Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There's something about the sea that echoes sleep, death and darkness in a way we can experience with all our senses.

The connections are there; from the sea emerged life itself, its only fitting that life returns to it like the tides. Then there's the calm it brings, lulling even the most restless to peace by the sound of crashing waves alone. It's so deep and vast, mirroring the skies above so it fully encompasses you. 

Here, at the bottom of the ocean, was the afterworld.

Here, in this afterworld, was you.

ARE YOU

THERE? 

You'd say it was cold, but it's not. It feels almost like nothing. It's just heavy, but floaty. And dark. So very dark. And your lungs feel full but there's no reason to panic, it's reminiscent of amniotic fluid. Have you receded with the tides? How else could you recall those natal memories? 

ARE YOU

RE-CONNECTED?

This voice, this place, it's oceanic but you've never been here before, and yet it's so similar to your broken mural memories. There's no lights shining to lead the way, there's no broken pillar, and there's no blond or black haired kid with a fractured heart to foster within your own so that nothing else will slip away back into the sea like eroded sediment. It's just… you, alone at the bottom of an uncanny ocean. Well, you and him. 

With no doors to open, you return his attention.

EXCELLENT 

TRULY 

EXCELLENT.

NOW. 

WE MAY 

BEGIN.

Of all the voices you've heard before, this one is by far the most clinical. Kinda reminds you of various somebodies, you're just not sure who.

FIRST.

YOU MUST CREATE

A VESSEL.

A geyser of emotions spills out from you, but you don't remember why– fury, indignance, remorse, fear, grief, guilt, confusion, and lastly a crashing wave of acceptance. With no other choice you choose a head, a body, and legs. None of them actually align with how you envision yourself, but instead you choose on what you think they'd like too. 

The vessel is an apology, it's a long overdue reward, it's a tool, it's survival, it's a home– they're a person. Then the voice asks you to shape its mind as your own and you hesitate. What right do you have to do that? Shouldn't the vessel get to make its own choices? Experience and make up its own mind? Even an empty ‘puppet’ has the potential to become so much more. You should know–

But there's no other option but to choose for it, and so you struggle between the first choice; salty or sweet?

You end up picking cold, dodging flavors all together since all of them would agree on loving ice cream. Be it sweet, salty, or fruity and crunchy. It leaves enough room to experiment in the future. But then you're asked for its favorite colour and you can't make up your mind again; 

Red, feels like the obvious choice. It's bright, inspiring, and nostalgic, like a sunset. But somehow, you feel way too childish considering it. You've completely outgrown red, right? The sun has long since set. Blue, now blue feels like the popular choice. It reminds you of so many happy things at first, like ice cream and friends. Of ducks, marbles, and magic. Seashells and wayfinders–But of darkness too. Royal blue tides dragging you into deep stygian blue depths. Its sparkling crystals, freezing ice and broken promises. The color is almost too overwhelming, too mournful to burden somebody with. Green makes you think of the past, similar to red. It's fitting, considering they're complimentary colors. It's the old-school choice. It brings to mind early spring mountain mornings, adventure, verdant worlds, buck-toothed dogs, and the wind at your back. You almost choose it, but you abstain at the last moment. You can't go back to those days, why tempt this vessel with something so unattainable?

That leaves Cyan, which is not quite blue, and not quite green. It's just different enough that you feel comfortable letting it be your vessel’s favorite color. 

PLEASE GIVE IT

A GIFT.

You don't even hesitate with this choice; Voice.

HOW DO YOU FEEL

ABOUT YOUR CREATION? 

(IT WILL NOT HEAR.)

You wish you could choose both love and hope, even if the vessel won't hear. But then you think… there's nothing stopping you from feeling both, regardless of what you pick. So, you invite him to hope alongside you for this new vessel’s future. There's a pause, maybe an acknowledgement of your invitation– you can't tell before he continues. 

HAVE YOU ANSWERED

HONESTLY?

Yes. You don't think you'd ever lie about something like this and when it's finally time to name the vessel, you think about it for a long, long time. And settle for—

AND WHAT ABOUT

THE CREATOR?

“SORA.” 

EXCELLENT 

TRULY 

EXCELLENT.

“SORA.” 

THANK YOU

FOR YOUR TIME.

YOUR ANSWERS

YOUR WONDERFUL CREATION–

-will now be 

discarded!

y’know, no one can choose who they are in any world. 

so

your

name

is

gonna 

be

“Ventus…” “Vanitas-” “Roxas.” “Xion?”

“Kris!”

Chapter Text

They let out a groan as they rise, 'what a drag', they think, 'if only summer vacation was a bit longer'. And scrunch up their nose and lick their dry, chapped lips involuntarily, feeling a bit nauseated, but chalk it up to morning grogginess. They still clumsily roll outta bed, stumble over to their dresser and struggle to slip on small black shoes. And as they’re opening the door to join their mom downstairs, they slip a hand into their pocket to check for their phone, only to feel something cold and– 

“–ouch!”

