Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ventus couldn't remember the last time he was awake.

The niggling doubts lingering at the edge of his consciousness insisted that he should be far more concerned than he was. Ventus' mind felt fuzzy as if the space between his ears was packed with cotton wool, and he couldn't conjure the willpower to question his apathy. The gaping void between waking hours just didn't seem all that strange to him. He clumsily rubbed the rheum from the corner of each eye and cautiously peeled them open. Nothing unusual. The sliver of green light snaking beneath the doorframe cast opaque shadows that drowned the room in darkness.  Perhaps his eyes had grown lazy from disuse. With a booming yawn and a satisfying pop of his jaw, Ventus threw his bedsheets back over himself and unceremoniously rolled over to face the wall. If the world wanted him to rise and shine, then the world could wait five more minutes.

As far as Ventus was concerned, anything that had occurred before the moment he awoke might as well be lost to the sands of time. Heavy storm clouds engulfed his memories like a woollen blanket; not even the tiniest sunbeam could pierce through and grant him insight. The blond had just come into existence mere moments ago, opening his eyes for the first time like a newborn baby. That was perfectly normal... right? He shouldn't be so perturbed by the inky ocean pooled around his memories, so why was his heart about to burst from his chest? Why was it pounding as if driven by some intangible, primal fear? Ventus huffed to himself and stalled that train of thought before it left the station. If it was such a big deal, he could always pick Master Eraqus' brain in the morning. His mentor was just as short-tempered as he was wise, particularly if one of his students barged into his room in the middle of the ni-

Wait.

This wasn't the Land of Departure.

Ventus jolted upright, scattering bedsheets like rivulets of colourful cotton. He felt as if he had been dunked in water as frigid terror crept across his chest and stole his breath away. The memories lurking in the penumbra of his subconsciousness rushed to him all at once. The crushing chill that permeated his bones as Master Xehanort paralysed his battered body with ice. The glistening tears in the corners of Aqua's eyes as she stood between him and Braig like a living barricade. The ringing of Vanitas' laughter echoing inside his head as his brother puppeteered his body and turned him against those he loved. The voice of a child calling from beyond the veil of death and pulling him into a deep, dreamless slumber.

That was a memory Ventus was happy to leave behind.

But there was another intangible droplet of doubt that he just couldn't shake off. The half-formed χ-Blade birthed from his union with Vanitas was destroyed, lost to the abyss along with the siblings that fought over it... so shouldn't he be dead?

Ventus expected death to hurt. He had prepared himself for the most excruciating pain known to man, but there was only unending peace. He could sleep easy knowing his passing would allow his friends to continue on, even if they had to do it without him. Ventus would make the same decision over and over again without a second thought. That alone was worth all the Munny in the world. His only regret was that he would never have the chance to become a Keyblade Master. His memory would forever live in the shadows of his friends.

Ventus groaned and put his head in his hands. His mind was stuffed to the brim with pillowy yarn. Was this the afterlife? Or was his brain still entrenched in sleep? The blond reached into the depths of his psyche, but all that greeted him was static. Something was there, hiding in the darkest crevasse of his mind where his light couldn't reach. Something had happened to him after he and Vanitas lost their hearts to the darkness, and he hadn't died. He was sure of it. Pins and needles ran down his fingertips as Ventus clenched and unclenched his fists, watching blue-tinted veins shift beneath his skin. They were once so incredibly numb, nerves muffled by the darkness that crept into every fibre of his being until even his name was a whisper in the wind. From somewhere beyond the event horizon radiated an intense warmth: a star so bright that shadows were banished in the blink of an eye. Ventus felt his skin burning under the powerful rays of light, but it brought sensation back to his deadened limbs. The star held out its arms as if greeting an old friend, and Ventus tumbled headfirst into its embrace. His heart recognised the source of the light, but his mind couldn't hold onto the name...

You don't remember my name? Thanks a lot, Kairi!

The hairs on the back of Ventus' neck stood to attention like rows of soldiers. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart skipped a beat. He tore his hands away from his face, ready to launch himself at whoever dared approach him while he was sleeping. The room was empty. Ventus' eyes scoured every opaque shadow creeping across the floor, but found nothing. The only illumination came from an artificial green glow peeking beneath the doorframe, accompanied by the gentle humming of machinery from somewhere unseen.

I'll give you a hint. Start with an "S".

Ventus let out a pained whine as the fuzziness in his head blossomed into a severe migraine. His ears were deafened by high-pitched ringing, and he was sure his eyes were vibrating in his skull with the pressure. Ventus' already limited vision sparked as he dug the heels of his palms into his eyesockets, imprinting waltzing afterimages onto his retinas. He could've sworn the pain continued on forever, but something in his soul abruptly clicked into place and it was over in an instant. Ventus found himself face down on the floor, having tumbled out of bed as he wrestled with the sudden onset of pain.

What in the hell was going on…?

Ventus tentatively pulled himself to his feet, his stomach swimming with swelling nausea. His body felt so foreign; legs too short, arms too muscular, hair too long. Ventus was a stranger in his own skin. What was wrong with him?! He felt cripplingly alone, lost in a world that he no longer recognised. Ventus was no coward, but sometimes he needed to remind himself to be brave. Courage came so naturally to Terra and Aqua, but they never allowed their friend to feel inferior. He could almost hear Aqua now, whispering reassuring words in his ear; "bravery is not the absence of fear, but the power to overcome it." Ventus needed Terra and Aqua to come for him. They would know what to do. They always did.

Wait, Terra and Aqua!

Ventus practically launched himself out of the room, almost knocking the door off its hinges as he burst into the hallway. He had no idea what happened to Terra and Aqua after hitting the self-destruct button on the χ-Blade and throwing his soul to the wolves. They would be so happy to see him alive! Ventus nearly tripped over his own feet as he scurried down a set of rickety wooden stairs, each board bent at a different angle and creaking with every step. He was alive! They could put Master Xehanort behind them and go back to the Land of Departure. Terra could finish his Mark of Mastery. Heck, maybe they'd even let him take it this time! Ventus could see it now: three Keyblade Masters, travelling to the farthest limits of the Ocean Between and braving uncharted worlds. The unbreakable trio, side by side. Just the thought filled his heart to the brim with joy.

"Aqua! Terra!" Ventus yelled, exploding into the front room unannounced. His voice rang throughout the quiet house like a chiming bell.

The room was completely empty.

Or at least, it was unoccupied. Signs of life occupied every corner of the room, haphazardly shoved wherever space could be found until the walls threatened to overflow. An enormous computer screen spilled ghostly green light across the floor, the same tinge that leered beneath the bedroom door. Hats and coats hung from the doorframe, strewn across chairs and stools when space became scarce. A heavy weapon propped upright in the corner like a sentinel, longer than Ventus was tall and wrapped in... bandages?

The elation gripping Ventus' body screeched to a jarring halt as his mind began to register the contents of the room. A table with a steaming hot kettle and cup of herbal tea? Bookshelves sagging under the weight of countless magical tomes? A pointed blue wizard's hat?! The smile slowly slid off the blond's face. Even through the gaps in his memories, Ventus knew that he didn't recognise this place. His feet had never disturbed the dust on these floorboards before. The only wizard he could recall meeting was Yen Sid, but the chaotic disarray would've sent shivers up the old warlock's spine. Where in the universe had the darkness spat him out...?

Higitus Figitus zumbakazing!
I want your attention, everything!
We’re unpacking to stay. Come on, let’s go!
No, no, not you; books are always first, you know.

A flash of pain behind Ventus' eyes sent images of books dancing through the air from within a bottomless bag rushing across his vision. The illusion vanished as soon as he blinked, leaving him sorrowfully alone once more. Ventus winced sharply and shook it off. He was an apprentice of Master Eraqus, a skilled Keyblade Wielder and defender of the light. His resolve would not be weakened by whatever was playing mind games on him. He must've been split up from the others during his fight against Vanitas. If Terra and Aqua weren't here - wherever 'here' was - then he would just check the next world. Maybe even the one after that. Aqua promised that the magic in his Wayfinder would bring them all together no matter what, and Ventus didn't doubt her words for one second. It didn't matter how many worlds he had to traipse through. He would find his friends, and they would go home hand-in-hand.

The claws of fear that once gripped Ventus' heart steadily retracted as his determination returned in a blaze of glory. He gave a curt nod and stood up straight, pushing out his chest in triumph and placing his hand on the pauldron worn on his left shoulder. His Keyblade Armour and Glider would prove crucial if he wanted any chance of escaping the world he had found himself in. The Ocean Between was nigh impossible to navigate, but the blond could make his way to Neverland by following the second star to the right. That would give him a place to start. Grazing the cold, coarse metal with his fingertips, Ventus reached down into the depths of his heart and-

He wasn't wearing his pauldron.

Funnily enough, it hadn't occurred to Ventus that he should've checked if he was wearing clothes before charging around a mystery house. His mind had been just a tiny bit preoccupied with more pressing matters, such as whether he was dead or not. Looking down at himself, Ventus was clad in black pants that clung loosely to his calves, wrapped with canary-yellow belts and straps. The skin of his shins and arms held a soft, sun-kissed tan, warmed by the touch of islander sunshine. Strands of chocolate hair crossed his vision, sweeping carelessly in front of his eyes. Ventus brushed them aside without thinking about it. His mind didn't immediately recognise that anything was wrong.

"Sora? Is everything OK?"

Ventus spun on his heels, shoulders tense and eyes wide as something descended the stairs behind him, filling the placid air with heavy thumping. His Keyblade hand twitched, ready to summon Wayward Wind and defend himself. As far as he knew, these people had kidnapped him and stripped him of his armour. If they knew the power held within that single piece of metal, it would be game over. Even worse, they had put him in the ugliest clothes he had ever seen! Ventus' heart was torn between two extremes; the desire to face the villain that had taken him captive raged against the urge to run for his life. He would be of no use to Terra and Aqua if he found himself in chains. Perhaps a living coward was better than a dead hero. The thought left a bitter taste in the blond Keyblade wielder's mouth, but this was no time to fall prey to his emotions.

Before he could be caught and detained by the figure closing in on his position, Ventus slipped through the front door and out into the world beyond.

At least it was a pleasant night.

The cool night breeze delicately kissed Ventus' cheeks, reddened from exertion and frustration, brushing away the cobwebs and clearing the bleariness lingering in his head. His nose wrinkled as the smell of dirt and cement swarmed his nostrils, barely masked behind the saccharine scent of flowers spilling from every open window. The moon hovered above his head like a glowing eyeball, surrounded by the faint flickering of countless stars. Ventus breathed a sigh of relief. Every star in the night sky was the light of a different world; the sight of so many dots winking back at him must mean that Xehanort's plan had failed. His only regret was that he couldn't be there to watch it all come tumbling down.

Ventus' midnight reverie was abruptly shattered as the footsteps reached the bottom of the staircase. He could hear their owner slowly pacing around the room as if stalking their escaped captive, hunting for movement in the shadows. The blond grumbled under his breath and sprinted away as fast as his legs could carry him, bolting around a corner and out of sight. He would come back when he had gained his bearings, and boy would they be sorry for stealing his stuff. Metal pipes and pistons wound up the brick walls like the twisted ivy of the Enchanted Dominion, threatening to sweep his legs at any moment. Ventus reluctantly put his friends on the backburner - his first priority was figuring out where he was. If he was spat from a wormhole at the edge of the universe, who knows what could’ve happened to Aqua and Terra! Ventus knew his friends needed him just as much as he needed them, though they would always stubbornly disagree. Terra would scoff and cross his arms, reaffirming his undisputable strength but never denying his need for companionship. Aqua would put her 'Mom face' on and break into a lecture about how they were a team and-

Right, my friends! There's two of 'em. The loud one is Dona-- You know what? Never mind. I'm looking for my friends, Riku and Kairi.

Ventus dug his heels into the concrete paving and skidded to a halt, sending dust and sand billowing into the air in a dense cloud. That voice was still following him, clawing at his brain and strangling it of oxygen. Every time his mind wandered, those incorporeal words echoed inside his head until his own thoughts were reduced to a whisper. Were his kidnappers stalking him, giggling to themselves as he descended deeper and deeper into madness?

"Who's there?!" Ventus demanded of the vacant alleyway, channelling Terra's imposing presence in his words. "SHOW YOURSELF!"

The only reply was the echo of Ventus' own voice resonating throughout the sidestreet. His sky-blue eyes flicked around aggressively, but the forest of rickety houses was impenetrable. Not even a single meagre Unversed sprung from the darkness. The blond almost hungered for an attacker, just so he would have something to direct his frustrations towards. The owner of the disembodied voice seemed determined not to give him that satisfaction.

Ventus let out a dangerous growl and extended his right arm behind his back. His Keyblade manifested in his grasp with a flurry of sparks, illuminating the darkened alley with a powerful flash. They may have taken his armour, but he could still fight! If his stalker refused to reveal themselves, then he would flush them out of hiding like the rats they were.

"COWARD!"

Maybe everything we've done... maybe it was for nothing. What am I supposed to do if I can't use the Keyblade?

Ventus' knees almost buckled under his weight as a splitting headache shot across his skull, digging into his brain and ripping it apart. The pain ricocheted throughout his chest as if his heart had burst into flames. His blood boiled in his veins and his lungs turned to ash, but Ventus refused to fall victim to the panic pooling in his stomach. The blanks in his memory didn't matter: the blond had clawed his way up from the jaws of death, and he was not going back without a fight. The weight of Wayward Wind in his right hand was like an anchor in stormy seas, a stalwart knight that remained by his side without uttering a single complaint. Unversed or not, his stalker would taste the metal of his Keyblade if it dared antagonise him. Ventus resented resorting to aggression, but his back was up against the wall. He tightened his backwards grip, warmth trickling up his forearm as the hilt began to heat up, and steeled himself for the inevitable attack.

Ventus noticed it almost immediately. The straining muscles in his wrist and the metal guard digging uncomfortably into his skin. Wayward Wind was the only Keyblade forged with a reverse grip, designed to be wielded with its teeth behind its master. Ventus found that any weapon fashioned without his unique stance in mind would chafe his skin and leave dark purple bruises up his arm. Technically speaking, any Keyblade could be handled backwards if the user tried hard enough, but the Wayward Wind was an extension of his own will. It was too lightweight to ever deliver a heavy blow, and the curved guard often deflected attacks in strange directions, but Ventus would never choose any other Keyblade. Its speed was unparalleled, and the blade had never once dented or chipped, no matter how many times he hurled it across the room in a Strike Raid.

So why did Wayward Wind suddenly feel so foreign to his touch?

It was far too lightweight for his tendons to be groaning in pain as they struggled to support the Keyblade’s newfound mass. The guard was too finely curved to be chafing against his forearm, tugging uncomfortably on his skin with every movement. And it certainly never felt hot to the touch...

Ventus yelped as the gentle, thrumming warmth exploded into angry heat as if his palm was filled with smouldering coals. His Keyblade slipped from his grasp and clattered against the stone cobbles below his feet as he stared at his hand, expecting to find his fingers blackened by flames. His skin was completely untouched, protected by black leather gloves worn away at the palm by years of Keyblade use. The blond hissed as the intense heat receded until he wasn't sure if he hadn't just imagined the whole thing. His mind was no longer his own, beseeched by images and voices that his heart recognised but his brain couldn't recall. Wayward Wind had never once rejected his touch. Was he sick? Cursed?

No. It wasn't his Keyblade. The weapon lying before his feet was straight as an arrow, glowing ethereal silver under the pale light of the moon. Its teeth were moulded in the shape of a crown, and its hilt glimmered as if constructed of solid gold. Ventus' mouth was so dry that he could barely swallow. He backed away from the blade with his right hand clutched towards his chest in a tight fist. The imposter Keyblade vanished in a burst of light, only to reappear in his possession moments later.

Yes, the Keyblade's Chosen One.

So, THIS is the Key…

Ventus felt sick. He was trapped in a world he didn't know, plagued by visions he didn't understand. He had no armour, no Keyblade, and no friends to back him up. The silver blade had returned to his hand of its own will, yet it stung his skin like acid as it rejected his touch. Ventus clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white and willed the Keyblade to just go away and leave him alone. The weapon was more than happy to comply, disintegrating into particles of light that disappeared between the cracks in the paving stones. The blond felt the pattern of the leather grip seared into his palm through his glove, though he doubted any marks had been left behind.

Just what had happened to his heart? Why did it no longer feel like his own?

Ventus slammed the brakes on his spiralling thoughts and took a deep breath. Every brain cell was screaming at him to freak out, get angry, do something other than stand there, but he couldn't stop imagining the disappointed expressions on Terra's and Aqua's faces. He had once proclaimed himself worthy of the title of Keyblade Master, and it was time he acted like one. Maybe he was dreaming, or maybe he was still dead. Either way, having a breakdown in an alley was not going to get him anywhere. He needed Terra's strength, Aqua's wisdom, Master Eraqus' resolve.

Eraqus.

Ventus sharply turned and stormed off, leaving any thoughts of his master behind. He wasn't ready to face what happened in the courtyard that day. The steeled expression on his mentor's face as he fought down the tears, aiming his Keyblade at Ventus' heart to murder him where he stood. The darkness that swallowed Terra whole, driving him to enact the same fate upon the man he once called 'father'. It was just another notch in his axe, another situation where the universe had woven a web around Ventus and he was helpless to struggle free. A vision of the night sky appeared as the blond mindlessly climbed a short flight of stairs, the sound of concrete crunching with every step echoing down empty alleyways. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, allowing the moon to shine with its true glory. It was funny, even across every world Ventus had visited, the sky never changed. The same old moon, the same old stars. He took comfort knowing there was something in his chaotic world that would always remain the same.

Two worlds, one sky.

This place triggered some fond memories hiding in the crevasses of Ventus' heart. His legs broke into a jog as renewed energy surged through his muscles. He had wandered upon a makeshift market square, lined with rickety shacks and sheltered on all sides by war-torn battlements. What a strange place, for its denizens to go about their business undeterred by the fortifications that loomed overhead. The stalls were so haphazardly thrown together that a single gust of wind could've toppled them to the ground, but the atmosphere buzzed with life. Benches were wiped clean, signs were hung out to attract customers, there was even a shop for his favourite sea-salt ice cream! Ventus licked his lips at the thought.

It's salty… but so sweet!

Wait, now he remembered this place!

Ventus' heart leapt into his chest as he almost threw himself over the battlements, desperate to catch a glimpse of what lay beyond the brick walls. He remembered the castle that pierced the sky, the enormous vault that hid sweet treats from prying eyes, the winding streets and glowing lanterns on every corner. This was Radiant Garden! Ventus released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding – this was a world he recognised after all. Terra and Aqua always complained about 'responsibilities' and the 'order of worlds', but he knew deep down they loved sea-salt ice cream just as much as he did. It never took much convincing for the three to put their duties as Keyblade wielders to the side, and the temptation of ice cream didn't hurt. Ventus let out a quiet chuckle and crossed his arms on the exposed stone wall, resting his chin on his forearms and staring wistfully at the stars above. Now that Xehanort's scheming had been squashed, the three actually had a chance of returning to the days spent dreaming about the future. For a while, Ventus had given up all hope of reliving those cherished moments. Perhaps, for once in his life, everything would turn out alright. 

...

There was something still not quite right. Ventus’ heart was lost in idyllic dreaming, but his mind still ticked away like a time bomb. He had spent countless hours in the market square of Radiant Garden, half-listening to Aqua dictate battle strategies while he and Terra goofed off. The three practically had a table reserved for them, their faces were so well known to the locals. The Radiant Garden he knew was opulent and grand, aromatic flowers hanging in baskets from every window and the perpetual smell of freshly baked goods in the air. The city Ventus found himself stranded in was a war zone, stone walls crumbling into dust and holes patched with sheets of smudged steel. Miles of irradiated purple land stretched out from the borders of the city to the horizon like a disease. Even the illustrious castle facade was dampened by broken windows and missing chunks that exposed the palace interiors to the elements. Why did everything feel so off? His clothes, his Keyblade, and now the world he was in? The puzzle pieces were almost lined up to form a complete image, but the edges didn't quite match. How could a place feel so familiar and yet so antagonistic at the same time? It was like Ventus had visited his childhood home, only to find a different family living in his place and they'd moved all the furniture around.

Everything about this situation belonged to someone else… but who?

First one to the boat gets to be captain! C'mon! You call that running?

That's weird. It's like something's squeezing me inside.

Hey… can you hear me?

Ventus was so overwhelmingly tired. He'd only opened his eyes just moments ago, yet was already running on empty. If he allowed his eyelids to slip closed, the sweet song of sleep filled his ears and lured him down where nothing existed and he could tumble into endless black. Ventus' heart was fractured, but all the pieces were within reach. They just needed to be put back together. But if that was true, then whose heart was beating in his chest? Whose heart was bound to that silver Keyblade, whose heart resonated with this world and called it home? Because it sure as hell wasn't his.

Reluctantly sliding down from his perch with a sigh, Ventus turned back towards the deserted square. His limbs were like solid blocks of concrete, dragging him down to the earth with every step. All he could think about was climbing back into that bed, back into the warm arms of sleep; just like the embrace of light that plucked his soul from the void and saved his life. His exhaustion was so great that he no longer considered the dangers of returning to the house he had awoken in or the threat of the shades who lurked inside. Even the best Keyblade Masters need a decent night's sleep. Terra was the biggest grump in the galaxy when his beauty sleep was cut short. Ventus chuckled lightly to himself and sheepishly rubbed the bridge of his nose. The best Keyblade Masters… just like himself, huh?

He began his slow saunter across the market square until his eyes hovered over what seemed to be a community signboard. Gaudy posters for events and adverts for local stores were pinned to the corkboard, plastered in neon colours to attract the attention of passers-by. It had worked on Ventus, at least. His young mind was inexplicably drawn to the explosion of hues and he wandered over, shivering as the cold night air washed over his exposed shins. His sky-blue eyes trailed over the posters; something about a 'Struggle' championship being held in a city he didn't recognise called 'Twilight Town'. If this really was Radiant Garden, maybe there was some kind of local event that would lead Aqua and Terra to him. Ventus could leap out of the crowd and scream "SURPRISE!" with a stick of sea-salt ice cream in each hand. Terra would recognise how strong he had become, how he could hold his own in battle and finally accompany the duo on missions. Aqua would pretend to be upset at his disappearance, but she would pat him on the shoulder and admit that she never lost faith in him. The three would fly their Keybalde Gliders into the sunset, the long-awaited beginning of a new chapter in their lives. He could barely wait.

Ventus was ready to resume his trek across the ruined city until his eyes fell upon a calendar tacked to the signboard. A dog-eared photograph of a group of friend smiling and laughing together displayed the date. A woman with brown curls and sunshine in her eyes, a man with spiky blond hair and an expression that could melt steel, a boy with wild, untamed chocolate locks and a disturbingly familiar key in hand. Just looking at the boy's face was enough to send shards of pain shooting through Ventus' skull. Of course, the date was the most crucial pa-

The date.

Ventus sunk to his knees.

Ten years.

It had been ten years.

The Radiant Garden he knew was in the past, left to wither away until it was a shell of its former glory. No wonder the castle was so run down, the buildings derelict and walls crumbling. No wonder the winding cobbled streets seemed so familiar yet so hostile. No wonder he could barely remember anything, why he couldn't summon his own Keyblade, why his one remaining tether to his friends was hanging on by a thread.

Ventus had slept for ten years, and the universe had moved on without him.

I've been having these weird thoughts lately.

Like, is any of this for real, or not?

Aerith hadn't slept well in years, even before Radiant Garden was swallowed by darkness

She was never the type to curse - such behaviour was vulgar and uncouth - but she could curse her inability to fight until she had no more words to give. Perhaps she was spending too much time around Cid, who had the mouth of a sailor and the patience of a lit fuse. Every world had a Lifestream coursing through the earth and nurturing the plants and creatures that called it home, though Aerith had never heard anyone else refer to it by that title. Whether it was 'Mother Nature', 'Gaia', or 'Terra Firma', the myriad of names all referred to the same phenomenon. As a Cetra, Aerith's connection to the lifeblood of the planet was stronger than most, but her heritage meant nothing in a world without Materia. The Lifestream was sealed behind the world's Keyhole, locked away from prying eyes and greedy hands in the depths of the castle. The beating heart of Radiant Garden would never see the light of day, and Aerith could only pray that it remained that way.

Instead, she did her best to make herself useful in other ways. She would supervise Leon and Cloud as they trained, reining in their competitive natures every time they became too enthusiastic and almost took the others head off. She would roam the twisting streets with Yuffie and Tifa, searching for treasure and secrets down every dark alley and behind every closed door. She would stock up Cid's workshop and pressure him into putting down the cigarettes and eating a decent meal every once in a while.

Aerith was determined to prove that her usefulness did not begin and end with her heritage. She was unsure if she was trying to prove it to the others, or to herself.

Aerith was the first to settle into their temporary home in Traverse Town after Radiant Garden was devoured by the Heartless. Rumours of grotesque experiments and wailing in the halls of the castle had spread throughout the town like wildfire, long before the Heartless poured through the palace gates and consumed everything in their path. Something had changed from the moment Xehanort was introduced to the apprentices of Ansem the Wise. Aerith worried every day that her friends would go to investigate and never come back. She fretted over Cloud whenever he disappeared to seek revenge against Sephiroth for the tenth time that month, returning bruised and beaten yet stubbornly alive. She would gladly trade every ounce of her Cetra blood if it could somehow protect those she loved. There was no price too steep.

Traverse Town was a fresh start for them. They were suddenly surrounded by people in the same awful situation – lost and confused after their homes and families were consumed by a tidal wave of Heartless. These people needed help, and it was exactly the kind of help that Aerith could provide. There was no demand for oversized swords or eco-terrorism in Traverse Town; just honest work and honest people. Aerith never ceased mourning the loss of her home, but every day spent within the walls of Traverse Town left her memories of the cobbled stone roads and regal gates of Radiant Garden feeling more and more faded.

Sora brought all those emotions back to the surface, for better or worse.

Aerith would never blame him for dragging up her feelings of helplessness or guilt. It wasn't his fault; the kid was just trying to do his best. Still, she was faced with the reality that this was yet another person she was powerless to help. She still remembered the first time they had crossed paths; the boy stumbled into Cid's shop, dazed and disoriented, rambling about a giant black monster and a friendly bloodhound with a green collar. This was a story Aerith had heard many times: countless children had washed up on the proverbial shores of Traverse Town before she had arrived, and many would for years to come. Cid insisted that he detested how kids would start poking around his stuff and breaking things, but the mechanic had a heart of gold beneath the layers of rust and dirt. Aerith had to physically stop him inviting wayward children to stay at their house before they ran out of space.

This child was different, though. He had the Key.

