Chapter 4

Cold as Ice

Snow.

Feathery white flakes glided on the breeze that late autumn day, dancing through the wind, spiraling and swirling close to walls, lamps, anything within their reach before being pulled away and continuing their graceful, gusty waltz all the way to the ground. The snow was as beautiful as it had always been, but Sora couldn't remember it ever being quite so cold.

"Sora..."

That gentle voice caught his attention, dragging his gaze away from the falling snowflakes. He turned his head toward the sound, not the slightest bit surprised to see his closest friend standing not too far away. After all, he had seen those same concerned eyes at least once a day for the past month.

"Hey, Riku." Sora smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Why're you here?

You know why I'm here," sighed Riku, exasperation hidden under the patience he earned after years of suffering a well-meaning but reckless friendship. "Someone has to look after you, since you can't seem to do it yourself." He took a few steps closer and offered his hand. "You need to stop doing things like this. You're just making yourself worse."

Sora took the proffered hand, warm within his own, and used it to pull his shivering body up from the earthen path below. He was immediately consumed by a pleasant warmth. There was no need for him to bother taking his eyes off of the dying grass beneath his feet; he knew that Riku had wrapped him in his coat. Again. "It's not like I went into the woods this time," he grumbled. "I was just...keeping watch."

Riku opened the front door and gently coaxed Sora into going inside, a firm hand at his back. "Yeah, keeping watch in freezing weather," he chided quietly. "Making yourself sicker. Look, your fire's almost out."

Sora finally lifted his head from the wooden flooring just in time to see Riku crouch down in front of the dying embers. "You don't have to do that, you know," he mumbled, knowing full well that there was no point in arguing. Riku could be...overprotective sometimes.

"Someone has to," grumbled the boy in question. By the time a full minute had passed, a small flame had sparked to life, which Riku was quick to feed with some lumber from beside the fireplace. "What did you think you were doing, anyway? It's not like Roxas can just walk back into town like nothing happened. And if he tried, he'd be put to death for witchcraft. You know that."

"It's not witchcraft," insisted Sora in a huff.

"I know that," replied Riku, looking over his shoulder, "but they don't. They see someone doing something people shouldn't be able to do, and they get scared. Besides, Roxas did it to steal—"

"Yeah, medicine!" whined Sora. "For me! I mean, yeah, he shouldn't have done that, but he was just doing what his heart told him to, right? And he only did it because we couldn't afford it, so—"

"I know, Sora." Riku climbed to his feet and turned around to grip his friend's shoulders. "You've told me a thousand times. I get it. You never needed to tell me in the first place. I knew why he did it from the start. I would have done the same thing. But you know how people are. Their minds are made up. There's no point in getting worked up over it."

Sora groaned and allowed his head to loll forward and rest against Riku's shoulder. "I can't just do nothing," he whispered.

Riku sighed and pulled one of his hands away from Sora to rub the bridge of his nose. "Sora, the best thing you can do right now is focus on getting better. That's what Roxas would want you to do. You know that as much as I do."

Sora lifted his head. "I know, but... Riku, I can't sleep like this! He's out there somewhere! By himself! If—" A rattling cough cut his words short. He covered his mouth with his hands. Riku's coat began to slip from his shoulders.

"I told you not get yourself worked up," chastised Riku as he reached up to adjust the jacket. He pulled it tighter around Sora's shoulders, against his neck, where it wouldn't fall off. "Just relax. Got it?"

"Don't—" Sora managed to interject in the midst of his coughing fit. Thankfully, it was only a moment before his coughing lessened enough for him to talk. "I don't want—" Cough. "—to make you sick, too."

"I won't get sick," assuaged Riku. "I promise. Now come on." He took Sora by the arm and led him to his bedroom.

Once they were inside, Riku sighed emphatically. The fire really had gone out in this room's fireplace. Having convinced Sora to sit down on the bed, he pulled away. "I'll get a coal from the other fire. You just get under the blankets."

"But—" protested Sora, only to be cut off when Riku reached out a hand to cover his mouth.

"Now, Sora," said Riku sternly.

Grudgingly, Sora complied.

When Riku returned with the coal as promised, Sora rolled onto his side and watched him bring yet another fire to life. "You're pretty good at that."

Riku stood up and made his way to Sora's bed. "I'll make you a deal," he said, taking a seat on the edge. "If you promise not to do anything stupid while I'm gone, I'll go out and look for Roxas myself. Stay inside, keep the fire going, get as much rest as you can—"

"No!" Sora tried to sit up, only for Riku to push him back down. "Riku, what if something happens to you?"