They dumbly blink at the small bleeding nick on their palm, confused as to what could've possibly just cut them.

When you pat your side again, you find -nothing at all, it SHOULD be empty- a sole playing card. You’re imagining things- you probably just gave yourself a papercut.

“Huh… that’s… weird.” They mumble, but press forward to the kitchen and nearly trips down the stairs in the process, feeling their balance was way off but whatever, they’re still sleepy give em a break! 

In fact, they’re SO sleepy, they barely hear their mom scolding them over the faint but familiar, twinkling music playing from somewhere, and only catches a glimpse of her rushing out the door in a purple blur.

“Wait, Mom, you left the music on–! Uh, okay nevermind then.” 

You turn to turn off the radio, but you remember you don’t have one. So it's probably coming from outside. Probably.

“Hm… wait but that doesn't make any–”

“Kris! We’re going to be late! Hurry up!”

“Ah, geez, we better go.”

Although the ride to school is short, it feels like an eternity. They lean against the car window, knuckles propped up under their cheek as they lazily stare outside. Watching their neighbors wave at them or minding their own business on their daily commute to work and school. They don't think twice about the brisk breeze and falling leaves scattered across the town though. Eventually, even your mothers voice and the music seems to fade the more you zone out.

The car stops. You exit. Your mom holds your hand. The floor goes from pavement, to sidewalk, to checkered linoleum. You stop. Your mom…

His mom is suddenly hugging him in the middle of the school, and everything freezes. Or more like… pauses, like the menu screen in a game. The fog–the static–in his brain lifts, the music is back, although higher quality and different than before but he swears he recognizes it from somewhere, and the world even looks like it was put under a different filter that made things look WAY more detailed. He feels this body go completely slack in this woman’s arms; finally able to relax, and tears begin to well up in his eyes because– well, when was the last time his mom gave him a hug? When was the last time he was ever hugged? When was the last time everything felt so clear? 

Sora tries to squeeze past her hug, but finds himself trapped. “Great.” he sighs, still tired. Actually sore now that he notices– his movement before was so stiff and limited, it was weird to have a full range of movement again. Aside from the whole 'trapped in a stranger’s arms' part. 

He looks around to find another way out, but finds nothing in either hallway besides him. So instead, he tries to tiptoe to see past the goat woman’s shoulders down the last hallway. 

“C’mon, c’mon…! Almost there...!”

His eyes widen; at the very end of the hall is a tall dark figure in front of a closet, with one hand on its doorknob and the other holding up a finger in front of its shadowed face. 

“Shhhh.”

An overwhelming sense of dread pools in his belly and Sora desperately wriggles an arm out in a desperate yet vain attempt to stop them, “No! Stop! You can't!"

In a split second, he swears that he sees a grin stretch across their face before they open the door and mockingly reach back to him, palm side up, as the darkness spills out behind them in a crashing wave and ends up swallowing them whole.

“There’s no turning back. But this may be our only chance, we can’t let fear stop us!”

Sora stares in utter disbelief, then horror, when he realizes the dark water was coming straight for him and the kind woman holding him. Immediately, he wraps his arms back around her and buries his face in her soft shoulder, scared, ashamed, guilty, wishing he was shielding her instead.

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry!”

He braces for impact–

“–Kris? Are you alright? You’re holding me quite tight… Do you want me to take you back and call you in sick?” 

He feels incredibly sick, as if spun around rapidly in a swivel chair. And he's helpless to stop the paralyzing sensation spreading across these limbs or the music fading into a mind-numbing static, dulling the world around him once again.

Terrified, he opened his mouth to call for help, for this to stop. Only for an unfamiliar, neutral, voice accompanied by the image of a black and white textbox to come to the forefront of his mind, briefly blocking any other action;

*I’m normal.

*Take me back.

‘What?’ you think, resisting the urge to wince from all the white noise getting increasingly louder in your head. But you resisted, to keep her your mother from worrying further. The late bell rings before you can reply, and she perks up at the sound, “Oh look at you, I’m just fussing at this point! I'm sure you’ll do just fine. I’ll see you soon, hurry along now.”

You watch as she walks in the opposite direction you needed to go in, and head to your class without a second thought. 

‘Wait, wait, what? No, stop, what’s going on?!’ He struggles to think for himself.

But, like magic, your limbs move on their own towards your classroom; you enter, you listen to your teacher, you avoid everyone, you quickly take your seat, you wait for instruction, you need a partner, you ask Noelle, but you are partnered with Susie instead, so YOU–

-Are sent to get chalk with Susie.