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Since it was something to be conceptualized, the nature of humanity has been questioned. What exactly did it mean to be human? Was it a simple matter of biology? How far did one’s mind have to stray before it all morphed and stretched and changed into something that any person would consider it to be inhuman?
That question would likely never be answered. The Eye didn’t seem to have much concern with philosophy, and such a trivial matter had no place in a world where ripe and thriving fear was abundant. There is no time to ponder what it meant to be human when all you are allowed to be concerned with is the sick, twisted scenarios you find yourself forced into, constantly reliving your worst fears until mercy is finally shown and you are allowed to rest.
The Archivist himself isn’t entirely sure how he used to feel about the question. It wasn’t a thought he entertained until it began to pertain to his own personhood. The Archivist doesn’t know what it means to be human, all he knows is that he is one no longer.
It’s hard to hold onto your humanity when you cannot put a definitive label on it, but The Archivist tried anyways. He tried, and tried, and tried. But the world was essentially his for the taking, and somewhere along the way of trying to save humanity, he abandoned it. All that remains is the memory of it, of what it felt like to care.
But The Archivist continues on, as he did before. Because even if he is no longer human, Martin still is. Martin, who believes with his heart and soul that the world can be saved, that the world deserves to be saved. The Archivist doesn’t know for sure if Martin is aware that he is past a point where he could be considered human by anyone, but he doesn’t question it.
Emotion is something foreign to The Archivist now, the concept of feeling, understanding, empathizing with things like love, loss, grief, joy, anger are just another faint memory. But the ones The Archivist remembers most are all he felt for Martin. The way Jon loved, cared for, longed for, worried for Martin. They’re so clear, that for a second The Archivist can fool himself into thinking that he still feels that way, that he’s still Jon.
He clings to the memories desperately. He no longer truly cares what happens to the rest of the world, but he used to, and Martin still does, so he does what he can to remember those moments of humanity. When even the memories of all he felt for Martin feel distant, he reminds himself that he is the reason that the world is in ruin, and that it’s only right that he does his best to fix it.
It comes to the point where The Archivist realizes that to make the world right again, he may have to leave his mortal coil, his form of flesh, bone, and blood. He does not share this with Martin, but even without Knowing, he thinks that Martin is already aware. The closer they get to the panopticon, the clearer it becomes to The Archivist that he will have no place in the world when it is all put back into place. He doesn’t care that much, having long let go of those feelings, but he wonders where Martin will go from there, without him. Because The Archivist remembers the beginning of this hellscape, of Jon wishing to have another chance at a happy ending with Martin. The Archivist doesn’t need to Know to know that Martin wished for the same. Martin has already lost so many people, he’s already spent so much of his life alone and longing, and soon he will be right back where he started(though The Archivist wonders if traveling with a monster is better than having nobody at all). The Archivist thinks that if he could still feel, he would likely cry at the thought. But he can’t, so he doesn’t.
The Archivist’s theory inevitably comes to fruition. The world will not be without monsters that lurk in the shadows, or under the bed, or in one’s mind, but The Archivist is a special breed. It’s almost ironic, that the ones most powerful are the ones who will not live to see the world return to something that may resemble normalcy. But it’s for the best. And The Archivist has something that, if he were human, would be considered faith that Martin will do well to work to keep the world safe after this wasteland has been reversed. Of course, this does very little to assure Martin, who is absolutely inconsolable. The Archivist wishes that he could feel again, if even for a moment. He wishes that he knew what to say to reassure Martin that everything will be okay, that he will be okay.
The Archivist kisses Martin, unsure of how else to say goodbye. There are no butterflies in his stomach, no tears in his eyes, no lump in his throat, just the same monotone indifference in his head that replaced his humanity. But it offers a little comfort to Martin, so he doesn’t mind.
He glances around, one last time at a world ruled and ruined by fear. He’s not entirely sure what is about to happen to him. He does know that The Archivist is more than Jon was, and that whatever metamorphosis he is about to go through, the end result shall be more than The Archivist. The best way he would be able to explain it is that he is likely going to completely join The Eye, but his understanding of The Entities now acknowledges how vastly complex it all is. He does his best to explain it to Martin, it’s the least he could do.
And then, the world continued, rebuilding from what was left. The same went from Martin Blackwood. He lost track of how long he spent mourning Jon, how long he spent crying alone, his chest aching, his lungs feeling as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the world to fill them. But it came to a point where he knew that, even if he would feel this heartbreak forever, there was work to be done. Much of the information that the Magnus Archives held about The Entities was lost, but Martin knew enough to give himself a running start.
Ever since the beginning of his employment to the institute, his hairs on the back of his neck would stand on end, sensing that someone, or something, was watching. Back then, it was as if the watcher was wondering how much influence it could have over the situation, sometimes malicious, but mostly inquisitive. But now, it felt like basic curiosity, as if whatever was watching him was simply wondering what state he was in. And sometimes, when The Lonely was slowly enveloping Martin in it’s embrace once more, the feeling of being watched would return, and The Lonely would retreat. It would never feel as safe or warm or loving as a pair of arms from someone he once knew, but for now, this was enough to get him through the day.