The night was dark and with only the moon to guide his path, Xehanort was rather lost amongst the thick brush of the jungle trees. Vines draped from the mellow orange trees and a pastel green surrounded him. He needed a signal.

Which was when he saw the white flare shoot up into the sky like a rocket, it exploded with the sound of a stick of dynamite. It released a hot orange and red flame into the air, attracting his attention. In perfect synchronization, an ear bellowing sizzle and bang shot out too, there was no doubt that this was the flare that he dreaded to see.

It meant that the troops on the dried river had been spotted, it meant that the ones who feared death the most were about to face their doom but most of all, it meant that the war had started. It was obvious that the Gladiators weren't going to let the American army onto their land with major bloodshed. Xehanort rushed from his safe shelter of the trees, that so many had coveted, in a blazing rage of courage.

Many years later…

Xehanort rolled through the dirt, his electric wheelchair guiding him with perfect stability while he dodged the many gravestones. The once luscious trees were nothing but mere ash now and the river only seemed dryer. Even the tropical sky didn't look as crisp as it used too. This was the effect of war.

Xehanort knew his way through the graveyard exceptionally, seeming as he visited it many times. He memorized that the tombs he was looking for was at the end of the grey stones. He also knew too well who were buried underneath them. With a few clicks on his chair, he turned, and was facing the two stones. The names "Xemnas" and "Ansem" were still carved into them, as fresh as their day of death.

Xehanort positioned himself as straight as he could, his amber eyes glared down on the memorable graves. He gripped his arm rests and crinkled his toes, to the best of his ability. He moved his burnt tongue around his mouth before speaking.

"So boys…" His old voice croaked, before finishing. He knew that all that was left to say was the truth, and he hated the truth.

"Think back, kiddos, to the days when we were still in our old house, the one with the rose bush that got into the water system, you guys remember right?" An eerie silence followed.

"Well, if you remember, we used to make forts in the back yard, it was a unique game where we had to protect small mountains of scrunched up paper, we'd have to steal each other's, remember?"

A single tear rolled down his face, landing in the dust.

"I used to… I used to get Mum's lighter, and we'd burn the paper afterwards. And we'd all laugh, because we knew that the enemy couldn't get our secrets. We had a big imagination back then, ey?"

He lost his strict posture and his threating glare eased a bit.

"When that flare went up, the first thing I thought of was the old days when we built these paper mountains, and sat and watched them burn. I tried to save you, I really did!"

Suddenly, the thing that Xehanort was missing for 30 years had clicked back to life, a burning passion reignited. His eyes watered as he felt his legs grow cold in a wonderfully chilled sensation. Things were moving; his wanting to walk grew and grew until he could bear no more.

He pushed with all of his arm muscles to get himself off of the chair, only to be forced back onto the dirty ground. He stretched his arms forward and began to crawl forwards. This was it, the very beginnings of learning to walk. Start in the dirt and grime that the world gives you and use it. Each movement brought him closer to the next level up the ladder of learning.

He had waited in that spot for far too long, that flare dignified that the war began, so what good memories were there to keep? None! He waited for hope, hope that the flare would have never been fired, hope that his younger brothers were still alive, hope that he could say "Goodbye" or "I love you" one last time. But hope got him nowhere.

But now, for the very first time, he let the truth fly, he was no longer weighed down by what was on his heart. He could crawl, hobble, walk, run or sprint, he was free. He was alive at this moment and the next one and the next one. He was alive, free and determined. Life was no longer a game of survival, his state of mind had swapped into enjoyment and beauty. He pulled himself to his knees as he realized his greatest feat yet.

He never wanted to die. He wanted to run for the rest of his life, over mountains and through valleys, he had to live! All those times he was left crying at his sink, thinking of joining his brothers in whatever laid on the other side, were nothing more than dark thought created by dark feelings. 53 years young, he wasn't going to die.

He wanted outlast everything, he wanted to show the world that he was breathing, that he was a living being, not a depressed man, not dead rag, a human! He would last the days when they thought he was dead, he wanted to dance on his grave or go running through the thickest blaze of searing fires. Whatever he did, he would always breathe, they'd need an army to take him out, if the odd weren't against them!

He made a strong effort to get to his legs and begin hobbling forwards, the final step was to run, run far away, run so death couldn't get him, run to where he could find Ansem and Xemnas, run from where the war began. It was time to live, time to breathe, but most importantly, time to run.

His wheelchair was left idle by the gravestones.

New story, was going to be apart of a Song Challenge, but I decided to do it separately because reasons. Please review!

DiH