The worst part about not having a heart, Even quickly realized, was that you still had the problem of trying to figure out the nature of one. The worst part about being reborn was having to discover all kinds of new limitations. None of them had ever imagined such a fate in any of their calculations, and the city was empty of answers, abandoned by all forms of life save the occasional Heartless wriggling by.

Lacking any other inspiration, Even began there.

The Heartless were hearts, but they still hungered for those of others. If that theory was correct, then the six researchers should either have experienced no cravings whatsoever, or been driven to consume the bodies of normal humans. But Dilan and Braig only reported a lingering ache in their chests - one which was easily forgotten over the course of a day. Even himself felt a strange urge in his bones whenever he was distracted; he compared it to scientific restlessness.

Elaeus called it indigestion.

Ienzo did not seem to notice anything amiss. If anything, the youngest researcher was too busy being enthralled by the puzzles around them to bother examining himself. He had always been one of the most lustful about their craft, rivaling Xehanort's own drive for knowledge; his emotions had often run strong, but not foolish, an impulse which many of them swore would get him into trouble someday.

That passion seemed under tighter control now, manifesting on command, and just as easily dismissed. The change was like watching fire and ice. Both burned to the touch, but only one consumed.

Xehanort didn't seem to care about the difference in their conditions. In fact, he was so aggressive with the claim that he earned a neat entry titled Denial in the mental list that Even was starting to compile. Logic implied that the transformation should have left them as mindless shells, but all six displayed trace amounts of emotion, and Even wasn't sure how much of it stemmed from reflex, and how much was from an inability to feel.

Instinct, he marked down next. Without hearts, we must be operating on instinct alone. Like unintelligent animals. But animals don't have minds like ours, which means -

"Even!" Elaeus's bellow shattered his musings. His thoughts melted like butterflies taking wing. "I need some help!"

"Is it important?"

"Only if you don't want to swim to breakfast!"

The city was in a permanent state of flooding. Gutters merged into cobblestone rivers. Humidity softened the air, but gave Ienzo the start of a cough that moved into his lungs and turned them wet too.

Armed with their raincoats, Braig and Dilan were having better results on their scavenging missions. They explored the concrete maze and brought back roughly sketched maps on the backs of paper bags, scrawled coordinates for the others to assemble. Even counted down the nameless streets and arranged them into combinations of order. Ienzo, with his endless need for complexity, imagined threats for them to defend against; he was finally reined in by Elaeus's more steadfast temperament when the larger man fanned out the papers with a frown before pointing out that Ienzo had been reading them upside-down.

They were all calmer than expected. It might have been trauma, exhaustion or confusion settling in, or perhaps lacking hearts did something to their ability to develop any reactions to their current dilemma. Xehanort was the most relaxed of them all. He showed no signs of blaming anyone for the situation they had landed in, as if their arrival was enough punishment for past conspiracies.

But Even found his eyes tracking the man every time Xehanort walked past. Ienzo, Braig, Elaeus - even Dilan watched the sixth member of their group, cautious as they had never been before. Xehanort had always demonstrated a strange knack for power, one beyond his conscious control. It would not be impossible for the pale-haired man to conjure answers out of thin air, only to have them go wild; new monsters for a new world, turning what little security they had found into yet another trap.

Even wasn't sure how much of his nervousness was unreasonable, and how much was mere practicality.

Dilan eventually took out all the glass in the broken windowpane by the front door, blocking the gap with boards from the wooden crates. At first they decided to simply leave someone near the entrance at all hours to let people back in, but then Xehanort got locked out without his umbrella while Ienzo was sleeping on duty, and no amount of yelling had rescued him from the rain.

Afterwards, Dilan pulled down the wooden slats with a sigh and spent several hours constructing a crude panel that could be slid open from the outside. He glared at the youngest researcher with each fresh nail, but Ienzo had already fallen back asleep.