Leon almost blasted the front door off its hinges in his haste to intercept Sora's tracks. Cid had only brought up the weapon in passing, but the colour immediately drained from the stoic mercenary's face at the mere mention of the silver key. The Keyblade was nothing more than a legend, the one weapon that could push back the tide of darkness. At least, Aerith thought it was only a legend. If the Keyblade truly existed, then Leon wanted it for himself. His Gunblade carved through Heartless hoards like warm butter, but the pearls of darkness eventually condensated back into their original forms. Only the Keyblade could release the hearts trapped within and annihilate the Heartless for good. Aerith had humoured Leon's ranting many times before, nodding her head as he mimed how he would cleave a path through the monsters and reclaim Radiant Garden from the clutches of evil. His passionate words sparked a surge of hope in her heart, but the seeds of doubt had long taken root.

If the road to triumph was paved with the blood of her friends... then Aerith couldn't say if it would ever be worth it.

Visions of Leon throwing himself at the Heartless with Keyblade in hand, ready to give his life for those he loved, drove Aerith after him. She didn't know if the Lifestream would ever hear her voice, yet she prayed with all the strength in her heart that she would not be too late. She should've put her foot down long ago, begged him to give up his dream if it meant carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. She should've done more to make Traverse Town feel like home, pulled him aside when his mind wandered back to the labyrinthian streets and friendly faces of Radiant Garden. Aerith's heart never ceased yearning for the embrace of home, but there was no place in the universe worthy of such a sacrifice. What was the use of returning home if the price was the souls of her family?

Aerith had arrived too late, but not in the way she imagined. The redhead expected to find Leon poised over the unconscious body of a young boy. Instead, she rounded the corner just in time to witness Leon crumple to his knees, struck down by the legendary Keyblade held in the hands of a child barely fourteen years old.

She never let Leon live that one down.

Sora reminded Aerith of everything she hated about herself. Every time he returned to Hollow Bastion to regale the crew of his adventures, Aerith had to physically restrain herself from sweeping the boy up into her arms and never letting him leave the house again. Yuffie clung to his every word, desperate to hear about the worlds that lay beyond their castle walls. Leon seethed with jealousy, broiling with bitterness from his pride that had never quite healed. Cid chewed on a toothpick with increasing intensity as his mind overflowed with ideas for new Gummi Blocks and routes through the Ocean Between. Aerith didn't want to hear any of it. Sora's mastery over the Keyblade only continued to grow with every battalion of Heartless he decimated, every tyrant he toppled, every world he united.  He entertained the others with stories of facing off against an entire army of Huns and how he was almost eaten by a pack of ravenous hyenas, but Aerith didn't find his tales amusing. Sora's innocent smile and naive spirit steadily faded into sepia tones, replaced by hardened resolve and solemnity. Every time he stepped aboard the Gummiship and ventured into worlds unknown, the boy who stood shaking in his boots as he struggled to hold the Keyblade in both hands became more and more of a stranger.

Aerith had already picked up on the fact that Sora stopped over even when there was no trouble in Hollow Bastion. He dropped in at the most unexpected times, accompanied by Donald and Goofy who never voiced any complaints about taking a break from the endless onslaught of Heartless. Cid practically salivated at the opportunity to study the Keyblade in person, and Sora always seemed to have a new dent or chip in the weapon for the mechanic to go to town on. The trio would eat Aerith out of house and home, and she was happy to provide. Her connection to the Lifestream may have been severed, but there would always be a demand for hot meals and cosy beds. Aerith eyed the bags under Sora's eyes and the bruises on his arms with intense suspicion. He was far too young to be so sleep-deprived, and there was no time for rest on the battlefield. The brunette never let slip about his homeworld, seemingly content for that chapter of his past to remain closed. Aerith couldn't describe the joy she felt upon crossing the threshold of Merlin's house after their world was restored, having once believed that she would never again walk the streets of Radiant Garden. She could only imagine the turmoil raging within Sora's heart; unable to return to the sandy beaches of Destiny Islands until Xehanort's plans had been laid to rest once and for all.

Hollow Bastion couldn't hold a candle to the endless blue ocean and towering palm trees, but Aerith would do everything she could to make Sora feel at home. If his endless quest kept him from returning to his family, then she could fill that role until he was ready to leave. Heaven knows any of the Restoration Committee would be overjoyed for Sora to stay with them forever.

When Aerith was awoken in the middle of the night by an almighty CRASH, she feared that dream was about to come tumbling down.

Her mind had been toying with the idea of sleep, just hovering on the cusp of rest when it happened. A dull thud and a muffled groan of pain. Aerith’s green eyes snapped open in the darkness, holding her breath as her ears strained for any noise within the silent house. Was it a break-in? Had Organization XIII gotten tired of waiting and brought the fight to their home? Had Sephiroth picked the lock on the front door so he could wake Cloud up with an ominous monologue again?! The only sound was the constant, gentle humming of Cid's computer in the living room and Aerith's own pounding heart. Perhaps she was just exhausted, teetering on the edge of sleep and imagining scenarios that would never come to pass.

She sighed and forced her eyes closed once more. Her mind was playing tricks on her, just the foggy remnants of a dream that eluded her gra-

Sora's door slammed open.

Aerith had never gotten dressed so quickly in her life. Her ginger locks were already tied back in a loose plait, a souvenir of the daily grind that she lacked the energy to undo on an evening. Her mind raced as quickly as her heart as she slipped both feet into their respective boots and tugged her tiered skirt over her hips. Sora had a knack for disappearing in the middle of the night, but the brunette usually slunk through the front door without a whisper to avoid waking his companions. The sound of pounding feet reverberated from beyond Aerith's bedroom door as Sora flew down the stairs towards the living room. The young Keyblade wielder was unshakable even in the face of certain death; something must've severely spooked him. Aerith's blood turned to ice at the thought, but she couldn't turn a blind eye. Something was wrong, and she was not going to merely stand back and watch.

"Sora?!" Aerith cried as she followed the brunette's tracks. "Is everything OK?"

No reply. Aerith’s heart sunk deeper into the pit of her stomach. She descended the final steps only to find the living room wholly unoccupied, with no signs of spiky brown hair or beaming blue eyes. Merlin's teacup waited patiently on his table beside a stack of ageing tomes, its contents kept piping hot by a spark of magic embedded in the porcelain. Cid's computer ran algorithms and processes that Aerith couldn't even begin to decipher, casting the room in an eerie green glow. Just how many times would she need to remind him to turn that off thing before bed?! Her frantic heartbeat relaxed at the conclusion that her house was free of both Heartless and One-Winged Angels. Sephiroth must've learned his lesson after the last time she kicked him to the curb.

It was also unsettling devoid of Sora. The rumbling in Aerith's heart refused to settle until she confirmed his safety with her own eyes.

Thankfully, the Keyblade wielder wasn't all that smart. The front door stood slightly ajar, allowing the frigid night air to billow into the house. Sora's strength was beyond comprehension, but he wasn't the sharpest Keyblade in the Graveyard. Aerith breathed a sigh of relief and followed after him, shivering as the icy moonlight brushed across her bare arms. Just how was Sora able to work in conditions like this? She briefly contemplated staying behind, granting Sora the privacy to work through his problems and return of his own accord. She would be ready and waiting with a mug of hot cocoa and an open mind. Boys' emotions were so fragile at his age, and Aerith didn't want to cause more harm by prying.

The clattering of metal against stone coming from one street over was enough to make up her mind. Whatever had sent Sora scrambling for his life in the dead of the night was not something Aerith could overlook. Braving the chill that seeped into her bones, she resolutely made her way towards the source of the commotion.

Aerith had half expected to find Sora knee-deep in Heartless, brandishing his Keyblade against the tide of darkness. Perhaps she would've even felt better knowing that his suffering could be attributed to something he could fight against. She shook that thought out of her head before it took take root. Aerith followed the curvature of the street as it led her up towards the market square. The engine of Hollow Bastion during the day was a mere ghost town at night, dense shadows betraying the haphazard construction of the stalls. It was a bleak reminder that Aerith's homeworld had a long way to go before it could reclaim the name of 'Radiant Garden'. The pool of molten metal in the redhead's stomach eased somewhat as she reached the apex of the stone steps. Sora's unruly brown hair finally came into view as he knelt before the community signboard, completely oblivious to Aerith's presence. His face bore a blank expression, head leaning back like his neck was struggling to support its weight. Aerith was relieved to find him in one piece, but his sapphire eyes were dull and lifeless as if his soul had left his body. Sora's gaze was glued to the calendar, proudly displaying the photograph of the entire Restoration Committee that Aerith had pestered Leon to include in the rotation, yet his eyes were unfocused as if he was staring straight through the wooden signboard. Was he sleepwalking?

Aerith cautiously approached the motionless boy and placed one hand on his shoulder. His frame gently rose and fell with each breath, but Sora was so serene that Aerith half expected her hand to phase through his body like a mirage. She had heard many tales from an increasingly exasperated Merlin, ranting about how Sora's heart seemed to wander off on a dime. The wizard suspected that the brunette's brief stint as a Heartless had loosened the tether between his body and soul. Aerith couldn't bear the thought of losing him to the darkness again. A single tearstain ran down Sora's cheek, a trail of diamonds twinkling under the moonlight. Aerith swallowed the lump in her throat and briskly shook the brunette’s shoulder.

"Sora?" she repeated, her voice cracking with thinly veiled dread. "Are you still with us?"

At first, Sora didn't react to her touch. He remained as listless as the stone battlements that circled the market square. An eternity passed before Aerith finally felt his muscles move below her palm, his head turning to face the one who released him from his trance. The brunette's face remained expressionless like a porcelain doll, not even blinking as he stared into Aerith's soul. The inner workings of her heart were laid bare as Sora delved into her spirit with his piercing blue eyes, desperately searching for something that wasn't there.

This person may look like Sora, may be wearing his clothes and standing in his shoes, but the soul behind his eyes was foreign to her. A boy with a flash of blonde hair and electric blue eyes, whose smile was innocent and pure. For the briefest of moments, Aerith looked into Sora's eyes and saw a stranger staring back.

"...Aqua?"

Sora's voice croaked from his throat as if he was holding back a sob, a husk of his booming, confident tone. Aerith had no time to respond before the brunette's eyes refocused, blinking hard as his consciousness returned. Sora scrubbed his eye sockets with the heels of his palms, scouring away any remnants of the trance that possessed his body. He leapt to his feet, frantically turning his head back and forth as if searching for the faces of two nameless Keyblade wielders. Aerith was relieved to see the last of the blank, unfeeling expression that once soured Sora's face, but she wasn't sure that blind panic was much better. She grabbed the brunette by his shoulders and stopped his breakdown before he made himself pass out.

"Sora, calm down," Aerith commanded, her voice firm but kind. "You're in Hollow Bastion. You're safe."

Sora was still visibly shaken, but Aerith's earnest words were enough to bring him down to earth. He took several jittery breaths, sliding his eyes closed and forcing his racing heart to relax. Aerith found herself doing the same. The two shared a moment of fleeting tranquillity until Sora suddenly flinched and wiped the tear stain off his cheek. His face flushed red at the realisation that he had cried in front of someone he respected. Aerith couldn't help but smile - even in his weakest hour, Sora was still trying to keep a brave face. Sometimes she forgot just how young he was.

"H-How did I get here?" Sora probed, his eyebrows furrowed in deep confusion. "Last I remember, we all ate dinner together, Leon and Cloud had an argument about whether guns or swords are better, then I went to bed…"

He trailed off into silence, desperately looking to Aerith for answers. Her heart yearned to reveal the truth that danced on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't bring herself to crush Sora's spirit. Aerith still remembered that fourteen-year-old boy begging to know what had happened to his world and his friends and his mother, blissfully unaware that he would never see the latter again. All questions that she asked herself every day, that Sora would never hear the answers to. The many years of conflict had moulded Sora into a strapping young man, but that lost child was still alive inside his soul. He was robbed of his childhood by a fate decided long before he was born, and Aerith refused to stifle the last shreds of the brunette’s innocence. No matter how dim the light, how weak the flame, she couldn't bear the thought of snuffing it out.

"You were sleepwalking, dear," Aerith stated, forcing a gentle smile onto her features. "Come on, let's go back inside. It's cold – I'll make you some tea."

She could tell by the way Sora's lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed that he didn't fully buy her story, but he was too exhausted to argue.

Aerith took his hand in hers and lead him home, like a lost lamb returning to the safety of the flock. She didn't doubt that the Keyblade wielder would still be crumpled in front of that signboard until the sun rose if she hadn't been awake to hear him fleeing. Sora's fingers were like icicles, but the weight of his hand in hers dispelled the fog that clouded her senses. As the two walked back to Merlin's House in comfortable silence, Aerith's mind lingered on something that had taken root in the depths of her psyche. A throwaway remark that Cid had let slip; an expression that meant nothing in the moment, yet had echoed in her brain since the moment it was conceived.

"The Keyblade, eh? Lucky kid."

There was nothing lucky about the Keyblade. Nothing Aerith envied about the role that was forced into Sora's hands before he even knew what it meant. The Keyblade was a blessing for those it liberated, and a curse for those chosen to wield it.

Well, there was no use lingering on the matter. Sora's fate was inexplicably tied to the Keyblade, and there was no changing that. Even if there was some way of snipping the threads of fate, Aerith doubted that Sora would have it any other way. He would've taken on the Heartless army with just his fists if the Keyblade had never appeared to him. Sora never cursed the life he was chosen to lead; Aerith resolved to do the same. Rather than put up a futile fight against the unyielding hands of destiny, she would turn her attention towards making the battle a little easier. Aerith would never support him on the battlefield without the power of Materia, but she could offer something that no one else could. After all, the frightened boy that lived on within Sora's heart would always need a warm bed and a loving embrace. The passage of time could take its toll on the brunette's body, but his mind was unbreakable. Some things would never truly change.

Perhaps, in her own way, Aerith could be the most useful of all.

Chapter Text

When Roxas dragged himself from the dredges of sleep, he had no idea where he was. That was honestly pretty normal for a school day.

He stared absentmindedly at the plastered ceiling for a lot longer than he intended to. His ice-blue eyes were blurry with tiredness, and his limbs were like deadened weights. The muscles of his eyelids struggled to remain open as every blink threatened to send Roxas tumbling back into the abyss of slumber. The blond stretched his arms and legs, forcing blood back into his catatonic limbs. This was a condition that his body was more than familiar with - the Struggle tournament may use foam swords, but Roxas always seemed to end up covered in bruises. Hayner insisted that he could only be sure that he fought hard enough if he walked away with a black eye as a trophy.

Roxas was never able to enjoy his weekends while the looming spectre of homework towered over his head. Every hour spent slacking off with his friends was an hour that his school obligations would beat him to a pulp. Roxas would love to follow in Hayner's footsteps and force any thoughts of classes to the back of his mind, but Pence and Olette would murder him in an alley if he fell behind on his studies. His teachers wouldn't accept ignorance as an excuse; he had already tried. Regardless of how comfortable he was while wrapped in the warm embrace of cotton bedsheets, Roxas would have to pull himself together sooner rather than later. Ugh.

What time was it anyway? Roxas rubbed the gunk from his eyes and rolled his head to the side to inspect the clock that rhythmically ticked away on the wall. He prayed that it was somehow 3 AM so he could bury his head in his pillow and ignore the world for a few more hours. The clock was not so merciful. The hour hand had almost struck midday, and that meant he was late for school again.

His teacher would hang him out to dry for this, but only if Olette didn't do it first. Their report on the so-called 'Seven Mysteries of Twilight Town' was her brainchild; she was merciful enough to allow the boys to put their names on the slideshow. Only Olette could turn a series of coincidental, bogus rumours into a passable essay. Roxas, Hayner, and Pence would've been throwing something together as they walked into class. The blond briefly considered skipping school entirely - there was barely any point if it was almost midday - but his morals weren't that grey.

Roxas tossed his bedsheets to the floor with a disgruntled groan, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and cracking his neck. He ran one hand through his hair, grimacing at how flattened his spikes had become by lying in bed all day. Considering he had overslept, Roxas hoped to feel more... rested. His calves ached as if he had climbed a mountain in his sleep, and the creeping fingers of fatigue hovered at the edge of his vision. Whatever. He'd shown his face in class in a much worse condition before. Roxas was a student: being perpetually exhausted was part of the shtick. Maybe he should stop by Tram Common and pick up a coffee from Le Grand Bistrot. It was on the way to school, after all...

That was weird. Roxas couldn't remember if the cafe was on the route to his classes. He tried to plot a mental map, but there was no path through the labyrinthine streets of Twilight Town that would lead him to a school. In fact, he couldn't seem to recall the school’s name... or what subjects he was studying…

Roxas resisted the urge to physically slap himself in the face as the clouds in his sleep-addled mind finally cleared. God, he was such an idiot. How many times had he been here, roused from slumber by vivid dreams of a boy in red living a life fraught with danger and heartache? There was no school, no assignment; it was all manufactured to keep Roxas in a gilded birdcage while Organization XIII hunted him down. DiZ insisted that the digital recreation of Twilight Town was to keep the blond's presence obscured from the Nobodies that were out for his blood, but Roxas could see through his fanciful lies. His saviour was also his captor, locking his soul away in a computer and filling his heart with falsified memories to ensure his cooperation. In a way, DiZ was no better than Xemnas. Considering the silver-haired Nobody was once an apprentice of Ansem the Wise - the disgraced scientist who took on the identity of 'DiZ' after being usurped by his own student - Xemnas must've inherited his teacher's penchant for manipulation. Clearly, the Paopu fruit didn't fall far from the tree.

Still, there was one question that Roxas had never uncovered the answer to. Was DiZ locking Organization XIII out, or was he locking Roxas in?

Roxas smothered his face with a pillow, muffling an indignant groan. He agreed to merge with Sora in the hopes that the fake memories implanted in his brain would be cast aside like a snake shedding its skin. Xemnas had deliberately misled him from the moment he opened his eyes, staggering around the grounds of the abandoned mansion in a daze. Roxas was born with no memories to call his own, and the malevolent Nobody was more than happy to fill in the gaps with his propaganda. Roxas was reluctant to end his life for the benefit of someone who would never know he existed, but fusing with Sora was the only way to uncover the truth. Regardless of how far the brunette delved into Xehanort's schemes, Roxas was never truly free of the lies that encompassed his entire existence. They taunted him night after night: his best friends that would never know his name, his rivals that would never know his strength, his home that had always belonged to someone else.

Roxas' life had begun with a lie, and it seemed it would end with one. Some days he wondered if things would've been better if he had never met Sora at all.

"It may have started with a lie, but I'm really glad I met you, Sora."

Sora's eyes were glued to the open petals of the alabaster pod, but Naminé’s sudden admission pierced through his trance. He tore his attention away to find the Nobody staring at the ground and twirling her platinum locks with one hand. Naminé refused to meet his gaze. How could she, when she was at the epicentre of every shard of pain embedded in Sora's heart since the moment he stepped into Castle Oblivion? How dare she seek forgiveness from the boy whose chain of memories had been shredded by her own hands? The visions of the duo sitting on the beach together, building a raft that would carry them into the unknown, dreaming of what wonders lay just beyond the horizon... it was all fake. Naminé had inserted herself into a life that she wished she could lead; one where she wasn't a witch with the ability to reforge memories. Where she was just a normal girl, surrounded by friends who loved her for who she was, and not for the powers she possessed.

Organization XIII may have forced her hand, threatening to end her life before it could ever begin if she didn't cooperate, but she didn't have to live with the consequences. It was Sora who would carry the burden of her actions, his heart on the brink of collapse as Naminé chiselled away at the foundations. She wrote herself over the memories of a girl with auburn hair, whose heart was ablaze with light that could outshine all the stars in the sky. Marluxia knew that Sora would do anything to protect this girl, and he exploited that kindness by having Naminé superimpose her image over those feelings. Sora would never leave Castle Oblivion if he believed that Naminé was the source of that longing, and Marluxia was happy to watch him wander the empty white halls until his heart collapsed under the strain of her meddling.

Naminé longed to know how it felt to be wanted, even if it was just a lie. As Sora burst through the doors to her room as if he had known her for his entire life, the expression of sheer joy on his face almost made it worth it. The knowledge that such elation was intended for someone else shattered the facade that Naminé had so meticulously built. Sora didn't care for Naminé because of those lazy days spent laughing and smiling under the sun while the ocean lapped at their ankles. He only cared for her because she made him.

Sora stared at Naminé in stunned silence before breaking into a beaming smile. He should've been consumed with resentment towards the girl who had rewritten his brain, but they were kindred spirits. The Organization had leeched Naminé's powers for all she was worth with no thought for the girl they were tearing apart inside. He knew what that felt like. Naminé wasn't some wicked witch sitting atop a throne of lies. She was just a girl. Sora could no longer trust his memories, but he could always trust his heart. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Yeah," Sora earnestly agreed. "Me too."

Naminé had anticipated a deluge of hatred, steeling herself in preparation for the moment the Keyblade would strike her down as punishment for her sins. Sora defied Marluxia's expectations at every turn, and he was doing the same for her. Her eyes snapped up from the spot on the floor that they had been affixed to, finally meeting Sora's gaze with a look of incredulous disbelief. Her ocean-blue orbs were a near-perfect reflection of someone that Sora could no longer remember - a girl whose face was blurred beyond recognition, whose name lingered just beyond his reach. His heart wailed in pain, torn between the pining to remember and the urge to forget. Sora wasn't sure where he stood with the blonde witch, but one thing was certain. He didn't need to remember how to forgive, because kindness was never truly forgotten.

"When I found you, even when I remembered your name… I was so, so happy," Sora pressed onwards, his voice overflowing with bittersweet joy. "The way I felt was no lie."

Naminé felt Sora's infectious grin spread across her face. She understood why Marluxia was so desperate to bring the brunette under his control. Very few could claim mastery over the darkness in their heart; ironically enough, Sora was not one of them. He had never defeated his shadows because they never even stood a chance. His purity was staggering, obliterating the darkness wherever it hid. Naminé chuckled lightly and shook her head with incredulity. There was no guarantee that she would be able to completely revert the damage she had done to his memories, or that Sora would even wake at all. Even in the face of his own demise, the fire in his heart refused to be extinguished.

"...Goodbye, Sora," Naminé smiled wistfully, gesturing to the open pod that stoically awaited its passenger. The two had known each other for such a short length of time, and it was already time for them to part. Sora winced as the finality of her words such into his bones. He wasn't ready for everything to be over.

"No, not goodbye!" he insisted loudly, making Naminé jump in her skin. "I'll find you again after I wake up and we'll be friends for real!"

Sora held out his hand, extending the pinky finger to Naminé as a sign of friendship. If she had a heart, she was sure it would be grieving. There was so much she wanted to say, but she couldn't find the words. As she stood in stunned silence, the light within Sora's heart poured from his soul and drowned the shadows of doubt that suffocated her spirit.

If Sora was so willing to offer forgiveness, then Naminé would make sure his faith was not misplaced. Despite everything she had done to him, he still believed in her. Perhaps it was time that she believed in herself.

"Promise me, Naminé."

Promise me, Naminé.

Roxas didn't know it was possible to feel such devastating pain. He wasn't sure when he had blacked out, but he jolted back to consciousness to find himself huddled over a waste bin. His body hurt in places that he didn't know existed, his eyes watering as his stomach churned in the pit of his belly. His head was encased in a vice that squeezed so hard that his eyeballs threatened to pop out of their sockets. Roxas let out a spluttered cough as his stomach tried to vacate its contents, but there was nothing to bring up. He gasped for air between each lurch of his insides until they gradually petered away into nothingness. Roxas peeled his fingers off the rim of the waste bin and leaned back on his heels, taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling as the pins and needles in his arms dissipated. The unearthly silence of the house only amplified his suffering until he could think of nothing else.

Man, it had been a long time since that happened. Sora's memoirs repeatedly wormed their way into Roxas' dreams even before he was sealed away within the virtual Twilight Town. It was a fact of life that the Nobody had come to terms with; that unruly nest of brown hair and gleaming silver Keylade haunted his restless nights. Roxas was privy to Sora's waking moments from the second he stepped out of that cursed pod, but anything prior was lost in a hazy mist. The few snapshots he had gleamed only trickled through while the blond was sleeping. Something about a slumbering heart left it vulnerable to outside influences. Even so, Roxas had never been so severely affected by it that he had blacked out. Perhaps it was because he was awake when it happened-

Wait, he was awake.

Any air in Roxas' lungs was wrenched out at the unwelcome thought as if his life processes had suddenly ceased. His muscles stiffened until he was as still as a statue, joints frozen and breath held as the gravity of his situation sunk into his bones. His eyes scoured the room for any signs that he was still dreaming; anything out of place or awry that could rationalise his thoughts. Roxas clenched his fists, feeling his nails dig into his palms until his knuckles turned white. He refused to accept that he was awake. He couldn't even consider the possibility.

Roxas gave up his existence - or as much of an existence as a Nobody could have - so that Sora could be whole. So that he could be whole. It was his last shot at freedom from the talons of Organization XIII, and his final chance to see Xemnas meet the fate he deserved. Axel would never stop hunting him, skulking around every corner to either kidnap or kill the blond Nobody if he refused to return to the ranks. Even now that Roxas technically no longer existed, his former best friend had made it very clear that he would never tire until he got what he wanted. He would stop at nothing until Sora was turned back into a Heartless in the hopes of jettisoning Roxas back into the world as his Nobody. Roxas' consent wasn't required. The blond had driven Axel off by the skin of his teeth more than once, but he didn't believe for one second that he had seen the last of him.

Well, whether he liked it or not, Roxas was very much awake. Had Axel finally succeeded?

What had happened to Sora?!

The rising panic in his chest compressed his ribs and made it hard to breathe, but Roxas refused to fall prey to his emotions. He brushed his trepidation to one side and donned his usual stoic expression. Fighting through the poison ivy wrapped around his heart, the Nobody jumped to his feet and rushed to the bathroom. Roxas' mind didn't recognise the topography of the house he had awoken in, but his heart knew it like the back of his hand. His legs carried him to his destination even as his brain raged in turmoil, stepping into a quaint washroom with wonky tiles and lit by a single fluorescent lightbulb. Roxas grabbed the sides of the sink as his knees wobbled unsteadily beneath his weight, and braced himself for what he would see in the mirror.

He wasn't unfamiliar with the sensation of staring at his reflection, only to find someone else's face staring back. A face that was almost identical to his own, but softer, gentler; no bags under his eyes and a vitality to his skin that Roxas didn't spend enough time in the sun to ever achieve. Such was the life of Nobody, doomed to slink around in the shadow of his Other. He just prayed that his own soulless blue eyes and dirty blond hair would be looking back at him. Licking his lips in anticipation, Roxas buried his apprehension and raised his head to face the contents of the mirror.

The last thing he expected to see was Sora gazing straight back at him.

No doubt about it: those uncontrollable cocoa hair spikes and eyes like the ocean floor couldn't belong to anyone else. Roxas defiantly scrunched his eyes shut, waited for a few seconds with bated breath, then reopened them. The face of his Other continued to taunt him from the other side of the mirror. His eyes were red and weary as if he was chronically sleep deprived, but Roxas had seen that face in his dreams often enough to erase any doubt. He absentmindedly ran his fingers over his – Sora’s - jawline. The brunette's soft features really didn't suit his stern expression, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned in disdain. Roxas realised just how dumb that sounded and pinched the bridge of his nose with an embittered huff.

