If DiZ is as all-powerful and knowing as he claims himself to be, then he's probably well aware of how often Riku enters the world where Roxas toils his limited days away and where the facsimiles of the town's residents reside in ignorance of their own creation. He hasn't been told to stop though, and half the time Riku emerges from the machine's portal to find DiZ seated in front of the glowing panels, reading lines of text and numbers that mean nothing to a boy from a fishing town built on a cluster of sandy islands. DiZ doesn't ask questions and Riku doesn't give any answers, in fact they speak very little except for when DiZ feels the need to brag, or Riku thinks up a question relevant enough to voice aloud. It's simply the nature of their temporary relationship, and Riku won't excuse his forays into that world with anything but the truth: his own curiosity and the desire to protect the one thing that has the power to bring Sora back.
Riku learned relatively quickly how to work the basic functions of the control panel to that strange world--though strange is a description that seems a bit unfair to apply here when he's been to places far more twisted and bizarre, from the belly of a giant whale to the deck of a pirate ship on a calm black sea, and seen sights more confusing than the golden buildings of a town caught in perpetual twilight. But the concept of a virtual reality, for that is what DiZ called it, is just as alien to him as the notion of flying between worlds was a year ago. To know that this world, this virtual world, exists not on a planet but inside a machine of twisted wires and metal boxes makes Riku more wary of causing damage than he might need to. He cannot help but touch the glowing panels each time in a manner of reverence and caution, well aware that this strange instrument holds the key to reviving his friend… no, his… no, the keyblade master, Sora.
He's been to see him, too, probably by far more times than he's entered the made-up world, and each time he finds himself taken aback by the changes wrought by a brief year on the face of the boy he once considered a friend. His closest friend. The hair is the same as always, though the brown color is clouded by the glass and the spikes given more buoyancy within the egg-shaped globe. It still covers small, elfin-like ears on a face punctuated by a nose that could be described as impish, and lips that are thin but naturally inclined to pout. But the cheeks have lost their cherubic softness of a year ago, and Riku can trace where Sora's chin has managed to stretch cheek and jawbones, thinning from the face of a boy into the face of a young man. It's easy to see other changes too, the badly fitting clothes and the gangly limbs that were always scrawny, but now look positively twigish floating there in a clear mass of who-knows-what. The striking changes are a constant reminder of the yawning gap between them, more than just time, but destinies and loyalties and the faces they wear, but Riku doesn't regret being denied the chance to watch Sora grow up slowly and in a way that's harder to notice. He's here now, and that's what matters.
Some days its easy to lose himself in that white room, looking up at a face relaxed in sleep and thinking on how lucky, how deserved Sora is to have this respite, and times like that Riku gains back a sense of purpose; to protect this person and the tasks they must undertake, most especially when they're at their weakest and vulnerable to the wickedness of the universe. His visits usually last for awhile when those thoughts come to mind, and Riku draws strength from the resolve that builds within him to see this experiment through, to be there every step of the way until Sora is whole again. But on the rare occasion it's a bitter anger that falls over him as he peers up at the sleeping boy, wallowing in memories of past wounds and a hate for the destiny that's brought them to this point, he no more than a boy wrapped in a shell and playing with powers beyond his understanding, and Sora nothing less than a golden hero that doesn't need Riku by his side. Doesn't want Riku there. Not when he's wearing this face, not when he's responsible for putting him there, and those times the visits are very short indeed.
There was one time, and one time only, on the last day he wore the face of the boy he'd been since birth, when he wept at the base of the glass chamber. He did not return to the mansion for a week after that, and when he did he brought another keyblade bearer back with him. He never cried in front of Sora again.
When he thinks back, it still surprises him that Roxas came to them of his own free will. It took some sacrifices to even make that possible, but they were things Riku was willing to give up in order to give a whole existence to someone who deserved it more than he. He could remember his encounters with Roxas quite vividly, down to the first time they exchanged blows on a rain soaked street, surrounded by black towers of lights and metal, structures that Riku had never seen before in his life. He'd walked into that fight unawares and unprepared, only told that this Roxas was the key to restoring Sora, and that he was to be brought along whether he agreed to it or not. Riku had not been expecting to have a keyblade pulled on him, let alone two, or to have to retreat into the darkness when he realized he was outmatched and outskilled. Talking to Roxas had been out of the question then, and they'd only dissolved into blows being exchanged anyway, so he'd considered his options and chosen the only one available to him that would guarantee success. He'd embraced the darkness, again.
