Chapter Text
Castle Oblivion loomed over the dry and fractured landscape. Dead grass crunched beneath heavy boots as a black-coated figure strode forward. He moved smoothly, as if each step was calculated specifically and carried out with no sense of urgency. After all, how could one feel urgency without a Heart?
Perhaps a sense of urgency could be feigned or understood through logic. An emotionless husk could recognize the need for timeliness and hurry itself along. This one, however, did not make such an assessment, nor was he given such an order. Master Xehanort very rarely issued orders to hurry. He preferred that his plans be carried out with care, done correctly. He had all the time in the world, and too many irons in the fire to count.
The black-cloaked figure stepped up to the garish castle’s doors and pushed them open. He narrowed his eyes against the abrupt change of ambiance--the dark and gloomy outside giving way to pristine white walls, floors, ceilings. There were even little white flowers in little white vases placed on little white tables and pressed so starkly back against the wall they seemed formed from it, as if the creator’s afterthought.
This husk was a particular sort, trusted to carry out Master Xehanort’s whims quickly and accurately. Despite his lack of Heart, he was the de facto champion of loyalty within their organization. After awakening and being hollowed out, filled in and given purpose, he was chosen as the ever-dutiful adjutant once more.
With Xemnas’ defeat, I have lost access to several valuable vessels. We must make up the difference.
What are your plans, Master Xehanort?
His boots clicked against the glossy white floors, the only sound aside from the faint, irregular jingling of the charms on his coat. Fleeting memories surfaced in the back of his mind: a hospital’s sterile scent, it’s eerie silence, sneaking through unlit halls with --, running until he was out of breath, the squeak of new shoes on a gymnasium floor, tension fluttering in his chest as footsteps followed. But there were no footsteps beside his own, no sterile smell, no one else there but him.
The memories were meaningless, nothing more than shadows of the past. Reminders.
The former Organization XIII’s number IV, Vexen, conducted the Replica Program from his laboratory in Castle Oblivion. We will fetch the remaining replicas and utilize them to our advantage.
As if. That place is a real pain in the neck.
You are needed elsewhere, Xigbar. Saïx will be more than enough to secure a few lifeless puppets.
Saïx lowered his hood, breaking the seal on the darkness which covered his face. He tucked a hand back, between his hood and his hair, and flicked out. His hair fanned out, curling in a powder blue wave. A once beautiful gesture, it was now marred by the clear lack of time he spent on maintaining his look. His hair was clean, but messy, with split ends and irregular lengths.
Such things were trivial. Saïx hadn’t cared about them in a long time, and he especially didn’t care about them now, in the face of his new purpose. In fact, most things had become trivial compared to the pursuit of his latest goals.
Although Castle Oblivion was known to be a labyrinthine nightmare, Saïx had no trouble finding the basement and the laboratories within. He noted, with something the same shade as amusement, that he never descended any ramps or stairs. He passed through a set of large, white double doors, out of the blinding whiteness of the upper floors, and into deeper grey, dimly lit corridors.
A Nobody was incapable of feeling, and yet the urge to sniff derisively crept up the back of Saïx’s throat. With no one around, he didn’t bother to give into the urge. Instead, he proceeded through the winding labs until he found a computer console. There was no telling if it had been Vexen’s, but if the computers in Castle Oblivion were networked the same as the computers in The World That Never Was, Saïx would be able to access Vexen’s files from any device he found.
If he were anyone else, he might have said something inane - blurted out jackpot! and perhaps struck a victory pose. Fortunately, he was not someone else; he had the dignity to remain calm as he accessed Vexen’s files, and then pulled up a chair.
Waking up that first time was a nightmare. Much like when he first opened his eyes as a Nobody, his entire body hurt. Everything that could feel ached, in particular his ribs, which throbbed with each breath he tried to take. Each movement brought about the memory of a weapon colliding with him, sometimes his opponent’s, sometimes his own.
It all paled in comparison to the pain in his chest. The whirlwind of emotion that weighed him down, forcing him to the ground, curled protectively around his chest. Anger, pain, guilt, all swarmed him, choking him, squeezing every last bit of him out. Worst of them all was the hollow ache of loss, of abandonment. He was alone. He was alone, and he would forever be alone, even in a room crowded with humanity.
Isa - for that’s who he was - didn’t remember crying, but his face was slick with tears when he finally uncurled and rolled onto his back. Yet more memories clawed their way into his chest, ripping him open and leaving him exposed to the agony of existence. He had ruined everything: his friendship with Lea; their plans to rescue Her; the very possibility of ever getting it back. He had to fix it.
Wait -- Lea! If Isa was back, then Lea would be, too.
Isa scrambled to get up, ignoring the roaring pain in his body as it subsided in favor of desperation. Perhaps if he could just get to Lea, maybe he could fix this. Maybe he could undo all of it.
As he made it to his feet, Isa was struck by what greeted him. His feet rooted to the spot, and an ice-cold weight dropped into his stomach, squeezing his lungs.
Xigbar and a man he somehow recognized as Master Xehanort had been watching him the entire time.