Perhaps he was still dreaming. Roxas had stood in Sora's oversized shoes more times than he was comfortable with, but had only ever acted out his memories as Sora himself remembered them. The brown-haired Keyblade wielder was not always the most reliable narrator. But now, if Roxas dared brush those infuriating chocolate strands away from his face, his reflection would do the same. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins as his heart pounded in his chest. Roxas wasn't reliving a memory of his Other. Everything felt far too real.

Roxas' – Sora’s - expression darkened into a scowl as he released his grip on the sink, grabbed the skin of his forearm, and pinched hard.

Ouch. Definitely not dreaming.

As bizarre as it was, Roxas could feel the storm clouds parting as he regained his grasp on the situation. His analytical mind began ticking away, distancing himself from any emotive response and focusing solely on the facts at hand. He had never once been aware of the clash in identities while playing back Sora's memories like a tape recorder, so he could safely rule out the possibility that he was dreaming. He wasn't chained within a Replica body – the pounding of his heart and the tingling of his fingertips was proof enough of that. He could be inside another virtual world – it certainly wouldn't be the first time – but why would his captors make him look like Sora instead of himself?

With every possibility tossed over his shoulder, Roxas felt his senses returning to him. There were only two options worth considering: the first, something had happened to Sora's heart, and Roxas had been dumped in the driver's seat in the meantime. The second and significantly worse option, Axel had followed through on his threats and Sora was now a Heartless, leaving Roxas to be reincarnated as his Nobody once more. The implications left a bitter taste in Roxas' mouth, but the pieces weren't aligning as precisely as he would like them to. That was pretty normal for Sora, who seemed to operate on logic that was outside the laws of the universe. If his Other was lost to the darkness, then why hadn't he retained his original appearance? Roxas caught himself - Sora - pouting in the mirror as his brain unravelled the web of fate, lost in deep thought. He promptly stopped before he embarrassed himself.

There was one question that Roxas was trying his best to avoid, the one he didn't know if he could answer. Was he actually Roxas right now, or was he Sora?

Did he still remember the difference?

Sora barely had a moment to catch his breath as the trio closed in on the black-hooded figure. The Underworld wasn't kind to visitors from the land of the living; the curse continually sapped his strength as the lost souls tried to drain the last vestiges of life from his veins. The brunette could tell that the noxious atmosphere was affecting Donald and Goofy too, but they resolutely powered through without a single complaint. Without the Olympus Stone in their possession, they faced a one-way trip to the abyss if Hades discovered the tiniest crack in their resolve. The dire situation had only strengthened their bond, in a macabre sort of way. Sora couldn't muster the focus to use his Drive forms while the curse of the Underworld was in effect; the three had to watch each other’s backs at every twist and turn of the maze-like afterlife.

How it wasn't affecting the cloaked Nobody was beyond him. Organization XIII always seemed to be one step ahead, and it was getting on Sora's nerves. Olympus Stone or not, the hooded figure would meet his end at the tip of his Keyblade. Sora could feel his left hand thrum in excitement as the Kingdom Key cried out to the other Keyblades waiting in the wings, but there was no response. The curse of the Underworld was like an impenetrable fog of blackness, swallowing the light from the blade and stifling its voice. Dual-wielding was out of the question. Donald and Goofy seemed to sense the brunette's uneasiness and offered their own reassuring smiles. Sora felt his frazzled nerves ease up a little. It was difficult to feel worried when his friends were by his side.

The almighty ruckus of the trio blazing across the Underworld had caught the attention of the Nobody. He skidded to a halt as he realised that he'd been cornered, seemingly reluctant to get into a scrap with an irate Keyblade wielder and his sidekicks. Sora was ready to launch himself at the Nobody before he could declare parlay, but the figure had other plans. He slipped back his hood to reveal a pale face framed by a shocking spiked mullet. Sora felt a well of hesitation bubbling up in his stomach - it was so much easier to antagonise Organization XIII when they remained faceless.

"Wait a sec…" the cloaked figure mused, half to himself and half to his pursuers. "...Roxas?"

Sora felt an unfathomable aching in his chest, winding its thorns around his heart until he could barely breathe. He brushed it to one side, refusing to dignify the Nobody with an answer. The curse of the Underworld was probably just getting to him, filling his head with suspicions that were completely unfounded. The cloaked man was unimpressed with Sora's lack of cooperation.

"Oh, it's no use!" the Nobody lamented, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Sora demanded, but the Nobody completely ignored him. He plucked a sloppily folded note from the inside of his trench coat, skimming through its contents as if refreshing himself of its commands.

"Let's see here… 'If the subject fails to respond, use aggression to liberate his true disposition.' Right… ugh, did they ever pick the wrong guy for this one…"

Sora couldn't help but snort with laughter; Demyx very rarely said anything that came close to the truth, but no one would deny that he wasn't a fighter. Xemnas stood firm when they questioned why he was invited to join Organization XIII: Demyx was the only member who could outnumber an army, even when fighting alone. Who else could produce a seemingly limitless supply of water clones that could overwhelm their foes in seconds? Who else could command the oceans with a single pluck of his sitar strings? If only Demyx could find the desire to fight within himself, he would easily prove to be one of the most powerful Nobodies. But all Demyx wanted to do was play his sitar. He had even tried to cajole Sora into forming a band with him and Axel so they could leave the Organization behind and-

No, that wasn't how that happened.

Roxas groaned and clutched his throbbing head, the pain returning with a vengeance as his mind was overstimulated with mismatched memories. Sora didn't even know Demyx's name at that point, and Roxas wouldn't be surprised if the ditzy Nobody hadn't learned Sora's either. Neither of the two were the brains of their respective groups. Somehow, the chain of memories had become tangled, and Roxas' thoughts were getting mixed up with Sora's. Roxas was sure he was beyond that point by now, that his union with his Other should've strengthed the foundations of their shared soul. Was Sora experiencing the same muddying of memories? Were the brunette's dream plagued by visions of sea-salt ice cream, abstract white castles, and predatory yellow eyes?

Well, regardless of the situation he was in now, Roxas needed more information before he could plan his next move. He splashed his face with cold water, inhaling sharply as the chilly fluid washed away the remaining molasses of sleep. Roxas was equally amused and grateful to find that his Other slept fully clothed. Probably so that Sora could leap into action at any moment, without having to fight Heartless in his pyjamas. The Nobody was not mentally prepared to see his Other naked any time soon. He picked his way through the house, stepping over clothes that had been recklessly tossed to the floor, and unlatched the front door. Roxas didn't consider it strange that he was able to navigate a building he had never investigated before; it seemed right, somehow. He was greeted by the warm glow of perpetual twilight as the blond crossed the threshold, walking out into the world beyond. He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of a clock tower rising above the skyline to pierce the eternally setting sun. Roxas had technically never stepped foot in the real Twilight Town, confined to the digital fabrication, but the sleepy city still felt like home. Much more so than the unfeeling white skyscrapers of The World That Never Was.

Why is it even called that when it very clearly currently is?!

Roxas' hands had almost parted the dusty red curtains obscuring the entrance to the Usual Spot before he realised what he was doing. His feet were retracing the steps they had taken a million times before. Had he lost his mind? Was he planning on sitting down with Hayner, Pence, and Olette, talking about when the word '_____' was stolen or when they tried to go to the beach but DiZ didn't want to render it? Was he going to look at their confused and worried faces as he spoke about events that had never happened and places that didn't exist? Would they look into his eyes and ask Sora what was wrong, or would they see the Nobody that was locked inside?

They weren't his friends anymore, or more specifically, they had never been.

Roxas was still getting used to the idea of having feelings. Nobodies didn't have a heart, didn't even technically exist. They were unholy creatures that straddled the line between life and death, unwanted by both light and darkness and doomed to wander without purpose for all eternity. That was unless they could retrieve their hearts. The souls that were stolen away by the Heartless would fill the voids in their chests, bringing them back from the cusp of non-existence. This was the final goal of Organization XIII, the glue that united them against a universe that had cast them aside. Xemnas' eyes glowed with a dangerous yellow fire as he slipped into one of his many rants, consumed by the desire to defy the fate that inevitably waited for them. They were all so desperate for something to cling to, something that would give meaning to their existence.

Despite everything that Xemnas had drilled into his head, Roxas could recall more than one time where he had experienced what could be called an 'emotion'. He felt loneliness when Axel left to join the others in Castle Oblivion; embarrassment whenever Larxene accused him of hitting on her; rage as Saïx commanded him to obey without question. Those emotions that wormed into the depths of his brain were faded and blunt, echoes of the feelings that lingered within Sora's fractured heart. Roxas dared approach Xemnas only once about the uneasiness that caused his Keyblade to waiver. His golden eyes fogged over with longing for a life long past; Nobodies were incapable of feeling emotions, but they remembered what it was like to have hearts. It was the only thing the white-haired Nobody had ever told Roxas that he whole-heartedly believed.

'Whole-Heartedly'. What an ironic statement.

Roxas dejectedly shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away from the Usual Spot. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do next, but he wanted to put as much space between him and his friends as possible. He couldn't bear the thought of listening to the people he cared about greeting him as if he was someone else. Roxas only truly understood what it meant to have emotions after he rejoined with Sora, waking him from his year-long coma in that accursed pod. He was suddenly in possession of a heart, the purpose of his entire journey within the ranks of Organization XIII, and Roxas wasn't sure what to do with it. Sure, it might not have been his own heart, but Sora seemed to have no problem sharing. Roxas hadn't noticed how much his time with the Organization had stuck with him until he was liberated from their influence. The blond had just accepted the cards he was dealt without complaint, unaware there was anything higher that a Nobody could aspire to become. Even if he was only loaning it, the sensation of a heart pulsating in his chest was almost too much to bear. Roxas' mind was overwhelmed with emotions that he'd forgotten existed.

When that ivory pod peeled back its petals to reveal the slumbering body of his other half, there was one emotion that burned so bright that it eclipsed any other feeling that dared raise its head. One emotion that raged like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path and leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

The only emotion Roxas felt... was anger.

He was angry at Xemnas for reducing his entire existence down to the Keyblade in his hand.  He was angry at Axel for trying to murder him in cold blood because he refused to become the mindless puppet that he was before. He was angry at DiZ for giving him friends that weren't real and then ripping them away as if they were nothing. He was angry at Kingdom Hearts for dangling the promise of a new life before his eyes like a carrot on a string. He was angry at himself for allowing so many people to take advantage of him, whittling away at his soul until there was nothing left.

But most of all, he was angry at Sora.

Nothing came close to the unbridled hatred he once felt towards Sora. Sora got to meet the real Hayner, Pence, and Olette, and they liked him, not Roxas. Sora got to travel the universe, eat amazing food and see spectacular sunsets, and Roxas didn't. Roxas had to sit and be quiet while Sora stole his Keyblade and tore through waves of darkness without ever knowing that he was robbing his Nobody of the one thing that made him special. Whatever Roxas could do, Sora could do better. There was no place for him when there was someone else who could outpace him at every turn.

Of course, it had been a very long time since Roxas felt that way. He was almost ashamed that he once viewed Sora as the root of his problems, the ball and chain tied around his ankle. They were both victims of a fate that was thrust upon them, a destiny that neither wanted. Roxas had never asked for any of this, and neither had Sora. Xemnas, Ansem, Xehanort... whatever name he went by, that man manipulated and deceived both of them for his own amusement, rupturing the very fabric of reality to suit his whims. Roxas couldn't begin to understand how he managed to bend the laws of nature and exist at the same time as his Somebody, but every road lead back to Xehanort.

Some days Roxas wondered if the loathing he once felt towards the brunette was his own, or if it was just a reflection of how Sora felt towards himself.

Roxas was so wrapped up in his introspection that he hadn't realised his legs had carried him to Station Plaza. He craned his head back to stare up at the regal clock tower, puffing Sora's unruly bangs out of his eyes. The hour hand had just passed midday, despite the low-hanging sun that lingered on the edge of nighttime. An uneasy lull enveloped the plaza as people walked in and out of the station entrance, eyes wide and shoulders tense. Sora had banished all the Nobodies he had come across, but those shifty Dusks could be ready to jump out at any moment. Several people recognised his face as the one who fought back the darkness but maintained a respectful distance. Roxas exhaled quietly in amusement - Sora's reputation as a defender of light clearly didn't stop those he saved from treating him like an outsider. The blond Nobody knew how it felt to be a foreigner in a familiar land. It was one of the few things the pair shared in common.

Roxas was aware that those memories were fake, implanted in his mind by a madman who sought to keep him hidden from the world. He just couldn't bring himself to call them meaningless. Perhaps he would never experience true friendship with Hayner, Pence, and Olette. Perhaps they would never even know he existed. It didn't matter. Roxas' memories stemmed from a convoluted lie, but the way he felt was genuine. The joy of friendship. The warmth of home. That was no lie, and Roxas would never allow anyone to take that away from him.

Somehow, deep inside his borrowed heart, he knew that Sora would agree.

Sora planted both feet at the base of the skyscraper. The artificial blue neon lights that wrapped around every building like veins seemed to pulse with life, burning cyan afterimages into his retinas. The scent of petrichor filled his nostrils even though the skies above were clear, no clouds to obscure the sickly glow of Kingdom Hearts as darkness cascaded from its massacred core. His grip on the Kingdom Key was so tight that his fingers were going numb, but his Keyblade was the only lifeline he had right now. Sora was used to hearing the clanking of Goofy's shield and the sparks of Donald's staff at his side, but there was only silence. He was on his own.

The brunette pushed himself off the ground and sprinted up the exterior of the skyscraper, racing towards the silhouette perched at the very top. Even in such low light, Sora could feel Xemnas' sinister smirk eating away at his heart like acid as he approached. Gravity held no sway over him as he pushed himself harder and harder towards his foe, the skyscraper's exoskeleton vibrating with every step. The effervescent blue glow of Kingdom Hearts was pierced with fiery red as Xemnas readied his Ethereal Blades before gracefully swan diving from the roof. His yellow eyes never shifted from Sora's face, even as gravity sent him plummeting towards the ground at breakneck speed. Xemnas wasn't content with merely waiting for Sora to come to him. His blades longed to soak themselves in blood, and the silver-haired Nobody would not deny such pleasure.

Roxas brutally swept his Keyblades from side to side without missing a step. Any Neoshadows foolish enough to brave his wrath were severed at the waist like sheets of paper and scattered to the wind. The rain stung his eyes as he continued upwards, but he didn't dare blink. In a moment of spontaneous instinct, the blond channelled all his strength into his right arm and hurled Oblivion upwards with all the force of a shooting star. The Heartless unlucky enough to be caught in the crossfire stood no chance as the Keyblade carved through the tidal wave of darkness. Flecks of inky black exploded from the obliterated monsters and mixed with the falling rain until Roxas could barely tell the difference.

Riku had a similar thought in mind, for once. He plunged off the skyscraper without a moment of hesitation, intercepting Oblivion in its warpath and taking it in his own hand. He ignored the scalding heat as the foreign Keyblade rejected his call and forced the weapon into his servitude. His blindfold fluttered in the wind, obscuring his eyes but doing nothing to disguise the smile that stretched across his face. Roxas winced as his feet made contact with the giant screen, sending bolts of electricity darting up his calves with every step. His muscles trembled beneath his skin, but the blond pushed his exhausted body through the pain. There was so much animosity brewing in his stomach, such much hatred towards the silver-haired Keyblade wielder that drew ever closer with a serene smile. Roxas would not rest until he wiped that expression off his face for good.

Roxas wondered if Riku had blinded himself because he was afraid of the sight of his own darkness, or because he was afraid of the face waiting beneath Roxas' hood.

Roxas inhaled sharply and slapped his cheek in an attempt to snap himself out of it. His eyes were unbearably dry as if he hadn't blinked once since making eye contact with the clock tower that loomed overhead. What was once a monument to the power of friendship was now a gravestone, marking the resting place of Roxas’ memories. It wasn't the same building, obviously, but it was eerily reminiscent of the skyscraper that Roxas had confronted Riku on. The same tower where Sora fought for his life against Xemnas. Roxas figured he shouldn't be so surprised that his memories were intertwined with his brother’s. They had traced each other's footsteps many times before, even if they never realised it. They were two sides of the same coin, but fate seemed to be taking that a little too literally.

Brushing away the unwelcome memories from behind his eyes, Roxas ducked into the station. He had never technically set foot in the real station before, but he was shocked to find that everything was as he remembered. The same posters tacked to the walls, the same timetables and dusty ticket desks. DiZ was unnecessarily obsessed with details, so had clearly sunk many hours into producing an accurate replication of the transportation hub. He had even recreated the inconspicuous maintenance door tucked away behind one of the platforms, plastered with a gaudy 'NO ENTRY' sign. His sapphire eyes scoured the platform to ensure he had avoided drawing attention to himself and promptly hopped down onto the tracks. He grabbed the metal handle and gave it a firm jostle, coaxing the door open and slipping inside before a member of staff could catch a glimpse of that head of unruly brown hair disappearing across the threshold.

They really needed to fix that door.

For all Sora was terminally lazy, Roxas was grateful that his Other was at least physically fit. The stairs leading up to the clock face seemed to stretch into infinity, and there was more than one occasion that he had to physically drag his friends up the last few flights. Roxas pushed down on the door bar and breached the outside world as he was almost swept off his feet by a blast of wind that rushed into the disused maintenance shaft. The turbulence was unbelievable at such a staggering height, blowing dust into the air in a musty cloud. Very few people needed to access the clock face, and that made it the perfect hideaway.

It never failed to surprise Roxas how climbing the clock tower felt like entering a different climate. The rustic buildings of Twilight Town acted like windbreaks, sheltering the residents from the full wrath of the wind, but up here he was completely exposed to the elements. It was the truest glimpse of the city's personality, laid bare for those brave enough to look. Roxas carefully sat down on the overhang, leaning back on his arms with his legs dangling over the edge. The maw of the void below was ready to swallow him up if he pitched forward too far and lost his balance. Roxas had already experienced the sensation of slipping off the clock tower, and he wasn't rushing to replicate that feeling for real. The air was so much colder at these heights, his lungs burning with each breath. It was oddly comforting. It was a reminder that he was not dreaming.

Now that he was confident he would not be interrupted, Roxas turned his thoughts back to the awful reality he was facing. He needed to address the situation at some point, no matter how hard he pushed it to the back of his mind. What had happened to Sora that he would find himself standing in the brunette's shoes? Considering the two were technically the same person, Sora's body felt so alien to him. It was less like Roxas was parading around in someone else's clothes, and more like he was wearing someone else's skin. He wrapped one hand around his wrist, pressing his fingers against the veins lingering just below the surface. The feeling of blood rushing through his body was not one Roxas had felt before. The sensation of just being alive was so overstimulating; how Sora was able to function was beyond him.

OK, enough distractions. Back to the task at hand.

Roxas recalled the first possibility that his mind had conjured: that Sora's heart had gone AWOL. That wasn't a wholly unreasonable concept.  Some days it felt like everyone and their mothers had stuck their thumbs in Sora's pie. Whether it was DiZ using the brunette's heart to hide his research from his wayward apprentices, Xehanort attempting to force it into submission as one of his mindless copies, or Roxas himself leeching off his lifeforce like a conjoined twin. Roxas wasn't entirely convinced by this solution – he could feel Sora's heart smouldering inside him like a furnace, the source of the pulse in his wrists and the beating drum in his head. The Nobody wasn't sure if Sora being physically alive had anything to do with his heart. He had never owned one of his own, after all. He didn't know the difference between the organ in his chest and the heart that was the source of Sora's lifeforce. It was something he had accepted he would never understand.

That left the second possibility. The one that Roxas was dreading the most. The more memories that Roxas regained of his... 'turbulent' relationship with Axel, the less he understood about his former best friend. The redhead was playing so many different sides that Roxas wasn't sure if Axel himself knew what he was fighting for. He ricocheted between morals with a speed that would've made Riku jealous. Half the time he was trying to taint his chakrams with Roxas' blood, and the other half he was eating sea-salt ice cream and crying. Axel was less of a wild card, and more of a card taken from a completely different deck.

At least the redhead was upfront about what he wanted: if Sora became a Heartless again then he would also recreate his Nobody, and there would be no Kairi to pluck the brunette from the depths of darkness again. His heart would be lost to the clutches of Kingdom Hearts, and Roxas would be reborn. Whether the assassin intended to take him back to the World That Never Was, or if he planned for them to do a runner while the going was good, Roxas had no idea.

There was one glaring flaw that he was unable to overlook. Axel didn't know that Roxas was still very much alive inside Sora. If Sora's heart was taken from him, would Roxas go with it?

The blond had attempted to probe Xemnas about the nature of hearts more than once, trying to extrapolate any information from his enigmatic boss. What was so special about a heart that they needed one to be complete? Why couldn't Vexen make Replica hearts if he could make Replica bodies? Why reform Kingdom Hearts at all when they could just nab a heart right out of the Heartless? Even Xemnas' heart had to be locked up in a Heartless somewhere. The silver-haired Nobody just gave him a predatory smile and told Roxas that he would need to decide what having a heart meant on his own. He really didn't answer any of his questions.

Roxas wasn't sure that Xemnas knew anything about having a heart in the first place.

"The ingredients for a heart: pulse!"

Jack gestured grandiosely to a croaking frog, secured to a corkboard with a pin in each leg as its belly gyrated with every rasping grunt. Sora winced at the sight of the suffering animal but kept his mouth firmly shut. Dr Finkelstein didn't exactly fit the image of a competent scientist, but neither did Sora. He had to trust that his friends knew what they were doing, because he sure didn't. Besides, he REALLY wanted to see those Heartless dance…

"Terror," slurred Dr Finkelstein, fishing out one of his beloved tarantulas from its tank and unceremoniously dropping it onto his workbench. The maniacal scientist wasn't invested in the Heartless for the same reason as the Pumpkin King. He didn't care to see the monsters strut around Halloween Town. His interest was piqued as soon as the idea of experimenting with hearts presented itself. He had created a heart for Sally many years ago, but the girl was far too soft in the head to be of any use. Perhaps this attempt would create something of value.

"Fear."

The unearthly atmosphere was punctuated with screeching as Dr Finkelstein scraped his bony fingers down a pane of dirty glass. The gut-wrenching shriek made Sora's teeth hurt. Goofy covered his floppy ears with his hands in a futile attempt to block out the sound. Donald quacked something vulgar under his breath.

"Hope and despair," Jack continued, oblivious to the trio's negative responses. Two snakes were intertwined like coiled ropes, hungrily devouring the other's tail in a living ouroboros. "Mix them all together, and we have a heart!"

Sora wouldn't pretend like he knew anything about hearts, but he wasn't entirely convinced. His own experience stemmed only from the beating organ in his chest, but he could immediately pick out several holes in the macabre recipe. Love. Joy. Friendship. All the things that made life worth living. Then again, it wasn't impossible that the mad scientist's interpretation of a heart was correct for the denizens of Halloween Town. Perhaps every world had its own definition, and Sora wasn't going to break the World Order for the sake of correcting the spell. He threw Donald and Goofy a look of mild disgust, his lips pursed as he battled with the urge to slip out the front door. His friends replied with silent shrugs of confusion. None of them knew what to expect from the experiment, but they were all willing to watch it pan out. Donald swore that he couldn't care less about watching the Heartless dance, but Sora didn't believe him for one second.

Jack haphazardly stuffed the miscellaneous ingredients into the pulsating heart container that Sora had opened with his Keyblade, and Dr Finkelstein powered on his machine. It reverberated with an organic groan as if stirred from the depths of sleep, vacuuming up a revolting green goo that was once a frog, a spider, a pane of glass, and a pair of conjoined snakes. Dr Finkelstein hollered and cheered as sparks flew through the air like fireworks, puncturing the twitching body of the restrained Heartless. The shadow jerked and writhed as jolts of electricity surged through its form, before collapsing back into a lifeless state.

"It failed!" Dr Finkelstein wailed as Sora picked himself up off the floor. "Maybe it's missing some ingredients… let's try adding memory."

Roxas let out a barking, humourless laugh. If 'memory' was necessary to create a heart, then Sora would've lost his fifty times over already.

He was ashamed to admit how long it took for him to let go of the hate he felt towards his Other. He had built an image of Sora in his mind, one that painted the brunette as a filthy thief who stole his identity and memories and left him as a husk of who he once was. Roxas had never even owned his own name, merely rearranging the letters of the boy who left his fingerprints on everything he touched. The Nobody held no resentment towards his Other, but the ocean of bitterness had parted to reveal something just as painful. Both were used as tools by the Organization and tossed aside when they had served their purpose, but Sora came away with a smile on his face. Both had looked into the eyes of someone they called 'friend' and seen the lack of recognition in return, but Sora had never once fallen prey to despair.

Roxas was desperate to know how Sora was able to stay positive when the entire universe was fighting to pull him down, but he was also terrified of what he might find. Roxas was afraid that he might delve too deep and discover that there was nothing special separating Sora from those that lost their hearts to darkness. That Sora was just as mortal as those who owed him their lives. That one wrong move would send him tumbling into the abyss. That Sora was well aware that death would eventually catch up to him, yet chose to fight on the frontline anyway because there was no one else who could take his place.

It had taken a long time, but Roxas was content being part of Sora. If having a heart of his own involved so much pain, so many thankless sacrifices and speechless suffering, then Roxas wasn't sure it would ever be worth it.

Hayner had given up trying to get through to Sora a long time ago.

He prided himself on being the friendliest person in town, the one who anyone could call on for help. Except for Seifer, who could take long walk off Sunset Hill for all he cared. Between the Struggles that drew in people from all walks of life, his (semi) famous Grandstand acts, and the odd jobs he accepted for those in need, Hayner was determined to call every citizen of Twilight Town his friend. Pence and Olette could scoff at him all they wanted! There was a reason why Setzer put so much energy into maintaining his image. The first time that Hayner whizzed around Tram Common on his skateboard, only to hear someone call his name as he shot past, was exhilarating. His teachers were so eager to brush him off as if he was the dirt stuck to their shoes. It wasn't long until the blond became addicted to the thought of his name finding immortality in the minds of everyone who crossed his path.

Sure, people usually just shouted his name because he had done something wrong, but it counted! Shut up!

Besides, Twilight Town was just so ungodly boring. Visitors from out of town described the settlement as idyllic, wide-eyed at the grand clock tower and the intricately decorated trams and the smells that constantly wafted from the doors of Le Grand Bistrot. It was an oasis of peace in a stressful world, and Hayner couldn't stand it. His whole life revolved around dragging himself to classes and then dragging himself back home. Perhaps he would pick a fight with Seifer and his minions if he felt particularly adventurous, but that was about it. There was nothing to keep Hayner's mind engaged, nothing that could hold his attention for more than a couple minutes. Every day merged into the next until it felt like he was wasting away.

