It was such a simple matter to manipulate a heart. A few careful words could incinerate it, freeze it, enliven it; even destroy it. Anything could be done with just a few syllables.
Had he a heart of his own, Xaldin might have smiled.
Heartless and Nobodies: the former born of dark hearts and the latter heartless in truth; both were scarcely less malleable than Somebodies. The only change was in the tools applied.
Even those barely differed in the case of some Nobodies. For all that they had no hearts, they were changeable and useable as the very things they sought.
Such a curious phrase. Had he been prone to dramatic gestures, Xaldin could have touched his wrist and felt warmth, a solidity, a pulse. His blood still flowed; his heart still beat. He doubted, however, that was the organ referenced. What exactly was this intangible idea, this concept of emotion and virtue named a heart? What did it mean? The supposed repository of all anger, fear, happiness and hope could hardly be touched or studied.
But Xemnas had done both, and these were the results.
So Nobodies lacked, if one carried over the idea, rage, love, horror, and delight. But Xaldin had explored the reaches of his new form and found it not entirely so. Not every quality defined as emotion was bound to the heart, it seemed. He found within himself the ability to disdain, to be loyal, to pursue goals. However, the part concerning love and hate, at least, was correct.
Yet it appeared that the abandoned mind retained memories enough to create the illusion of a heart. Elusive fragments – a heart's remnant, he called them – skittered through an incautious Nobody, as evinced by several members of the Organization.
With that remnant, a Nobody could convince himself that he truly did have a heart. Some merely facilitated emotions, of course; the things had their uses. Others still believed, in spite of all evidence to the contrary. One had only to consider the ill-fated Roxas. Still others, incensed by memories, leftover desires, whatever, were convinced that they were incomplete, that a heart would restore them, that it was all they needed to be… Somebody.
Xaldin had no use for either. He felt no need to facilitate a heart, nor any real desire to regain one. He functioned excellently without it, though he had not so fully crushed his heart's remnant as some had. His interest lay more in observation and manipulation.
Hearts were, after all, so very moldable.
Why, then, did he strive to regain his own? Perhaps more remained than he had believed. There was a sense of incompletion, of being empty and unfinished, a vessel only. Whether a heart would remedy the sense, he did not know. It was of minimal consequence, anyway. What mattered was that he had a job to do. He was one of those not greatly inconvenienced by the loss of his heart. Given a choice between his current existence and his former…
Xigbar had been forced to retreat in the Land of Dragons. It was only a matter of time before the wielder of the Keyblade turned his attention to the Beast's Castle once again.
Xaldin stood up, brushing away futile speculation. It was time for the Beast to make his own choice.