"Don't you think the same thought goes through my head every time I catch you trying to sneak out?" demanded Riku.

"I don't want to lose my brother and my best friend!" protested Sora. "No way am I letting that happen!"

"And I don't want to lose you," countered Riku.

"But you wouldn't be alone if you lost me."

"Neither would you. You'd still have Kairi—"

"That doesn't count. Her parents—"

"Sora, stop."

Sora stopped, his face freezing somewhere between a glare and a pout.

"I wouldn't be the same if I lost you." Sora felt Riku's hand grip the blankets by his arm. "You said I wouldn't be alone, but I might as well be. I'm nobody without you."

Sora's expression softened. "Riku... Why would you say that?" He shook his head, ignoring the way it tangled his hair against the mattress. "You're way stronger than I am. You'd be just fine on your own. I know you would be."

"I'm not as strong as you think." Riku's hand sought out Sora's, giving it a gentle squeeze before Riku rose from the bed. "I'll still bring you dinner every night, same as usual, and if I catch you out of bed for anything that's not getting water or feeding the fire, the deal's off, and I'll start babysitting you twenty-four seven."

"Is that a promise?" asked Sora, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

For a second, Riku seemed surprised, and Sora thought he might have taken his teasing seriously, but the shock passed quickly, and a laugh pushed itself past Riku's lips before he had a chance to stop it. "How are you still such a dork when you're this sick?"

"Special talent," said Sora, replacing his smirk with a grin. "Way more useful than the lock-picking thing."

"Huh." Riku smiled, shook his head, and retrieved his coat from where Sora had left it at the head of his bed. That in hand, he started for the door. "I'll begin my search first thing in the morning."

Xion was innately curious. It had only taken a handful of visits from her before Roxas ascertained that part of her personality. Despite Xemnas' insistence that she refused to talk to people, Xion never seemed to stop asking Roxas questions. Sometimes about life outside the walls of the mansion, sometimes about Roxas' personal life. She begged for memories of his mother, stories about his brother, any tiny detail about his village that he could spare... Whatever knowledge she could sink her teeth into. It was as if she hadn't learned anything in her life and was yearning to make up for years of ignorance now that she had a teacher.

"So... 'Roxas...' Do a lot of people have that name?"

"No," replied Roxas, a smile on his face, same as the smile he wore every time Xion visited his room. "Actually, I don't think anyone else in the world has it."

"Then why do you have it?" asked Xion, her arms wrapped comfortably around one of Roxas' bedposts. "Your mom had a reason for naming you that, right?"

"Well..." began Roxas. "I guess you could say I wasn't supposed to exist. I mean, my mom knew she was going to have a kid, but she wasn't expecting two." He leaned back on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. "She told me...that she heard of a tradition from a country south of here where if people had twins, the second twin's name would be the same as the first twin's name, only 'anti'. Like, I could have been 'Anti-Sora', but she didn't like the way that sounded, so instead, she replaced 'anti' with an 'X' and just jumbled the letters around. She used to tell me that the 'X' stood for 'extra', but I think the real reason she chose an 'X' was because she liked to be different, and the letter 'X' isn't in most names." He propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Xion. "But you said your friend's name is Axel, right? Ax-el..." he tried the word out, speaking slowly, sounding it out. "There's an 'X' in that name, isn't there?"

"Mmhmm," intoned Xion. "There's one in my name, too. X-I-O-N."

Roxas sat up a little straighter, leaning on his hands instead of his elbows. "Hey, you're always asking me questions... Mind if I ask one?"

"Um, sure," said Xion, taken aback. "I'll try to answer it, but I don't really know that much."

"Well, you know where my name came from now, right?" regretting the decision to lean on his injured arm, Roxas pulled it up and rested it on his knee, favoring his left arm instead. "So I wanna know where yours comes from. 'Xion' isn't exactly common either."

"Oh!" Xion's surprise was replaced by an eager smile. "I actually know that one. You see, my dad was an explorer..." She leaned against the bedpost, closing her eyes with a nostalgic smile. "Before he settled down here, he went everywhere, always trying to learn new things, making money for ship fare any way that he could... And his two favorite places were two countries from the same part of the world. I don't remember what they were called, but I remember my father saying that one of them had dragons everywhere."

