Xehanort shifted in his bed, trying to find at least some comfort. Tears rolled down his bronze face and gathered in a widening stain on his pillow. The night was dark and still; the crickets outside orchestrated a soothing night-time symphony for the residents of the Radiant Garden.

Xehanort sobbed silently to himself. The others had left him, ridiculed him, humiliated him. He'd never make a name for himself. Never accomplish. Never complete. Never learn. He tried to push away thoughts of failure, but they came right back, forcing him into sobbing fits and small moans that echoed off of his walls. He curled into a ball, feebly trying to fend off his foul dreams.

The door cracked open. A beam of light trickled through, illuminating a sliver of Xehanort's room. "My son.." came a voice, compassionate yet stern. "My son.." It was Ansem the Wise, the King of the Gardens. The elder tiptoed across the room, kneeling at his apprentices' bedside. "..what troubles you?" He was obviously concerned. Xehanort, throwing caution to the wind, fell forward onto his Master, clinging to his silken robes as he sobbed into the fabric. "Master Ansem..." He cried, taking unstable breaths. Ansem took his apprenctice by the shoulders, shaking him lightly. "Xehanort, please tell me..." Xehanort collapsed onto his pillow, turning away from his teacher. "I...I...I'll never learn.." He wiped at his eyes. "They told me so." Ansem frowned.