Word Count - 1,137 words
Genre - Introspective
Character(s) - Ansem the Wise, miscellaneous Apprentices
Disclaimer - I do not own Kingdom Hearts or any related characters. This was written out of pure enjoyment for the series, and no profit is being made.
Notes - Still very much a work-in-progress. Enjoy and review if you feel so. Constructive criticism is always very much appreciated.
I have made terrible mistakes.
He thinks he can hear them, quiet whispers that drift through the rhythm of waves, over the crunch of booted feet on sand, punctuating the heavy night air. Gone is the chatter of royalty, the scrupulous whisperings of apprentices. Gone is the pull of scientific curiosity, the tumbling of a brilliant mind. Even the voice of the mouse king is silent.
It's always the same…
Only the voices of children remain, those who valiantly strove for their cause while he festered in the shadows; a puppeteer, nudging their movements. A hero, he remembers, a champion of the Light, ripped from his island to embark on some convoluted quest…surely a legend by now, in all the time he has spent in this world of shadows; perhaps the boy has rebuilt the broken world that he left behind. Companions, he remembers, a tormented soul stained with darkness and a pure heir, both fervent on companioning the hero…a trio.
I try to wrap my mind around something my heart already knows…
His cause, one of futility – the boy had showed him that. A journey of mere selfishness, the husks of his camaraderie left discarded on his path to so-called greatness.
…only to fail.
Time passed is irrelevant, a blur of monotony. There is nothing here, nothing but the sea and sand, the jagged rocks that jut into the swirling water, the fading memories of what was once a life.
A life ruined, a life wasted. What a pointless effort, to fill manuscripts and conduct experiments and preside over the workings of such , in their right mind, would unleash such terrible darkness upon their own soil?
I, he thinks bitterly, and my foolish dream – a catalyst of destruction.
A dream, ingrained into the very structure of the castle, the imposing architecture hidden by elegant turrets and sprawling flora that spilled over the structures walls: tinkling fountains and heavily barricaded doors, hiding secrets underneath lock and key; secrets so easily shattered. Ignorance had seen to that.
"Bring him into the castle. To my study."
The abject neophyte, the mysterious product of an equally mysterious sequence of events; found semi-conscious, uttering the one word – no, a name – in the forefront of a banished mind – Xehanort. Impetus to the horror that swallowed the Garden, that infected all in its path.
"Do you know where you are?"
Tawny eyes survey the room – the high ceiling, mechanized scientific appliances, a mess of papers and charts strewn across a desk or pinned to the walls.
"I…no."
"Can you remember anything? Anything at all?"
"No. Only…only shadows."
"Very well."
Yet it was not long before the isolated, stoic individual would willingly lend opinions and modifications to the multitude of experiments they were conducting; with ardor he poured over volumes and tomes, with scrutiny he observed each outcome of each trial, lips pursed down in a menacing, sharp line upon encountering an outlier in the data. Each night, when the blazing sun faded behind the flora-covered walls and drenched the Garden in darkness, when lights and candles within the chambers and winding hallways were lit, he was often found absorbed in some archaic novel of obscure scientific process, sometimes lone figure in the Garden's massive library.
"See this diagram? Fascinating, almost like stairs, descending into another Realm. I must certainly mention this…"
He had often wondered, during his bitter repose in the shadows, how such blossoming curiosity had become so twisted, so hardly resembling what it once had been.
"Master Ansem. Regarding the experiment I presented the other day…With your permission, I'd like to proceed…"
Yet the answer was already known.
They were moving apart, he knew; slowly distancing themselves from him, motives ulterior to whatever false notion he thoroughly believed they upheld.
"I must emphasize, your Lordship, that we implement matters of higher security, given the prevalence of these…creatures, and the fragility of our work. I saw one nearly injure a young boy only a few hours ago. You realize, sir, the incredible importance of – …"
"Yes, Dilan, I do. I suggest you return to your post."
Silence permeated, made heavy the space between the two of them; master and apprentice, disgruntled patriarch and shrewd underling.
"I fear that your apathy will jeopardize our ability to glean sufficient results. We are scientists, your Lordship; we are not the sentimental, at ease with a few figures scrawled on paper. Unless you desire to lose something held very dear – …"
A fool, he was, to cage the independent and far-too-capable behind the guise of trust.
"Alert Aeleus to the change in shifts. I will discuss matters of security with the Captain of the Royal Guard."
A shrewd smile; manipulation.
"Of course, sir."
It had been absurdly unpredictable that such a momentous addition to their experimentation would be suggested by a child; one possessing great intellect, but a child nonetheless.
"It would do us well to create a stable, controlled environment. Secrecy, I assure you, is most important."
Reclined against a windowsill, assuredly confident yet uninvolved, he flipped another page of the book he held; Arcane Compendium.
"It will be hidden beneath the castle, known only to us; the most efficient illusion."
"I remain hesitant. Is this truly a wise decision?"
A piercing eye meets his gaze.
"Would I suggest anything prone to detract from this organization? You seek progress. I offer answers." He closes the book. "What horror could ever possibly come from this?"
Friends.
It is nothing – the horrors worked upon the Garden are nothing – compared to what I caused for that boy and his friends. To watch them struggle and thrash through the torment he laid before them – all part of some master plan, some delusion of revenge.
The final blow of failure – the innocent lives that he had devastated.
In the very remnants of his fading memory, there is one particular moment that remains forefront. It is the mouse king, during one of their many talks, seated in discussion. He cannot recall the topic of their dialogue – he can barely grasp the memory itself, faded that it is, slipping through consciousness – yet the essence remains.
"I still can't understand how it happened, Ansem. One moment, I'm lugging buckets around, and the next, there's an army of marching brooms!" Mickey chortles. "We've all been young and foolish, I guess."
He nods.
"Well anyways, have a look at those research data, won't ya? Not to pin anythin' on your apprentices, but you can never be too sure!"
I have made terrible mistakes.
He nods again.
Not even a lifetime can mend them.