As their shelter grew, the game changed. Temporary amusement ebbed, leaving behind the focused planning that had been instilled in them since their youth. Ansem the Wise had ordered numerous strategy games as part of their education. He had incorporated the study of defense tactics and resource management; every summer, all six of his apprentices were dumped out into the woods to combat illusionary foes, with little more than a few rations and each other to rely on.

But how will war find us here, Ienzo had laughed back then. Radiant Garden has been peaceful for generations. Even the soldiers only practice for sport.

You must be wary, the King had glowered. Part of watching over a nation also means staying on the lookout for many forms of danger. I expect a ten-page essay on the dangers of a single water supply by the end of the day tomorrow.

At the time, five of the students had sighed. Of those, three had snuck out early to go raid the kitchens, leaving Even and Elaeus to take notes for the whole group. Only Xehanort had absorbed the King's lecture with any form of enthusiasm, just as he had thirsted after all of Ansem's words in those days. Wide-eyed, back straight - he had listened and asked questions after the lesson was over, trying to devour every snippet of information with the appetite of a starving man.

He's brilliant, Xehanort had defended over lunch that afternoon while they grumbled and cribbed each other's homework answers. He's an amazing king. An incredible man -

Your hero worship is showing again, Xehanort, Braig had snickered around a mouthful of sandwich. Gonna bring him flowers next?

Xehanort had flushed and fallen silent.


By the time Even was done mapping out the warehouse's main floor, Braig and Dilan had moved on to plunder a second neighborhood. The circle of light around the warehouse grew steadily wider; both men had become experts in breaking-and-entering for the purpose of flipping on electrical switches. All the bulbs were in good condition, Dilan reported. Like the rest of the city, everything had arrived new.

Even eventually turned over the responsibility of mapping the city to Ienzo, choosing instead to focus on the structure that had become their home. The warehouse was composed of two main floors, sectioned off by half-partition barriers. Several smaller storage chambers were accessible from the middle wall which separated the two sides; frustratingly enough, only half of them had doors which could be accessed from the left floor, while the rest were all pointed towards the right.

They washed in the endless rain for their showers, picking cold food out of cans with foreign labels. Braig and Dilan spent days ferrying back armfuls of clothing; the garments were sorted methodically by Elaeus, who retained his knack for estimating physical measurements. Some of the clothes were too small even for Ienzo, while others hung loose on both Dilan and Elaeus both. These leftovers were shunted to scrap piles that could be used for anything from rags to blankets. Gradually, the warehouse began to resemble the inside of a traveling festival, random colors and patterns thrown haphazardly together with little care for appearances. Ienzo acquired a puffy yellow jacket which came down to his knees, and made him resemble a pineapple with grey leaves on top. Even was pleased with his new pair of boots; they replaced his old shoes from the Bastion that had never managed to dry out fully since their soaking.

At first all they had to sleep on were the storage crates, huddled together in coupled piles for warmth. After the rooms were discovered, each researcher rushed to seize one, bringing what few meager supplies they had claimed as their own.

Only Xehanort waited, letting the other five quarrel over the available privacy. As the furor began to die down, he paced along the walls. When Even found him, the man was staring fixedly at a stack of boxes, arms folded, lips pursed.

He spared Even only a quick glance. "Give me a hand."

The demand seemed illogical at first, but Even shrugged and pressed his shoulder against the barricade. The crates groaned. Their weight scraped against the floor, shedding sawdust in a trail as they were forced along the wall, inch by inch. Finally Xehanort called for a halt; dusting off his palms, he nodded triumphantly at the door that had been revealed.

Dust billowed out when they tried the latch. Xehanort fumbled along the wall for a lightswitch; when it came on, the bare bulb illuminated a cramped chamber, consisting of two shelves hung above a solid mahogany desk. The shelves were flush with a double-set of ledger books; no titles were stamped on the spines, and no authors kept visible regency over the pages.

"I'll take this one," Xehanort promptly announced, surveying the room.

Even, following close behind, squeezed past the other man to reach for the ledgers. "These are all blank," he observed, unsurprised. "Do you mind if I use them?"

