Saïx dreamed.
An empty, desolate street, like every other in the Dark City. A man, shoulders squared, spitting out words without a meaning.
"You can't turn your back on the Organization!"
Flames danced in and out of his vision. A gleam of light appeared, vanished. The scene swam before his eyes…
"You get on their bad side and they'll destroy you!"
Another face. The boy. Was it? Blue eyes gleamed. Behind him, a blade. It was the boy…Roxas. A traitor? Impossible…
The man had paused, staring at the other's back as though burning holes in his jacket might change his mind. Signs blinked meaninglessly at no one in the distance. Roxas gave a short, derisive laugh.
"No one would miss me."
And the Key of Destiny vanished into oblivion, fading from the Diviner's sight.
The red-haired man shook his head. His lips moved, but no sound came as he slumped downward in hopeless defeat.
The flames flickered and died. Saïx rolled over in his bed, nearly waking, and suddenly found himself engulfed in them – burning, choking him, fighting to dominate. Axel's laughter rung through his ears. Agony, scorching agony, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, memories of terror filled him with vivid accuracy… but suddenly, the flames lessened, died away. There was a smell of ash. His eyes still tingled with sunspots as he opened them.
The Luna Diviner sat up, Axel's final words of defeat – or triumph – ringing through his head.
"That's not true," Saïx repeated aloud, in wonder. "I would."
For a few moments, he sat there on his bed, perfectly still, lips slightly ajar in his distant, haughty face. Then he shook himself, and the dream-trance left him. Standing, he allowed himself a feral grin.
"How very… interesting."
Running a hand through his tousled hair, Saïx pulled on pants, stepped into boots, dressing with seamless precision. It took only a few seconds. He walked to the door, pulling his cloak from its rack, slipping it over his head without missing a step. The zipper forced him to pause. There. All in order.
Out, into the hallway, which was silent and deserted.
Everyone else would be sleeping. Perfect.
No need for Xigbar's eavesdropping or Demyx's noisy disturbances at this hour.
It would be just the two of them.
Saïx crossed the hallway, his feet carefully silent against the bare floor, until he reached a door which bore the inscription, VIII. A low whine came from the door as he pushed it open. He squinted into the darkness, but no need – his quarry lay there, sprawled among the sheets, red hair in frightful disarray upon the pillow, tousled but somehow charming. Saïx closed the door with a snap, and the green eyes opened. The Diviner smiled.
"Axel," he said, his voice quiet, crisp. "We need to talk."