Chapter Text
She’d always loved the night.
Never had she been the sort of child to need her bed checked under, or closet searched for monsters. When Eraqus had traversed the halls in faux-serious, accompanied by a brightly burning candle or the occasional orb of light summoned with magic, Aqua walked at his side and held Terra’s hand in comfort as if to prove there was nothing to fear hiding in the darkness behind closed eyes and windows veiled with darkness. In time, his fear had gone, as well, and perhaps part of her had mourned the responsibility she’d lost, and the comfort she was able to provide.
Night was never truly dark, either, was it? There were always lanterns, candles, and failing that the light of the moon and stars that managed to find their way through every one of the castle’s large windows. She’d loved the stars, and had spent many a night admiring their beauty with her family at her side.
There were no stars here. Only black.
It was only when she’d stepped into its world that Aqua had realized she’d never known true darkness. Even with the glowing eyes of creatures lurking just out of sight and the occasion drifting puff of dark fire acting as will-o-the-wisp into the void, the dark remained unbroken, cold, and all-consuming. It seemed the only light within her was her own -- until, at last, that had given way as well.
It had started in her fingertips, long before she’d broken and surrendered. Standing on the shore, that damned shoreline that seemed to stretch on endlessly, she’d held her hands in front of her and watched as they trembled, turning numb and cold in a way the winters of her home had never managed. This cold was born from within, as if all the light and warmth she clung to had retreated to her center and sacrificed her extremities in order to preserve her heart and soul.
Determined to make them obey her once more, she’d clenched her hands into fists and crossed her arms over her chest, eyes squeezing shut as if she could close out the dark realm around her. In a moment, she’d lift her blade once more and walk on, just as she always had. Just as she had to.
Just as she’d promised.
But for now, she’d rest -- just for a moment -- and pray that lowering her guard didn’t cause her to shatter like the surface of the endless approximation of ocean in front of her.
There, on the shore and in the dark, had come a blinding light.
It was fleeting, but bright enough to be seen even behind her eyelids, though they snapped open quickly to dart hungrily in its direction. Precious light -- precious strength -- precious fuel for her a spirit she refused to admit was breaking.
Not light -- lightning.
Lightning in the form of a woman. That was Aqua’s first thought as she watched the figure grimace and hurl a collection of knives deftly from practiced fingertips into the darkness, strings of electricity trailing behind them and to her fingers. Her hair mirrored its form; a bright, glaring yellow that would have been obnoxious to Aqua if it hadn’t been a welcome change to the otherwise dark and desolate landscape.
How long had it been since Aqua had seen another person? It wasn’t as if time worked how it was supposed to here, but the ache in her bones and the ringing in her ears that came when the woman spoke whispered the delusion that it had been centuries. Perhaps it might as well have been.
“The fuck was he thinking --” the lightning-throwing woman cursed, “this was never going to work. Just hop back on the damned hamster wheel every time and keep running like we’re getting anywhere. Why don’t I --”
She paused, then, and turned, appearing to realize she was being watched by Aqua’s still form. Immediately, she smiled, but it was not a kind one, and despite the intensity in her eyes Aqua half felt she was being looked through entirely, as if transparent. Had she finally begun to fade away?
“Well aren’t you a fancy looking heartless?” she drawled, hands coming up to rest upon wide hips. Snapped back into her body, Aqua bristled in response, a few nerve endings in her rebelling body firing in an effort to remember how to work her tongue.
“I’m not --” she forced out, and she hated the sound of the stranger’s voice that passed her lips. It should have been calm but commanding, not thin and hoarse, wispy as if the words had been spoken by a ghost.
“Yeah, whatever,” the knife-wielder interrupted with the wave of a hand. Aqua would never have let herself be interrupted. Or . . . would she have? It was getting harder by the day to remember.
No. I am a master. I will not be spoken over.
But she did not get the chance to speak her protest before the stranger continued while sauntering closer, golden eyes sweeping over her form. No longer did Aqua feel invisible, but she wasn’t certain she preferred being scrutinized, and her form stiffened. Such was a blessing in a sense, as her muscles remembered how to work, mind settling once more into her body.
“Wasn’t supposed to be anyone here. That was the whole, like, point of me coming here,” she sounded almost offended, as if Aqua were an intruder rather than prisoner.