Xehanort glanced up from investigating one of the desk drawers, crooking a deceptively innocent eyebrow. "I hardly think," he drawled, "after all we've been through together, that you need to ask my permission for such a trivial detail, Even."

Opening and closing his mouth twice, Even frowned. "I'm not used to you being lucid again," he parried back eventually, feeling vaguely discomforted by the other man's confidence. It was one thing for someone to feel at home so quickly in a new world - quite another for that person to be Xehanort, who had just cause to turn his knowledge against the rest of them.

Xehanort seemed to understand, for his mouth made a wry twist. "You mean, you don't like it when I have the advantage."

"I never have. Are you done here? Can we get back to the inventory?"

Wood rattled as Xehanort pulled out one of the drawers to look inside the skeleton of the desk itself. "How much could possibly be left to tally?" His voice was as languid as summer honey, flavored with clover and sugar. "We've been living here for a while now. Surely there's an end."

Even snorted, watching the other man kneel down to investigate the desk's hinges. "You might be surprised. I swear the warehouse grows larger every time I look at it. And the boxes - all empty. Where are they coming from? Who do they belong to?"

"They're probably originating," Xehanort answered, voice muffled, "from the same place we did. The dumping ground of the Heartless." Escaping the desk and sitting back on his heels, he flashed a bitter grin up towards the other man. The search had caused his hair to become disheveled; bangs stuck up in every direction, and he puffed a strand away from his mouth. "We are the Darkness's trash heap."

Even mulled the riddle over as he departed, pushing out of the tiny office and into fresh air. The mysterious crates were not the only things changing in the warehouse. Each day, it seemed as if the building had grown larger; the half-partition walls had transformed themselves into hallways, and a doorway to what looked like a third main chamber had recently been discovered. Elaeus reported that a fourth wing might be possible, judging from the dimensions of the building from the outside, but they had not yet discovered how the rooms were connected.

"So have you figured out anything new yet?"

Ienzo's voice floated down from the ceiling. Even shielded his eyes as he squinted up, finding the silhouette of the man lingering on an overhead walkway. His legs dangled between the rails; unluckily, Ienzo had chosen to sit near one of the hanging lights, making it difficult for Even to look directly at him without becoming blinded.

"A few theories," he admitted. Shouting the words made his throat ache after inhaling so much sawdust; he quashed the fleeting wish to bend gravity as easily as Braig, and simply walk up thin air. It would be easier than yelling. "I still believe that we have lost our ability to retain emotions. Because we don't have hearts, we cannot have feelings either. This ennui we have all experienced - this suppression, it is because we are incapable of experiencing emotion," he continued, tossing the idea out like a wet-winged bird. "After all, our hearts were taken away. Without a heart, there can be nothing present that relies on possessing one. It would make perfect sense."

Ienzo stared down at him, his face impassive.

"That's ridiculous."

"And you used to have long hair. We've all changed, Ienzo." Even tilted his chin up, attempting to find a means of continuing the conversation without having to stare into lightbulbs in order to do so. "Is it so strange to think that we might be operating entirely on memory of emotion alone?" When Ienzo refused to respond, he pressed harder. "Try to become angry with me. Prove me wrong."

The younger researcher paused for a long moment before replying. "I... can't." His lips twitched. "I just... don't care enough."

Triumph kicked inside Even's chest.

"But I am unamused," Ienzo added hastily, "which I'm certain can readily become irritation, and irritation is just one step away from a boiling, murderous rage. Incidentally," he mused, heels dangling as he swung his feet, "congratulations on becoming a blonde."

Even scowled. "Brown," he denied sharply, his fingers shifting to pat down the treacherous locks, as if doing so would dye them dark again. "Just brown. And, as I said before, our physical appearances are superficial symptoms -"

"You're oversimplifying things again by dismissing that variable too quickly," Ienzo replied, dusting off his pants as he gave up on his perch, and stood. "Our physical changes may have some meaning to them. As for emotions - rationally, I can't see a reason to waste the energy on becoming angry yet, which explains why I'm not. Try again."