"Dragons?" Roxas raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Not real ones!" Xion opened her eyes with a giggle. "Just statues and murals and stuff. Anyway, my dad named me after one of the rivers in the Land of Dragons, the Xi River, and the word for 'woman' in the language of the other country. Officially, my name is 'Xionna', but the only time anyone ever called me that was my dad when I did something I wasn't supposed to."

"Xionna's a really pretty name, though," said Roxas.

"Yeah, I guess, but it's just not...me, you know?" Xion's smile seemed to dampen, if only slightly. She averted her gaze to the carpet beneath the bed. "I don't have much from when my dad and my brothers were still around. Just my name. If I don't hold onto that...I feel like their memories would be gone forever."

Roxas pulled himself upright and rubbed his shoulder. "Xion..." he began hesitantly. "What...happened to them?"

Xion released the bedpost she'd been leaning against and stepped back, away from Roxas, toward the door. Her smile had vanished yet again, replaced with crestfallen mourning. "Maybe I'll tell you one day, but right now, you just... You wouldn't understand."

"Why not?" asked Roxas. "I lost my mom, so I know what it's like for someone you love to go away, and how it feels knowing they won't ever come back. I know how that hurt feels. Like it wears a hole in your heart that you have to keep stitching back together. How could I not understand how you feel when I've felt exactly the same? Why won't you tell me?

"I'm sorry." Without bothering with an explanation, Xion turned and walked away, disappearing into the darkness of the corridor. Roxas gripped the collar of his shirt, left to nurse the ache of an empty space in his chest.

"Seeeeeasheeeeell. Now you try."

The boy sitting across from Xion turned the smooth, shining object over in his gloved hands, inspecting the gleaming inside and comparing it to the rough, brownish outside. "...Seashell."

"Xion," called Zexion from where he perused the bookshelf across the room, "there's no need to patronize him. Riku is intelligent enough to understand what you're saying without elongating the vowels."

"I know," said Xion. "But he's so...spacey. Sometimes he just picks a word instead of saying the one I want him to say."

"I'm...spacey?" asked Riku.

"Just a little bit," admitted Xion.

"Just a little bit," echoed Riku.

"He'll only be this way for two more days at the longest," explained Zexion, picking a book from the shelf and flipping briefly through it. "You just need to be patient with him. Soon, he will be just as articulate as you are."

"Articulate?" questioned Riku as well as Xion, both turning to face the eldest of them.

Zexion sighed, closing the book with a muted snap. "He'll be better at speaking."

"Oh." Xion turned her head, watching Riku again as he ran his thumbs over the sharp edges of the shell. "Was I ever like that?"

"Yes, you were," acknowledged Zexion as he slid his book back onto the shelf. "To be honest, he's learning much faster than you did. It was a long time before you learned to speak at all. Riku was able to speak immediately, even if his speech patterns did seem somewhat..."

"Spacey?" offered Riku, trying out his new word in context.

"I suppose that's an accurate enough description," agreed Zexion. "Not the word I would have chosen, but acceptable. Well done, Riku."

The boy seemed to pay the compliment no mind, his attention utterly absorbed by the shell in his hands.

Xion watched him with a fond smile. "You really like that, don't you?" She turned toward the oldest of them once more. "Hey, Zexion? Do you think I could learn to make something out of seashells? I want to give Riku a present when he learns how to speak, like when Vexen gave me my first seashell."

"Hmm..." Zexion chose a new book from the shelf and opened it. "I have heard of a legend from an archipelago Vexen once visited—a place called Destiny Islands. If I am remembering correctly, they give star-shaped trinkets made of seashells to sailors set to embark on a journey under the belief that the trinkets will bring them home safely. Of course, the myth behind the charms—Wayfinders, I believe they're called—is nothing more than a fairy tale, but that does not stop the Wayfinders themselves from being lovely. There could be a problem with this, however, as I believe the charms are only capable of being made from five shells like the first of the shells that Vexen has given you. Thalassa shells, as they're called. Incidentally, the inhabitants of Olympus observe a deity of the same name. One has to consider the possible connections between the goddess Thalassa and—"

"Zexion, you're doing it again."

Zexion raised his eyebrows. Xion covered her mouth, hiding her grin behind her glove. Riku's eyes darted between the two of them, the alarm and confusion on his face impossible to miss.

Xion was the first to break the stunned silence. Loud, excited giggles filled the room as she leaned forward and yanked her brother into a tight hug. "That was great, Riku!"

Zexion frowned. "I do wish his first sentence had been something other than that, but I am proud nonetheless. Well done."

Xion chuckled. "It's probably just because I say it so much, but still! Wow, Riku!" She pulled away and patted the boy's cheeks. "You're so smart!"

