All his life, Riku thought it would come down to something more meaningful.
He was wrong.
His life had come down to two things, two memories, two significant points.
The day the door closed. And the day it opened.
Since the day the door closed, everything had become unimportant, irrelevant to what he had to do. Time disappeared, a mere remnant of the life he once had.
There was no time in the dark.
There wasn't life, only death, because there was no reason to celebrate a life he didn't have. Death was celebrated, death of the heartless that plagued his home.
It sickened him to think that this was what this place had become. Home. Home wasn't dark, home wasn't full of the stench of death, the fear of waking up and realizing this was all that was left for him. Home was a pin prick of a memory. Of light and sand and people and an emotion he couldn't remember.
Now there was just him, the king, and the heartless.
Until the day the door opened.
And light was no longer a memory.