Gritting his teeth, Even held his ground against the sing-song of Ienzo's refusals. "I'm on the right track!"

"Your claim lacks evidence!"

"The evidence is right in front of your face!"

"Come back," the other man parried, his slight weight causing the metal walkway to flex with each step he took away, "when you have real breakthroughs, Even!"

"Ienzo!"

Scattered debates were the one familiar note in their new lives; each of the researchers had their own opinions on what had happened. While the accident in the labs was fact, their presence in the city was not, and the nature of their existence had never been addressed despite all the years of research on the Darkness.

So much left to explore, Even cursed, as the rain played child's percussion on the windows. He picked cold fish out of a tin, barely tasting the shreds of his dinner. The label on the side had the picture of a happy shark frolicking through red ocean waves - a choice that, Even felt, was highly inappropriate, particularly since the flavor was so bland.

"You're not much of a help anymore," he accused Xehanort sourly the next day, pushing into the office without invitation and looming until the other man looked up. "I left a report on your desk how long ago? Have you even bothered to look at it yet?"

"Am I supposed to continue studying only hearts?" Xehanort shot back, spreading his arms like an amused vulture. "We have an entire world to take care of now. Have a seat," he added, nodding towards the chairs which lined one wall. "You're blocking the lamp."

Even ignored the offer, glancing at the desk; the papers were covered in doodles, sketches of Heartless and city blocks, theory and energy transfers. "My studies should be made a higher priority," he argued, trying to ignore the evidence of Xehanort's reawakening inspiration. "It is vital that we understand what we are before we continue our progress forward. We cannot advance our research without a concrete basis on which to do so."

The other man sighed as he scooped up his pen and marked off a harsh line where he'd been interrupted. "No one is denying that, Even. But we must also survive. I will not make the same mistake that I did before, and lose sight of the final goal. But I'm lacking experience with my own strength. Again," he added under his breath, scowling absently at the far wall, biting one lip. "Right now we are weakened by ignorance. I hate not knowing what I'm capable of."

One of the squiggles on Xehanort's notes looked like a mutated Shadow. Even caught himself leaning closer before he could stifle any interest; straightening, he stilled his hands with an effort. "Perhaps the Darkness has more information. I don't mean to consult it directly this time," he cautioned, seeing Xehanort's expression tighten, his shoulders hunch up. "But if your heart is free, we might be able to recapture it. Question it. Use it."

Xehanort put one foot against the desk and pushed back, rolling his chair across the floor until he could consider Even from a distance. "It would make a wonderful paperweight," he capitulated, nodding indulgently towards the other man. Then he sobered. "My heart is insane. It wouldn't understand what I really desire. Therefore, it is worthless."

Desire. The word plucked at Even's nerves. Visions of the laboratories aflame simmered in the corners of his mind before he gathered the courage himself to present the next question. "And... what is it that you want, Xehanort?"

If revenge lurked amidst his goals, then Xehanort did not admit it. "Not to be in thrall to anything anymore." His voice was too reasonable to be sincere; it was rigid with indifference. "Not to be controlled by pathetic emotions. One betrayal was enough. I don't need a second."

The tension in Even's chest eased. He slid into the nearest chair and propped one heel against the ground. "So emotions were our downfall." The idea was as sour as an overripe lie, but it teased at his mouth until it birthed a smirk. "How appropriate."

They sat together in silence for a time, listening to the distant clatter of Elaeus climbing up and down the stairs, interspersed with the occasional shout as Braig and Dilan reorganized fresh supplies. It was not like their times in the Bastion - the humidity did not bear the faint odor of machine oil, and there was no second desk to work at - but for a moment, Even wondered if he could fool himself into believing he was home again.

Just as the pieces of his theories began to nudge themselves together, Xehanort spoke.

