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Chapter I
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"So, you are awake."
His eyes fluttered open, and within an instant, the light from his surroundings hammered into his skull, and his head throbbed. He pulled his arms up to shield his face, and what felt like lightning coursed through his veins. He let out a hoarse groan, and the back of his throat felt as if it caught fire. Every single part of his body was pulsing with agony. This was good. Pain meant life.
His mind struggled to comprehend the voice that was speaking to him. Definitely male. Flat, bored tone. Nothing within his memory was triggered, so he could only assume the person standing over him was someone he did not know. He twisted his head to the side to attempt to get a better look at the person who was next to him, ignoring the flash of acidic pain that shot down his spine. He squinted his eyes to reduce the amount of infectious light that found its way through his pupils.
He couldn't make too much out of the figure in front of him. Tall, and darkly dressed. That was about all he could see with his limited distance of perception.
"Don't try to move too much. You're still not fully recovered from your… episode."
"Where…" He couldn't force the rest of the words out of his throat. Instead, he fell into a coughing fit, throwing his body into spasms. He curled into afetal position, clutching at himself, and tried calm his aching lungs. The figure didn't move. "I told you not to move, did I not?" The figure turned and walked away, leaving him laying there, paroxysms style raking his body. "We will be waiting for your development with bated breath. Someone will be along shortly to check any progression."
Somewhere, a door slid shut. His eyes opened and shut a few times before losing consciousness.
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"Oi. Wake up."
His eyes slid open for a second time in what may have been weeks or only minutes. This time, the light did not overthrow his senses and only a mild ache remained in his head. He pulled himself into a sitting position from where he lay, and found most of the pain had dissipated. He rolled his head to the side and looked at the new figure that had entered the room. He wasn't as tall as the last, and seemed to have a much more relaxed demeanor. He was also dressed in black; a trench coat hung off his body and black gloves incased his hands.
"So you can move now, I see. That's good."His voice was rough and sarcastic. "I'll have to report this… we were kind of wondering if you were ever gonna fully recover. Ah well. You may not be perfect, but I'd assume you'll be able to move around on your own in a few days at the most."
"Where am I?" The voice in his throat sounded foreign to him.
"Where are you?" The figure chuckled. "Dude, you're in heaven."
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It wasn't heaven. But it wasn't hell either. He couldn't be sure exactly where he was, or even whether or not he was alive. The pain he felt earlier was completely gone, and it had been replaced only with a distant sense of apathy. He could move now, and was able to think clearly. Or at least, he was able to think on a higher level than he had when he first arrived. His mind was blank; he couldn't remember much of anything. All his memories were a haze that was slowly aligning. It was like looking back through a kaleidoscope and trying to twist the end to be able to see more clearly. His name evaded him. He knew the memories were there, but without the identity, nothing would fit. Every once in a while the second figure would come in and speak with him. He couldn't be sure how much time passed between each visit. The light never changed; it was always the same dim grey. It seeped into every corner of the room. He became sure he would have lost his mind if he had had an identity to lose.
Whenever the man came, he would ask questions. For the most part, they were about his past. He'd answer honestly, but only because the honest truth didn't reveal much. He didn't trust the people around him, but did his best to get on their good side. A faint memory inside him triggered him to do this; perhaps it was simple survival instinct. He couldn't be sure.
"So, you still don't remember your true name." The man said once during a session. "That's sad. Maybe you're not the real thing after all."
"I don't understand."
"Of course you wouldn't. You have no name."
"Can you just tell me what the hell you're talking about? All you ever do when you come in here is ask me the same questions over and over, and I always have the same answers. You won't explain yourself, and you only speak in riddles. Would you quit being so damn confusingand tell me what's going on here?" His voice elevated and anger laced his words. The man had smiled. His good eye lit up and the scar on the left side of his face diminished. "Good. You're remembering. Anger's always first, it seems. You'll remember frustration next."
