Work Text:
A man wakes with a start and winces. His skin feels like one giant bruise and every muscle aches. Glancing around, he finds himself in a dimly-lit alleyway, alone with a few crates and barrels. He stretches his protesting limbs, analysing his surroundings - Traverse Town, he decides. A refuge for the lost and worldless.
It feels appropriate. He can’t remember having a world that felt like home.
He inspects himself next - he’s wearing a loose coat with voluminous sleeves that seems familiar, perhaps. A heavy braid hangs over his shoulder, identical to the one he remembers cutting off many years ago. He puts his hands to his ears and finds less piercings than he expects. Strange. He can worry about that later, after he’s ascertained how he’s alive at all. He has some nice boots, at least.
He stands, legs shaking, and steadies himself against a crate. His head pounds. He weighs the urgency of finding food and shelter against the temptation to sit back down and rest, but his deliberations are interrupted by the uncomfortably familiar sensation of a dark portal opening farther down the alley. A twist of fear slides through him. The first strong emotion he’s felt in far too long is fear, he notes dimly. How unpleasant.
The portal blossoms to reveal an unfamiliar man - tall, dark, and handsome, in a formidable way. He wears one of those horrible black coats and a brooding expression. Don’t they all. His head snaps up and the pair of them lock eyes. He smiles with no warmth.
“I have come for you, Luxord,” he says, voice deep, rich, commanding, and… resigned, somehow.
“Unless I’m deeply mistaken, Luxord was vanquished. I’m…” He pauses, realising with a sharp hit of panic that he still doesn’t remember his previous name. “…someone else,” he finishes lamely.
The other man frowns. “Then is there a name you would prefer?”
He picks from the options at random. “Rould.” It could be right. “And yourself?”
“I am Ansem, Seeker of Darkness.” Ansem? Would that make him Xemnas’ somebody? No, the Seeker of Darkness was… it was a powerful heartless that appeared suddenly after Maleficent gathered the seven hearts of light, then was vanquished by Sora just as quickly. Xemnas’ heartless, then? Human-shaped and speaking lucidly? No stranger than his own continued existence, supposes Rould. “I am here to recruit you for the new Organisation XIII.” There was that hint of resignation again. This man - heartless? - doesn’t want to be here. Rould wets his lips.
“A new Organisation? Forgive me if I’m skeptical. I don’t believe the old one fared too well. What does this new Organisation want?”
“Kingdom Hearts.” Ansem’s eyes flash and Rould can see Xemnas in him for that moment.
Rould nods. “Still at it, then. Is there a reason I should be more confident they’ll be successful in their endeavour this time? I don’t plan to back the wrong horse twice running.” Ansem hesitates, and a plan clicks into place.
“It is none of your concern. You have been chosen to join the Organisation, and you will comply.” That’s a no, then.
“Then is there a reason I have been chosen? I was hardly an instrumental member previously. Why me?”
Ansem frowns. “Also none of your concern. You have been deemed useful to the Organisation. You will bow once more to the darkness and join us, or you will be destroyed.” The threat pulls a fresh wave of fear over Rould’s heart, but he maintains his poker face.
“Useful, is it? I’m sure you can imagine that some of the skills that make me useful could also make me rather difficult to find, if I chose to be.” It’s a bluff - he’s not sure how much of his previous power he has access to in this new-old form. Ansem’s frown deepens. Rould prays he’ll take the bait. “However, I am willing to pledge myself to the Organisation, freely - if you’re willing to play a game.”
“A game?”
“A game of chance - a fair one. One of your choosing, if you wish. If you win, you get my loyalty, no questions asked, for as long as you require it.”
“And if you win?”
“If I win,” Rould’s stomach flips, but he’s come too far to fold now, “I get yours.”
There is a pause. In the silence, Rould can feel the darkness rolling off Ansem, smell it, almost. Power enough to crush him where he stands, undoubtedly. Sweat prickles on the back of his neck. Suddenly, Ansem laughs. It’s not a kind laugh, barely a human laugh, and it makes Rould’s heart hammer in his chest.
“A bold creature you are.” Ansem’s eyes are gleaming - he has an energy that was absent before, a new dark vitality. “Very well. I shall play your game.”
Rould barely manages to keep his surprise from showing. “Excellent! Shall we confirm this wager?” He extends a hand and Ansem shakes it once. His grip is uncomfortably firm.
Rould searches his coat for a dice pocket and finds one precisely where he would have put it if he’d had the choice. He suggests a simple set of rules, invites Ansem to confirm the dice aren’t rigged, finds a suitable barrel to play on. His heart makes the most of its newfound capacity for fear. He hopes desperately for the chance to use it for more pleasant emotions.
“The game is set.” He keeps his voice steady, somehow. Ansem wears a small, dangerous smile. “We roll on three. One… two…” please fates oh please “…three.”
The dice fall. They clatter across the table, moving slow-motion with no time magic needed. They slow, and spin, and stop, and…
He’s lost.
For a brief moment, Ansem’s face echoes Rould’s disappointment.