Prologue: Signs of Light

Why is everyone staring?

"Can you tell me what happened? Every detail, and from the very beginning, my dear."

It took quite some effort to arrange this meeting. Much of the experiments for today were placed under the careful watch of fellow scholar Even, and there are still many other researchers going about the estate. The whirring of machines and pacing around the halls are at full swing this time of day. Thankfully, the cacophony of activity dulls down this hallway. The study is the perfect place, and perhaps the only place, to hold a decent conversation.

One of the castle's royal guards pulls out a chair for the girl addressed. She takes the cue and sits down, albeit with some hesitation. As she drops down to the chair, she disappears entirely from view, obscured by the piles of research documents on the desk in front of her.

Ansem the Wise cranes his neck a little, before giving up entirely and shoving the mountain of papers to the side. When he can finally see the child directly, she doesn't meet his eyes right away. She is a small youth, with blue hair falling over her left eye, and patches of red dotting her gangly limbs; barely twelve-years-old, if her appearance is anything to go by.

Skittish and pulling the hem of her washed out, oversized shirt, she glances backward to the door, as if asking it for assistance. The director of the orphanage had stepped out a moment ago, through those same doors under request.

The guard to the left of her is rolling his eyes.

"Hey, hey," he sneers, "cat caught your tongue? Talk already. We haven't got all day."

The intrusive words come out just as the girl is opening her mouth. She grimaces and shuts it close again.

"Peace Braig," says Ansem, unlacing his fingers, "and let the child speak."

His royal guard Braig falls silent but doesn't stop twisting his lips. Ansem sighs through his nose and gives the second guard in the room a look.

His more stoic apprentice Aeleus returns his sentiment briefly, and to compensate, pats the girl's shoulder with particular lightness.

"Go on."

The child leans forward, finally facing the city's most esteemed researcher and its ruler.

"I don't really know what happened though," she whispers. Her voice is light, sweet, and earnest.

"That's quite alright." Ansem nods. "Just tell me what you can recall."

"I was sitting near the fountain with my friends. The one in the very front. And…it was lunch time I think," she says, with a slight tilt in her head, trying to remember. "One of the kids was asking to play tag."

Over her shoulder, Aeleus gives Ansem a curt nod, confirming the time when the incident had happened at high noon.

"Everyone was running, because I was 'it.' And some of my friends ran near your, uh, castle…"

She winces, apologetic. He simply waves his hand for her to continue, and by the corner Braig lets out a not so subtle yawn.

"When I caught up to them…something happened. I think. I-I don't know what…"

She pauses. The ticking clock nearby counts her silence.

Ansem clears his throat. "You said you were running? Catching up to your friends?"

"Yes."

"Must have been fun," he continues placidly. "Everyone was having a good time. There was a lot of laughter, I dare say."

She gives a tiny smile at that.

"And then?"

Her smile disappears. "It stopped."

"Why?"

"Because…" she says, and now she is truly frowning. "Because…someone yelled. We stopped playing because some…thing was there."

Ansem leans forward from his chair. Aeleus is looking at him again, and this time they don't need to nod to understand what had transpired. The noisy Braig is uncharacteristically hush, and his elfish face peaks with interest.

"A thing? Can you describe this?"

"It was like, a dark shadow came up and rose from the ground. It was completely black, with yellow eyes." The child bites her bottom lip. "…I know it's weird-"

"No, not at all," Ansem reassures. "A unique case, perhaps. But go on."

"I think I saw one going after my friends. So, I went to help, and-" she gulps and falls silent again.

The clock resumes its steady ticking. Braig pushes himself off from his corner and Aeleus tries to coax the girl to speak again.

But Ansem has heard more or less the whole of the story already. This is the part where Aeleus had reported to him a few days prior; apparently, at the sight of this girl, the shadows had switched their target from a group of children to fix their attention on her. She tripped as she ran and fell to the ground. Just as the shadows made to reach her, they were momentarily blinded by a flash of bright light. It stunned long enough for Aeleus and one other guard to strike these creatures down. Immediately after, the orphanage's caretakers had grouped all the children together again and left quickly for safety.

"How many where there?"

"I don't know." She shakes her head. "A lot. But I can't remember the number."

"Must've been scary," says Braig, finally making his way towards them. "Since they were coming right after one kid."

The girl flinches at this. "They were chasing my friends-"

"Chasing them," Braig interrupts, "or chasing you?"

She faces the ground once more, unable to retort.

Aeleus shoots a disapproving glare, to which Braig shrugs at. What, the younger guard mouths. I was there too, y'know.