It was one of the only things the trio couldn't agree on. Pence was so exceptionally intelligent that Hayner couldn't fathom how he tolerated the humdrum without tearing his hair out, but he was also so chronically lazy that the slow, hazy days suited him. Olette could find enjoyment in any task, every homework assignment turning into a game that she could lose herself in. Hayner was not bored enough to consider buckling down and focusing on his schoolwork just to pass the time. He wasn't bored enough to consider getting a part-time job. And he definitely wasn't bored enough to consider doing homework. He wanted to feel his heart race as he pulled off a new skateboard trick, or climbed over a fence to explore areas unknown, or brawled with Seifer and came out on top for once. Hayner loved his friends dearly, and they were the only thing that made the monotony tolerable, but he couldn't help but feel that there had to be something more.

The first time Hayner met Sora, his heart practically overflowed with envy. He had never changed his mind so quickly.

The three had a strict policy – the door to the Usual Spot was open to anyone who wanted to enter. The gang had claimed the hideaway as their personal retreat, but there was nothing to fear in a town where everyone was on a first-name basis. Hayner was secretly waiting for a superhero to stroll past the curtains and give them all superpowers or something, not that he would ever say that out loud. He sorta got what he wanted. Sora had stumbled into the hideout like a lost sheep, chasing the ghost of a boy with a name he couldn't remember and a face he couldn't recall. Hayner had never met anyone like him, overbearing friendly with his heart on his sleeve yet shrouded in mysteries that just begged to be unravelled. Not to mention the talking duck and dog that followed him everywhere. Hayner thought it best not to dwell on that for too long. Finally, something exciting was happening! He couldn't wait to see what came next!

But wherever Sora went, he left a trail of destruction behind him. Within days of the brunette's initial appearance and prompt disappearance, Twilight Town began to echo with reports of monsters lurking in the sewers. Hayner would be lying if he claimed he wasn't secretly thrilled. After the resounding disappointment of the 'Seven Frauds of Twilight Town', maybe they could make a half-decent report this time. Hayner might even get to punch something in the face! He never turned down the opportunity to punch something in the face! Pence's analytical mind was dying to solve the mystery and Olette was just glad they'd be working on the school report for once. The only person lazier than Pence was Hayner, so at least the rumours gave her an excuse to force them to do something other than play darts all day.

Less than an hour later, the three emerged screaming from the sewers when they realised the slithery white creatures couldn't be hurt. Hayner had been honing his skills for this exact moment – a chance to prove his might and gain the respect of his peers by slaying a monster and saving the town. Watching his Struggle Bat phase through the creatures as if they were holograms filled him with a terror that he prayed he would never feel again.

Sora had a knack for turning up wherever he was needed the most. Hayner initially thought the Keyblade was just a stupid-looking cosplay weapon, and it was definitely stupid-looking, but it sliced through the white creatures like they were made of putty. Sora fought as if he was choreographed, slipping past flailing limbs with an ethereal fluidity that could've only come from a lifetime of combat. The white creatures never stood a chance. Hayner couldn't believe this was the same boy who lost himself in his passionate rants about the POWER OF FRIENDSHIP™. The same boy who could eat sea-salt ice cream by the bucket load, who was exceedingly naive and honest to the point that he was often taken advantage of. Sora could level an entire army of Nobodies without breaking a sweat, then get hyped because he did a Frontside 180 on Hayner's skateboard without wiping out.

Hayner was just relieved that Sora had chosen to follow the path of light. There was no doubt in his mind that if Sora ever turned to the darkness, there would be no person alive that could hope to take him down.

Hayner would've cut off his own leg for a chance to take up arms next to Sora. The brunette was living the life he always wanted – travelling to the horizon and beyond, fighting bad guys and saving people left and right. Sora was the hero that Hayner had always inspired to be, as if he had stepped right off the pages of his favourite comic book with a giant key... Hayner still didn't understand why it had to be a key. Regardless of how starry-eyed the blond was in the presence of the Keyblade wielder, Sora was not the indefatigable champion that everyone thought. No one would ever describe Hayner as being particularly attentive, but even he could spot the darkening bags under Sora's eyes and the deepening exhaustion in his posture.

The brunette had aways been oddly evasive towards Hayner's offers of friendship, but the creeping tiredness on Sora's face only seemed to make him more distant. 'Hey Sora, wanna get some sea-salt ice cream after class?' 'Not this time, I have to help Mulan save Imperial China.' 'Hey Sora, wanna help me practise for the Struggle Tournament? I bet you'd make second place, behind me of course!' 'No can do, gotta help Tron stop the MCU from restoring the Grid to factory settings and de-rezzing the whole of Hollow Bastion.' The brunette's excuses became more and more outlandish and surreal that Hayner suspected he was being lied to. Like seriously, they were the same age! How was Sora so constantly busy?! All he had to do was say no, not make up some wild story about a beast and his rose, a flying boy and his fairy, or a genie and his magic lamp.

Perhaps, despite everything Hayner had worked to achieve, Sora just didn't want to be his friend...

Well, whatever. Hayner's parents were away for the summer, and the lack of activity in his house was grating on his nerves. The blond was still monumentally pissed off about the whole thing, but he wasn't a bag guy. If Sora's fatigue was catching up to him, then the least he could do was offer a place to rest. Sora was ready to launch into another of his excuses until Olette shot him a look like she was ready to lynch him where he stood, so he reluctantly agreed. Hayner didn't know if Sora even attended school - lucky guy - but it was clear he was up way past his bedtime. The crew couldn't wander around Twilight Town while those slippery white monsters were afoot, and the only person capable of taking them down was passed out in Hayner's house. Hayner, Pence, and Olette passed a non-verbal motion that they should chill in the Usual Spot and take it easy until Sora was up and at it. Hayner's house was literally next door, anyway.

The insufferable boredom was beginning to rot his brains again. It had probably been less than an hour, but Hayner felt like he had been quarantined for decades. He was slumped on the sofa, arms crossed behind his head while he counted the blemishes on the ceiling. It was unforgivable that those creatures, the 'Nobodies', had seized control of Twilight Town and left its residents cowering in fear with such little resistance. Hayner remembered how the hairs on his arm stood up straight as his fist passed straight through the monster’s body. He hated feeling so helpless. The blond snorted to himself and abruptly jumped to his feet, startling Pence and Olette who were nose-deep in a textbook together. He barked that he was going to check on Sora, grabbed two sea-salt ice cream bars from the minifridge, and sped off before they could talk him out of it. Hayner was sick of sitting around while someone else did all the work. He was itching to get back into the action, and he didn't doubt that Sora felt the same. Hayner wasn't sure how much help he could be, but it was better than sitting on his butt.

He pushed aside the curtains separating the Usual Spot from the rest of the world, just in time to spot Sora's back heading towards Station Plaza.

Well, so much for getting some rest. Even when his tank was running on empty, Sora just couldn't help himself. Hayner scoffed and began to follow the retreating brunette before he got himself lost in the winding alleys, but his knees suddenly locked in place. He was... hesitating?

Hayner had poured so much of his sweat and tears into solidifying his position within Twilight Town's ecosystem. Sora was the one person he had never broken through to. He was a closed-off puzzle that only tightened its locks when anyone tried to pry down the walls he had built around himself. Was it even worth trying anymore? Hayner was proud of his reputation as a friend to all, but he wasn't convinced that he could be friends with someone who didn't want to reciprocate.

Hayner shook those traitorous thoughts out of his head and chased after the retreating Keyblade wielder before his heart could waiver. Since when was he willing to give up so easily?! A droplet of icy water trickled over his fingers as the warm midday air began to defrost the ice cream in his hand. He needed to stop overthinking and get out of his head. Other than that one girl with red hair and shocking blue eyes who popped out of a portal only to disappear minutes later, Sora didn't seem to have many friends his age. If Hayner hadn't found any common ground to bond over, then he just needed to try a different approach.

Hayner sprinted up the hill at full force, desperate to keep Sora's unruly brown hair in his sights. Twilight Town was a labyrinth of convoluted passages and backstreets, and anyone unfamiliar with its geography would be consumed by the town before they noticed that they had ever strayed off the beaten path. The blond arrived at the foot of Station Plaza just in time to catch sight of Sora disappearing past the reflective glass doors of the station. Hayner's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Was Sora trying to catch the train somewhere? This was getting weirder and weirder. He let out a huff of annoyance and followed, waiting until the ticket clerk's back was turned before darting inside. They still had a bone to pick with him after the last time he tried to Ollie off the roof of a parked train.

Hayner's heart dropped into his stomach at the realisation that there was no sight of Sora on either platform. That was until he noticed that the maintenance door leading to the clock tower was mysteriously ajar.

There was a rapidly expanding pool of wariness boiling away in Hayner's chest. The clock tower was their favourite hang out spot, rising above the bustle of the city like a monument of peace. Sora had never been up there. Sora shouldn't even know that it was possible to access the clock tower, nevermind what door to use. Hayner already suspected that there was more to the Keyblade wielder than met the eye, but he wasn't sure if he should feel happy that his suspicions were correct. He briefly cast his eyes around the station to ensure he wasn't about to be busted, then hopped down onto the train tracks and slithered through the open door.

They really needed to fix that door.

Why did there have to be so many stairs?! Hayner practically had to crawl up the last couple of flights, deeply regretting his decision to exercise on what was supposed to be his day off. The maintenance stairwell always stank of dust and grime, and he was gagging for a lung-full of fresh air. He stuck his head out of the door, eyes watering as the blistering wind struck him in the face, and breathed a sigh of relief. Sora was seated right on the precipice, legs dangling off the overhang as if mocking the idea of death below him. The brunette gazed absently into the distance, a serene smile on his face as his uncontrollable hair spikes bobbed in the breeze. He was leaning his weight back on his arms and kicking his legs over the chasm, staring silently over the city that marched on tirelessly below. Hayner wasn't sure what he was going to find at the top of the clock tower, but it wasn't this. Sora practically burst at the seams with insuppressible energy; it was difficult to imagine the Keyblade wielder in such a state of relaxation. He briefly considered leaving the brunette to his stolen moment of introspection, but the ice cream in his hand was beginning to soften. If Hayner wanted to make one final effort to befriend Sora, this was his last shot.

Hayner clumsily flopped down onto the shabby stone outcrop, sitting next to Sora as if he had done so a million times before. They were so high above the city that the only noises came from the gusts of wind and the ticking of gears from within the clock face, like the pulse of a beating heart. Sora was so deeply entrenched in his own thoughts that the world had ceased to exist around him, and he didn't react to the blond's presence. Hayner huffed in indignation at the thought of being ignored and shoved the ice cream into Sora's face.

"Here," he remarked bluntly. "For you. Eat it before it melts."

Sora jerked backwards as the ice cream bar suddenly appeared before his eyes. He wordlessly stared at the treat as if his mind was still somewhere far away, before cautiously accepting. Hayner tore the plastic packaging off his own bar and greedily dug in, biting a chunk off one corner in a way that made Pence cringe, but he still did because it was funny. Sora studied his ice cream as if it wasn't real, a single drop of dyed blue nectar trickling down the wooden stick and dropping into the abyss below. He began to involuntarily salivate as the smell of sugar kissed his nostrils.

Hayner paused in his slurping of the half-melted ice cream bar as Sora tore his eyes away from the treat and met his gaze. An expression of grief marred the brunette's usually carefree features, revealing an unshakeable sadness that penetrated the core of his being. For a moment, Hayner seemed to peer into the depths of Sora's soul, past all the roadblocks he had built to protect himself. Hayner saw a vision of a boy with spiky blond hair, shrouded in a black trench coat that seemed to swallow him whole. A boy that he didn't remember because he had never met him. Before he could utter a single word, Sora suddenly snapped out of his trance as if someone had flipped a switch inside his brain. He let out a yelp of fright and almost jumped backwards and off the edge of the clock tower. Hayner grabbed the scruff of Sora's collar and pulled him back to safety before he could tumble off, just as shaken by the brunette's reaction as Sora himself.

"Whoa, dude, calm down!" he exclaimed as Sora caught his breath. "It's just ice cream!"

Sora mercifully pulled himself together before he lost his senses to panic and took the plunge. He placed one hand on his chest and forced himself to breathe as his skyrocketing heart rate slowly returned to normal. His other hand was still firmly closed around the popsicle stick as if the ice cream was more important than his life. The brunette's attention flicked between the frozen treat and the increasingly concerned blond who was wondering if he was in over his head. Seeing that his outburst was distressing his companion, Sora let out a nervous laugh and reflexively rubbed his nose with his free hand.

"Sorry," he apologised, allowing a meek smile to curve his lips. "I've been sleepwalking a lot lately. I'm sorry if I freaked you out."

Hayner suspected that Sora was biting his tongue and hiding something from him, but decided that this was just too complex of an issue to deconstruct. It certainly explained a lot - the weariness that gripped every muscle of Sora’s body, the way he brushed off the concerns of everyone around him. Sora's concentration returned to the sea-salt ice cream in his grasp, tearing off the packaging and shoving the sticky plastic into his pocket. His malaise was immediately forgotten as the saccharine syrup caressed his nose, unable to resist the urge to devour the ice cream in a single bite. Sora stuck out his tongue and took a big lick, slurping up the rapidly melting ice cream and leaving a sticky residue around his mouth.

"Ooh!" he exclaimed in delight. "It's salty… but sweet!"

Sora practically inhaled the rest of the dessert, any remnants of his anguish washed away in a sea of sugary goodness. It didn't take much for his mood to do a complete 180, reverting back to the childish optimism that everyone knew him for. Hayner guffawed as Sora demolished the sea-salt ice cream without taking a breath, running one hand through his curly blond hair and forcing himself to relax. There was no threat to be found atop the clock tower, no way that any Nobodies could emerge from the shadows and give them a sharp push into the void below. He needed to follow his own advise and allow himself to chill.

The pair happily ate the rest of their ice creams in a comfortable silence, a rare moment of solitude that they were both sorely missing. Hayner usually tried to punctuate the hush with jokes or tall tales, preferring a raucous ambience over the stillness that permeated every inch of the city like the everlasting sunset above. This time, he couldn't think of anything to say. Sora straddled the line between battle-worn veteran and innocent teenager, and it didn't seem appropriate to ruin the sanctity of the moment. Hayner couldn't help but wish that the brunette would lower his guard once in a while. There was a genuinely kind and loving kid hiding within that suit of armour, but so few got to see it. Sora's life seemed to consist of moving from one battle to the next, so it was staggering that he managed to maintain his optimism at all.

It wasn't often that the blond found himself struggling to make conversation, but he wasn't sure if the two really had anything in common. Hayner lived a life of relative luxury; his biggest struggle was whether or not to skip school and slack off at the beach. Sora had never once spoken about his hometown, nevermind any friends or family that he had left behind. How long had it been since he saw his parents or took a break? What inspired him to give up his old way of life and dedicate himself to an existence of neverending conflict? And how, despite the many times he must've looked death in the face, did he find the willpower to keep smiling?

They may be the same age, but Hayner felt like a child in Sora's presence.

"This place is beautiful," Sora mused to himself, watching people flow in and out of the station below their feet. None were aware of the two looking down on them as if they were gods peering down from the heavens. "Everyone's so friendly here. You guys sure are lucky."

"Nah…" Hayner replied, unable to keep a grin off his face. "It's lame, there's hardly anything to do around here."

"That's what I mean," Sora replied wistfully. "It must be nice."

Hayner wasn't sure how to respond. They were so similar in so many ways, but their outlooks couldn't be more different. What a life to lead that anyone would crave the doldrum and boredom, that wasting away under the sun would be preferable to what he had now. Hayner deeply envied Sora for his life of adventure, but a seed of doubt had planted itself in his mind. He longed for a lifetime of excitement, where every waking moment was spent battling the forces of evil and carving his name into the tomes of history. Sora was living his wildest dream, but the sparkle had faded to reveal the rust-covered truth. Hayner would never be satisfied with the dull, monotonous grind of Twilight Town, but he had a newfound appreciation for the uneventful energy of the city. It was what afforded him the safety to goof off when he wanted, to explore the hidden crevasses of the town without fearing for his life. It was what allowed him to meet Pence and Olette, and that was worth all the Munny in the world.

Hayner wondered if Sora had any friends waiting for him to return, or if he had to leave everyone behind each time he was called to action.

"I have to say, though," said Sora, sitting upright with a little more pep in his voice. "You surprised me a lot!"

"M-Me?!" Hayner stammered, half expecting the brunette to be referring to someone else that had snuck up behind them.

"Yeah! You really tried to show those Nobodies who's boss, even though you don't have a weapon that can hurt them. That's pretty impressive."

Hayner snorted in amusement and leapt to his feet, his ego emboldened by the praise. He curled his arms and did his best to flex his muscles, determined to show off his strength. He just looked like he was about to pop a vein in his forehead.

"Too right!" Hayner brashly proclaimed, his voice booming over the grumbling wind. "Did you see how cool I was?! I grabbed one and drop kicked it, sent it crying back to its mother, and then I suplexed another, and-"

Sora let Hayner continue his ecstatic rant as he flexed and gestured with all the bravado in the world. It was evident he was greatly exaggerating his contributions to the fight, but Hayner's dramatic retelling was so entertaining that Sora was content to let him proceed without interruption. Even though Sora felt like he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep, and his sleepwalking episodes were taking a toll on his body, he couldn't keep a smile off his face. His exhaustion was all but forgotten as Hayner demonstrated how he had defeated an army of Dusks with just his bare fists, silhouetted from behind by the golden glow of the setting sun. Sora didn't even notice the popsicle stick had been licked clean to reveal the word "WINNER" engraved into the wood.

Within the deepest depths of Sora's heart, lived a soul that existed in a sea of regret and pain. As the brunette raised the portcullis and allowed his defences to weaken, the heavy weight coiled in his chest slowly released its grip. Roxas knew that he may never speak with his friends again, but the knowledge that his friendship could live on through Sora made the pain just a little more bearable.

Hayner was glad he didn’t give on Sora. Perhaps they could still be friends after all.

Chapter Text

Xion couldn't remember having ever 'woken up' before. It wasn't something she could ever recall experiencing... it sucked, big time.

Xion lay completely still, mummified in silky bedsheets with her eyes glued to the ceiling. She was an unmoving marble statue, unable to even blink as she stared upon a world of total darkness. A heavy pressure lingered in the back of her head, muddying her thoughts and tempting her back into the tender embrace of unconsciousness. The room that Xion had awoken in was engulfed in shadows so impenetrable that she could barely see her hand in front of her face. A trail of faintly glowing green stars stretched up a wall and trailed across the ceiling like a distant galaxy. Weak silver moonbeams trickled in through a rickety window above the black-haired Nobody's head. The light reached far enough to illuminate the curves of Xion's cheeks and the shooting star mobile hanging from the ceiling, but anything else was swallowed by shadows.

Xion wondered for a moment if she had gone blind. Her eyes stubbornly refused to focus as if the muscles in her skull were beyond the point of exhaustion. She couldn't even remember what having vision was like... that was odd. Xion threw her mind back, picking through the desecrated rubble of her memories, but there was nothing to find. She was staring over the brink of a bottomless cliff that dropped off the edge of the world. Part of her identity had been cleaved away, ripped from the very core of her being and leaving nothing in its wake. There was just an unending blank void where her memories should lie. Surprisingly enough, Xion felt no sense of fear or urgency. The only thing that was throwing her for a loop was the fact that she was alive at all.

Xion pushed herself up onto her forearms, wincing as her joints creaked and groaned as if jerking to life for the first time in years. The foresty-green sheets were swaddled around her legs as if she had tossed and turned in her sleep. The fabric mustn’t have weighed more than a couple of pounds, yet she felt like it was dragging her into the mattress. Every fold of the silken cloth seemed to cling to her exposed skin, wrapped her tighter and tighter like a snake constricting its prey. A set of matching curtains fluttered in the breeze as a gust of wind crept through a crack in the window. The smell of salty air stung Xion's nose, filling her head with thoughts of similarly flavoured ice cream that made her mouth water. Even the weight of the air around her seemed determined to push her shoulders back down into the bed, promising a restful, dreamless sleep. All she had to do was lie down and close her eyes.

She should lie down and close her eyes. She wasn't supposed to be awake.

Xion had no idea how she knew that, but it was undeniable. A tiny voice whispered in her mind, begging her to allow the void to sweep her away before it was too late. A voice that belonged to a girl that Xion didn't recognise - a girl with jet-black hair and ocean-blue eyes, who once had a name but gave it up for someone who needed it more. Trying to pull her face into focus sent sparks of pain shooting across Xion's skull. Every sensation was foreign as if she was experiencing life for the first time. She could feel every lump in the mattress and every kiss of wind that blew her chocolate brown hair into her eyes. Had she just been born? Perhaps the void in her memories was because her existence had only just begun, right from the moment she opened her eyes to a room that was so familiar, though Xion couldn't place the memory. It slipped out of her grasp whenever she reached for it like smoke through her fingers.

That feeling of unease continued to grow inside her chest like a tumour, but there was no rising panic to accompany it. Xion ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the individual cocoa strands against her palms like soft wool. Her mind was so devoid of memory that every sensation was brand new. How could she be afraid of the vast cavern that had swallowed her memories if there was never anything there? Perhaps there was no sensation of unease because there was nothing to fear. As Xion sat quietly in bed, that nagging voice in her head refused to be silenced. It continuously grew in volume, insisting that the fact that she was awake meant that something was very, very wrong. The girl with the raven hair pleaded with her to curl back up in the bedsheets and allow sleep to carry her off into the night. Her existence only hurt those around her; it was better for everyone if she faded back into the darkness where she came from.

Xion decided to ignore the voice in her head before it could take control of her thoughts. Her heart was already captivated by this new world that she had found herself in. Why would she return to sleep when adventure was calling her name?

Xion unravelled her legs from the clutches of the bedsheets and pulled herself to her feet. The creaking floorboards seemed unnaturally loud as the ageing wood settled beneath her weight. Even the slightest noise was like a booming cacophony in the otherwise silent house. Xion didn't know who was sleeping in the other rooms, but she was reluctant to wake them at such an ungodly hour. She picked her way across the room with her arms outstretched, searching for a wall and praying that she wouldn't run into it with her face first. The black-haired Nobody blindly stepped over a pile of discarded clothes that she couldn't see but that she somehow knew was waiting to trip her. Her fingertips collided with a wall on the other end of the room, feeling around for a light switch. Xion whispered a quiet "YES!" as she made contact with the plastic casing and flipped the lights on. The room was flooded with light as the bulb above her head flickered to life. She instinctively covered her eyes with one arm as the sudden contrast burned her retinas.

Xion felt the dense weight in her stomach alleviate a little as her eyes adjusted to the bright light. She did recognise this place after all - this was her bedroom. Those stars that gleamed in the shadows were glow-in-the-dark stickers, ones that she had plastered all over the walls back when they were cool and had never bothered to take down. Those plaid boxers strewn across the floor were hers, dumped on the ground despite how many times her Mom yelled at her. Xion had drawn those maps that were haphazardly taped to the ceiling above her bed, scribbled in crayon after many nights dreaming of the worlds that lay beyond the horizon. Man, those were the good old days! The nights felt so long as she fought the urge to hop out of her window into the sands below, desperate to get a headstart and beat Riku and Kairi to the island. That would teach him for always beating her in their races. Xion would be like "what took you so long?" as she stood on the raft that she had completed without him, finally jumping into the lead. Riku would be so mad!

"I just can't wait! Once we set sail, it'll be great."

Xion couldn't contain her grin at the thought. She lay on her bed with her hands behind her head, staring up at the maps that covered the ceiling. For all the charts were drawn by her and had no basis in reality, they reflected the landforms that Xion imagined discovering on their quest. No one on Destiny Islands knew what lay across the open water, and none had the bravery to find out. Only the three of them dared to set sail. Adults were so lame! Xion and Riku would slay a Kraken, or maybe even find some cursed pirate treasure! Kairi would be so impressed with her. They would be the most feared swashbuckling pirates on the seven seas! Just as long as she was back in time for breakfast. Her Mom would kill her if she stayed out past her bedtime.

Xion's fantasies were interrupted by an almighty flash of lightning that arced across the sky as the storm raged on. It wouldn't be long until the heavens opened. Xion wasn't too thrilled about setting out while it was raining. Riku called her a wuss; the strongest heroes set out on their adventures regardless of the weather. Xion didn't like being called a wuss, least of all by Riku. The dark, angry clouds had been spiralling above the island all day, but Xion had given it the benefit of the doubt. Destiny Islands was battered by countless tropical storms during this time of year - it would likely clear up by morning.

But the longer that Xion watched the storm from her window as it grumbled and groaned under its own weight, the more the storm brewing in her heart grew to match. It took Riku and her three days to build the raft, and Kairi had gone to all the hassle of collecting supplies for their journey. A single bolt of lightning could decimate all their work if it struck the raft, or if the ferocious waves swept the rickety boat away. By the time they regained all their lost work, it would be time for school. The trio had spent all summer planning this, and even longer trying to convince their parents that it was a good idea. Summer break was almost drawing to a close, and it would take all of their hard work with it.

Xion practically threw herself out of bed and leapt into her yellow shoes before she could change her mind. She didn't care how often Riku poked fun at the size of her boots - they were comfortable, dang it! Her heart trembled with thoughts of rowing to the island in the morning to find the raft in tatters. She couldn't let that happen. Xion was halfway out the window when she hesitated, turning her eyes back to the light trickling beneath the doorway. Her Mom was downstairs making dinner. Xion had promised that she would stop jumping out the window and running off to the island, and her Mom would be devastated if she broke that promise. She could even catch the smell of dinner creeping up the stairs from the kitchen.

Xion sighed to herself. Her Mom would understand. When she returned home with a bounty of gold to her name, she would prove that she was right all along. Xion needed to be strong. For once in her life, she needed to believe in herself.

Without a second thought, she scrambled out of the window and scampered away into the night. As the sky continued to howl with booming thunder, she never heard the voice of her mother calling her to dinner. Xion would never hear her mother again.

" Sora Xion, dinners ready!"

"... Sora Xion?"

The pain hit Xion like a train, dragging her to her knees and crushing her lungs until she couldn't breathe. She tried to scream, but no sound would leave her throat. She clenched the sides of her head in agony, bashing her skull into the wooden floor in the hopes that it would drive away the pain. This house was full of monsters. Memories that were locked away until the moment she showed any sign of weakness, ready to pounce and drag her into the depths of despair from which she could never be saved. Xion didn't want to remember. She wanted to burn the place down and bury the ashes, salt the earth until nothing could grow in its place. She couldn't remember her own mother's face. She didn't want to remember her face. She wanted it to be gone.

Xion used the wall for support as she hauled herself to her feet. Her legs threatened to cave beneath her, even as the crippling headache slowly ebbed away like the receding tide. The voice inside her head was louder than ever, but it no longer urged her to collapse back into the cradle of sleep.

It urged her to run.