"Do you regret coming to this world, Even?" The words came out delicately, each syllable enunciated - as if Xehanort had to taste them to make sure they were correct. The tip of his pen drew ornate loops around the equations laid out on his desk. It was a gesture that Even recognized from their hours of study together: Xehanort was uncertain.

He filed the reaction away for future analysis, momentarily confused by the irrelevance of the question that had been asked. "I don't see how it matters. What would I miss?" he pointed out, endlessly practical as Xehanort played with his pen and dropped it twice. "Everything I have wanted to research is here."

"Except for hearts."

"Except those." Even spread his hands and lowered them, an aborted gesture that could not find a home. "But that's a mere technicality. We remain the six apprentices of Ansem the Wise. We have experienced all the training that Radiant Garden could provide, Xehanort. If we cannot solve this, who - "

"Shh!"

Breaking off so quickly that he nearly choked on his own breath, Even watched as Xehanort leaned forward, staring intently at the door. It was the same rapt ferocity that had led the man to the hidden office in the first place; now Xehanort was fixated on whatever lay outside his room, triggered by senses that did not bother to give Even the same warning. The research notes lay forgotten. The pen teetered on the edge of the ink blotter, but Xehanort did nothing to stop it.

Then he was in motion, lashing out a hand to snatch Even's wrist. There was no time to protest. A vicious jerk, and Even was stumbling to his feet, slamming one knee painfully into a corner of the desk as Xehanort lunged for the door and dragged Even along behind.

Their mad flight took them down the twisting box-hallways, taking turns seemingly at random, with no logic in the process. Twice they discovered dead ends and had to double back. Nothing that Even said worked to slow the other man down; Xehanort ran with the energy of one possessed, and that realization crawled inside Even's veins and turned them cold.

Only when they crashed into the front door did the man's energy finally wane. He leaned against the doorframe, panting; Even took advantage of the opportunity to pull away, rubbing the circulation back into his aching wrist.

"What - "

Xehanort held up a hand.

"Listen."

The silence was an afterthought. Even became aware of it as a pressure in his skull, pressing against his eardrums, a slow realization that something was missing - something that had been so constant that it had faded away into an unconscious presence, patient and eternal.

Without waiting for him to speak again, Xehanort turned and wrenched open the door.

Outside, the air was clear. Water slicked every inch of the road still, but it was beginning to drain, bubbling down street-grates and sewers. The buildings gleamed.

"Look," Xehanort smiled, brushing the hair back from his face and drawing in a deep breath. "The rain's finally stopped."


The sun never rose in the city, but for the first time since their arrival, the skies were clear.

The heavy clouds that had smothered their world had been shooed away, forced to sulk on the horizon's rim. They were a misty smudge in what could be a painter's epic; distant, harmless, and easily forgotten. Only a scattering of stars had been revealed. At first Ienzo tried to pull calculations down from the unfamiliar constellations: month shifts, changing seasons, or even location, but then Even walked by one day and noticed him cursing at the charts.

"I swear this place knows I'm studying it," Ienzo growled, tossing his pen at the wall. The arc was shallow; the pen landed on the floor and skid, bouncing off a crate and coming to a halt against Even's foot. "It's changing on purpose to spite me."

Gradually, they came to realize that the expanding warehouse was not the most dangerous mystery in the city. White beasts wriggled about, flocking together in aimless packs that streamed up and down the roads. They bore none of the markings which the six researchers had once used to mark the artificial Heartless. Instead, they had been branded by a strange, inverse design; the decorations resembled Emblems in reverse, white hearts with holes punched out from the curves.

Master, the creatures would whisper, bypassing mortal voice and human ears to speak directly to the mind. Master, or, my liege.

Their attentiveness was unsettling; the homage, even worse. Only Ansem the Wise had been addressed by such titles before. Apprenticed to him, each of the six students had earned respect, but only one of them had been called a king - and that, from a deception that had robbed his sanity in the process.

For perhaps that very reason, Xehanort seemed to avoid the creatures whenever he could.

Braig finally voiced what was on all of their minds. "Are these things from Radiant Garden?"

