Warning: As said in the summary, Demyx isn't your happy-go-lucky wimp. 'Despair and life' is based on the two sides of Demyx: himself and the voice that will be named in this chapter. Why he has an inner voice will be revealed later.
I. Breaking the Tradition
I never liked the number nine. It was awkward to write, and just sounded bizarre. Nine. So how I ended up with that number in the Organisation, it was like fate. In a way that made your heart sink. Although I didn't have one – a Nobody doesn't have something as simple as that. That was what one of them told me anyway. That everything I was feeling was simply a fragment of what I remember.
I let my feet dangle over the roof of some house, banging my heels against its wall. Everywhere I looked was yellow and pasty, sick to the bone and unwell. Why my mission was to do recon on this place was simple – I could camp out here for days and I wouldn't flinch.
Which left me alone with him.
It was four days, whilst we were spying on the marketplace below.
We have three days. You do remember that people back there will give you a name?
I was aware of that. I had been assigned as Demyx before leaving on this mission, but it had been finalised that the others would decide on my title. I only remember one being called the Freeshooter, and someone with red hair was called something I couldn't possibly repeat.
Flurry of Dancing Flames.
That.
There's also Luna Diviner, Whirlwind Lancer, Cloaked Schemer.
Are you saying two worded titles are more popular? That that's what I'm expecting?
I'm not saying anything. I'm just recalling what they are.
I looked away from a particularly portly man at the fish stand, letting my eyes lift towards the nice doors further down the road. Double doors as large as the houses themselves, extravagant in every angle. I couldn't fathom what was beyond.
It's quite an eyesore, isn't it?
I exhaled sharply. How?
Everything else is in a bad shape. Having that in such a barren landscape is practically saying, "Take that, suckers." Bet the people down there feel the same way – they're living on scraps.
'Scraps' is harsh.
Then where did that fish come from? Look around.
I did, I really did. But it was hard to look past the wall that surrounded the city.
The city's built on a desert. I'd be damned if there's water with fish enough to fill up that stand every day.
This recon was hurting my head. It was him doing it all, but it affected me just the same.
If it makes you feel better, shall we break the tradition?
Huh?
Instead of them giving us a title, let's give it to ourselves.
I don't think they'll be happy if I return home and refuse the effort they put into finding a suitable title.
Let's just say that's a punishment for not naming me whilst they were there. And it's not like they know you well enough to give you a decent name. There's a limit to how seriously water can be thought of.
I let a smile creep onto my face. Have you got something else in mind?
Of course. Your weapon's a sitar – from my knowledge, the others don't have an inkling of understanding of music. Fire the word Arpeggio or something, and they probably won't know what it means.
Everyone knows that.
Not them. They're scientists, I'm telling you. A genre might be better – minuet, dirge, waltz, tango, nocturne, ballad. Take your pick.
You choose.
Nocturne. And make it Melodious Nocturne, I'm a fan of oxymorons.
What's that?
Contradicting words. Although melodious is rather mild, since there are still nocturnes with melody.
That was the first complete title you said, so I'll take it. I've thought of your one too.
Hit me.
Valiant Stratus.
Did you take that idea from Silent Hero?
I forgot about that one. Actually, it was because stratus is a type of cloud. You're only hovering in my head, but you have helped me so much ever since…then. I could hear voices since I was born. That was normal. But when I lost my heart, only one remained. I'm glad that I can finally hear you.
In a way, you turning into a Nobody has brought us together.
That's true. As for your name, shorten it down.
Valitus.