"Enough," Ansem says, lacing back his fingers in thought. "We need to speak to the orphanage's director now and see where that takes us."

The girl rises out of the chair, glad to be dismissed. Ansem leads her towards the door.

"Thank you, my dear. You have been very helpful. I'm sure that you are still shaken up by the events and everything that has followed…but we are here now. The director and I shall handle the proceedings and figuring out the, ah, best path for you."

He had hoped these words would do some good in soothing her, but on the contrary, she seems even more troubled.

"Is there something else…?"

Her eyes flickers to the two guards, still station near the table. Ansem bends over, to catch her words that were so obviously secret.

"I've been having these dreams. And I don't know, but." She breathes out. "I'm always falling. It's dark and I can't see anything. I never hit the bottom of where I'm going."

Ansem gives a sympathetic nod of understanding. Nightmares, of course. A natural aftermath of shock from a distressing situation. However, she ought not to be ashamed, regardless of how his rowdy apprentice Braig would react had he heard. Really, he must make time to speak about manners to that young man.

"That sort of event was terrible, to say the least. Give it time. I find most things heal over after some distance has been given."

"Yes sir," she mumbles, giving a slight bow.

He unlocks the door and steps aside to welcome the director, who had been standing on the opposite wall. He is a short, stubby man with white hair that is balding on the very top. He wore a faded tweed jacket, with some threads that were loose around the cuffs. At the very least, his shirt was ironed. The director calls to the girl, checking if she is alright.

"I'm fine," she insists, pinkening with all the attention. "Really."

"Well if you're sure…" The director twirls around to face Ansem the Wise, sparing an offhanded comment for her to wait for him by the bench, just over there.

He enters the office. The door snaps shut as if securing her fate.

The meeting ensues for a lot longer after that. At first, the girl sat resolutely in her seat as directed, but as the town clock chimes a quarter past three she starts getting curious. There is little to keep her occupied, and the mutterings from beyond the door buzzes their way to her ears. She gets up slowly.

Maybe I shouldn't, she thinks, just about halfway to the door.

The voices are much louder now that she is closer. She could almost make out the gruffness of one of guards' voice…Mr. Aeleus was it? From what she could hear, he is recounting his own notes on the incident, and it's by far more detailed than what she had given them. Mr. Braig's and Sir Ansem's voices are sheer opposites; the former is brash and to the point, the latter elegant and methodical. The old director also perks up on chances to give his input. Her name peppers into the conversation as a result, enough to clear away her earlier misgiving.

She's never had a reason to eavesdrop before. If anything, it is usually the upper years who develop such habits. For that, she can't exactly fault them; their bedrooms are the closest to the caretakers' lounge, and if what they said held any truth, it's that adults can be very, very noisy themselves.

This situation is different, by far - not just some silly gossip. She has every reason to listen in. After all, this is about her right? She should know what's going to happen. She has the right to know.

She presses her ear to the door.

"…and so, we can't be entirely sure why the darkness has manifested, but given the situation, it would be best to null the adoption papers, as much as it pains me to say."

There is beat of stillness. Then she hears the director's voice, which is rather somber say, "I thought as much. Yes, yes of course. It's just that, the couple seemed eager to take her in, and we get so few prospective parents."

"It's necessary, not only for her safety," Sir Ansem continues, "but theirs as well."

She stiffens, trying to swallow down the feeling of disappointment. She presses even more firmly to the door, desperate to hear more.

"It's curious though," the director muses. "What exactly makes those shadows appear? And to attack those children like that!"

"It is the sheer principle of their nature. These shadows, from what my colleagues and I have gathered so far, moves instinctively to grab what they cannot have – a heart." Sir Ansem explains. "To that end, they relentlessly pursue the light, especially those that are pure and unfiltered, residing commonly in children. Of course, given how feral they are, they attack just about anyone who possess what they crave.

"The matters of the heart, more than just the physical…containing both light and darkness. We also have to consider the fact that worlds have that of their own. I wonder if it is the less virtuous part of us that start to beckon these fiends forward…"

On the other side of the door, the child is still straining to hear. If she has to guess, Sir Ansem fell deep into thought, leaving the director unsure with how to proceed. The first to recover from this is Mr. Aeleus, and she nearly jumps after realizing how close he is to the door.

"You really shouldn't have interrogated her like that," Mr. Aeleus mutters.

"Oh, come on. You wanted to know too, right?" Braig snorts. "It was never about that dark stuff. That we can handle. It was about the light that came from her. The K-I-D."

