Is a story a series of facts, or is it made in its embellishments?
A boy dreamed of being a hero, and was drawn into darkness for the promise of love.
That is the story, the facts- but it can be given detail, embellished with colour and characters- but when does the truth fall out and fact become legend? When the facts are smothered in superfluities, is any history still true?
A boy dreamed of being a hero, and was drawn into darkness for the promise of love.
Every myth, every fiction, has roots somewhere in the truth, for even the best author must root himself with what he knows. It is known that great fantasies stem from a dream a man might have- it is acceptable to embellish these things. But history, too , is fraught with needless add-ons and exaggerations. These things make what might be boring lively, more digestible… but when does the seed of fact sprout into fable?
A boy dreamed of being a hero, and was drawn into darkness for the promise of love.
That I promise you is the truth. After that, perhaps I am too kind- perhaps I am too cruel. History is written by the winner, and the loser too often has no voice left to speak with. No story is objective. But listen now, and pretend I'm telling you as I saw it then…
The boy's name was Aeleus, and though he studied science and magic with the others under Ansem, he dreamed of nothing more than being a hero. Perhaps he would never have a chance, or a cause, to wield his sword in battle; perhaps he would never be known by others in legend, but he was a boy, and boys do dream.
One other knew of his fantasy, a younger boy called Ienzo, and he fed it with tales and stories of his own design. He was cunning, this boy, but moreover, he was smitten with the clever and strong older boy. He did not name his characters for Aeleus, for he was more subtle than that, but he crafted the tales from the seeds of his friend's dreams.
Some boys might have been annoyed by the attentions of a younger student, especially one as clever and well regarded by their Master, but Aeleus was entertained by the stories and looked forward to seeing the other walking toward him in the evening, a small smile on his face, and hearing the words, "I have another one".
Boys grow older, and dreams have a way of passing from the foreground to the foggy backdrop of the mind. Aeleus never lost the drive to become a hero, but at some point- he may have been sixteen or seventeen- heroism became less about fighting monsters and saving princesses (or the occasional prince) and more about the next breakthrough in their studies.
Ienzo, a few years younger, seemed to rush to this change as well, drawn through it with is older friend because he could not stand to be left behind. In a way, Aeleus felt badly about this, for he had gotten a fair time for fantasy and childhood, and he did not want to be the reason anyone gave up that time. But he liked having the smaller boy near; sitting close to him as they studied this or inspected that, and sometimes there was a moment or two in a sleepless night when fantasy was still allowed, and Ienzo always had a story.
And one day, storytelling moved beyond the both of them, lost to their studies and to the havoc it produced.
He can remember the dark things, the creatures that burst forth into the lab; their sharp claws and biting teeth. He can remember the screams of his mates as they were hit or just frightened. "Where the fuck is Xehanort?" he remembers Dilan screaming, and he remembers Briag saying something about him being gone, the darkness, and "Look out, Hero!", and after that he doesn't remember anything at all except how bad he hurts.
He's lying in the rubble on his back, vision obscured by a fallen cloth that at first convinces him he's blind as well as mortally wounded, when he hears the voice.
Everything hurts and he can feel blood escaping him from half a dozen wounds all down his body, all of them serious, and yet when the voice comes, he relaxes. Because he knows this voice, and it means all will be well.
"Once upon a time," Ienzo says, and it doesn't matter that Ienzo should be dead, killed by those monsters, because this is surely the beginning of another masterful tale, "there was a prince who dreamt of become a great champion of his people."
The cloth is pulled away, and there in the dimness is Ienzo, lithe and small and perfectly healthy. He moves gracefully down into the rubble and sits near Aeleus, taking infinite care as he moves the older man's head to rest in his lap. Throughout the actions his words do not cease, and he speaks softly, soothingly, running long graceful fingers through Aeleus's hair.
"He was the sixth in a line of princes, and they all served their king nobly, setting aside their personal interest for the greater good of their Lord's plan. Even when a great threat loomed, they did not cower; the prince who would be a champion if but he could urged bravery, and from him the others took courage…."
Some part of him realizes that this creature is not Ienzo, but something colder wearing his friend's skin. This other came out of Ienzo like a poison stirred up from the dregs of the shadows, and this poison is full of words and stories and half-lies that coloured the truth a darker shade. Aeleus listens, because he'd always liked stories, and this man, wearing Ienzo's body, tells a good story.
"One day, there came a great Darkness upon the kingdom, and the King, too old and shortsighted, fell before it. It fell upon his son to take the reins of the kingdom; not to clear the Darkness but to harness it. And he called to his brothers, though at first they did not hear- he called to them for cunning, for ferocity, for insight, and… for courage. One by one the princes embraced the darkness that swallowed the kingdom, becoming much more than themselves in the loss of a few meaningless things. But the sixth prince lingered in the world of the light, torn between his dreams of heroics and world he knew.
"Alone in the light, he is left to choose. And it dawns on him that everything he loves- all his brothers, all their work- have gone from him now, and to stay leaves only agony. He realizes that the world left in the light is only burden. And he remembers that the people he loves have already moved on."
The fingers in his hair cease their combing, and Aeleus looks up at the man who is not his friend, waiting. Finally he asks the question that weighs heavily between them.
"What does he choose?"
And the smaller man smiles a thin smile, leaning closer down to hear Aeleus's harsh whisper. No answer is forth coming, and he's becoming tired. He feels more alone now than ever before in life, even with the familiar warmth of his friend so close.
"What awaits him in the dark?"
There is warmth, greater than he thought it could be, as soft lips are pressed to his own. This kiss is not chaste, but it is not lustful; it is nothing more or less than a promise, sidling hand in hand with the whispered word that is the last thing Aeleus hears in the world of light.
"Everything," Ienzo swears, and Aeleus makes his choice without needing to speak at all.
A boy dreamed of being a hero, and was drawn into darkness for the promise of love.
It is a simple enough fact, and told in detail it sounds fine enough. But is the story true? What makes a story fact is not the manner in which its told or even the source of of the words- it is the reception of its audience.
Consider this: In the darkness they each sacrificed their hearts, but not their memories. Aeleus, now Lexaeus , remembers every word shared between his wounded old self and Zexion, and though he cannot be hurt by the subtle trickery, he is disturbed by it.
Very badly he wants to love Zexion as Aeleus loved Ienzo, but more, he wants Zexion to love him in return. It is this that drives him to seek hearts, to try and find some way of regaining what was lost. Because a promise was made, and a hero sees promises through- those he makes, and those made unto him.
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A note: I'm a fan of Kingdom Hearts, but I'm not one of those so into it that I know every little secret and every little detail about the characters personal lives. I've liked the Nobodies, but I found the lack of backstory to their losses very disatisfying. This is the first in a group of short stories I'm doing that will dip into the lives of the Somebodies, and how they lost themselves.