Xion stumbled out of the room in a daze. She no longer felt like her brains were being beaten in with a sledgehammer, but the pain in her heart was beyond anything she could comprehend. She was in a narrow hallway lined with photographs and brightened by icy-white moonlight. Xion felt the hazy borders of some unknown memory lingering at the edge of her consciousness, but she didn't dare reach out. A picture frame clattered to the floor as she faltered past, the glass shattered on impact and leaving shards embedded in the faded carpet. Xion picked the frame up and brushed away the dust that had collected on its surface, presumably after years of being forgotten. An image of Xion standing next to a woman that looked just like her was immortalised inside, its edges dog-eared and stained. They were both smiling. Xion's nose was lightly sunburnt, and they were holding trinkets in the shape of stars, created from dried Thalassa shells sewn together with thick thread.

Xion could see her reflection staring back in the pieces of glass that still clung to the frame. The brick sitting in her stomach grew in size as she looked upon her face, but she couldn't understand why. Everything was as she remembered. Sapphire blue eyes, spiky brown hair, a silver crown necklace. Xion remembered looking like this at some point. This was her face. It matched the face of the woman beside her in the photo, but there was something off. It was like she had been replaced by an imposter that was just ever so slightly off-model, treading across the border into the uncanny valley. It was unnerving, and the fact that Xion didn't know why it was bothering her just made it even stranger.

Xion puffed out her cheeks in frustration. She needed to pull herself together. Donald and Goofy would be ashamed to see her like this. She was chosen by the Kingdom Key for the strength of her heart, and she would not crumble in the face of adversity. Xion grabbed the crown-shaped pendant around her neck and yanked on the chain until it snapped in two. The prongs of the crown threatened to stab through the skin of her palm, but the brunette felt immediate relief. Seeing her reflection without that damned necklace took a weight off her shoulders. She looked more like herself without it. Xion tossed the photo frame to the floor with a resentful grunt, chucking the necklace into the remains of the protective glass. She didn't want to look at it any more.

Xion discovered the front door and stepped outside without a second thought, leaving the vile memoirs behind in the house that had become its tomb. The scent of salt increased tenfold as the ocean lay sprawled before her at the foot of a narrow expanse of sand. The skies above were so clear that she could see every single star winking back at her, each one a different world with its own inhabitants. There was comfort in the knowledge that every person was looking at the same sky, regardless of the distance between their hearts. Xion broke out into a gentle smile as the sea breeze whipped through her chocolate hair. She tipped her head back and took a deep breath. Xion had visited countless worlds on her journey across the Ocean Between, but Destiny Islands would always be the place she called home. Her ambitions had outgrown the tiny string of islands, but no place could compare to the boundless tranquillity that shrouded the haven. The brunette's friends in Hollow Bastion - err, Radiant Garden - had welcomed her into their home with open arms, but Xion's heart would always be tied to the crystal-white sands and lush palm trees of Destiny Islands.

Xion felt as if she had been imprisoned for a long time, bound to the will of someone who sought to control her. She felt as if, throughout her entire life, that she had never been free. Perhaps, this is what freedom felt like.

Xion chuckled to herself and rubbed the tip of her nose in embarrassment. The islands always knew how to bring out the sentimental child in her. She casually jogged down the wooden pathway towards a pier that stretched out into the water like an arm reaching for the heavens. The whistling wind sang to her, as if the island itself was alive. Xion was no longer confused, lost in a labyrinth of memories that she didn't recognise. The brunette couldn't recall when that raging storm had subsided, but she still needed to check on their raft! Xion just wouldn't get any sleep without ensuring that their plans were set for tomorrow morning. They had poured their sweat and tears into building that boat; she couldn't bear the thought of watching it all wash away into the maw of the ocean. Her Mom's rowboat was still tethered to the pier, smoothly bobbing in the water alongside a myriad of identical ships. Xion just knew that her friends would thank her later. At least, she would thank her. He would just cross his arms and pretend to be all aloof...

Funny, she couldn't seem to remember their names...

Sora Xion tried to think of something to say. There must be some words that could ease the pain that had buried itself in Aladdin's heart, but they wouldn't come to mind. Jafar was defeated, overwhelmed by his own hubris and sealed within a rusted lamp for the rest of eternity. Their victory was bittersweet. Jasmine was gone, her light devoured by the darkness just like many before her, and Aladdin was crushed. If she dug her fingers into her palms any harder, she would draw blood. Guilt was eating away at the brunette's heart at the knowledge that she had failed to protect Aladdin's special someone. Sora Xion was ashamed. She could never forget how it felt when Kairi Aqua Kairi was taken from her, snatched away by the Heartless like a pride of ravenous beasts. She swore that she would never allow anyone else to feel that same pain. She had failed.

Xion stumbled in the sand, falling to her knees as the pounding headache returned with a vengeance. She dug the heels of her palms into her eyesockets until afterimages pranced across her vision. Why was she so confused about her friend's name? Kairi was one of her closest and dearest friends, with hair like amber and eyes full of kindness that she didn't deserve. Xion shook her head, brushing off the haze that clouded her thoughts. Kairi deserved better than that.

She could never forget how it felt when KAIRI was taken from her, snatched away by the Heartless like a pride of ravenous beasts. She swore that she would never allow anyone else to feel that same pain. She had failed.

Aladdin didn't seem to need any comforting words. He sat hunched over on the foot of his window overlooking the palace, yet his shoulders held a strength of spirit that Sora Xion envied. Aladdin had no Keyblade, yet stood by her side and fought the Heartless as they descended upon Agrabah. The power of true love could overcome any mountains, and he would've dragged himself across the Arabian desert if Jasmine waited on the other side. The law preventing the street rat from marrying the princess was a farce. Sora Xion was confident that Aladdin would be the most capable Sultan that Agrabah could ever hope for.

Aladdin abruptly jumped to his feet. Any signs of resignation vanished as his dark-brown eyes burned with a fire that could never be extinguished. He was faced with a cruel dilemma, the nature of his third and final wish. It was a decision that he never thought he would be faced with, but there was only one option. It wasn't the option that he ever would've suspected to chose, but when faced with an uncertain future, there was only one path to travel.

"I wish for your freedom, Genie!"

Genie tried to protest, to insist that Aladdin use his final wish to bring Jasmine back, but his magic was bound to the words of his master. An enormous cloud of smoke belched from the magic lamp, filling Aladdin's house with the smell of acrid sulphur. It stung Sora’s Xion’s eyes and burned her nose, and she could hear Donald and Goofy coughing and wafting the soot away from their faces. As the smoke dissolved and receded back into the depths of the lamp, Genie was standing on a pair of newly formed legs. His golden cuffs shattered like fragile glass and the ethereal glow that enveloped the magic lamp faded until it was nothing more than an old rusty bronze lantern.

"A deal's a deal, Genie," Aladdin affirmed. "Now you can go anywhere you want. You're your own master."

That must be nice, to be your own master.

Xion had never been given the same opportunity, as if there was always someone lurking over her shoulders and pulling her strings. Someone who guided her movements until she couldn't tell what actions were taken of her own free will, and what actions were the will of another. Did Xion even have free will? She was a Nobody, an imaginary number that didn't exist. She was always intended to be a mindless puppet, and she would never be anything more. God, she would kill for the freedom to just get on a train and go, no destination in mind, and just see where life took her.

But, didn't she already have that freedom? The Gummiship could jet between worlds in the blink of an eye, and Donald and Goofy insisted she call them if she fancied going world hopping. The Twilight Town gang were always game if she needed to take a load off and escape from the world for a while. Hell, there were as many realms as stars in the sky, ready to be explored by those who dared to brave the Ocean Between.

There was no reason for Xion to feel so trapped... so why couldn't she shake the feeling that she was trapped in a prison of her own making?

What was she not remembering?

Xion scrambled back to her feet, leaving a dent in the sand where she once lay, and hopped into her Mom's rowboat. She loosed the rope and allowed the raft to drift off into open water, carried by the currents that lurked beneath the surface. The brunette longed to just lie down and let the boat take her wherever it wanted, but the drive to visit the island was consuming her thoughts. Xion had long forgotten the raft that lay abandoned on the beach for over a year, still waiting for the children that would never return. She just wanted to know what was going on. She picked up the oars and dunked them into the water before realising that she didn't know how to row.

Seriously? She'd lived on these islands all her life, and she had never learned to row? What was wrong with her? No wonder Riku made fun of her so often.

Whatever, it didn't matter. It took a little longer than she wanted, but Xion eventually reached the island. Trying to navigate the uncooperative boat by moonlight was harder than she thought it would be, but she made it all the same. The lake of terror that had gradually accumulated in her heart drained away as she sprung out of the canoe, feeling the white sand spread between her toes. Ahh, this took her back. There were so many happy memories forged on this tiny island, it was impossible not to feel her spirit soaring with joy. Xion had spent so much time here that she swore it was more of a home than her actual house! She could almost hear the rubbery sound of a Blitzball as Tidus and Wakka scuffled for the title of champion, and the smell of coconut as Selphie sipped milk from the palm tree's fruit. How could Xion feel sad when the island rang with the sound of laughter.

Rolling her plaid pyjamas pants up to her knees, Xion trekked out into the waves. It was absolutely freezing and stung her exposed toes, but she didn't mind. The brunette couldn't stop herself from breaking out into a wide grin as the moon waved down at her from the skies above, peering over a silhouette of a bent tree with three kids perched upon its trunk. If she wasn't wearing cotton PJs, she would've dived headfirst into the water and submerged herself in its essence. The frigid cold that slowly crept up Xion's shins and into her bones couldn't stifle the glee in her heart. She let out a pealing laugh that resounded across the vacant beach, but she didn't know why she was laughing. The only thing that could've made it better was if her friends could've shared the moment. She wanted to treasure it forever.

Sora Xion grinned and heartily accepted the ice cream. She tore off the tacky plastic wrapping and unceremoniously bit into one corner, snapping a piece off and chewing it between her teeth. Melted sugary ice cream ran down her throat and face in equal measure, coating everything it touched in a sticky sweet residue. Notes of sea-salt tantalised her senses in a way that no other ice cream had been able to replicate. Sora Xion could eat herself into a coma, and she would have no regrets.

Sora Xion beamed at her friends while they enjoyed their own treats, albeit with a little more restraint. Terra Axel Riku stoically raised a single eyebrow in amusement but allowed his friend to greedily devour the ice cream without judgement. Aqua Roxas Kairi returned her infectious expression, slowly nibbling at the dessert as droplets of blue-dyed ice cream crawled down the wooden stick and onto her hand. It was perfect. Despite all the worlds that Sora Xion had travelled across, there was nowhere else she would rather be-

No. Something wasn't right there.

Sora's smile slipped from his face as his heart became entrenched with uncertainty. The chill from the cold ocean water began to grip more than just his legs. He had always intended to introduce Riku and Kairi to the marvel that was sea-salt ice cream, but the trio had never found the time. He and Riku were preparing for the Mark of Mastery, and Xehanort's shadow seemed to loom closer every day. Sora and his friends had never eaten ice cream together. He furrowed his brows as the light of the moon lost its friendliness and morphed into an unfeeling, piercing spotlight.

Sora decided to try that one again.

Xion Sora grinned and heartily accepted the ice cream PAOPU FRUIT. She HE tore off the tacky plastic wrapping and unceremoniously bit into one corner, snapping a piece off and chewing it between her HIS teeth. Melted sugary ice cream ran down her HIS throat and face in equal measure, coating everything it touched in a sticky sweet residue. Notes of sea-salt tantalised her senses in a way that no other ice cream had been able to replicate SORA HAD NEVER EATEN SEA-SALT ICE CREAM WITH HIS FRIENDS. Xion Sora could eat herself HIMSELF into a coma, and she HE would have no regrets.

Xion Sora beamed at her HIS friends while they enjoyed their own treats, albeit with a little more restraint. Terra Axel Riku Ephemer stoically raised a single eyebrow in amusement but allowed his friend to greedily devour the ice cream without judgement. Aqua Roxas Kairi Skuld returned her HIS infectious expression, slowly nibbling at the dessert as droplets of blue-dyed ice cream crawled down the wooden stick and onto her his her hand. It was perfect. Despite all the worlds that Xion Sora had travelled across, there was nowhere else she HE would rather be-

No, it still wasn't right! What was happening to her?! Why were all her memories scrambled like this? She was there when this all happened, she lived through all these events, these memories were hers! No one else's! Why did everybody want to take them from her?! Xion's vision was swimming so badly that she couldn't remain standing upright, soaking her plaid pyjamas with seawater as she sunk to her knees. Her head was filled with screaming, and it wasn't just her own. How many people were in her head?! She just wanted to be happy, why couldn't she just be left alone?!

Sora Xion choked back the tears as she pummelled Riku in his stomach with her Keyblade. He grunted as the air was forced from his lungs, but it didn't stop him from trying to decapitate the brunette with his own twisted, razor-sharp blade. She had travelled across every corner of the multiverse, taken down Heartless ten times her size, faced horrible monsters that would haunt her nightmares for years to come. All in the name of saving her friends and bringing them home. The notion that Riku was opposing her, doing everything in his power to stop her from saving Kairi... it was unfathomable. Sora Xion felt betrayed, violated somehow. The two were supposed to be best friends! What had Maleficent done to him?!

Xion didn't want to remember. It hurt so badly.

The animalistic hunger brewing in Riku's cyan eyes was almost enough to force Xion Sora to drop his Keyblade. Something was poisoning his mind, filling his heart with lies and transforming him into a monster that Xion Sora barely recognised. The two had sparred more times than he could count, roughhousing on the golden beaches of Destiny Islands while Kairi cheered from the sidelines. But those days were gone. The Riku standing before him wouldn't hesitate to kill if given a chance. Whether it was due to possession or not, Xion Sora had to accept that his best friend was gone. At least, for now. He would never give up on his friends, but he had to fight. He had to view Riku as just another Heartless to defeat, or he would never find the strength to raise his Keyblade. The Keyhole howled with maniacal laughter.

Stop it, she didn't want this! These weren't her memories! She wasn't Sora!

Sora knew what he had to do.

He had defeated Riku, or rather the spirit of Ansem that had usurped his friend's body. Shivers ran down his spine at the memory of the grin that stretched across Riku's face as he vanished into a pool of darkness, the same that had swallowed him up along with Destiny Islands. Sora had wondered many times if it would've been easier for him to follow. The brunette hadn't managed to pull his friend from the clutches of darkness, but he could've gone with him. Perhaps if Sora hadn't lost his grip, hadn't let his best friend slip through his fingers, then his heart wouldn't have been devoured and replaced by nothing but hatred. He shouldn't have let Riku go alone. How could he ever call himself a defender of the light if he couldn't even protect his friends?

Kairi lay lifeless before him, the only sign that she was still alive coming from the gentle rising and falling of her chest. She was drowning in a dreamless sleep, completely unaware that the world was crashing down around her. Unaware that the light in her heart was so powerful that those who coveted it would tear the universe apart just for a taste. It seemed like only days ago that the three were constructing a disorganised, slapdash raft so they could leave the islands together and sail the world. Now, Sora wasn't even sure if there was a home to return to. He would give anything to go back to how it was before, but that wasn't possible. Not anymore.

He refused to accept that he was unable to save Riku's heart, but there was still something he could do for Kairi.

Sora picked up Riku's abandoned Keyblade from the floor, tossed aside by the silver-haired boy as soon as it was no longer useful to him. The weapon practically screamed at his touch, scalding his hand through his leather gloves as if it was trying to burn his arm off. The Keyblade did everything in its power to force Sora to drop it, but the brunette refused. The pain just made him grip tighter.

Riku, or rather Ansem, had given him what he thought he wanted. Sora had torn his way across the Ocean Between in search of Kairi's heart, but it had been with him all along. Her heart beat alongside his, sheltering in his chest like a ship docked in a dreadful storm. Sora's heart was a sanctuary, but it was also a prison. Kairi would never be whole while he still breathed. Riku was already lost to the darkness, and now Sora was about to lose Kairi too. The inseparable trio had been wrenched apart, and Sora wasn't sure if he would ever be able to mend them.

... He was fine with what he was about to do. Sora had been unable to save Riku, but perhaps Kairi could finish what he had started. If they couldn't exist as a trio, then they should at least have the chance to exist as a duo. He was fine. Maybe if he repeated that phrase enough, he could convince himself that it was true. At that moment, standing above the comatose body of his best friend, there was nothing else in the world that mattered. Sora had failed Riku, and he had failed himself, but he would NOT fail anyone else again.

Sora would face his fears, and he would accept his fate with a smile. It would all be OK.

Sora steeled his nerves and forced his quivering hands to be still. He looked back at Donald and Goofy, whose eyes were cast downwards in the realisation that Kairi was not going to wake up. Sora hoped that they would forgive him. He hoped that he had done enough to earn their forgiveness.

Without a second thought, Sora gave his friends the biggest smile that he could muster, and plunged the Keyblade into his chest. It hurt, it hurt so much, but only for a moment.

Then it was quiet, and Sora could rest.

Kairi tried not to blame herself for what happened. Some days were better than others.

The three friends had been torn about whether returning to Destiny Islands was the right thing to do. The archipelago was host to both good and bad memories, warmed by the joyous rays of the sun and chilled by the brutal gaze of the moon. Thoughts of childhood days spent under clear blue skies, surrounded by pearlescent sand and tinged with the yellow nectar of Paopu Fruit, lived alongside the memory of a tidal wave of darkness that left the world in ruins. It was sometimes difficult to distinguish between the two; the good and the bad inflicted equal pain upon Kairi's heart. Blessed memories of the countless hours wasted under the sun with her friends were now tainted by the reminder of the day that it was all taken away. It cast an image of how life used to be, and how they could never return to the way things were.

Kairi couldn't remember who proposed the idea of returning to their homeworld after Xemnas met his end. Perhaps it was her, longing for some stability in the turbulent waves that had swept their lives away. Perhaps it was Riku, hoping that the tropical sun could banish the darkness that hid within the nooks and crannies of his heart. Perhaps it was Sora, whose mind had become so mixed up with the lives of others that he could barely remember the place he was born. The first time the trio set foot in Destiny Islands was when Sora and Riku crossed the Door to Light, dragging themselves from the ocean to the cheering of the friends who thought they would never see them again. The islands had become a physical manifestation of all the hurt they had endured, and it wasn't fair. Kairi didn't want Xemnas to have the last laugh. She couldn't stand to let him take away their final sanctuary, to allow him to control their lives even after his death.

Kairi had considered uprooting herself to Radiant Garden more than once. The sprawling city of cobbled stone and golden gateways was her childhood home after all, and her grandmother still lived in the same house she grew up in. Sora had a small army of people who would bend over backwards to convince him to stay, and Riku wouldn't be far behind. Maybe it would be better to make a fresh start, leave behind the hurt that never truly went away and carve their own path.

At least, that's what she told her friends. The truth of the matter was that Kairi just wasn't ready to face the memories bound to the islands. She couldn't look upon the faces of her friends, whose lives had carried on as usual while her whole world was ripped apart.

Surprisingly enough, Sora and Riku disagreed with her. Riku had spent so long submerged in the inky depths of darkness that there was no place in the Realm of Light that he called home. The chain of memories that once tethered his heart to Destiny Islands had been severed long ago. Kairi could feel the palpable sorrow that bubbled behind his cyan eyes. Riku had lost his connection to his home, and he was burdened with guilt. If he was to ever reclaim his humanity, it would be at the place where his journey began. Kairi had always wondered just how much of the darkness in Riku's heart was planted by Ansem, and how much had been there from the very start. Even after everything was said and done, Riku just couldn't let go.

Sora had spent such a long time hopping between worlds, meeting new people and then leaving them behind, that he was struggling to remember the chain of islands and the waters that surrounded them. His heart had been lost to darkness and then revived, his memories had been stolen and then returned, he had batted his Nobody and then made amends... Sora's soul had been torn asunder and then put back together so many times that he was having a hard time making sense of it all. He wanted to reconnect with the home that his heart had forgotten. He was desperate to rediscover what made him 'Sora', and what set him apart from all the other identities swimming around in his brain.

The decision to stay wasn't an easy one, but it was one that all three made together. Kairi had her reservations, but she was just grateful that the trio was back together for the first time in forever. They had come so close, barely missing each other by the skin of their teeth, that she feared fate would never allow them to reconvene again. Kairi was afraid that even her precious memories would begin to fade and rust, replaced by the all-encompassing ache that already sullied the thoughts of her home. Hell, Sora and Riku could've moved to the Realm of Darkness for all she cared. She would've thrown her heart to the wolves if that's what they wanted from her.

After everything they had been through, Kairi refused to allow her friends to be stolen from her again.

She already had an inkling that she would find the transition back to island life the easiest. The redhead had returned to Destiny Islands after Sora defeated Ansem and restored the worlds, slipping back into daily living for at least a year before Axel kidnapped her. The change hadn't been as jarring as she expected. Granted, she and the rest of the community completely forgot about Sora for most of that time, thanks to Naminé's meddling. Tidus, Wakka, and Selphie were a close-knit trio, but Kairi could tell they were going out of their way to make her feel included. She was a little lost without Sora and Riku, but there was never a moment where she felt lonely. Kairi appreciated their efforts - it made life on the islands a whole lot more bearable, even if she lacked two pieces of her heart.

It was a whole lot harder for Sora and Riku. From the very moment that the three resolved to stay, letting Donald, Goofy, and the King ride away in their Gummiship to places unknown, it had been an uphill battle. Kairi did everything she could think of to keep Riku's betrayal out of his mind, and Tidus and Wakka were ecstatic to have their sparring buddy back in the ring. The entire island rejoiced to see the two lost boys return home safely after years of stemming the flow of darkness, but Riku just wasn't fitting in. He could insist that he had let go of his past and forgiven himself until he was blue in the face; he was a lousy liar. Kairi saw how he kept declining offers to hang out and shoot some Blitzball, preferring to spend his days brooding in solitude. She saw the glimmers of guilt that sparked in his cyan eyes that he was unable to bury. Riku had always been a melodramatic drama queen, but he seriously needed to lighten up.

Sora initially took the change better than expected. Despite everything he had suffered through, his light continued to pierce through the shadows. Where Riku was content to turn his back on society, Sora seemed to attract people with his unabashed friendliness wherever he went. Kairi couldn't describe how relieved she was that at least one of her best friends had found renewed hope in the sanctity of Destiny Islands.

At least, that was how everything initially appeared to be. Sora used to be just as terrible of a liar as Riku, but his quest against Ansem had changed him. He had become much more adept at burying the truth beneath a bright smile, but Kairi wasn't so easily fooled.

The first time that she caught Sora staring off into space or out a window with a forlorn expression, uncharacteristically quiet as if his mind was somewhere far away, it hadn't worried her. The brunette's heart wasn't made to stay still; he wanted to explore as far as his eyes could see and then even farther. It must be hard for him to be stuck in one place while he yearned for the freedom that he had become accustomed to. Kairi would gently place one hand on his shoulder, enough to snap Sora back to reality as if he was waking from a deep sleep. He would apologise and meekly rub the tip of his nose. What a nerd.

Then it started happening more often. Now Kairi had to give Sora a forceful shake to return his mind from wherever it had wandered off to, her touch no longer enough. He was dazed and confused, struck by intense headaches that filled his mind with names and faces that he didn't recognise. He was having trouble sleeping and had begun sleepwalking. Something was going on inside Sora's head, but either he wouldn't talk about it, or he didn't know how to talk about it. Kairi had always described Riku as the complex one, his emotions guarded and secrets held close to his heart. She wasn't sure when he and Sora had swapped roles. She wanted to help, but she didn't know the words to say.

Kairi feared that if she let Sora go, he would never return. She couldn't bear the thought of losing him again.

The trio moved back into Sora's old house, a neglected but spacious cabin with stunning views over the ocean and enough room for three moody teenagers. Kairi's grandmother had tried to convince them to move to Radiant Garden with her, promising to fill their stomachs every day and keep the kettle warm. There just wasn't enough room, and she knew it. Sora, Riku, and Kairi were a little too old to be sharing rooms, especially considering that Sora's oversized shoes took up all the wardrobe space. Kairi was understandably apprehensive about claiming the once-abandoned house as their own, especially since Sora's mother had... well. It hurt to talk about it. The house lay untouched since it was pulled back from the clutches of darkness along with the rest of Destiny Islands. The walls were still lined with pictures of the Keyblade wielder and his mother, a grim reminder that some things could never be recovered from whatever lay beyond the veil.

Kairi was concerned about Sora opening himself back up to the volatile memories enshrined within that house, but he barely seemed to notice. Either he was taking the whole thing better than expected, or he was deliberately avoiding the ghosts of his past. Oof, maybe 'ghosts' was a little too on-the-nose.

The day the letter from King Mickey had washed ashore, sealed with his emblem pressed into a glob of crimson wax, things seemed to be getting better. Master Yen Sid wanted Riku and Sora to take the Mark of Mastery, finally recognising the two as Keyblade Masters. It was about time! Kairi didn't know any other Keyblade wielders, not counting King Mickey, but the pair had more than proven themselves in her eyes. She was sick of hearing how they 'still had more to learn' despite how they could topple the largest Heartless with both hands tied behind their backs and their Keyblades held between their teeth. Riku could bring his enemies to their knees with the intensity of his glower alone, and Sora managed to befriend every creepy crawly that spent more than thirty seconds with him. Whether they wanted to be his friend or not.

For the first time in weeks, the spark of rivalry had reignited. Both Sora and Riku seemed to perk up as their boundless energy now had an outlet. It was the same passion that drove them to squabble over the name of their raft, or break their wooden play swords because they had to constantly outpace each other. Yen Sid never indicated that only one would receive his accolades, yet Sora and Riku took it as a challenge anyway. By Kairi's count, Riku was still in the lead after he beat Sora in that race to name the raft 'Highwind'. The look of absolute betrayal on Sora’s face when she brought that up, combined with Riku’s boisterous laughter, made Kairi's heart ache in a way that she couldn't describe. It was so reminiscent of days that were long lost, that she feared they would never relive. It gave her hope that things might turn out alright after all.

Unfortunately for Sora, whatever had taken root in his mind wouldn't let him off so easily. He was practically exploding with unrestrained enthusiasm, eager to throw himself into the midst and prove that even a self-taught Keyblade wielder could be called Master. He was also growing more and more tired as the thorns in his heart wormed deeper, depriving him of meaningful rest. His sleepwalking episodes became increasingly common and dangerous, pervading even into his waking hours until he began losing whole days of his life. Riku claimed that he had once witnessed Sora try to walk off a cliff, claiming that 'Aqua' and 'Terra' were waiting for him and that his 'Glider' would catch him before he reached the bottom. It was only after he put the brunette in a headlock that he snapped out of his trance with no idea where he was or how he got there. Sora begged his friends to keep their mouths shut, lest Yen Sid cancel the Mark of Mastery. He had trained his whole life for this very moment, and Hades would need to drag him kicking and screaming into the Underworld before he let anyone get in the way.