Zexion marked his page and closed his book, tucking it under his arm. "I believe that may be deserving of ice cream. Let's find Vexen, shall we? There is something I need to discuss with him, so we might as well kill two birds with one stone."

Xion beamed and climbed to her feet, pulling Riku up by the wrists. "Have you had ice cream yet?"

"Ice cream?" quizzed Riku, testing the new word in his mouth.

"You're going to love it!" said Xion beamishly. "Come on!"

"Roxas, might I speak with you?"

Roxas discarded the book that he could just barely read and straightened his back in his chair. It was a rare thing to see Xemnas at all, and rarer still to actually converse with him. If Xemnas had been purposely seeking Roxas out, it must have been due to something important.

"Yes?"

Xemnas pulled out the chair across from Roxas at the table and took a seat. "Something ill-conceived has taken place, and I am needed away from home for a time to tend to it.

"Really?" asked Roxas. "What?"

"It is...a private matter," explained Xemnas, his golden eyes locked firmly onto Roxas'. "I have only told you this much to make a point of reiterating the house rules. I want to be sure that it is clear to you that they are still in place regardless of whether or not I am present."

"The...house rules..." echoed Roxas.

Xemnas' expression hardened. "You are not to enter my study, and you are not to approach Xion."

Roxas' eyes widened in realization. He'd almost forgotten that those were rules at all. The second rule, well, that was pretty much shot. By now, Xion was probably the best friend Roxas ever had, except maybe for Sora. As for the first rule, the one about not going into Xemnas' study... Honestly, he hadn't even considered that room in weeks. The door had fallen in with the background. Roxas just avoided it out of habit now.

Well, one out of two wasn't bad, right?

"Right..." Roxas chuckled. "The house rules. Got it."

"See to it that you do," warned Xemnas, climbing to his feet. "I will leave tonight, and I will do my best to return by sunset tomorrow."

With that, Xemnas left the room, and Roxas forgot about that conversation for a very long time.

Vexen opened the door to the woodcarver's home with a heavy hand.

The woodcarver himself, an elderly man, looked up from his polishing to smile at his guest.

"Ah," he greeted. "Signor Medico, I was hoping you would be back again tonight. You have more of the medicine, I hope?"

"Of course," said Vexen, who was already reaching into his rucksack to procure a golden bottle of elixir. "I wouldn't dream of seeking your hospitality without payment." He passed it on to the old man who laughed jubilantly and kissed the bottle before setting it on a shelf.

"That medicine, it is a life saver. My aching back has not felt as fine as it does now since I was a man in my thirties."

"I am glad to hear it," said Vexen, taking a seat at a nearby chair and folding his hands over the top. "A man as hospitable and respectable as yourself should be in good health. The longer that people like you occupy the world, the better off it will be. Naturally, it is my pleasure to see to your good health."

The woodcarver released a jolly laugh and shook his head. "You flatter me. No, the joy your medicine has brought me is worth so much more than the shelter I have given you. If there is anything else you need from me, you need only ask."

"Incidentally, Mr. Geppetto..."

"Yes?"

"I met a boy on the streets this afternoon," explained Vexen. "Perhaps five to seven years of age, rale thin, pale... And he guarded a book as closely to him as if it were his only family. Strange, for a street child to be literate, and even more so for him to treasure a book so dearly. I was wondering whether you might know anything about him."

"Ah..." Geppetto nodded slowly and removed his glasses. "I do know that boy. He does have quite the reputation, and a strange one at that." The woodcarver slowly, almost mournfully, lowered himself into the chair across from Vexen and set his spectacles on the tabletop. "There was a family of oratores, headed by Bishop Corazza. A kinder clergyman you could never find. But, as they say, the closer you are to the light, the greater your shadow becomes."

Vexen felt his body leaning forward despite himself, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Some were still resentful of his position in power," continued Geppetto, "despite Bishop Corazza being the best man for the job, and some men, when they have an idea in their heads, cannot be deterred." He shook his head sadly. "In the middle of spring, two years ago, Bishop Corazza's manor was burned to the ground. The only survivor of his entire family was the youngest of his sons. Those responsible were found, yes, and executed, but killing one man cannot bring back another."

"I presume this means that the sole survivor was our street child," said Vexen. "What I do not understand is why a child from such an influential family would be left to fend for himself."

"Many a great man has tried to take the boy in," said Geppetto. "Myself among them. You see, I have always wanted to be a father." He cleared his throat. "But all of those who open their hearts and homes to the boy are rejected."

