His early memories are bedtime stories, whispered to him in the eternal dusk that substituted for nighttime.
His father is gentle, perhaps too naïve in his kindness when he tells the young boy of the beginning of the world, how it was bathed in almost never ending light, where night never fell and days passed from dawn to dusk with sunlight in between. Father tousles his swan white hair and has endless laughter to spare for his son.
And on the other hand, Mother is stern, yet well-meaning in her firm proverbs and fables. Always looking to impart wisdom through the morals of stories and harsh lessons. She is hard, unlike his father, only wishing the best for her son.
He is young when they hold him for one final story, cradled in between his father's staff, surging with mana, and his mother's blade, humming with strength.
Mother begins, regaling him with the story of a heart-shaped moon that hung above, alongside the stars that he can barely see in the twilight.
And Father tells him of a sword, a different weapon than the keys he was used to seeing around town. "It's the key to every heart, and can unlock a great power that we must protect, your mother and I and very many other warriors in this world."
Solemnly, Mother holds her Keyblade by the teeth, presenting the handle to her son. "Should I fall, should you choose to carry on my mantle, grasp this ancient blade and I shall bequeath my power to you as my successor, as my Father did unto me."
The boy swallows and reaches out to hold it. As soon as his small fist closes around the monochrome weapon, he shudders as some old, unknown force rushes through him. When he lets go, he almost falls, steadied only by Father's strong arms.
Mother and Father leave him under the care of a Master, alongside another boy from another family whose parents had also left to fight, somewhere far away from the pure heaven they lived in.
He meets a black haired boy, who seems to counter him in every way. Always debating his queries or arguments, always asking to play a game.
So he relents, sitting heavily at a windowsill in a room bathed in golden sunlight, with silk curtains to frame the board.
"The rules say it's dark versus light. Thirteen on Seven."
He takes his time deciding, remembering Mother's tales. The realm of light was indeed sacred and safe, yet every light cast a shadow, or every shadow giving way to light.
"Father and I fight to ensure balance, not extinction." Her words echo in his ears.
He gazes at the board, two kings in his friend's hands. Ivory with a silver crown and ebony with golden horns. They're equals, right? Mother and Father had told him, so...wouldn't more numbers be objectively a better choice? More pieces to work with, more options.
Xehanort shrugs flippantly as he grabs the black and gold piece, unknowingly watching Eraqus set up the elaborate game for the first of many times.
hiya, author here. i wanted to write a story kinda similar to my poke-fic "Hero" (check it out?) where vignette my way through the story i want to tell. this time, i wanted to write what i thought scala ad caelum was intended to be in-game, a world that'd tell us about xehanort/his past instead of being a boss arena but anyways…i probably disregarded a TON of canon, but i like the idea of xehanort being brought up to interpret dark/light as equals, hence why he wouldnt shy away from choosing darkness in the board game or whatever.