Kairi had considered literally tying Sora to his bed and forcing him to get a restful sleep, but no lock could hold against someone whose weapon was a giant key, of all things. Riku offered to drag him through a Corridor of Darkness and dump him somewhere that he couldn't wander away from, but the Realm of Darkness wasn't exactly the best place for a nap. The silver-haired boy drew the line when Kairi resolved to camp outside his room. Riku wouldn't allow her to sacrifice her own health in the name of her friends – he was very familiar with the dark path that decision would lead her down. Kairi was grateful that he was still looking out for her when she didn't know how to do it herself. She had spent many nights wishing for a Keyblade of her own so she could take the place of her friends, instead of cowering in fear of those who desired the light in her heart. Kairi feared that she had reached the end of her usefulness and was no better than a deadweight to lug around. When Riku reaffirmed that they were all in this together, it gave her the assurance that she was not being left behind.

Still, it would be nice if she could have her own Keyblade. Why did Sora and Riku get to have all the fun!

Instead, Kairi compromised. She took the room next to Sora's, listening for the slightest falter in his breathing or creaking floorboard beneath his feet. The Mark of Mastery was drawing closer every day, and she knew how much it meant to Sora. He had done so much for her, and she had no way to pay him back for all his sacrifices. Kairi still remembered that bug-like Heartless that crawled up to her after Sora took his own life, nothing but an empty shell yet vibrating with the brunette's infallible lifeforce. A few sleepless nights was a small price to pay: Sora had shielded her heart from the moment that the Shadows consumed Destiny Islands, and she would do the same for them.

Kairi was so deeply embedded in a dream of a battlefield littered with abandoned Keyblades, clutching a weapon lined with blossoming flowers, that she almost missed the sound of shattering glass. Almost. She peeled her eyes open with an exhausted groan, stretched her arms above her head, then rolled over until her face was buried in a pillow. It was way too early to be waking up, the sun still dipped below the horizon as the moon dominated the night sky. Kairi's sleep was filled with visions of a man with azure hair, gripped by the insanity of a lunar eclipse, and a girl in a black trench coat with no face or name. She was fighting beside Sora for the first time, but it was so hazy that she couldn't recall if they had won. Knowing Sora, they definitely had. Kairi's lips curled up at the corners as she tried to drift back off to sleep, hoping to continue her dream where it had left off.

The second clattering of glass had Kairi up and out of bed before she could say 'sleepwalking'.

It first, she thought the racket was a fragment of her dream bleeding into reality, but Sora snored loud enough to shake the walls. Kairi had learned to find comfort in the booming noise, but the house was enveloped in an eery silence. Sora wasn’t asleep. It was quiet enough to allow the sound of crunching to resonate through a closed door, followed by heavy footsteps that retreated down the hallway. Kairi knew she should've fought Riku on her decision to park herself outside Sora's door. She spared herself the time to slip into a pair of Moogle slippers before hurling herself out of her room. Her amber hair stuck up in all directions and her eyes were bleary, but her brain was fully engaged. If Sora had wandered off into the dead of night, then she couldn't afford to dawdle.

Kairi didn't even bother switching any lights on, tiptoeing across the sun-bleached carpet to avoid disturbing Riku who was dead to the world in the next room. She was still entertaining the idea that Sora had just gotten up for some water. The last thing she wanted was to wake Riku and incite a manhunt. Besides, the Mark of Mastery wasn't just for Sora; Riku needed to get his beauty sleep too. She picked her way down the shadowy hallway, ears pricked and eyes sharp, but there was no sign of unruly brown hair. The redhead almost stepped into a pool of broken glass that mercifully reflected the icy moonlight before she could cut herself. That was weird... Kairi paused in her tracks. A picture frame was lying face-down on the carpet, surrounded by a puddle of shards. Something had knocked it from the wall, and there was no doubt in Kairi's mind as to who it was. Sora's crown necklace lay discarded alongside the remains of the photo frame. Its silver chain had been snapped in two and tossed away as if it was trash.

Kairi swallowed the lump in her throat and carefully picked up the frame. It held a photograph of Sora and his mother posing in front of the boat she had bought for him. Both were grinning from ear to ear, and Sora was visibly sunburnt. That same boat was docked at the pier outside. Even back then, the glimmer of silver around Sora's neck peeked above the hem of his shirt. Riku had teased him relentless for that necklace, but Sora refused to take it off. It was a present from his father, before he took a boat to the mainland and never came back. Sora claimed that it was a good luck charm and that it would give him the power to finally beat Riku's winning streak. It hadn't. Kairi was pretty sure that Sora showered with that necklace on.

Sora had not only taken the necklace off; he had broken it clean in two.

Kairi was no longer concerned about the amount of noise she was making. She bolted down the hallway and out the front door, dreading that she would see that messy chocolate mop of hair disappearing beneath the waves before she could do anything. The chilly night breeze punched her in the gut, and the smell of salt in the air was like a cloud of tears. Kairi's blue eyes scoured the water, straining to see anything in the dim light of the moon. It was enough to catch sight of a stream of ripples across the surface of the crystal-clear ocean. It was too dark to make out the source of the disturbance, but there was one thing that made itself known. One of the boats had disappeared from the pier. The boat that was in the photograph of Sora and his mother.

Kairi was going to kill him.

She briefly considered running back indoors and shaking Riku awake, but her mind was trapped in a cycle of repeating thoughts. She was about to lose Sora again. The window of opportunity was so small; she had to go now. Kairi would fight the universe tooth and nail if it thought she would let him vanish so easily. Whatever had possessed Sora's dreams and driven him to the brink, it would have to get through her first.

Kairi sprinted towards the pier as fast as her legs could carry her, kicking up a cloud of iridescent sand in her wake. She was clad in only a silk nightie and the cold night air prickled against her skin like needles, but she barely noticed. She threw herself headfirst into the nearest boat and unhooked the rope that kept it tethered to the wooden dock. It had been a long time since the redhead had rowed a boat, but her muscles remembered the way. The trail of ripples from the other raft was erratic and uneven as if its captain was inexperienced. At any other time, Kairi would've found this concerning; Sora had crewed enough boats to at least be able to steer it in a straight line. At that moment, she was just grateful that it allowed her to narrow the gap.

It wasn't until Kairi's boat drew close enough to make out the silhouette of a steep, craggy island that she understood where Sora had fled to.

If there was ever an epicentre of all their strife and suffering, that island was it. The last time Kairi had set foot on its untouched beachfront was when Sora and Riku emerged there, spat out into the Realm of Light after taking down Xemnas. For them, they were trapped at the Dark Margin for only a couple of minutes, but the flow of time in the Realm of Darkness was skewed. In reality, Kairi waited on that beach for over an hour, the last vestiges of hope slowly fading away as the clock counted every second. Kairi shuddered at the thought. If Sora and Riku hadn't eventually dragged themselves from the ocean, soaking wet and beaming from ear to ear, then she would've stormed all the way to the World That Never Was and slaughtered Xemnas on her own, Keyblade be damned. The island was a living snapshot of the world as it once was, free of the gloom that seemed to sink into every other aspect of their lives. The thought of the abandoned and rotting treehouse, the carvings on the walls, and the lonely Paopu tree were almost too much to handle.

These were not the circumstances that Kairi was hoping for. If they were ever to return to the island and face the memories buried beneath the beach, then all three should've been there. Not only was Riku absent, fast asleep at home without any clue of what was transpiring, but they were not going to find closure like this. They needed to face the island as a trio so they could put their weight on each other's shoulders and carry the burden together. Kairi should've known better than to think that fate would ever be so kind.

The hull of her boat scraped along the seafloor as it beached itself, the waters too shallow to keep the ship afloat. Kairi jerked forward abruptly with the collision, her attention already fused to the shoreline and what she might find there. The slope of the bent Paopu Tree reached for the sky, its leaves shivering in the wind as if every frond was snickering. She refused to allow the island to taunt her. It was nigh impossible to make anything out without a light source, but if she squinted hard enough, she could pick out the silhouette of a figure in the water. It stood with its knees submerged in the frigid waves, its hands in its pocket and head tilted up to the sky.

Kairi hadn't realised that she'd been holding her breath ever since her boat ran aground. She forced her lungs to exhale and hopped out of the ship, cringing as the icy water saturated her slippers and stung her toes. The figure was so still that he might have been a statue, were it not for the strands of hair that flowed in the breeze. Sora was like an apparition, as if he was completely detached from the world around him. Thank God Kairi had made it in time. She wasn't sure what she was expecting to see when she chased after Sora, but her heart feared the worst.

Kairi fought past the shards of ice that crept up her shins and waded through the ocean waves towards Sora. The exertion of struggling against the pull of the tide was enough to leave the redhead breathless, but she persisted nonetheless. There was nothing more important to her than Sora at that very moment, and she wouldn't rest until she could wrap her arms around his shoulders and never let go. There would be plenty of time to beat some sense into him later.

As Kairi gradually approached, Sora's trance released its grip and he took a sharp intake of breath. He clutched at his chest as if his heart was about to burst through his rib cage. The brunette took several steps back before falling to his knees, groaning in pain as his hands clenched his head with enough force to shatter a boulder. Kairi's elation evaporated in an instant, and she furiously sped up. The water clung to her skin and weighed her legs down, trying to pull her into the sand beneath her feet. Sora's gasps of pain devolved into wails of agony as he struggled against an invisible enemy like he was fighting for air. Kairi couldn't close the gap fast enough.

"SORA!" Kairi yelled, raising her voice above the screaming of the Keyblade wielder at her feet. He didn't react to her voice, consumed by anguish that deadened his senses to the world around him. Kairi didn't know if his face was wet with ocean spray or with tears. She put one hand on his shoulder, but he yanked himself away as if the gentle touch had sent shockwaves throughout his whole body.

"NO!" he demanded at the top of his lungs. Sora tried to back away, but his movements were uncoordinated. It was as if every one of his limbs was under the control of a different spirit, all of them fighting for dominance. "GO AWAY! DON'T TOUCH ME!"

Kairi didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to do.

"IT HURTS! I DON'T WANT TO REMEMBER!"

She didn't know what to do.

"THEY WON'T SHUT UP! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! AXEL, ROXAS, HELP ME!"

Kairi reeled her right arm back and slapped Sora hard across the face.

Sora reeled backwards, falling flat on his back with his arms and legs splayed out across the sand. His pyjamas were immediately soaked through, darkening the red plaid until it was almost black. The silence that fell over the island in the wake of his outburst was somehow even more deafening. The only thing Kairi could hear was the crashing of the waves and the blood rushing through her head. For a moment, she thought that the force of her strike had clean knocked Sora out: his sapphire-blue eyes stared blankly up at the sky above him. If the two had been any deeper in the water, the ocean would've claimed his head and filled his lungs.

What had she done?

The shock wore off in the blink of an eye, and Kairi burst into tears. She flung herself at the downed Keyblade wielder, weeping openly and holding onto his figure for dear life. Sora tried to sit up, but Kairi's weight on his chest kept him pinned in place. He... had no idea what was going on. He was freezing cold and soaking wet, and he had no clue as to how it happened. He returned Kairi's embrace and forced himself up, sitting in the shallow water that lapped around his waist. Sora recognised the faint shadow of the rickety treehouse looming overhead, and the two boats bobbing in the rolling waves. He was on the island, but... how?

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-" Kairi repeated through the tears like a mantra. She was so vigorously clinging to Sora's chest that he was struggling to breathe. He felt lightheaded, but it was not just because of the weight of the frightened girl.

"Kairi…" Sora managed to squeeze out as her grip on his chest tightened with each breath. "How did we get here?"

The redhead was unable to respond through her tears, hiccups wracking her body as she tried to breathe through the sobs. Sora was stricken with confusion, unable to fathom why Kairi was crying or why they were both lying in the ocean. The last thing he remembered was flopping into bed, lacking the energy to tuck himself beneath his bedsheets. The Mark of Mastery was right around the corner, and Kairi was on the verge of chaining him to his bedframe if he didn't get a full night’s sleep. Sora had dreamt of a vast expanse of featureless salt flats, and a small grey creature with droopy ears and a red purse around its neck. Then there was a stinging pain in his cheek as if something had smacked him across the face...

"Whoa, hey!" Sora exclaimed, holding Kairi at arms length. "What happened? Did someone hurt you?!"

Kairi tried to get her crying under control, wiping her face to clear the tears but instead just smearing saltwater on her cheeks. Her amber hair was drenched and clung to her round face, poking her in the eye no matter how many times she brushed the strands aside.

"You- I- I followed you, a-and you were sleepwalking, and- and I didn't know what to do-" she gasped, trying to force her words out but visibly struggling.

Sora felt his stomach drop as his fears were confirmed. He was well aware of his sleepwalking problem but continuously pushed it to the back of his mind. Compared to everything else he had endured, a little difficulty sleeping was a drop in the ocean. Barely even worth worrying about. Sora should've probably worried about it. He couldn't remember anything between falling asleep in the warmth of his childhood bed and waking up in the arms of his weeping friend. If he had hurt her while he was out cold, unable to control his actions, then he would never forgive himself. Sora's grip on Kairi's shoulders increased, and a sense of urgency filled his voice.

"Kairi… Did I hurt you?"

"WHAT!" Kairi exclaimed, almost sending Sora toppling over again in surprise at her outburst. "No! No, Sora, you didn't do anything wrong. I promise!" She continued to sniffle, but just the fact that Sora was finally responding began to settle her mind. "You came out here, a-and I followed you… you were freaking out, yelling about Axel and Roxas, and I- I didn't know what to do, so I hit you and- and-"

Kairi spluttered into silence as the reality of the situation pelted her like a truck. She hit him. The boy who sheltered her fractured heart and travelled into the depths of darkness, all to bring her back to life. This is what she gave him in return. Sora pulled the crying redhead back into his chest, rubbing her back and rocking back and forth as the tears continued to fall. Kairi was faintly aware of the brunette whispering something comforting in her ear, but her head echoed so badly with her own grief that she couldn't focus on what he was saying.

The two remained intertwined until Kairi's sobs faded into sniffs, then finally into nothing. She would've stayed in Sora's embrace until the world ended if she could, but her sorrow was rapidly replaced by a sense of guilt. It should be the other way around; she should be comforting him. Sora had so many people relying on him to be a pillar of strength that he had no choice but to hide his insecurities behind a smile. His kindness was no lie, but everyone had their breaking point. Kairi had strived to show Sora that it was OK to be truthful about his feelings, but in doing so, she had neglected herself. She asked Sora for honesty, yet had not given the same in return.

It wasn't the way that she wanted, but while they sat in the shallows of the ocean together, it was the most honest that either had ever been with each other. It hurt more than anything in the world, but the relief was immeasurable. Kairi felt like a dam had burst within her, but it allowed the floodwaters to subside. For the first time in months, she couldn't hear the sound of her own regret.

Kairi was the first to release her hold. She sat back on her shins and rubbed her sore eyes, unable to make eye contact as she stared at the swirling sand between her knees. She was a Princess of Heart, yet suddenly felt so small.

"I'm sorry," Kairi sniffed. "I promised myself I would be strong for you, but…"

She trailed off before her thoughts could descend into despair once more. Sora shook his head. He still had very little idea of what had befallen them, but it didn't matter anymore. He could worry about his sleepwalking later. There was someone in front of him that was far more important.

"Don't apologise," he insisted. His voice was light and optimistic but carried a depth of maturity that often escaped his grasp. "You followed me all the way out here, and you smacked me in the face. That seems pretty strong to me!"

Kairi let out a burst of laughter, even though it was mixed with tears. She knew that Sora was making light of a bad situation, but it was all the two could do. If they didn't laugh, then they would have to cry, and Kairi already had enough of crying. The two of them must look pretty dumb right now, sitting in the ocean while having a mental breakdown. If she wiped away the tears, she could pretend that they were both children again. Making promises to share a Paopu Fruit together, to find Kairi's original homeworld. The years had been cruel to them, but deep in their hearts, Sora and Kairi were still the same kids. In a way, they had kept those promises. Everything that happened in between was meaningless, as long as they came out on the other side with a smile on their faces.

"Come on," Sora said, standing up and extending one hand. "Let's head back home."

Kairi smiled enthusiastically and took his hand without hesitation, using his weight to pull herself to her feet. It was true that life would never go back to the way it was before, but perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing. She had spent so long pining for the past that she had forgotten to look forward to the future. Kairi still longed for the day that she could fight alongside Riku and Sora, finally confronting the fate that was written long before she was born, but that time would come. The pair would take the Mark of Mastery together, they would come out victorious, and Kairi would be cheering them on the entire way.

They had once called their trio 'inseparable'. Kairi now knew that even though they may be separated, that entire universes may lie between them, that their hearts would never truly be apart.

Chapter Text

When Vanitas opened his eyes to find himself fully awake and very much alive, to say that he was pissed would be a gross understatement.

He silently stared up at the ceiling, janky wooden planks illuminated by flickering candlelight that sent shadows dancing across the room. He listened to the pounding of his heart, somehow stronger and louder than he remembered as if the muscle had grown in size. The air smelled faintly of incense and spices. Vanitas' eyes darted left and right, his body frozen in place as if his muscles had turned to stone. He was roasting alive beneath layers of heavy quilted bedsheets like he was sleeping in a sauna. Every sensation sent Vanitas spiralling deeper into discomfort, but nothing could top the creeping vines of dismay that wound their way around his heart at the realisation that he was alive.

Vanitas just couldn't catch a break. The only reason he joined Xehanort's cult in the first place was because the old man promised him a way out. An escape from the pain that encompassed his entire existence. He would've taken the sweet nothingness of death over the agony of life any day of the week, but fate was not so kind. Vanitas was an imitation of a whole being with only half the ingredients. While Ventus continued to breathe, surrounded by those who loved him, his light would shine strong. Vanitas was the shadow cast by that flame, and he was sustained by its darkness. The brutal cycle would end only if the two ill-fated brothers leapt in the abyss together. Vanitas had to take Ventus out with him.

That was precisely what Xehanort offered; the opportunity to destroy his brother and the tools to do so. Xehanort gave Vanitas the chance to die, and he had royally fucked it up.

All the pieces were in place, the pawns had played their roles. All that was left was to call checkmate. The incomplete χ-blade was heavy in Vanitas’ hand, vibrating with unfathomable power that was barely restrained by the rusted metal. They could've materialised the χ-blade at its peak potential if only Ventus had cooperated, but the blond was determined to put up as much of a struggle as possible. He fought with the ferocity of a cornered animal, kicking and screaming as Vanitas tried to suffocate his light with his bare hands. Xehanort was convinced that darkness would prevail, a destiny written in a book of prophecies long before the worlds became disconnected. Vanitas bought into his promises, brainwashed by years of assimilation until it felt like Xehanort had placed a piece of himself inside his brain.

Well, Vanitas knew how that turned out for him. The power of darkness couldn't protect him from a Keyblade to the face.

Vanitas' face was almost permanently set in a frown, but his look of disdain only deepened into a poisonous scowl. If fate had given him one more minute just so he could regain his composure, he could've retaliated against Ventus' light and extinguished it for good. But fate was not so kind. Their untimely fusion put too much strain on their conjoined heart, and it crumbled away before their very eyes. That could've been the end of it, both souls lost to the darkness where they could sleep for all eternity. Sure, it wasn't quite the closure that Vanitas had hoped for, but he would take what he could get.

He had no idea how long he spent drifting in stasis, his body turning numb and his thoughts becoming murky and unclear. The darkness corroded his soul until there was almost nothing left. Vanitas remembered a sudden bright light that surged across the abyss, burning brighter even than the χ-blade as if the sun itself was sweeping him into its embrace. The black-haired Keyblade wielder struggled with all his might, determined to stay in the anaesthetising blackness until he was consumed by the void. Vanitas had fought his whole life to be released from the agony of existence; he wanted to remain asleep forever. The light was just too powerful. It scattered the darkness wherever it lay, cleaving a path through the shadows until it found Vanitas curled up in the darkest crevasse. It snatched him away from the peace and quiet that he yearned for and pulled him towards the sun, and Vanitas had fought it the entire way.

Then he woke up here, wherever 'here' was.

Vanitas hurled the weighty bedsheets onto the floor, crushing the fabric beneath his feet as he jumped out of bed without hesitation. A single candelabra stood on a nightstand, its three flames flickering in a breeze that Vanitas couldn't feel. He had failed to form the χ-blade in its purest form by fusing with his brother, but if Ventus had still died, then he would've counted it as a victory anyway. Hell, it didn't even need to be him that did it! Xehanort had every opportunity to plunge No Name between the blond's ribs while he was incapacitated, just as long as Ventus didn't squirm too much. He always acted like the power of light was an impenetrable suit of armour that rendered him invincible, and Vanitas would've loved nothing more than to see his brother knocked down a few pegs.

So why couldn't he shake the feeling that something was wrong? If Vanitas was alive, then surely Ventus was too. Did Xehanort... fail?

Vanitas shook those traitorous thoughts out of his head before they could take root in his brain. He didn't need some old man with a bad back to stab people in the chest - he was an indefatigable being of pure darkness. The Guardians of Light quaked in their boots at the mere mention of his name! Vanitas could find Ventus and finish the job on his own. The Void Gear was just as hungry for blood as its master, and he couldn't wait to paint it red. It can't have been long since Ventus shattered his own heart to keep the χ-blade out of Xehanort's hands, so he was likely still injured and ripe for the picking. Vanitas had his standards, but he was not above kicking his brother while he was down. He found great pleasure in taunting his brother at every turn, but there was no hint of mirth in his heart. Now, he just wanted Ventus dead.

Whether he liked it or not, their hearts were now invariably connected. There was nowhere for Ventus to hide. Vanitas would track him to the edge of the universe if he had to.

The black-haired Keyblade wielder placed one hand over his chest and closed his eyes. He could feel the strength of his heartbeat, forcing ruby blood through his veins. Vanitas clenched his hand into a fist and focused all of his willpower into a single concentrated burst. He called out to the darkness within his half-heart, his voice searching for the thin sliver of thread that connected his soul to his brother's. Ventus couldn't conceal himself for long. Vanitas was like a bloodhound, and he wasn't going to lose the trail-

Wait a second, since when did he have a pulse?!

Heart or no heart, at least he still has a conscience. YOU might not hear it, but right now, it's loud and clear. And it's telling me you're on the wrong side!

Somebody knows where I came from. If I can't get answers here, I'll get them somewhere else. That'll be the person I trust.

How could he say that...? He's wrong. My Keyblade is not a sham, and neither am I!

Please don't do this, Master. I'm not strong enough.

Vanitas had suffered through a lot in his short life. Every time one of his Unversed was slain, he felt their cries of pain in his bones, reverberating through his head until his own thoughts were drowned beneath the wave. He bore the knowledge that he was only half a person, that he would only ever be half a person. He was thrown to the frontline to slow the apprentices down, only to be left to lick his wounds in solitude. Vanitas endured through everything that the universe threw at him, but nothing could compare to the pain that tore through his soul until he felt he would split apart. He couldn't find the breath to scream. His heart felt as if it would burst through his ribcage as needles dug into every inch of skin. His skull was on the verge of collapse, crushed under the weight of a thousand voices that were all screaming his name until he could hear nothing else.

Then a switch flipped, and it was over.

Vanitas tentatively peeled his eyes open. He expected the room to be filled to the brim with Unversed, spilling out of the door and windows as manifestations of his pain. He was alone. Vanitas removed his hands from his temples as he found himself collapsed on the floor, kneeling on the cushy duvet he had discarded with his head in his hands. The pain that once permeated every atom in his body had completely vanished like it was never there. The voices had been silenced. Even though he was alone in his head, he could still hear their cries.

Vanitas had called out with his heart, and four others answered.

This whole thing was quickly passing absurdity and crossing the line into disturbing. One of those voices was undeniably Ventus, but Vanitas had no idea who the other three belonged to. They were so damn loud as if they were standing right behind him and screaming directly into his ear! His shrivelled, blackened heart had no connections to anyone besides his brother, and even that was against his will, so these freeloaders must be tied to Ventus somehow. Oddly enough, Vanitas could tell that the response was not delivered in the voices of Aqua and Terra, the two other wannabe Keyblade Masters. Who could possibly have such a powerful connection to his brother's heart, and why was it not those that Ventus called his best friends?

Vanitas needed to know what was going on, and he needed to know now. He launched himself to his feet and snatched the golden candelabra from the nightstand with his left hand. The embossed metal was warm to the touch, and the flames didn't even flicker as they passed through the air as if lit by some magical means. Until he could figure out where he was, he would have to assume that everything in this world was hostile. For a being of pure darkness, that likely wasn't too far from the truth anyway. Vanitas tightened his grip on the candelabra, his right hand twitching as if the Void Gear was chomping at the bit, ready to be summoned at a moments notice. He steeled his nerves and pushed through the only door, opening the gateway to the world that lay beyond.

The hallway that greeted him seemed to go on forever in both directions, lined with bookshelves that were practically overflowing with tomes shoved into any available space. The creaky wooden floorboards were covered by a thick shag carpet, dyed crimson red and embellished with golden thread that seemed to sway in the candlelight. Vanitas could feel sparks of static tickling his toes as he stepped barefoot onto the rug, tiny bursts of magic entwined in the fibres. A broom hobbled past, walking on its own and sweeping the floor as it went. Vanitas raised one eyebrow and took a step back as the living broomstick trotted by, completely oblivious to his presence. This was clearly the home of a wizard or someone with an equally unshakeable command over magic. They must have an incredible reserve of energy if they could spare the magic for something as mundane as animating cleaning supplies.

Vanitas could peer out of the star-shaped windows if he stood on his tiptoes and craned his neck. A royal purple sky illuminated by the golden rays of a setting sun stared back, fading into an impenetrable fog that clouded the horizon. There was nothing else poking out of the mist as far as the eye could see. Just an endless expanse of haze. If Vanitas squinted hard enough, he could almost make out the silhouette of a train chugging away within the dense fog, but it vanished from sight as soon as he blinked. His heart leapt in his chest as a surge of hope swept through his soul. That train was a potential escape route. All Vanitas had to do was find the exit. Though, if this world was under the rule of a wizard, that may be easier said than done.

Vanitas picked his way down the corridor, listening intently for the smallest sounds that graced his ears. The building was eerily quiet, his footsteps accompanied only by the distant sweeping of living broomsticks. The raven boy winced every time a floorboard creaked beneath his weight, but no Guardians of Light leapt from the shadows to cleave him in half. Whoever pulled Vanitas from the peaceful stupor of death mustn't have expected him to be up and about so soon.

As the dim glow of the candelabra cast its light down the hallway, a jumbled set of furniture covered with an offwhite cloth crept into view. Vanitas cringed as his nose was filled with the smell of mothballs. He was about to disregard the mismatched pile of fittings and continue his hunt for the exit, but he could hear faint whispers coming from whatever hid beneath the cloth. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The black-haired Keyblade wielder pressed his ear up against the fabric, determined to decipher the strange murmurings.

An image of the Keyblade unleashing its ultimate power flows into your mind.