"Rejected?" questioned Vexen. "The boy rejects the chance to get off the streets?"

"Yes," said Geppetto. "Strange isn't it? He absolutely refuses to go anywhere with anyone. He doesn't speak, and he rarely moves from his place in the shadow of the church. Most say that he has gone mad, that hearing his parents' dying screams has taken the sense right out of him. But I..." The man tapped his temple, a knowing twinkle in his eye. "I see something in that boy's face. There is too much determination. He waits for something. He knows something. Perhaps he heard the voice of God that night, or perhaps he carries it in his arms."

"The book?"

Geppetto nodded. "I see him, always on the steps, the book spread out on his lap. I see him turn pages, never looking up once, and yet, I've seen the book that he reads, and its pages are completely blank."

Vexen raised his eyebrows. "Blank, you say? How curious."

"One more reason why people think the boy is mad," said the woodcarver, leaning over his table, "but I say that perhaps it is we who are blind to the truth. The boy is a prophet, I think. Blessed by God in return for his father's kindness. After all, how else could he have survived as long as he has when he refuses the help of any who might offer it?"

"Roxas! Wake up, Roxas!"

Roxas groaned blearily, waking slowly to the sound of his friend's normally-gentle voice...not so gentle this night.

"Xion?" he grumbled wearily. "What—"

"Get up! You're bleeding!"

Roxas frowned suspiciously and looked down at himself. True to Xion's word, there was blood everywhere, sickening amounts. It was as if a massacre had taken place. Sticky crimson staked its claim all over his bed, streaked and smeared his chest, but most notably, it drenched his shoulder, gluing the fabric of his shirt to his skin. That sight was more than enough to banish any remains of sleep from his body. It was startling, that was for sure, but not exactly confusing. Roxas had to admit, over the past month, he'd gotten sloppy with his bandages. After all, his wound had never been a problem. Perhaps it wasn't really healing the way he would have liked it to, but it hadn't been bleeding, either. Roxas supposed he must have disturbed it in his sleep and pulled his bandages loose at the same time.

He reached up and grabbed the wound. It hurt like hell. What a way to wake up.

"Come on!" Xion tugged on Roxas' good arm, trying to pull him out of bed. "I have some stuff that can help!"

Having been successfully dragged out from under the covers, Roxas hurriedly followed Xion down the corridor. She led him into the west wing, which he normally avoided for fear of disturbing Xemnas, and through a door on the left wall.

The room beyond the door was circular with a polished maple desk on the far side of the room and a rug as round as the room itself spread out in the center. Shelves lined the walls, mostly occupied by books, the number of which made Roxas want to describe it as a smaller version of the library downstairs if not for the fact that they were occasionally parted by various jars.

It was one of those jars that Xion was after. She reached for a transparent one that contained a liquid. It was difficult to tell in the low light, but the liquid seemed...blue. How odd. Stranger still, green stars floated around in the liquid, like some sort of mystical soup.

Xion shoved it into Roxas' hands. "Drink this. I promise it'll make you feel better."

Roxas sent the strange jar a brief, dubious stare before deciding that his trust for Xion and the pain in his shoulder outweighed his fear of whatever this odd mixture might be.

It was lukewarm, had no taste, and if not for the gelatinous stars, Roxas might have said it had no texture. A chill spread from his chest outward, as if someone had pushed a handful of snow into his shirt, save for the fact that the cold ran through his entire body before targeting his shoulder in particular. It wasn't exactly pleasant, being frozen like that, but Roxas' shoulder, for the first time in a month, stopped hurting almost completely. Not even the dull ache he'd been dealing with prior to that night remained. If anything, it just felt like a scrape.

Xion tugged down Roxas' collar and pulled back the bandages to inspect his wound beneath them. A relieved sigh fell from her lips. When she met Roxas' eyes again, she was smiling. "Let's get you cleaned up now, okay?

Roxas led Xion back to his bedroom, not even hesitating to let her stay in the room with him while he cleaned what was left of his wound. She'd seen his bare chest enough times by now that any modesty Roxas might have originally had was long-since forgotten.

"You're not going to tell me what that stuff was, are you?" he accused, looking at Xion through the looking glass. She didn't say a word, and Roxas took that as his answer. With the blood gone from his shoulder, he dressed his wound yet again-though it really felt unnecessary; all that remained was a pink scar with a shallow cut in the center.

"Did Xemnas tell you he was leaving?" asked Xion. Making small-talk, no doubt, to fill the uncomfortable silence.

