Five years ago, on the last Saturday of summer, Roxas remembered his father's death. It wasn't a normal passing, or he wouldn't remember the day in such vivid detail. The sun was beautiful, and his father had gone out fighting with his men to wipe out a small group of The Keys down by the coast. He said he'd be back in time for breakfast on Sunday. Roxas thought nothing could go wrong, and the sky was so bright and blue like his father's eyes. His mother had said he'd be back even earlier, and to watch for him as the sun set. So Roxas did. He played with the older kids, Larxene and Vexen, until it started getting late, and they all said farewell below the clock tower. Roxas climbed up, and up, until he saw the road from the beach. He plopped down there and took out his little binoculars to see further.
As he watched, a slow procession worked its way from the beach, carrying a couple large medical carriers. The sun set beautifully above the town, and Roxas could hear the bells ring from across the town, His father didn't survive the fight. Even as a child, Roxas understood the bells, even if he hated them. The sun had set a beautiful red, with orange and creams mixing to create a picture of peace on the clouds. Roxas could never watch the beautiful sunsets without being reminded of his father anymore, and he could accept that.
The memory stayed with him for the next three years, before his mother passed away. The whole kingdom was mortified. Roxas, the sole survivor of the royal bloodline was all alone in the world. Roxas remembered crying, and remembered the way the sky didn't cry for his mother just like it didn't for his father. He could remember the arrows and the fire. He remembered the face of a man with white hair and sunken yellow eyes. He could remember seeing his own face stare back at him in the mirror, and the cold sense of dread that went down his spine. He wasn't the little boy who watched sunsets anymore, oh no. He was the boy who watched his world burn, and had his family ripped from him. But above all else, Roxas remembered the way the word went on, and didn't stop to cry like it did for all the others he knew.
Roxas could never forget those days, even as he sat five years after his father's daeth, and two after his mother's, in front of their graves. He remembered each day he spent training, and nobody told him his flaws, only congratulated him. Nobody told him his stance was off or weak, and nobody tried telling him it was all going to be okay. Roxas grew up hating the world, and celebrated his own birthday alone, without candles or cake, and mourned his parents alone, because the world kept going onward.
The little prince had a young and short reign over the place that had gone past him. The advisers that were supposed to assist him started calling all the shots, and before long, Roxas understood what was happening around him. He was just a figurehead for Marluxia, his Father's most trusted adviser before his death. Roxas tried to fight it, but it was always dismissed as tantrums or brushed off as stress. No one would listen to the perfect prince in his castle of glass walls and shattered hopes. Why would they? Roxas had the world move right by him, and he knew that as he was sent to the dungeon. He remembered why he had no say. He remembered the twisted words of Marluxia, and the twisted thoughts of all of the castle.
And as Roxas sat in his cell for the second month, and remembered his mother's death was that day, he cried. He cried at the injustice of the world, and of the heartlessness of the royal battles above him. For him, life was remembering all the things he couldn't have, and the things he should have had. He was just a key to be turned in a lock by anyone who could get a hold of him.
Whoo! Intro done! If any one who read this could help me on my first fic, please do!