Vanitas flinched as the quiet voice spoke directly into his brain. He jumped backwards, expecting the source of the cryptic words to pull back the cloth and reveal itself, but the furniture remained stationary. Vanitas shook his head sharply, banishing the intruding thoughts from his mind. Funnily enough, the vision that the voice described didn't manifest in his mind, only the words themselves. There was no image of the Void Gear reaching its true potential, surging towards heights that would've made Xehanort shake in his boots. Perhaps the vision was intended for someone else? Vanitas' scowl darkened, his forehead wrinkling as he clenched his teeth in growing anger. Was he being mocked? Taunted and teased, reminded that his power was not his own and that destiny always had its sights on someone else?! How dare they!

Without another thought, Vanitas ripped the cloth away and hurled it to the floor. Anyone brave enough to belittle him could do so to his face!

What lay beneath the frayed, speckled fabric was nothing more than his own reflection.

Well technically, it was a mirror. A floor-length sheet of reflective glass set into an aged oak frame, its surface marred by fingerprints and smudges. The enigmatic whispering was conveniently silent now the cloth had been drawn back, but Vanitas was more concerned with the face in the mirror. His features were exactly as he remembered them, but the colours had shifted so that his reflection didn't quite match. His jet black hair was still its usual unruly mess of spikes, but the gravity-defying strands in the mirror were a rich chocolate brown. His sickly yellow eyes shone with a blue pigment like gently rolling waves. Even his cheeks were rounder, his skin tinted with a healthy tan like he had been kissed by tropical sunshine. Vanitas was clad in plaid pyjamas, buttoned up to his neck and smelling slightly of seawater. The only consistent thing was the deep-set bags under his eyes, betraying the exhaustion that gripped every muscle in his body. That was about right.

Vanitas stood so close to the mirror that his breath left fog on the glass. He poked his right cheek with a mixture of shock and horror, and his reflection copied the movement perfectly. He clenched his eyes closed and counted to ten, willing the magic in the mirror to disperse and reveal his reflection as he always knew it. The mirror did not oblige, for it could only reflect the truth. That same boy stared back at him, the one that Vanitas had never met in person, but whose heart was inexplicably entwined with his own.

Xehanort hadn't expected Ventus to survive the cataclysmic trauma of having his darkness siphoned out, leaving only his light behind. The old man wanted to two beings, one of pure light and one of pure darkness, to recreate the χ-blade. Vanitas was born of the shadows that Xehanort plucked from his brother, but Ventus almost perished in the process. The only reason that the blond escaped the claws of death is because someone had merged their heart with his. Someone heard the cries of a broken heart and offered their strength, filling in the gap that Vanitas had left behind. He couldn't understand why someone would sacrifice half of their lifeforce to save a stranger, and Xehanort never determined the identity of the soul that was irreversibly bonded with Ventus.

As Vanitas looked at himself in the mirror, he saw the person whose light was powerful enough to save a broken heart from death. This boy, with his ocean-blue eyes and cocoa hair, was the child that saved Ventus.

Well, it definitely explained a lot. Vanitas always wondered why he and his brother looked nothing alike, even though they shared two halves of the same heart. Vanitas resembled this boy, not Ventus. Somehow his disgruntled expression didn't suit the brunette's softer features, despite being identical in almost every way. He felt as if he was looking into the eyes of an imposter.

Vanitas let out a throaty growl as his stern expression caused his twin's eyebrows to furrow in an unsightly manner. This kid, whatever the hell his name was, was the crux of his problems. Ventus' heart could've faded into obscurity after he self-destructed to keep the χ-blade out of Xehanort's hands, and he would've taken Vanitas along with him. Whether he understood the consequences of his decision to bond his heart with Ventus or not, the brunette was to blame for Vanitas' continued existence. That burst of blazing light that swept him from the numbing darkness, that denied him the peaceful death that Vanitas had always dreamed of... it must belong to Mr Hearts-A-Lot over here. The kid had tethered his soul to Ventus, and in doing so, he had unintentionally tethered himself to Vanitas too.

Oh boy, this kid had no idea what he had gotten himself into. A heart could be a hospital, but it could also be a prison. The brunette might have acted with the best of intentions when he fought off the call of death to save Ventus' fractured soul, but he had invited the wolf into his midst.

Vanitas placed his hand over his chest once more, the buttons of his pyjama shirt digging into his palm. He didn’t doubt for one second that one of those voices that screamed from the edge of his consciousness was Ventus, or what was left of him. The other three hearts were utterly foreign to him, but it stood to reason that one came from this kid whose body he was inhabiting. If Ventus had taken refuge within the brunette's heart, then just maybe Vanitas had been dragged along with him. If that was the case, then his brother may be closer than he thought. The raven boy was hesitant to open himself back up to the chorus of voices that assaulted his senses before, but there was no other option. He had to know if Ventus was in this body with him.

Vanitas took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. He couldn't muster the courage to howl across the bridges connecting his heart to four others, but it wasn't necessary. It only took a whisper.

Look — whoever you are — you don't know the first thing about Terra. Me and him will always be a team!

I'm nothing more than a puppet - something that somebody created. So why would I have... their memories?

Best friends are honest with each other! Xemnas said me and Xion are connected to Sora. Who is that?! Am I a puppet, like Xion?

Forget it! There's no way you're taking Kairi's heart!

It took every ounce of Vanitas' willpower not to lose himself in the whirlpool of emotions that battered his heart. The voices spun around and around in his head, his mind and the floor spinning with them until he could barely see. They threatened to swallow him whole, eroding his soul until he could no longer remember who he was. Vanitas was drowning in a tsunami of sorrow, and his half-baked heart wasn't strong enough to defend itself. They just wouldn't shut up. They pulled him in every direction until his soul was ripped to shreds, seeping through like mould and wearing away at his identity until he was just another cog in the machine.

Vanitas curled his right hand into a fist and slammed it into the mirror.

The glass shattered with an almighty thunderclap and crumbled to the floor, the shards reflecting the light of the candelabra still firmly clenched in his left hand. Vanitas took several unsteady breaths as if his lungs had forgotten the taste of oxygen, his knuckles streaked with blood. Jolts of pain shot up his wrist, but the distraction had broken him out of the trance. The voices were silent, and he had regained control of his mind. Vanitas pulled back his hand and licked the blood from his fist. His tongue tasted metal, yet he felt no remorse. After all, this was not his body. The kid deserved any punishment he chose to enact.

Vanitas forcibly loosened his grip on the candlestick as his limbs returned to his control. The pain was unbelievable, but he had confirmed his suspicions. Whenever he tugged on the cobwebs wrapped around his heart, Ventus was one of those who pulled back. The blond's soul had been sucked into place right alongside the heart that had linked itself to him all those years ago, and he had taken Vanitas with him. He didn't know who the other two strangers were, and frankly, he didn't care. Ventus had tried to escape the hunt, yet he was now closer than ever, and completely unable to fight back. He was so pathetic, he couldn't even die right!

Darkness would continue to exist as long as the light that cast it still burned. If this brat was keeping his brother alive, then the solution was simple. Vanitas could put an end to all of this by simply killing the boy. All three would be freed from the curse that bound them together, and Vanitas would finally achieve the quiet death that he yearned for.

After everything he had been through, he finally had a chance to snuff out the light that cast his shadow for good.

If there was anything left of the mirror, it would've reflected the malicious grin that crawled across Vanitas' borrowed face. Here he thought that fate had shafted him once more, but it couldn't be further from the truth! He was convinced that this was his personal purgatory, but it was actually his second coming. There was no need to force Ventus into submission and materialise the χ-blade, no threat of resistance or retaliation. Vanitas could just take the brunette out the old-fashioned way! His heart must be unfathomably strong to support the weight of at least four others alongside it, but the kid was still mortal. The strength of his heart wouldn't matter if he had a knife in his chest.

With his confidence reinvigorated to dizzying heights, Vanitas sprinted off down the hallway in search of anything he could use as a weapon. He shoved his way through a crowd of enchanted brooms and mops, sending the cleaning instruments clattering to the floor as he charged past. Vanitas was not one for piety, but he prayed that the master of the house was still lost to sleep. He couldn't rely on the cold, unfeeling steel of the Void Gear while caged within someone else's body, and there was no reason to suspect that the brunette had any magical prowess of his own. Vanitas could already savour the delightfully sweet taste of vengeance on the tip of his tongue. He was not going to taste defeat again.

Eventually, Vanitas wandered across a door that led to a rustic kitchen. The savoury smell of home cooking caressed his nostrils as if someone had recently eaten there, but the room was mercifully empty. Pots and pans were stacked up to the ceiling as an enchanted sponge washed each plate with soap suds. Every surface was spotless to the point that Vanitas could see his own reflection in the polished marble. He grimaced at the reminder that his face was a morbid perversion of his true appearance, that he was nothing more than a stowaway in someone else's body. The animated sponge paid him no attention as he set the candelabra down on a crooked oak table, leaving the door wide open behind him. The utensils had been granted sentience through the power of magic but had no interest in anything outside of scrubbing the building from top to bottom. The raven boy had never been so grateful to be overlooked.

Vanitas couldn't have asked for anything better. He had hit the jackpot! What deadly delights hid in those cabinets and drawers, concealed from prying eyes and just begging to be used on unsuspecting flesh? Perhaps he would find a box of rat poison, something to stop his heart mid-beat? Should he fill a pot with water and dip his head inside until his lungs gave up? Could he climb on the counter and out a window, throwing his body to the mercy of whatever crouched in the fog below? So many options, he barely knew where to start! Vanitas' sapphire eyes hungrily swept over the contents of the kitchen before falling on a set of knives planted in a wooden knife block. The sharpened metal glinted in the candlelight as if the blades were alive and calling his name. Vanitas licked his lips in anticipation and unsheathed the largest knife from the holder, rotating the blade in his hand as warm golden light danced across its surface.

Perfect.

Vanitas' heart was racing, forcing blood through his veins faster and faster as his elation grew. His mouth was uncomfortably dry, and a bead of sweat ran down his forehead. He was about to be free. No more pain, no more Unversed, no more Ventus. No one would even remember his name, and there was nothing that Vanitas wanted more. He lifted the knife to his neck, pressing the ice-cold metal against his jugular. His lifetime was much shorter than most, yet it consisted of nothing but hurt. All those sleepless nights spent staring at the vast expanse of stars that snickered at him for trying to find his place in a universe that didn't want him. All those hours spent toiling under a master that looked at him with disgust, just for a single shot at freedom that kept slipping through his fingers. It had all been for this moment. All Vanitas had to do was slide the knife across his skin, and the two identical pairs of blue eyes would close forever.

So why couldn't he do it?

Xemnas, there's more to a heart than just anger and hate. It's full of all kinds of feelings. Don't you remember?

I have the right to know the truth! How did I even get here? Why am I so special? I hardly know who I am! What's so wrong with wanting some answers!?

I see... Your Wayfinder broke. Well, don't worry. Friendship's more than an object.

Roxas, don't be sad. I came from you and Sora. You'll forget me, but the memories themselves will never go away. Memories of you and me will always be together... forever, inside him.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!"

Vanitas slammed the knife into the countertop with enough force to crack the marble. He clenched his teeth until he felt as if his jaw would shatter, demanding that the hearts calling out to him remain silent. Their voices blurred together until it became impossible to tell them apart, fragments of a hundred different conversations all jumbled together. Vanitas could almost see four pale hands wrapped around his wrist, but they weren't trying to stabilise his firm grip on the knife's handle. They were trying to hold him back. From the darkest depths of his heart where not even the brightest light could reach, the four souls that crowded his chest were fighting against his efforts to kill them all. Their will to live was stronger than Vanitas' will to die.

Vanitas took a sharp intake of breath as something pointed and dangerous jabbed at the back of his neck.

"Put it down and turn around. Now."

Vanitas swallowed heavily and licked his lips, his mouth as dry as the Keyblade Graveyard. If he so much as flinched, whatever was poking the tender skin of his neck would find its home between the vertebrae. Someone had taken advantage of the mutiny in his heart to sneak up behind him while he was off guard. The voices were mysteriously quiet as if they too were being held at knife-point, leaving a gaping hole in their wake. Vanitas squeezed his eyes shut and forced his iron-clad grip on the knife to slacken, slowly resting it down on the marble counter. Here he was, submitting to the orders of someone new after just shaking off the shackles that Xehanort had placed around his ankles. He raised both hands in the air to show that he was unarmed and slowly turned around to face his aggressor. If he was about to die, then he would meet his fate without fear.

It was…

Just some kid?

Oh c'mon, if Vanitas was going to be threatened, then at least it could've been by an adult. This was just yet another insufferable punk. His long silver locks shimmered in the dim candlelight, messy from sleep and brushing his tense shoulders. His cyan eyes held a fierce and murderous glint like a tiger ready to snap. He was garbed in a pair of slate-grey pants with a white and yellow sleeveless jacket, and his cheeks were flushed with barely restrained rage. But Vanitas didn't care about the kid's appearance. What interested him most was the weapon aimed directly at his throat. A blade shaped like a vicious batwing tinted dark purple and tipped with a needlepoint that could slice through sinew with little effort. An angel wing extended from the leathery hide, appearing to flutter as the candlelight danced across the individual feathers.

"A Keyblade…" Vanitas mused out loud, his voice laced with awe. He wasn't aware that Eraqus had any other apprentices. Who was this brat, that he would so casually wield a weapon of immense destruction?

"SHUT UP," the silver-haired boy barked, the spark of rage in his eyes igniting into a bonfire as Vanitas completely ignored his presence. "Don't play games with me. Who are you, and what have you done with Sora?!"

Vanitas didn't grace him with an answer. His gaze was still firmly glued to the tip of the blade that was inches from poking an eye out. The possibility of encountering a Keyblade wielder out in the middle of nowhere was so unfathomably small that he hadn't even considered it. Did this kid understand the power he held at his fingertips? Did he think it was some plastic toy for children, or did he recognise the potential locked within the metal? Vanitas was no longer stricken with fear; now, the boy with silver hair had piqued his interest.

This wasn't a person who was going to stand between Vanitas and the end of his story. This was someone who was going to write that chapter for him. The hearts inside of Vanitas’ chest would never allow him to snuff their shared lights out, but they couldn't stop this kid from doing the same. Even in the hands of the most inexperienced user, the power of a Keyblade was nothing to be dismissed.

Vanitas didn't need to take himself out, he could just have this guy do it for him.

"ANSWER ME! I'LL KILL YOU!" the silver-haired boy screamed, growing increasingly impatient with Vanitas' lack of response. The controlled rage in his eyes was replaced by something feral and wild, reminding Vanitas of the darkness that stirred within his own heart. He had seen that same look on Terra's face, the animalistic anger as he realised that Xehanort had misled him to spread his vile doctrine across the galaxy. A Keyblade wielder that relied upon the power of darkness stood no chance against a being of pure shadow, one who drew their strength from the same place. This was almost gonna be too easy. What a shame.

"First of all," Vanitas spat back, finally addressing the silver-haired boy who held him at knifepoint. "You can shove right off. My identity is none of your stinkin' business. Secondly, I have no idea who 'Sora' is. And thirdly-"

Vanitas snatched the tip of the Keyblade with his right hand, the sharpened wing spikes digging into his palm. The weapon's owner flinched as if expecting the Keyblade to be yanked out of his grasp, but Vanitas had no such intention. Instead, he merely forced the teeth of the blade down until it was angled straight at his chest.

"If you're going to kill me, at least do it properly. My heart's down here, buddy."

Vanitas released his grip on the Keyblade and placed both hands on his hands, lowering his defences and offering himself up for the slaughter. Anyone would be grateful for their enemy to willing expose their weak spot, and Vanitas gave it freely. All the kid had to do was follow through on his threats and impale his heart with that Keyblade of his. Easy peasy, even a braindead monkey could do it. Vanitas might as well have painted a big ol' bullseye on his chest. He paused to give the silver-haired brat a chance to strike him down, but the blow never came. Even in the dim candlelight, he could see the hesitation and confusion in his cyan eyes. The tip of the Keyblade never moved from its spot above his chest, but the hand that held it began to quiver with uncertainty.

"Wait... you're…. not Roxas?" the kid questioned, his overbearing confidence suddenly drained away. Vanitas rolled his eyes. Typical Keyblade wielder, all bark and no bite.

"Are you stupid?" he snarked back, his words laced with venom. "Come on, we don't have all day. Right between the ribs. I won't even wriggle, promise."

He puffed out his chest in a show of bravado, the sharpened tip of the bat-winged Keyblade digging into the fabric of his pyjama shirt. He was inviting the brat the close the distance, but he was frozen in place. Those cyan eyes that once bubbled with hate were now lined with fear, scouring Vanitas' face as if searching for a sign of recognition. He talked a big game, but he didn't have the balls to finish what he had started. He was nothing more than a child who was in way over his head. Vanitas sneered and nonchalantly batted the Keyblade away. The silver-haired boy's grip was so slack that the weapon slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor.

"Pathetic," he snarled. The kid stared at the discarded Keyblade in stunned silence, as if he couldn't believe that he hand been disarmed with such little effort. "You're just a snot-nosed brat playing with things you don't understand. Don't let your mouth make threats that you're too much of a wimp to follow through on. Well, whatever- "

Vanitas seized the knife that lay patiently waiting for its master to call upon its sharpened edge. This time, the boy with cyan eyes made no attempt to stop him. Vanitas raised the knife to his neck and, without breaking eye contact, pressed the blade against the vein that slumbered beneath his fragile skin.

" -I'll just do it myself."

He dragged the knife across his neck, pushing hard enough to allow a thin trickle of ruby blood to seep from the cut. Vanitas didn't even have a chance to blink before the silver-haired boy snapped out of his trance, grabbing the arm holding the knife like a snake constricting its prey. He forcibly twisted Vanitas' arm at the elbow, yanking the blade away from his skin before the raven boy could carve through his jugular. He let out a piercing cry as his tendons were stretched almost to the point of snapping. He dropped the knife as spikes of pain shot up his forearm. It rattled against the wooden floorboards as the knife came to rest alongside the abandoned Keyblade.

Vanitas dug his other elbow into the chiselled cheeks of his aggressor, sending shockwaves through the silver-haired boy's skull. He reeled back as waves of dizziness washed over his brain like the crashing of waves against the shore, releasing his hold on Vanitas' arm. Funny that the brat who had threatened to kill him was now trying to stop exactly that from happening. Vanitas swept the knife up from the floor and sliced the blade through the air, aiming for the kid's face. He jumped backwards just in time for the singing blade to narrowly miss hacking a chunk of flesh out of his cheek, the metal whistling as it zipped through the air. The kid could almost see his own frightened expression reflected in the knife's polished edge.

Part of Vanitas' mind was screaming at him to turn the blade on himself before the kid had a chance to retaliate, or the choir of hearts mustered the strength to hold him back. That fragment of Vanitas' soul was muffled by an overwhelming desire to murder the punk that dared stand in his way. The only thoughts echoing inside his head were ones of vengeance.

Vanitas reared his arm back like a scorpion preparing to strike and stabbed the knife towards the silver-haired boy, attempting to sink the blade into his thick skull. The brat ducked in time to avoid the blow, causing the knife to become entrenched in the wooden door of a cabinet. Vanitas tugged and tugged until the door almost flew off its hinges, but the blade refused to budge. A fist found its home in the curve of his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending him flying with a strained gasp. Stars flew across his vision as he crumpled against the marble countertop, struggling to catch his breath as his lungs screamed for mercy. Vanitas may have been pissed off before, but now he was downright furious.

"SORA!" the silver-haired boy screamed, retrieving his Keyblade from the floor before the window of opportunity could slam shut. "I know you're in there! Fight back!"

Vanitas wiped the sweat from his brow and grabbed the edge of the large dining table, upending it and flipping it on its side. The brat yelped and hopped backwards before the flying furniture could knock him off balance. The candelabra that Vanitas left on the table toppled to the floor, yet the flames didn't flicker or catch the floorboards alight. The enchanted sponge continued to scrub away at dishes by the sink, utterly oblivious to the brawl that was destroying its workstation. Vanitas hurled a chair over the flipped table, tossing it legs-first at the silver-haired boy before he could fight back. He raised his Keyblade to deflect the blow, but the weight of the chair sent him tumbling to the ground. Vanitas vaulted over the table and stomped on the brat's hand as hard as he could, forcing him to drop his Keyblade before he could pull himself to his feet.

Vanitas was practically drunk on the exhilaration coursing through his veins. He couldn't stop grinning as the boy with cyan eyes wailed in pain as his foot crushed his fingers. This was what he lived for: the thrill of the hunt, forcing his prey into a corner and watching them squirm. Not since facing his brother had he felt so excited to meet someone on the battlefield. Shame the kid was about to die.

Vanitas ignored the throbbing pain in his wrist and summoned the Void Gear. He raised the Keyblade above his head, ready to cave in the skull of the boy that lay sprawled at his feet. Riku could've let him drive that knife into his neck, stabbing his flesh over and over again until he had no more blood to bleed. Instead, he chose to involve himself in matters above his station. It would be the last lesson he would ever learn, and Vanitas had no qualms about being the one to deliver it. He couldn't wait until Riku was just a smear of red against the wooden floorboards-

Wait a minute. Who is Riku?

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Sora stopped in his tracks, the crunching of sand beneath his feet fading into silence as Riku grabbed his arm. The gentle crashing of waves against the shore was like the whispers of an angel, imploring him to lie back down and stare at the night sky until the stars went out. Sora would've gladly obliged, but Riku insisted they turn in for the night. The pair had spent all day racing along the shoreline and making up constellation in the midnight sky. He could've spent the rest of his lifetime in the embrace of crystalline sand, but his mom would kill him if he was late for dinner. For some reason, she didn't accept his quest to beat Riku's winning streak as a valid reason to skip curfew. Adults were so lame.

Sora turned to Riku, his heart instantly stricken with worry at the concerned look on his best friend's face. Riku was as cool as a cucumber; the brunette had never seen him look so anxious before. He wordlessly pointed at Sora's face as a single tear squeezed from his left eye, rolling down his cheek and leaving a damp trail that glimmered like diamonds under the moonlight. Sora flinched and lifted his hand to his face, feeling the inexplicable dampness on his features. His heart felt like it was being strangled by thorny vines, though he had no idea why. His soul was suddenly swamped by an immense sorrow, echoing from a place that was further than he could ever imagine.

"That's weird," Sora remarked, rubbing the tear from his cheek and staring at the droplet on his fingertips. "It's like something's squeezing me inside…"

Sora rested one hand on his stomach, feeling as if all the joy in his heart had disappeared. The chilly night breeze was no longer a soothing presence, instead filling his veins with ice. There was no reason to feel such crushing anguish, yet Sora's heart was consumed by profound sadness. Riku hummed in thought, crossing his arms as the brunette scrubbed away the residue from his unbidden tear.

"Somebody up there must be sad," Riku concluded, believing Sora's words without an ounce of doubt. He gestured up at the sky above them, the infinite expanse of stars dancing around the pale full moon. "They say every world is connected by one great big sky, so maybe there's somebody up there in all those worlds who's really hurting, and they're waiting for you to help them."

Sora's eyes widened in shock as he fixated his eyes on the stars that twinkled back without a single cloud to shroud them from view. Riku was so smart, and Sora couldn't help but look up to him. He spoke with such confidence that he couldn't think of any reason to believe that he was wrong. Could there really be someone out there who was in so much pain that the ache resonated across the vast emptiness of space?

"Well gee, do you think there's something I could do?"

"Hmm…" Riku pondered for a moment, pouting slightly as his analytical brain ticked over the possibilities. "Maybe they just need you to open your heart and listen."

Sora raised one eyebrow. He really didn't understand Riku sometimes. He acted like he was so tough, like he owned the Destiny Islands and the treasure hidden within the impenetrable forest of palm trees. Even so, Sora caught the occasional sliver of softness through his brash exterior. He knew that Riku was just a big softie on the inside.

"I dunno Riku, you say some weird stuff sometimes, but… I'll try it."

Riku cracked a small smile and shoved his hands in his pockets, content to wait while Sora did what he needed to. The brunette wasn't wholly convinced that someone was trying to reach him from beyond the horizon, but it was no stranger than all the stories that his mother had told him, curled up in bed with a mug of hot cocoa while she regaled him of tales of other worlds. Sora turned back to the ocean, watching how the rolling waves caused rivulets of sand to swirl in the shallows. He couldn't begin to imagine how much pain this person must be in to reach out to a stranger for help. Sora was sure that he would never feel such overwhelming sadness while Riku was around. The pair were inseparable, and they would never be defeated as long as they were together. Perhaps this person just needed someone to be there for them like how Riku was there for Sora. That was something that the brunette was sure he could do.

Sora nodded to himself with renewed confidence and closed his eyes, puffing out his chest to prove just how tough he was. He ignored Riku's snort of amusement. He mom told him that he was a big boy, and he wanted to be sure that this stranger could see that too.

If Sora had his eyes open, he would've seen the moon briefly flicker into the shape of a heart as it watched down from above. He reached out into the darkness, offering a hand to anyone who needed it. If there was anything he could do to ease the suffering of another, even if it was someone he had never met before, then he was willing to give his all.

...

Hey, can you hear me?

It hurt. Someone was screaming with such incredible volume that Vanitas couldn't tell which of the five parts of his heart was in pain. Maybe it was every part of him, people without faces or names but who had lives and memories that were snatched away and turned to dust. His Keyblade burned with a heat so intense that he could almost smell the skin of his palm searing. The voice of the weapon howled within the depths of his soul, cursing and swearing with such vile words that Vanitas had no choice but to throw it to the ground before it burned him alive. There was no sign of the red and black gears or the piercing blue eye of the Void Gear. The embossed golden hilt and lustrous silver edge of his Keyblade glowed so brightly that Vanitas was blinded but its light. Even though he had relinquished the Keyblade that despised him with every ingot of its metal, the screaming in his head and in his heart just wouldn't stop.

I heard your voice. It cut through the darkness around me.

All alone, I followed the sound into a sea of light and found myself here. With you.

You gave me something back when I needed it the most.

A second chance.

I did?

But now… I have to go back to sleep again.

Are you sad?

It hurt. It hurt.

Would you mind if I stayed here, with you?

It hurt.

Riku knew there was something wrong with Sora before he even knew himself. Mind you, that wasn't particularly difficult. Sora was about as sharp as a sledgehammer.

Riku wasn't particularly optimistic about the decision to move back to Destiny Islands. In fact, to say that he wasn't optimistic didn't give enough credit to the dread that sunk into his heart when Kairi first suggested the idea. He was terrified. The thought of facing the people he once called his friends, who he had fed to the darkness in his lust for power, made him feel sick to his stomach. Riku was a coward. He was afraid to set foot on those unblemished white beaches, to smell the salty sea air and taste the juicy nectar of the Paopu fruit, because he was afraid that he wasn't deserving of forgiveness. He was scared to look into the eyes of those whose souls he had devoured, only to find that they hated him as much as he hated himself.