"If you weren't such a K-I-D yourself, you might actually have a bit more maturity."

"Alright I'll lay off," Braig relents. "Still, I never would have guessed she could be the one."

There was some ruffling of paper before Mr. Aeleus could respond.

"Hm. From what I read, she's been in Radiant Garden's Orphanage since she was a baby. Says right here the origins of her parents are unknown."

"Yes, that's correct," the director interjects. "She is one of the few orphans in our community that had parents who came from a different world. The refugee wave from thirteen years ago brought in several. In any case, she's a well-mannered girl with no ill-remarks from our caretakers. She's obedient and keeps to herself. She's also exceptionally bright and receives top marks in her grades."

The child flushes under the director's comments. She isn't being too well-mannered at the moment. It was also something of a small triumph to know that not even the teachers were aware of whenever her mind takes a small vacation during lessons.

Ansem the Wise gives a long and thoughtful hmm. He asks maybe just about two or three questions more, all which the director answers with prompt readiness.

"Light is the energy from a concentrated will. Active through the consciousness of pure thoughts." Sir Ansem contemplates briefly. "That child's bravery, her need to act and rush towards those she cares for at the face of danger…she makes for a very promising candidate."

"Sir Ansem? A candidate for what?" implores the director. Though judging by the way his voice's rises in pitch, he seems to know exactly the candidacy that the ruler of Radiant Garden speaks of.

"The child has to make one of two choices," Sir Ansem says. "The first option would be for her to take a position as a junior assistant in my research facility, that way she would be guarded at all times, and she could study with the knowledge necessary to preserve herself. She won't start right away, but should she choose to stay here, I will provide her room and board. As a resident of this district she will also have a chance to attend a better school."

"Absolutely splendid!" The director claps his hands together.

"The second choice would be a more strenuous one. It requires excellent training of the body, and physical testing of the heart. A befitting road for warriors that arm themselves with light as their weapon. To speak plainly, it is a path that leads down to becoming a Keybearer."

As the words fall from his lips, it seems as if the whole room is seized by a powerful force. Nobody spoke, and she felt that they, like her are holding in their breaths.

"A Keybearer!" The director exclaims. "But there's hardly any of them left. Actually, is there any left at all?"

"Most definitely," Sir Ansem confirms. The tone of his voice sounds almost amused. "Although we commonly discuss them as fabled legends of the past, they are very much real. As a matter of fact, I know of one that is a Master. In one of his travels, he has come to this world before. We have since formed a method of communication."

Ansem the Wise must have produced some tell-tale device for said connection, because she hears a gasp of fascination from the director and a low whistle from Braig.

"With this child's gift, I believe we have found him just the student he was looking for."

There were more shuffling noises on the other end. She exhales. A Keybearer? Like those the elders of this city spoke of?

"I cannot impose my wishes on the child. I can only offer her an opportunity to stay here. However, when the time comes, and he appears – well…I'm certain this could only go one way."

She is nearly glued to the door and would have continued to be if she didn't hear the footsteps getting louder towards her. With a start, she quickly unsticks herself and practically runs back to the bench a few feet away. She sat perch on the seat and willing her expression to be as neutral as possible. When the door to the study clicks open, she turns with mild surprise.

"Thank you, Sir Ansem," the director says, "for both your time and proposal."

Ansem the Wise closes his gold eyes in acknowledgment. When the director beckons her forward, she echoes her own thanks.

"Certainly, my child. I believe the director will have much to discuss with you tonight." He bends over, giving her a friendly wink. This time, he has a secret to give. "As for now, carry on your day as usual. I find that sea salt ice cream is the best way to cheer the spirits."

Pulling back, Sir Ansem ends their meeting with a perfunctory nod to the director. The two guards step out and are ordered to escort them out. As they made their way out the building and to the familiar fountain ahead, she can't help but trail a little closer to the director. She feels a pair of eyes on her, but when she looks back the doors to the castle had already closed. She walks briskly to match pace with the director, shaking away the feeling as they across the square.

At the edge of the plaza, the director brought her and himself an icy pop each from a newspaper stand. She had wanted sea salt ice cream instead, but it felt wrong to ask, so she didn't. All the while licking her popsicle, she wonders about the destiny set before her. The sudden mentioning of Keyblade wielders was a thing of legends. How could they be real? The moment it passed from Sir Ansem's mouth, it's like all things cease to be solid – as if a dream spell was cast on her. In her hazy state, she even fails to catch her name called from the director.