It should have worried him that it was easier the second time around, accepting the power of Ansem's heartless willingly, but in this case the ends had justified the means, even if it meant selling his soul to darkness, or the devil, take your pick. Riku'd had time to think too before he returned to face Roxas once more, enough time to ponder the implications of the keyblades in Roxas' possession and what this might mean in regard to his relationship with Sora. There was a connection there, one he didn't fully understand until he confronted DiZ on the matter, and that had led to several changes that, Riku liked to believe, were for the better. He'd met Roxas a second time, clashed swords and won fair, but it had only been a path to speak to the blonde boy with eyes like blue sapphires and a mouth that Riku had grown up knowing for nearly all his life. Roxas didn't know the identity of his victor, and Riku didn't enlighten him either, but he did bargain for the chance to speak to the Nobody once he'd proven his superior strength, and to his relief Roxas had agreed.
So they'd talked. Riku can't remember all the words, but Roxas' curiosity, his deeper need for some kind of identity worked right into Riku's hopes of bringing the boy in with him willingly. Because for all of DiZ's warnings and clear dislike of the Nobodies, Riku couldn't help but see a different face when he looked at Roxas, and gaining the boy's trust had been a feat that, at least a little, wiped away some of the guilt staining his heart. This boy, Nobody or not, was still Sora's Nobody, which in Riku's eyes placed him much higher in the hierarchy of importance than DiZ wanted to give him. So Riku had asked his questions carefully and Roxas had listened, and in the end they'd parted ways with only a promise that Riku knew a way to settle the rampant thoughts in Roxas' head, the ones that questioned his existence and yearned for the name he'd lost. It was a lot easier than Riku had been expecting, or perhaps his fervor to restore Sora, to gain Roxas' trust and cooperation had been the compelling force to sway the Nobody's mind. Or maybe he'd simply been waiting for this opportunity all along. Riku was just glad he didn't have to drag Roxas back by force. To hurt Roxas now was too close to hurting Sora for his peace of mind, or the integrity of his heart.
DiZ didn't ask questions when Riku took it upon himself to frequently guard over the Nobody inside the machine, and Riku had a feeling that as long as he didn't interfere and kept up the pretense of being in awe of DiZ's abilities he could mostly do as he pleased. And that amounted to a lot of watching. He was curious about this Nobody, this boy DiZ claimed to only be a shell of his friend, a cast-off when Sora had briefly become a heartless in the bowels of Hollow Bastion. He wasn't Sora, that much was clear, but there were moments, a pulling of lips, a gleam in his eyes that had the power to stop Riku dead in his tracks and flood him with memories of a life he'd tried to leave behind. But he never hated Roxas for that, only desired to protect him more fiercely for the chance to bring that familiar turn of chin back to the boy who'd lost it in the first place, and so he'd remained in the shadows, sworn to watch this boy for eternity if need be to bring Sora back whole.
The days are mounting and DiZ is certain the end is near at hand, though when exactly is uncertain, and Riku would rather leave those probabilities and numbers to someone who understands them better than he. He knows that when this is over he'll only have fulfilled half of his promise, an oath sworn to himself to walk the middle road and be the unseen strength behind the keyblade master. Mickey has overseen to the swearing of his loyalty to that end, but both of them know it's an unnecessary formality, well aware that Riku has pledged more than his sword to Sora, more than perhaps he wants to admit aloud, but knows that it will carry him on when hope seems bleak and the light grows dim. There's only so much that can be done from the shadows, only so much that Riku can give to Sora without revealing himself and hidden truths, so it will have to be enough for now. Heads filled with foolish dreams rarely know best, and Riku takes those words to heart each time he sees his reflection in the glass that encases the keeper of his heart, walls that surround his reason for living and his reason for laying down his life, whenever that may come. It's all he has left to give--all he can bear to part with--and it will have to be enough.