Though the words weren’t what she’d intended to say, Aqua’s voice was stronger when she bit back a cold and sarcastic “Sorry to disappoint.”
The words earned her a laugh, and in that darkness it was better than any music despite its cruelty.
“You don’t look like you come here often,” the stranger continued, and Aqua watched as she spoke. Despite the bright shade of her hair, the rest of her was draped in darkness, cloak blending in perfectly, and the glinting golden shade of her eyes had Aqua’s fingers itching for her blade.
“You look like you do,” was her reply. There was no defending the shadows under her own eyes or the starved paleness of her skin.
“You’re too kind.” The woman turned, appearing suddenly bored where moments ago she’d been looking Aqua over with a frightening interest. “What is it, hun? You fall down here? Swallowed, dragged? Trapped by someone, all princess-in-tower?”
She’d paused, and was looking over her shoulder. Aqua hadn’t realized she’d turned along with her, lips pressed together in irritation. That wasn’t a feeling she hadn’t felt in some time . . . it was almost blissful to feel something as simple as annoyance.
“It’s none of your business. But, no, I’m not one of the dark. Not like you.” She could tell in the woman’s comfortable posture that she was right; in every careless word and eyes completely devoid of fear. Fingertips -- still numb, still refusing to obey -- twitched, and she fought to summon her keyblade.
Perhaps her heart wasn’t threatened enough to listen, and her hand remained empty.
“Got me there,” the woman shrugged, then waved a hand. The darkness in front of her parted, appearing to open at her very will, and Aqua could only stare at the dark corridor. It was a path forward . . . a path out, that this woman would take as easily as pushing open a door. A path Aqua could never follow.
As if sensing her thoughts, the woman looked in her direction once more and smiled an impish smile, full lips curving upwards in amusement. “Need some wings?”
The question didn’t make sense at first, and Aqua frowned as she stared into the void. Wings. . . to take flight and fly from her cage. . .
Her heart rose in her chest, immediately to be crushed by determination and resolve.
“Not of darkness.” Never of darkness.
The woman only shrugged, and turned away. “Suit yourself, hun.”
And she was gone, to be seen only in dreams, with Aqua left standing once more alone on the shore, in her chosen prison, with pride and resolve to comfort.
She’d never let herself wonder what might have happened had she taken the stranger up on her offer, and followed her into the dark.
Nights were the hardest part. It was easy to smile during the day, with sunlight reflecting of familiar stone and her family at her side. In the day, she was Master Aqua, just as she’d always been and would always be.
At night, when she laid down to dream, she was simply a human being. And human beings dreamed.
They were rarely clear, formed only of shattered mirrors and oceans that stretched on endlessly. Shaking fingertips, tendrils of inky black, and a darkness so deep and absolute that it devoured. Occasionally, that darkness would open, parted like curtains by fingers coated in lightning.
It was not what she saw behind closed eyes that caused Aqua to wake with a start, breath stilled and fingers trembling. It was not fear that caused her to wake, though that quickly followed.
Even unable to remember the details of her dreams, she was unable to shake the feelings that consumed her within. The agony that had come with wandering through the darkness, the pain that walked hand in hand with resolve and conviction . . .
The bliss and peace that had come with surrendering, even briefly, and allowing feared darkness to consume her.
She never slept these days without summoning a few sparkling balls of light to orbit around her bed, and as her eyes snapped open and quiet, heavy breaths filled her empty castle bedroom, Aqua focused on them, desperate to avoid the dark that surrounded her on all sides.
Of course, it wasn’t true darkness . . . not really. She knew what that tasted like. No matter how much she longed to forget.
Covers were kicked away, knees drawn to her chest as her arms locked around them, and for a few heartbeats she allowed herself to sit as she might have done as a frightened child, had she been one. But nightmares had never plagued her young mind, and Aqua was not the sort to be afraid. Not of darkness, not of pain, not of nightmares and monsters under her bed.
What Aqua feared was much closer, and seemed to have bled into her heart, staining its purity and dimming its light.
She’d have to fight harder, every day, to make sure the rest of her shone brighter. No one could notice the darkness that remained, or the traitorous parts of her that whispered to embrace it once more.
She was a Master. One of the light.
She refused to be anything else.