"Huh?"

"My dear, I said you are excused for the rest of the day. Lessons are nearly over, so there's no need to go." The director wrinkles his brow. "Now, are you sure you are quite alright?"

They're at the front of the orphanage; it is a long, brick building that shares its outer yard with the nearby school house. She had no idea they already reached home.

"Oh, um, yeah. I-I'm just…just-" She wants to say tired, but it was only the afternoon.

The boisterous sounds of younger children at play wonderfully masked her clumsy wording. At the same time, it gives the director an inkling of why she is so nervous. The other children will try to pry today's events from her, no doubt.

"Why don't you go upstairs and help the misses arrange the sheets? If you want to help with just your room that's fine but be sure to come down for dinner. After that, wash up and head over to the lounge – there is much to discuss."

And so, the rest of the day was spent just how the director instructed. She went about changing her bed sheets and the five other beds that shared the room. It was a tedious but quick chore, leaving her ample amount of time till dinner. She suspected that was the director's intention and was grateful for the moment of solitude. However, the peace was short lived, because although the children could not talk excessively at the dinner table, it didn't mean they couldn't look. Fifty pairs of eyes landed on her as she chewed and swallowed her potatoes and fish. It was some small comfort to go meet the director by the end of it, even though he repeated most of what she heard before.

"Which reminds me. Sir Ansem has told me personally that he will arrange for the Keyblade Master to come around sometime soon. We don't know when exactly, but I expect you to project…just a bit more. For the sake of impression."

"Yes sir," she mumbles.

His eyebrows rose.

"Yes sir," she repeats, clearing her throat.

He bids her goodnight. When she exits the room and rounds the corner, she notices to her dismay that the door for the upper year's bedroom is open just a crack. It's hard to catch with so little lamp light, but at the sound of her footsteps the door sways closed – just slowly enough not to creak or click as the knob turns back to place. They probably think she's a caretaker making the night rounds.

She hurries down the hall, with a mixture of thrill and apprehension of what awaits her come the following days.

The night shifts for guarding Ansem's castle are the worst. The drafts pick up considerably, leaving Braig chilled and irritable. Honestly, he had expected those monsters to show up more during the dark, but there isn't so much a speck of black now. Everything is too quiet. In between his squats, he looks at Aeleus, who is waiting to be replaced by the castle's third royal guard, Dilan.

"Y'know, I was thinking about what that old man said. That girl's parents were refugees." He springs up to a standing position. "Sometimes we get that – people who come 'cause their worlds are gone. But what makes an entire world vanish?"

Aeleus, who hardly strays from his neutral mask, looks almost appreciative of his partner's rarer moments of thoughtful inquiry.

"You're finally starting to ask the right question, newbie. It's exactly what Ansem and the rest of us wants to find out."

"Huh." The younger man scratches his chin. "And what's all this about a Key? Those warriors really exist fighting like some sorta hero?"

"They must be. Ansem wouldn't have said otherwise. To think that small girl will someday grow into a mighty Guardian of Light…"

Braig cranes his neck upward to the sky, studying the thousands upon thousands of stars glitter over him. Near just one of them, lives this mythical Master. The question remains—

"Where the heck is he coming from?"

Such pondering could only be answered by Ansem, who at the very same moment, is holding the mysterious palm-size item he had showed earlier. Through its surface it reveals a window to a place not found in Radiant Garden.

Some stars away there is a relatively tiny world, suitable for only a few inhabitants. As it is, it currently holds two. The night sky has signaled one of them to retire back into a castle, specifically to what was dub the treasure room.

Many trinkets adorn the room, some etched with ancient lettering, some metal tools which uses are long forgotten. Curious still is a dim glowing light emitting from an orb, flashing in intervals. Every time it blinks, a shadow is cast upon the man who is holding it. There was a gentle buzzing accompanying the glare, words from an acquaintance. Finally, it flickers off, and the man sets it down to survey the landscape outside his window, brighten by the stars shining above.

A young boy is standing on the grassy plain, swinging a wooden sword with precise and deliberate movements — a single protégé who will inherit the power of the Keyblade.

The man turns back to the orb at hand, now glassy and unresponsive. Still, the message has been relayed from the ruler of the fame "city of light." An incident occurred, one dealing with the formless shadows. The situation brought forth many things – the foreboding of darkness, accompanied by a spot of hope.

"Another budding light, it seems." The man rests his chin on his hand, absentmindedly stroking his beard. "This child, I wonder…exactly how brilliant is their light?"