baller to his soul. He wasn't present in Kaiba Manor; he was in an old, dusty village so broken and buried that it didn't exist on modern maps. He was remembering his childhood, all skinned knees and anxious nights, dirty water and not enough to eat.

He'd been so happy then; he'd never been aware of how little he had.

He'd had his family, and that was enough.

Isis understood.

She placed a gentle hand on Aleister's cheek. "You've seen him lie to his congregation. Telling them what they want to hear, to motivate them. You know that falsehood flows from his lips as easily as water from a fountain."

"I thought . . . we were special."

"You were supposed to." Isis smiled softly. "I won't tell you to abandon your anger. You have no reason to listen to me, even if I did. I will suggest this: redirect it. Understand this simple truth: you've done what you set out to do. Gozaburo Kaiba is extricating himself from the industry that made so many tragedies like yours. All in the name of protecting his son. You were the catalyst for that."

"How can I take credit for that," said Aleister, "while acting like Lord Dartz deserves the blame for . . . everything else?"

Isis shrugged. "Who cares? He's a little man who manipulates vulnerable people. I've no reason to respect him, and neither do you. He took you in, yes, I know, but ask yourself: why did he do that? Was it from the goodness at the heart of his character? Or was it because he wanted a puppet, a servant, to feel indebted to him?"

Aleister's face scrunched up as he struggled to take in all the information he'd been given, that he'd been exposed to, this night. "How do I know you aren't doing the same thing? Showing me falsehoods to manipulate me."

"You don't," Isis said simply, soothingly. "I wouldn't expect you to. Ask yourself, as someone who knows that man better than I ever will, whether your Lord Dartz is capable of what I have shown to you."

Isis watched the emotional journey Aleister went on, through his expressions, as he mulled over this thought; she still smiled, keeping her hand on his cheek, and waited. Words would only interrupt this process. He had to work out the truth on his own.

"When . . . when she said . . . he killed my family," Aleister said, eventually, "that Gozaburo Kaiba never came to my village, that he was just wearing Gozaburo Kaiba's face . . . he didn't refute her. He didn't say it wasn't true. He just . . . he . . . threatened her."

"Yes," said Isis, "he did."