Both Kairi and Sora would slap him across the face without hesitation if they ever found him talking about himself like that. The denizens of Destiny Islands had never discovered the reason for the tidal wave of darkness that consumed the tropical paradise, and they never would. Riku had been forgiven time and time again by those who mattered - the only person unable to let go of his mistakes was himself. He had accepted the darkness as part of his identity, but that didn't mean he wasn't haunted by it. Riku's shadows no longer looked like Ansem: they looked like all the friends he'd tossed away like broken toys. Mickey insisted that he needed to forgive himself, that he had already paid back what he owed tenfold, but Riku didn't know how.

Riku had a tough time finding his place in the ecosystem of his homeworld. He didn't consider himself to be a particularly empathetic person, but even his dense eyes could see that his friends were pushing to keep him included. Tidus and Wakka had gotten so good at Blitzball that Riku actually had to focus on their matches, and Selphie kept trying to ask him to go on dates to the mall. It was just... after spending what felt like an eternity submerged in the Realm of Darkness, he didn't have much in common with them anymore. They were still the same age as each other, but Riku felt like an adult surrounded by toddlers. His stubborn yet cheerful demeanour had been replaced by something colder and darker that he couldn't put a name to. It was hard to make casual conversation with the people who should rightfully hate him for casting their homes into darkness. The innocent and oblivious looks on their faces made him sick.

Worst of all was when Sora gave him that same look. Even after everything he'd put his best friend through, Sora still couldn't bring himself to hate Riku. That just made Riku hate himself more.

Honestly, Riku had expected Kairi to be on his case about his antisocial behaviour way more than she had been. She was right, of course, she always was. Riku would have a much easier time slotting into place amongst his friends if he didn't spend so much time brooding in solitude. The only reason he escaped Kairi’s scrutiny was because someone else was becoming a much bigger cause for concern. That person being Sora, who seemed to find himself at the centre of mischief whether he was aware of it or not. The brunette was one of the laziest people that Riku knew, so the news that he was having sleeping problems had drawn his attention. Sora didn't just go to bed for eight hours a night, he basically became comatose. It was truly remarkable.

Riku's intrigue had quickly evolved into unease when the trio moved back into Sora's old house, allowing him to see the situation for himself. It was barely noticeable at first; the glassy, absent gaze that occasionally clouded Sora's eyes could simply be a sign of exhaustion. The brunette had hardly sat down since their adventures first began, and he insisted on shouldering the worlds' problems all on his own. Even if their time on the Destiny Islands was short-lived, it granted them a precious moment of peace. A chance to unwind and let their aching bodies rest. Heaven knows they needed it. Sora would still be out there fighting the Heartless until he passed out if Kairi hadn't dragged him home by his earlobe.

Then the sleepwalking started, and the excuses quickly ran dry.

Riku couldn't place a finger on when the problem started to grow out of control. Sora began waking at all times of night, wandering around with a far-off look in his eyes and unresponsive to anyone who tried to snap him out of it. Unusual behaviour for Sora but pretty standard as far as sleepwalking went. Riku often forgot just how young they were when Xehanort tore their lives apart. Considering everything that Sora had been through, it wasn't all that surprising that he was having trouble sleeping.

Riku wished that he had taken things more seriously. Perhaps this whole thing could've been nipped in the bud while it just a matter of sleep disturbances. Soon, Sora appeared to be fully awake and cognizant of his surrounding, but in the worst possible way. He seemed to slip into other personalities that had no idea where they were or who Sora was as if someone had stolen the brunette’s body while his heart was sleeping. They had their own unique speech patterns and facial expressions, and none of them were cooperative in even the basic sense of the word. Riku wasn't the only one who had seen it either – Kairi, the King, Aerith... even Hayner of all people had voiced their concerns that something was going on inside Sora's brain. He'd snap out of his stupor, consumed with panic and inconsolable as if he'd been wrenched back from the edge and into a body that wasn't his. His bright smile would inevitably return, but Riku could tell that it was forced. The bags under Sora's eyes only seemed to get larger each day, and he was becoming a danger to himself and those around him.

Riku still got shivers down his spine when he remembered the day that Sora almost accidentally killed himself. The brunette had come inches from walking off the edge of a cliff while sleepwalking, if they could even call it 'sleepwalking' anymore. He was rambling that 'Aqua' and ‘Terra' were waiting for him and that his 'Glider' would catch him before he reached the bottom. It took Riku tackling him to the ground and putting him in a headlock before Sora snapped out of it. Mickey and Riku didn't always see eye to eye - both literally and figuratively - but they were in accordance over Sora's deteriorating condition. They had to delay the Mark of Mastery. The threat posed by Xehanort was rapidly approaching and the duo desperately needed to pass their training, but the risk posed to Sora's health far outweighed the urgency.

Sora raised all kinds of hell when Riku dropped that bombshell. He still harboured a great deal of self-doubt, born from the moment that he learned the Kingdom Key was never intended for him. He was determined to prove that he was worthy of the Keyblade, regardless of whether he was the weapons first choice or not. The brunette spoke emphatically about the message left by Naminé, the only sentence that surviving the rewriting of his memories: 'their hurting will be mended when you return to end it.' Sora suspected that Roxas continued to live on inside his heart, defying the fate that all Nobodies were destined to fade into nonexistence. Not to mention the fact that DiZ had been hiding scraps of research within his heart for who knows how long. Just how deep did the rabbit hole go? How many souls were connected to Sora's that he had become the pivot around which the rest of the world turned?

He couldn't help the hearts trapped inside of him by resting, he needed to fight. He wanted to fight. He was going to fight, and he wouldn't allow anyone to stand in his way.

Riku didn't have it in him to refuse. Sora's tired eyes were alight with a determination that he hadn't seen in a long time. He knew that Mickey wasn't happy, but there was no talking Sora down from the ledge when he had his mind set on something. His stubbornness got him into a lot of trouble, but it was also what made him such a terrifying force of nature. They reached a compromise. Mickey wouldn't be a narc and rat Sora out to Yen Sid provided he slept at the Mysterious Tower the night before the Mark of Mastery began. The brunette would be surrounded by competent Keyblade wielders in case anything went wrong, and they could ensure a decent night's sleep before the exam demanded all of his strength.

Riku expected Kairi to take the news badly, but she was surprisingly on board with the idea. She was one step away from barricading Sora in his room while she squatted by the door with a baseball bat, ready for the moment that his sleepwalking tried to carry him into the ocean. Kairi refused to go into any details about the last time she caught Sora wandering off in the middle of the night, citing his need for privacy while he was at his most vulnerable. All the redhead would divulge was that she had found him on that island and promptly dragged him home. Riku was hurt that she was obviously hiding the truth behind a plausible cover story, but he could sense the anxiety in her eyes. Kairi was just as desperate for this to be over as he was, but she didn't have a Keyblade. She couldn't follow Sora onto the battlefield like Riku could. Kairi was helping Sora in the only way she could, and he would be nothing short of scum to take that away from her.

The fact that Kairi still trusted Riku around her best friend never stopped hurting, like a knife that kept digging deeper into his ribs.

Riku lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling and counting the knots in the wooden planks. He rested atop his bedsheets, too on edge to relax. Ironic that he was concerned about Sora's lack of rest, yet his own eyes refused to close and cross the border of sleep. A lot was playing on his mind, and the impending Mark of Mastery didn't even make the top five. Riku couldn't stop thinking about Naminé’s words and the insight they offered into Sora's predicament. He wondered if she had any idea of the situation that Sora had found himself in, or if it was pure coincidence. Then again, nothing seemed to be coincidental when it came to Sora.

It was no secret that Roxas continued whatever sham of an existence he had within Sora's heart. The Nobody should've merged with his Other until the border between their personalities was indistinguishable, but it seemed that Roxas shared Sora's penchant for defying the threads of fate. There had never been another recorded instance of a Nobody and their Somebody existing at the same time, and their unorthodox arrangement had allowed Roxas to persist after death. Riku had no doubt that one of the many people who seized Sora's body while he slept was Roxas himself. He had no idea if the blond's allegiance still lay with Xehanort - the notion that he may deliver Sora's body to their greatest foe was not out of the realm of possibility. Riku suspected that the only reason Mickey had caved and offered his blessing to proceed with the Mark of Mastery was that he would be following Sora at every turn. He was one of the few people who could reliably take Sora in a one-on-one if he switched sides.

Riku prayed that it would never come to that. He assuredly had the strength to overpower Sora, but whether he had the willpower to do so was another story.

Riku wasn't sure what was different that night, but he woke in a cold sweat. The Realm of Darkness wasn't exactly the best place for a peaceful nap, lest a stray Heartless take a chunk out of his soul while he wasn't looking, and he had developed a habit of sleeping fully clothed in case he was called to action with little notice. He had no idea how long he’d slept for since the moon literally never set over the Mysterious Tower. Riku's nights were generally dreamless, focused solely on repairing the damage that he inflicted on his body with his intense training.

Perhaps his concerns about Sora's wellbeing weighed heavily on his mind, but he distinctly recalled hearing a distant, muffled voice that invaded his sleep. He couldn't make out any words as if they were swallowed by the darkness, but there was one thing that he knew for sure.

The voices of four different people were crying out in unison, and they were all screaming for help.

Riku threw himself out of bed and dashed towards Sora's room, ready to kick down the door and hurl himself at his best friend. Way to the Dawn was already summoned in his right hand, pulsing in sync with his own heartbeat as if the Keyblade was an extension of his arm. Its feathers quivered with anticipation, prepared to face the worst possible scenario. He turned the corner with the speed of a freight train, only to plough into a small gaggle of enchanted brooms that could only be described as running away in terror. Several had been pushed to the ground and were struggling to get back up. Almost as if something had barrelled down the hallway without a second thought for the harmless servants that kept the Mysterious Tower in tiptop shape.

The next thing that Riku noticed was the mirror. Yen Sid kept an extensive collection of furnishings that could reveal the supreme power of the Keyblade to anyone brave enough to gaze at their reflection in the polished glass. Someone had uncovered the mirror and shattered it, the scarlet shag carpet lined with tiny glass fragments and streaks of ruby red blood. This particular mirror always filled Riku's mind with a vision of the Way to the Dawn unleashing its ultimate power, yet the glass was eerily silent. It was as if the magic embued in the mirror had been stifled by whatever force had smashed the reflective glass. The stray shards were partly swept into a neat pile, no doubt by the brooms that Riku had darted past before, but countless pieces still lay strewn across the carpet.

Why had they abandoned their task when it was clearly still incomplete? What had happened that the brooms would rather run for their lives instead of remaining at their stations like their magic commanded?

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!"

Riku almost hit the ceiling with fright at the powerful voice that reverberated down the empty hallway. Its tone was gravelly and dark, commanding such terrible power that he almost believed Ansem had risen from the dead and returned to drag him to the depths of Hades. It sent ripples of fear down his spine and into his Keyblade, his grip quaking as his heart began to falter. It couldn't be Ansem; the voice sounded far too young, far too much like a certain brunette that seemed to caused trouble wherever he went. Riku tightened his grip on the Way to the Dawn and sprinted down the hallway as fast as his legs could carry him. He didn't care how much noise he was making, or if it would alert his target to his approach. All he cared about was seeing that Sora was safe with his own two eyes.

Riku screeched to a halt before a door that had been left ajar. He could see the faint glow of flickering candlelight coming from the kitchen that lay beyond the threshold. Looks like he had found his target. Riku gently pushed the door open so he could duck inside, trying his best not to allow the rusted hinges to creak and groan. He breathed a sigh of relief as his cyan eyes fell upon the figure of Sora hunched over the marble countertop while an animated sponge scrubbed at dirty dishes by the sink. He was clad in his favourite pair of plaid pyjamas, ones that now slightly smelled of saltwater after Kairi chased him to that island. Riku felt a wave of gratitude rush over him at the knowledge that the brunette was still in the tower and hadn't leapt out a window or snuck onto the train.

Even so, he couldn't shake the feeling that the boy in front of him wasn't Sora. His shoulders were tense with barely restrained anger, his back arched and knuckles streaked with blood from the shattered mirror. Riku reminded himself that this person may look like Sora, may be inhabiting his body, but this was not his best friend. This was someone potentially dangerous, and he couldn't allow his heart to falter just because they were using Sora's face.

Any sense of relief instantaneously drained away as Riku's eyes fell on the knife clutched in Sora's hand, squeezing with such force that he threatened to snap the hilt in two.

Riku didn't hesitate. He took a step forward and jabbed the tip of the Way to the Dawn into the back of Sora's neck. The brunette's posture stiffened as the honed edge of the Keyblade pressed against his nape, taking a sharp intake of breath and holding it as he froze in place.

"Put it down and turn around. Now."

Riku spat his demand with as much authority as he could muster, disguising his fear behind layers of self-assurance. He saw Sora swallow slowly, completely frozen in place as if his body had turned to solid ice. For a moment, Riku was afraid that whoever had usurped control of the brunette's body would lash out at him, but Sora tentatively released his hold on the knife and laid it flat on the marble countertop. Riku stood his ground as his best friend slowly turned around, holding both hands in the air in submission. His ocean-blue eyes almost seemed to glow sickly yellow in the low candlelight as the two finally made eye contact. It was like looking into the eyes of a stranger. Into the vile yellow eyes of the man who manipulated his heart and left Riku a broken, shattered mess.

Sora's face rapidly flickered through conflicting emotions. His sapphire eyes were wide with fright at he was held at knifepoint, but it only lasted a moment. The second he looked upon Riku's face, his expression shifted into one of disdain, as if he was supremely unimpressed with the person who had caught him off guard. It was such an ugly look for Sora, whose features usually shone with kindness and compassion. The brunette raised his eyebrows in surprise as he finally noticed the Keyblade clenched in Riku's hand, the one that was mere inches from ploughing into his throat. Sora had multiple Keyblades under his belt and was one of only two people know to dual-wield, yet he stared at the Way to the Dawn as if he had never laid eyes on a Keyblade before in his life. Riku's heart was torn between profound confusion and intense rage, directly at the monster who dared to wear his best friend's skin.

"A Keyblade…" Sora mumbled to himself, glued to the tip of the bat-winged weapon. His blue eyes radiated a fierce hunger as if nothing else existed to him.

"SHUT UP," Riku snarled, feeling a cauldron of bubbling rage brewing within his heart. "Don't play games with me. Who are you, and what have you done with Sora?!"

Sora didn't even respond to his own name. He was too fixated on the Keyblade that was inches from poking an eye out. Something about this felt very different from all the other stories that Riku had heard about the brunette's sleepwalking episodes. There was no erratic and confused responses, no glassy-eyed stares or senseless rambling. If it hadn't been for his extremely suspicious behaviour, Riku would've sworn that Sora was wide awake. He didn't want to think about what would've happened with that knife had he arrived a moment too late. Those voices that reached out to him from within his dreamless sleep... were they calling for help because this person was trying to kill Sora? Was this Roxas, trying to murder his Somebody in cold blood?!

What kind of evil person was controlling Sora's body that multiple hearts would unite against them?

Riku's controlled anger was quickly becoming eclipsed with an animalistic rage towards whoever had stolen Sora's body, and the lack of response was pushing him closer to the edge. He growled and jabbed his Keyblde forward, threatening to slice the imposter's throat open and leave him to bleed out on the ground.

"ANSWER ME! I'LL KILL YOU!"

The tip of the Way to the Dawn was less than an inch from Sora's skin, like a tiger flexing its claws. If this person wasn't taking him as a serious threat, then perhaps they needed to be reminded of who was in charge. Riku's hand was practically shaking as the darkness in his heart threatened to overflow and push him over the edge. He had never truly despised someone so badly, not since Ansem left his fingerprints all over his soul. Sora flinched at the sudden movement, a thin sliver of fear worming across his face as the Keyblade came close to drawing blood. As Riku continued to stare him down, the brunette's expression warped into a sadist grin until he could barely recognise his own friend. His kind blue eyes were saturated with venom so putrid that it could've turned the largest Darkside into a trembling Shadow. Riku had no idea that Sora was even capable of conveying such vindictiveness.

"First of all," Sora finally responded, spitting out his words like he was speaking to an infant. "You can shove right off. My identity is none of your stinkin' business. Secondly, I have no idea who 'Sora' is. And thirdly-"

Sora seized the tip of Riku's Keyblade without hesitation, not even flinching as the barbs of the batwing dug into his palm. Riku stiffened his grip on the Way to the Dawn's hilt, expecting the brunette to try and disarm him. Just like Sora had a habit of defying everyone's expectations, the person puppeteering his body was just as unpredictable. Rather than throw the Keyblade to the ground, the he realigned Riku's aim until the tip was firmly planted against his chest.

"If you're going to kill me, at least do it properly. My heart's down here, buddy."

Sora put his hands on his hips and shot Riku an impatient glower. Riku could only blink in response. That... wasn't the reply he was expecting. Why would anyone steal another person's body and then offer themselves up to be cast out of it without putting up a fight? Even Roxas, who had fought Riku until his final breath, had willing merged with Sora to become whole. Why would the blond Nobody put himself through all of that, only to leap at the first opportunity to scrub away what little remained of his existence? Unless...

"Wait... you're…. not Roxas?" Riku probed, the grip on his Keyblade weakening as his heart became overcast with doubt. Sora rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated "UGH" in response.

"Are you stupid?" the brunette snarled back as if he was considering spitting on Riku's shoes in disgust. "Come on, we don't have all day. Right between the ribs. I won't even wriggle, promise."

Sora put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest, the sharpened edge of the Keyblade digging into the fibres of his plaid pyjamas. Riku was so overwhelmed with confusion that his limbs wouldn't respond, whether he was tempted to take the brunette up on his offer or not. He was so damn sure that Roxas was the source of Sora's sleepwalking that he hadn't even considered any other possibility. The snappy, cruel manner of speaking almost reminded him of Ansem, the way he whispered lies into his ears and poisoned his mind. This person was dangerous, and they knew it. Riku had to do something while the opportunity presented itself. He had to use his Keyblade to unlock Sora's heart and banish this person to the abyss before he led his best friend down the path that Riku was painfully familiar with.

...

He couldn't do it. No matter how hard he tried to force his legs to move, he just couldn't raise his Keyblade against Sora. Not again.

The arrogance in Sora's eyes gave way to resentment as he realised that Riku lacked the resolve to give him what he wanted. He batted the Keyblade out of his face with the back of his hand, sending the weapon clattering to the floor. Riku stared at the Way to the Dawn, laying on the wooden floorboards like an injured puppy. He had fought so hard to prove that he had overcome his failings and was still worthy of a Keyblade, but it wasn't enough.

How could Riku ever hope to become a Keyblade Master if he couldn't even protect his friend?

"Pathetic," Sora snarled, determined to belittle the silver-haired boy until melted into a puddle. "You're just a snot-nosed brat playing with things you don't understand. Don't let your mouth make threats that you're too much of a wimp to follow through on. Well, whatever- "

The brunette threw Riku a nasty sneer and nonchalantly reached behind him to pick up the knife that was still resting on the counter.

Riku’s heart leapt into his throat as the sight of the blade, the polished metal reflecting the warm glow of the candelabra sitting on the table. A voice in the back of his head told him that he needed to act now, that the situation was about to go in a direction that he did not want it to. Sora stared unblinkingly into Riku's eyes and raised the knife to his neck.

" -I'll just do it myself."

The brunette began to drag the serrated blade across his pale skin, a trickle of blood leaking from the wound and tainting his flawless complexion. The thin stream of crimson was finally enough for Riku to SNAP. He lunged forward and grabbed the brunette's arm, twisting Sora's elbow until he released the knife with a wail of pain. It was a sound that Riku prayed he would never experience again, but Sora would have to forgive him later. He responded by wildly shoving his other elbow into Riku's face, smashing against his cheekbones and sending shockwaves of pain throughout his jaw. He recoiled at the dizzying blow, staggering backwards until he found himself leaning up against a cabinet.

Riku clutched as his head and groaned, right in time to catch the light reflecting off the knife as Sora grabbed it from the floor and tried to cleave his nose in two. He jerked his head back as the blade barely whizzed past his face, so close that he could almost see his reflection in the blood-tinged metal. Sora snarled and lurched forward in an attempt to sink the knife between Riku's eyes. He ducked before the blade could find its home in his skull, the brunette careening past him and accidentally burying the knife into the wooden cabinet. Sora repeatedly tried to yank the blade from the splintered door to no avail. It was too deeply embedded in the wood and refused to budge.

As Sora tried and failed to free the weapon, Riku saw the rabid look on his best friend's face, an incomprehensible rage combined with undeniable joy. He truly believed that Sora would murder him if given a chance.

Riku took the opportunity to retaliate while Sora was distracted by the knife. He punched him in the stomach as hard as he could, knocking the wind out of the crazed brunette and sending him flying. Sora staggered against the marble countertop, straining to remain upright while he caught his breath. Riku shook his fist as his wrist began to cramp from the brutal blow and snatched his Keyblade from the floor. He was hesitant to use it out of fear of turning Sora back into a Heartless, but his friend wasn't giving him a whole lot of other options. Way to the Dawn felt unnaturally heavy in his hand, weighed down by all the hopes and dreams resting on the edge of the batwing.

"SORA!" Riku yelled, desperately trying to break through to the sleeping heart that he knew was still beating in his best friend's chest. "I know you're in there! Fight back!"

It was an urgent plea, but Riku believed in Sora with all his heart. There wasn't a single other person out there who could walk into the jaws of darkness and emerge with a smile on their face, completely untouched by the corruption that lurked within the shadows. No one had ever possessed the strength of spirit to exist at the same time as their Nobody without losing themselves in the process, yet Sora defied every expectation laid out for him. Riku couldn't bring himself to cripple his best friend, but perhaps the brunette could still fight from whatever abyss his heart had been banished to.

Sora ignored his fervent cries and upended the dining table, lobbing the furniture at Riku in an attempt to crush him beneath its weight. He hopped back just in time to avoid becoming a red stain on the floorboards, only for a chair to be launched at him legs-first. He moved quickly enough to deflect the flying furnishing with his Keyblade, but he still ended up lying on his back surrounded his splinters of stained wood. Stars flashed across his vision as the back of his head cracked against the floorboards. Riku heard the sweet song of sleep trying to lure him into unconsciousness, but he fought against its call with every ounce of willpower in his heart. Sora's movements were so erratic that he was barely able to react in time, and he was playing so dirty that Riku had no chance of prediction his next action.

Riku's eyes refocused in time to see Sora vault over the flipped table with Kingdom Key in hand. His eyes glowed yellow in the light of the candle that now lay discarded on the floor, its flame still burning bright as the magic in the wick remained unextinguished. Riku's head was still reeling, but he could make out the ugly, sadistic grin that had overtaken the face of his best friend. Sora stomped on Riku’s wrist with all of his weight, forcing him to release his hold on the Way to the Dawn with a yelp of pain. He raised the Kingdom Key above his head like a scorpion preparing its stinger, ready to impale the silver-haired boy into the ground where he lay.

Riku considered the possibility that he was about to die. That this person would jam the Kingdom Key through his chest hard enough to shatter his ribs and leave him skewered to the floorboards while he ran away with Sora's body. They would lose two Guardians of Light in the same day, and Xehanort would sit atop his throne of corpses while the universe crumbled around him.

Even when faced with his own demise, Riku couldn't bring himself to use his own weapon on his best friend. He squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for the final blow, the one that would take his life.

It never came.

At first, Riku thought that the screaming was just in his head, the last gasps of a dying heart that would never find justice. When he finally mustered up the bravery to open his eyes and face his fate, he saw that it was coming from Sora. The brunette had thrown the Kingdom Key to one side before its metal became stained with Riku's blood, and the blade was emitting such intense heat that it was almost glowing. Sora's hands covered his face as if he was trying to gouge out his own eyes, barely able to find enough air to scream. Riku no longer existed to him. It was like the cries of a wounded animal, cornered and frightened beyond belief.

Riku wanted to cry, but his brain was drowning in adrenaline. Something surged through his exhausted muscles, a force that emerged from the depths of his heart and filled his body until it threatened to tear him to shreds.

It was the will to live.

Riku jumped to his feet and punched Sora in the face as hard as he could. The brunette was instantly silenced as he crumpled to the floor with a dull thud. He didn't get back up.

Riku slid to the ground with a heavy sigh, the adrenaline that held him upright finally dissipating. His muscles violently shook as the pain in his limbs settled in until even his bone marrow ached and groaned with exhaustion. He flopped onto his back, splaying his arms out by his sides and feeling the chilly floorboards against his skin. Riku breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth until his heart rate returned to a normal pace. The Mysterious Tower suddenly seemed so quiet without the ruckus caused by the brawling boys. Only the gentle rising and falling of Sora's chest gave him any release against the existential weight perched atop his stomach and crushing his heart.

Well, that definitely wasn't Roxas.

Riku let out a dry, humourless laugh. He ran his fingers through his messy silver hair, shaking away droplets of fear-soaked sweat that clung to his scalp. Now that he was finally given a moment of peace to mull over what in the hell had just happened, he really didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to recall the look of madness that took over his best friend's features, an expression born of pure darkness that reminded Riku of the unadulterated hatred that once consumed his own heart. He wanted to pretend that it was all a nightmare, that Sora would wake him in the morning and drag him out of bed and up to Yen Sid's study as if he had imagined the whole thing. Riku knew that wasn't going to happen. He might have knocked Sora out cold, but the demon that possessed his heart was still lingering in his soul. It was just a matter of time before he found himself on the receiving end of the Kingdom Key once more, and Riku couldn't be sure that he would be so lucky next time.

His mind wandered back to Naminé's parting words, left for them in Jiminy's Journal and deciphered by their own data incarnations: 'their hurting will be mended when you return to end it'. Riku couldn't say that whatever had seized control of Sora's body and tried to murder them both really deserved to be 'saved', but there was one thing that he now knew without a doubt. Sora was right. The Mark of Mastery had to go ahead. Naminé's words were likely meant for someone less... murderous, but they rang with an undeniable truth. The hearts that were bound to Sora's were in pain, and their existence also hurt Sora in equal measures. He would never find relief until those ties were severed, and they would never find salvation until they were free to follow their own path.

Sora's heart would need to be vacated of all its unwanted stowaways, or Riku would need to become strong enough to overpower the demon that slept within his spirit. He would need to find the power within himself to attack his best friend without hesitation, or the universe would lose its brightest star for good.

Riku didn't like either option, but it was the only two he had. The pair would best the Mark of Mastery together, and they would return to Destiny Islands without fear. Riku would not allow himself to fail Sora again.

Vanitas wasn't mad. He was furious. He was enraged to the point that he could barely form a coherent thought. He wanted to pound his head against a wall until his brains turned into mush and his half-baked heart gave its final beat.

But it would be OK. Vanitas had waited decades for the chance to die. What was a couple more weeks?

Xehanort had taken him back. Said he had a Replica body all lined up for him. Said he wanted him to join the thirteen Seekers of Darkness. Said that he would give him Ventus. They thought that the storm had passed, but they were merely in the eye of the tornado. Vanitas may have been beaten, but he was not defeated. He would come back again and again, as many times as necessary, until Ventus lay in a bloody pile at his feet.

It was OK. It wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.