Dilan was fast behind. "Are they Heartless Shadows?" The lancer paused after that outburst; he had always been one to speak first and revise later. "I'm serious. Is it possible for the Shadows to lose something too?"

"What's left?" Elaeus, doubting.

All five had suggestions; none of them were satisfied with the results. When pale blobs, wierd monsters, and that thing over there that ate my pen all failed, the researchers looked for other terms.

"Target practice," was Braig's opinion, after the creatures had swarmed through his bedroom and made off with his shoes. He'd spent most of the day trying to track them down, leaping off walkways, running across ceilings, and - at one point - diving straight through a bathroom while Even was in the middle of occupying it.

"White Shadows," Xehanort suggested when they came to him, shrugging over his cup of tea. His office was larger; all six of them could fit in it now, with room to spare. "Simple, and to the point."

"We can't name them that," Dilan complained.

"I don't know. Call them Sunbeams, Pretty Ponies - tell me that among the five of you, there is at least one shred of creativity." Confronted with their silence, he gave up with a sigh. "Fine. Dusks, that's their name. They're between Darkness and Light, just like we are." Upon hearing the assorted grumbles at the choice, Xehanort arched his eyebrows in faux-innocence. "Would you prefer 'Magical Sunset Fairies' instead?"

Braig paused in his attempts to pilfer Dilan's toast. "Do you think we're really those pathetic creatures, Xehanort? I mean, those wiggly white guys?" Dilan glanced away; Braig's fingers swooped down to claim their prize. "You think they're the same?"

Xehanort's hair feathered in white puffs as he raked his fingers through his scalp. "You said that my Heartless looked human," he pointed out neatly, glossing over the reference as deftly as a hawk fetching a rabbit mid-flight. "By the same token, we might be advanced Dusks. Someone study them. Talk to them. See if they know anything. There's so much that we have to learn. So many things that we don't have words for, because words were never needed. Someone - "

He broke off there, looking suddenly very tired. Elaeus gave him a sidelong look, and then surreptitiously refilled the man's teacup.

Out of all six of them, it was the youngest researcher who brought up the next point. Ienzo cleared his throat; once he had their attention, he reached out for another biscuit. "Speaking of names, there's something we've overlooked. If Xehanort's Heartless is out there, there's a chance that ours are as well. If so, there needs to be a way to keep us from getting mixed up with their business. Not to mention," he added mildly, balancing his breakfast saucer on his knee, "any survivors of the Garden who may be looking for us. We've been lucky so far to not have intruders, but we should think about protecting ourselves."

Xehanort took his time in digesting the idea, pressing his lips together in a thin line. "What would you suggest?"

"Numbers," Dilan offered.

"Anagrams," was Ienzo's suggestion. "A word puzzle."

Even shook his head to them both. "Your caution is excessive. What should we use next? Codenames? Catchy phrases?"

Braig scowled at the entire room as he finished wolfing down the toast, licking crumbs off his fingers. "No offense," he began, his fisher's drawl cutting through Even's crisp diction, "but all those ideas are totally lame. Tell you what," he tacked on, peering hungrily at Dilan's empty plate, "if I ever run into my Heartless, I'll just fight him for ownership of my name. Winner takes all. How does that sound?"

"Ienzo has a point," Xehanort spoke up unexpectedly. "A word is a symbol as well. Personally, I would rather not be called by the same name of a man who allowed himself be led around by his emotions." He paused, tilting his head quizzically; from the corner, Dilan continued to count off numbers on his fingers and look meaningfully in Ienzo's direction. "What would you turn mine into?"

Ienzo went quiet, his lips flexing around silent letters as his mind worked. "Xehanort," he offered softly, eyes unfocused, and then, "No heart."

Silence.

Tea slopped onto research notes as Xehanort slammed his cup onto his desk, rising to his feet with an expression gone utterly cold.

"Deconstruct Ansem's name," he announced, pushing out the door. "Make it into something worthwhile. Someone may as well use it, since that old fool isn't."