"Remember? Damn it, I said quit that! All you ever do is hole me up in this room and come in here to drive me insane! What the hell happened to the first guy, anyway?"
The scarred man shook his head. "You'll find out more when you remember your name." He walked away. "How's it feel to remember?" He laughed, as if something was funny, and then walked out.
He stared after the scarred man for a long time, feeling the memory pulse through his system. The reaction slightly surprised him. The emotion he felt didn't affect him; he wasn't sure he could even call it emotion. It felt more like a habit, a motion. He stepped back and leaned against the wall, slid down and put his head in his hands. He slept.
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It was on what he thought was the fifth day since he had awoken that the first figure returned. The first man he had met swept into the room in an air of grace, black cloak trailing behind him sharply contrasting his silver hair. The figure's orange-gold eyes glared at him, and he felt himself mentally shrink.
"So, you have awakened fully at last. I'm sorry for not coming back here sooner to check your progress."
He stepped forward and stared the visitor back in the face. "Your apology does nothing for me. What the hell is going on here?"
"I apologize. You will soon be told all that there is to know. You will be fully integrated into our … Organization."
He paused. "What if I don't want to?"
The dark man chuckled. "You don't have much of a choice, Number VIII."
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"Lea."
"Hmm?"
"Lea. My name."
"So, you remembered. Has anything else come with it?"
"No."
"Well, give it time."
"I've given it time. I want to get the hell out of this room."
"You will, dude. Besides, time isn't so bad. There's an infinite amount around here."
Lea crossed his arms and stared at the man he now knew to be Number II. He'd grown accustomed to the man's visits and was becoming much more comfortable with talking to him. The first man, Number I, hadn't shown up since the time he had last confronted Lea.
But Lea was remembering. He was starting to put the pieces together; the kaleidoscope memory was spinning to form a picture rather than abstract design.
"You'll know when it's time to leave, trust me." Number II chuckled.
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The time came five hours or so after Number II had left. Lea was sitting in the corner of the room with his eyes closed, his head leaning back against the wall. The door to the room was across from him, and every once in a while he would open his eyes to glance at it andsee if it would open.
Lea sighed and stood up. He stretched, and strode over to the door, sick and tired of giving anything any time at all. He raised his fist and began to pound on the door. Almost immediately, it gave way underneath his hands, and with a soft hiss, slid open. Surprised, he backed up slowly, but then stuck his head out the door.
A hall of white greeted him, stretching on endlessly into what seemed to be infinity. He suddenly felt small and vulnerable, a small speck of dust in the middle of white oblivion. He began to walk slowly down the hall, not venturing a sound. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small fleck of movement against the wall behind him. He turned, backing up instinctively. A strange sight greeted him. It looked somewhat like the dark creatures that inhibited his memories, but more devoid of color. Its movement was fluid, and it seemed to be waiting for him to make a move. Lea straightened up and glared at the creature.
Follow me if you will, my liege. Lea nearly jumped. The voice inhibited his mind, although he could hardly even describe it as a voice; it was more of a consciousness that somehow communicated with him. The creature regarded him steadily and turned and slid down the hall in front of him. He observedit suspiciously before heading off to follow it as it moved languidly through the corridor. It turned at a corner he would never have seen had the creature not led him to. So it continued.
Suddenly, he was in the middle of an enormous dome, the glass ceiling suspended a hundred feet above him. Intricate white beams twisted lazily over the transparent ceiling, making it look as if a thousand white arms were extended towards the midnight stars. Patterns like thorns adorned the walls in a complex pattern. Lea took a huge breath.
"You have arrived." Lea spun around quickly. Number I stood there, tall and imposing, orange eyes gleaming. "You have remembered your true name, it seems, Number VIII."
Lea glanced around, taking note that the white creature had disappeared. "If I have?" He asked. "What's that mean for me?"
Number I stepped closer, so that Lea could feel his presence before him. He radiated apathy and indifference, and this in itself was imposing. "Everything," he said in a deep voice. "Tell me your name."
