He dreams of her—no, it. The hooded, sexless puppet with a replicated keyblade who fills him with so much revulsion.
Number XIV approaches him and it is smiling. Saix doesn't know why he knows that. XIV has no face and even if it did he wouldn't be able see it underneath that hood, but somehow he knows that XIV is smiling.
It chills him down to the very bone and then XIV pulls its hood down and he is met by the face of a black-haired girl with big blue eyes. She looks like Naminé. "I am no puppet," she says in a voice that Saix has heard from XIV before, except it sounds more obviously feminine now.
He backs away, stunned and turns to run down the stark white corridors of the Castle.
Suddenly he finds himself in the throne room, perched in his seat with Xemnas and Xigbar staring down at him from their thrones that seem higher up above him than he's remembers them to be.
They both wear unpleasant smirks and Xemnas is first to speak. "XIV is not the puppet in this Castle," he says and Xigbar's smirk widens until it looks grotesque—too wide for his narrow face.
"Who is it then?" Saix cannot help but to ask.
Xigbar laughs—a horrible sound. "Who do you think?"
He doesn't know what to say and as he tries to move he falls from the throne, closing his eyes and waiting for the impact. Instead he falls into thick, cold darkness that envelopes him, smothers him. Wispy tendrils of what looks like pitch black smoke surrounds him, makes his eyes water and his throat constrict has he struggles to breathe.
He falls deeper and deeper and when he finally lands he is in back in Ansem's castle on that day. The day he died.
His jacket is bloody and his vision foggy, but he can tell that he is in Xehanort's lab. He's on the floor and cannot get up and in the distance he sees someone approach. Black boots underneath a long white coat. He falls forward and throws up.
When he opens his eyes again he finds the nightmare isn't over yet. He's in the Dark City surrounded by figures cloaked in the Organization-uniform—all with their hoods up.
He doesn't see any of them move, but suddenly someone is up behind him. He feels breath against his ear—breath that should be warm, but is cold as ice, whispering, "Do you see now?" An arm around his waist and a hand gripping at his throat. The person is shorter than him and he knows who it is. The youngest one, the most malicious one.
"See what?" he chokes out. He doesn't try to struggle against the hold, knowing it will be futile.
"That the puppet… is you."
He is released and pushed forward, into a black pit that had appeared in front of his feet without his notice. He falls and falls and falls and there is no bottom and there is no waking up.
He's lost in the darkness, lost with no light to guide him home.