Prologue

The Keyblade Master stared over the rail. Beneath the bridge, the river ran a rich blue, streaked with the fire of the setting sun. It was slow; gentle, yet unstoppable.

There was the sound of footsteps on the gravel path. The Keyblade Master turned. A figure was approaching the bridge from the east. His bronzed armour glowed in the evening light. His cloak was thrown back from his shoulders and he carried a helmet under one arm.

"So," said the Keyblade Master, turning back to the river "it has come to this."

"It need not" said the bronze figure, his expression hopeful.

"But it will" said the Keyblade Master with a sigh "There is no return from here"

"If you would only surrender it…"

"How can I surrender it?!" demanded the Keyblade Master, swinging round to face the bronze figure "It chose me! I am the Master. It is my destiny…"

"Your destiny is what you make it" the bronzed figure replied, a real note of pleading in his voice now "You can give it up, freely. Let this end."

"No. It is decided"

The bronzed figure turned to look back up the path. A woman was approaching, clad in purple armour. Her cloak was also thrust back from her shoulders, but she wore her helmet, with the visor down.

"It may yet be avoided…"

"You know what he did" said the woman grimly "You know the chaos he wrought…"

"Against the darkness!" the Keyblade Master broke in "I did it for the greater good. There was no other way. You must understand."

"There is always another way" the bronzed figure said sadly.

"Have you said your piece?" asked a fourth voice. A man in silver armour had appeared, approaching from the east to stand on the bronze man's left. He wore his cloak and helmet like the woman.

The Keyblade Master stepped sideways into the middle of the bridge. Extending his right arm out to the side, he summoned his Keyblade: silver with a golden guard.

"I will not surrender it" he said grimly, bringing the Keyblade forward to guard position.

"Very well" said the bronze figure. With a sigh, he placed his helmet on his head. He let his arms hang loose at his side for a moment. In his hand there appeared a large Keyblade made of bronze.

With a sudden burst of speed, he leapt across the bridge. Wielding his Keyblade in both hands he went straight for the Master. The Master blocked the first stroke. He hurled the bronze figure back, striking at head and chest. The bronze figure deflected the attack and countered, slashing at the stomach and legs. Catching his opponent's Keyblade in the teeth of his own, the Master wrenched the bronze figure's arms up, exposing his body. The teeth of the Master's blade raised sparks as they screeched across the bronze breastplate. A second blow, this time to the head, sent the bronze figure crashing to the floor.

Now the woman stepped forward, wielding a golden Keyblade with silver guard in one hand. Her strokes were fast and precise. The Master stepped back, blocking each one as it came. Lights flashed and shimmered down the Keyblades as they clashed, lighting up the evening shadows on the bridge. Standing his ground, the Master lunged at the woman. She blocked, but her riposte went wide. The Master's arm sprang back, dealing her a powerful blow to the gut. The stroke felled her but her armour, although rent open, saved her life.

The silver figure closed with the Master, his Keyblade resembling the wing of some enormous bat. He kept the Master at a distance, attacking little, as his companions regained their feet. A look of concern passed over the Master's face as his three opponents closed in together. The Master moved with an inhuman speed: slashing, ducking and blocking again and again, but unable to land a decisive blow. The teeth of the silver Keyblade sparked off armour plating, but cut no deeper. The Master's three opponents began to work together, forcing him back along the bridge.

It was over in a matter of moments. The Master, approaching the western path, made to turn. A halo of light began to play around him as he rose up into the air. As one, the armoured figures raised their Keyblades. Three thin lances of light struck the Keyblade Master. There was a flash of light and a roar like a mighty wind. The armoured figures were hurled from their feet.

"It is done then"

The armoured figures, struggling to stand, turned to look. An old man, robed in rich blue and wearing a pointed hat, stood at the eastern end of the bridge.

"Master Yen Sid…" said the bronze figure reverentially. The three figures knelt as the wizard crossed the bridge.

"You have done well" he said solemnly as he passed them. Turning, they saw him bend down. The Master's Keyblade was lying on the path, right where he had disappeared.

"This Keyblade has decided" Yen Sid said, raising it up to examine it in the dull orange light of evening.

"Is… he dead, Master?" asked the bronze figure tentatively. Yen Sid considered the question for a moment.

"No. I do not think we have heard the last of that particular Master. A new phase in the Keyblade War is about to begin. I will take this Keyblade. My apprentice shall protect it until its next Chosen Wielder is revealed. Whoever they may be."


The former Keyblade Master awoke. He was lying on his back. His vision was blurry but he could just make out the vaulted ceiling above him. He felt warm; he was lying on something soft. He tried to raise himself up to look around. Pain shot through his body and he collapsed back with a gasp. Even the slightest movement was agony.

"My lord, my lord! He's awake!"

It was a woman's voice, calling from somewhere to the former Master's right. Now he could hear footsteps approaching; loud and crisp on a stone floor.

A face appeared above him. It was a man's, middle aged, with a strong, kind face and the most extraordinary eyes: bright orange and keen as razors. Their fire seemed to draw the colour out of his face, even from his gold-blonde hair and beard.

"Good morning," the man said. His voice was rich and very deep.

"H-hello" said the former Master, his throat strangely sore.

"I am Ansem. What is your name?"

The former Master stared. He could not remember. Why? What was his name? When did he go to sleep? Had he ever been awake?

"You… cannot remember?" asked Ansem. The former Master shook his head.

"Do you remember how you came to be in the forest?"

"Forest? What forest?"

"Not five miles from the town. On the trail down to the plain?"

The former Keyblade Master shook his head again. His mind was blank. Searching his memory was liked passing into the deepest night: nothing could be seen.

"Do you remember anything?" asked Ansem. He was staring thoughtfully at the former Master now, his chin cupped in his hand.

"You appear to be suffering from acute amnesia" he said at length "But I cannot tell why"

"You… found me?" asked the former Master.

"Yes. You were near death. For a long time, I feared for your life. You have remarkable strength, Mr. X"

The former Master frowned.

"Sorry," said Ansem, smiling "We have been calling you Patient X."

"You do not know who I am?"

"No. I have made inquiries but as yet no-one seems to know you. You are quite the enigma, Mr. X"

The former Master lay back, staring into middle distance.

"What am I to do?" he asked, after a moment's silence.

"I will help you, to the best of my abilities" Ansem said. The former Master was impressed by the sincerity in his voice.

"Can you recover my memories?" the former Master asked.

"Maybe" said Ansem "But it may take time."

"I can wait"

"But not until you are fully healed" said Ansem with another smile "We must find a name for you. 'X' is a name for a lab experiment, not a man."

"How can you call me anything different?" the former Master wondered "I am just another man, like any other. How can I have a name if I do not know who I am?"

Ansem stood for a moment, running his fingers through his beard.

"Hmm," he said "Yes… If you are just 'another', let that be your name. May I suggest… Theanor? An anagram, if you will?"

The former Master considered it.

"No. I like it, but I like 'X' too. It is… distinctive."

"Well then, let me see…" Ansem relaxed into thought again:

"I know. Your name shall be… Xehanort".