"You mean Number II hasn't told you yet?"
"What Number II has found out is no concern of mine. His task was simply to liberate your mind and return your memories. It is the first step towards your true power."
Lea raised his eyebrow. "Cliché as cliché gets. The hell do you people want from me? You keep me locked in some room, and then send some- some thing to take me to this creepy dome thing, and you won't tell me anything. I want to know what the hell you people want with me. I want some damn answers. Spelled out straight. Real answers. Complete. C-O-M-P-L-E-T-E-L-Y. Think you can handle that?"
Number I didn't react. "Be patient, Number VIII."
"After five months, I'm just a little tired of being patient." Lea said, crossing his arms.
"Five months? You've been in our custody for one week only."
He blinked. "That's not possible."
"You will soon learn that this realm does not tend to follow the laws of possibility. Nor do you, nor do I."
Lea threw his head back and groaned in exasperation. "I'm really getting sick of all the riddles."
"Your memory of frustration seems prominent, I see. Perhaps I can assuage this habit if you are willing to tell me your true name."
Lea cocked his head to one side and looked the man over. The kaleidoscope was twisting, trying to use logic do discern from every angle the proper course of action. He wanted to know more, of course. He wanted to know what the hell was happening to him, but the very presence of this man made him unsure. He didn't feel full blown doubt, although something in the kaleidoscope seemed to display distrust from every angle. He had told Number II his name, but now revealing something like that seemed something so much more significant. Giving away his name meant giving something up to be altered or changed in some form or another. However, if he did not give up his name, there was no telling exactly what these people would do to him. So far, he knew Numbers I and II, and according to Number I, he was Number VIII. Therefore, there were at least five others that he hadn't met yet, and there was a great possibility that there could be a Number IX or even Number XL, or something of the sort.
In the end, self-preservation weighed out against the misgivings in the kaleidoscope. He stood straight, faced Number I, and looked him deadin the eye.
"Lea."'
Number I paused. He looked thoughtful for a second and then took a step closer to Lea. Lea didn't step back or flinch; somehow the fear he knew he should have felt seemed distant.
"Lea," The Superior repeated, as if tasting the word and finding that it somehow was too bitter to swallow. He raised his hand and for a moment, Lea wondered if he was going to attack him. The man before him simply waved his arm, though, and in front of Lea appeared three letters, all a shining translucent blue. Magic, he thought. He twisted the kaleidoscope around in his mind, searching for a relic of the occult buried somewhere in his memories. He'd heard about it before, but he hadn't ever come in direct contact with it.
The letters began to rotate, twisting and spinning faster and faster around Lea himself, until they were only a blur. Lea… no, he couldn't be sure he was even Lea anymore. The kaleidoscope was spinning faster and faster, all the memories inside fading into one another, twisting, turning and reforming, all going far toofast for him to keep up. His mind was reeling; he almost felt he needed to retch. The dizziness was too much to bear. His mind was spinning, spinning, spinning. All the while, doubt and questions formed themselves his head. Lea seemed far away.
Suddenly, in a flash of light, the letters stopped. They floated before his face, a shining X now scintillating proudly in the center of the three letters.
"Axel."
He hadn't realized he had spoken the word out loud until Number I leaned forward and looked him in the eye. "Lea is dead," hesaid. "Welcome, Number VIII, Axel, of the Organization."
Axel blinked. Lea was dead. No more than a crystal in the kaleidoscope.
Around him, six figures stepped from the shadows. All wore the same black coat as Number I. Axel grinned. A strange grin, neither one of amusement nor sarcasm. "Good to be here," he intoned in a lazy, bored voice. "And what am I supposed to call you? You couldn't just be Number I or Superior. And if you are, I must say, your parents had pretty rotten naming abilities."
Number I grinned. "I am Xemnas."
-------------------------- Thanks go to coolrainkiss for being a beta of awesome proportions.