"Yeah, he did," replied Roxas. "Heh, he reminded me of the house rules. You know, don't go in the study, don't talk to Xion. Whoops." He looked over his shoulder at the girl in question and grinned broadly. "Well, I haven't gone into the study yet, so I'm not completely deviant, right?"

Xion opened her mouth to speak, but she closed it again quickly, stealing Roxas' smile away in the same instant. A few seconds passed, and she tried again, though Roxas highly suspected that she changed what she was going to say.

"Are you hungry?"

Roxas almost responded, but before he got the chance, his stomach did the deed for him.

Xion smiled brightly and took Roxas by the hand. "Come on. I'll teach you how to make rice."

The day had come, the day that the boat would leave and take Vexen from this Paradise on to the next.

He stood among the milling crowd, each pair of eyes around him on the S. S. Monstro as it prepared to set sail. His sparse belongings shifted on his shoulder as he stepped forward. There was nothing left to do here. He was ready to embark.

As he began to move, however, a tiny hand appeared from seemingly nowhere to grip his own. Surprised, he turned around and looked down. Barely reaching his elbow stood the Corazza orphan, one hand holding the book beneath his arm, the other attached firmly onto Vexen's own.

The man crouched down so that he was eye level with the boy. "Hello, Child," he said quietly. "I don't suppose you've learned English since our last encounter."

The child merely stared, his expression strangely morose. How peculiar.

"It was good to see you one last time," said Vexen. "However, my ship will be departing soon, and I really must be onboard." He began to stand, but the child tugged on his arm, keeping him down.

Vexen frowned, confused.

The child slowly shook his head, holding steady eye contact.

Chills rolled up Vexen's spine, standing his hair on end. He'd never met a child so unsetting. It was hardly a wonder people thought him mad. And yet...

The boy is a prophet, I think. Blessed by God in return for his father's kindness.

Vexen's gaze flicked to the book, then back up.

"What exactly are you trying to warn me of?"

The child stared.

"Is it unwise to embark the ship? Will I be in danger?"

The child stared.

Vexen sighed. He could hardly believe he was doing this, listening to the whim of some strange, orphaned child. All the same... "Very well," he said, allowing his belongings to drop to the ground beside him. "If you deem it necessary, I will stay."

Stay he did.

And so did the child.

They sat across from each other, each cross-legged, the child's book resting on his lap, Vexen's rucksack on his. There, they watched each other for hours on end, reading each other's expressions, having silent conversations, until the sun touched the horizon.

Then, the child stood.

So did Vexen.

They each returned to their respective shelters that evening, the child drifting toward the church, Vexen meandering toward Geppetto's woodshop, both having felt strangely as though they'd met a life-long friend.

"And then you just put the lid on the cauldron and watch the clock. It should be done in about twenty minutes."

Roxas did as he was told and backed away from the fireplace, watching it as if the whole thing would topple over without his supervision. He did, however, manage to tear his gaze away to smile at Xion before sitting down in the same chair he sat in when he first arrived, when Xemnas cleaned his wound for the first time.

"Roxas... Do you know why Xemnas doesn't want you to go into, um, his study?"

The boy looked over his shoulder at his friend, who had taken to standing behind his chair, giving the fireplace a wide berth.

"He said he likes to keep it private," said Roxas. "That's all."

"But...he also said that I was sick, right?" asked Xion. "That I was afraid of people...but that's not true at all. I'm not even that shy. So there's no reason not to talk to me, is there?"

Roxas faltered. "Where are you going with this?"

"Roxas, I really think you should go into that room." Xion bit her lip. "I mean...not right away. You can eat first, but, I mean, before Xemnas comes back, okay?"

"Why?" asked Roxas. This was the second time that Xion had hinted that Xemnas wasn't all that he seemed to be. "What's in there?"

Xion gripped the back of his chair. "You wouldn't believe me," she said. "You'd think I was lying, and you'd get mad, and then you'd never want to go in there. You need to see it for yourself."

Roxas looked down at his feet. There had to be a reason that Xion was saying all this. He'd trusted her with that strange substance, so why couldn't he trust her with this? Besides, she did have a point. Roxas had made the right decision in going against Xemnas' word when it came to Xion, so who was to say that going against his word again wouldn't also be the right choice? "Well... He did say not to go inside. He didn't say anything about just opening the door and...looking, right?"

In the blink of an eye, Xion had dashed around the chair and pulled Roxas into her arms. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Whoa!" Roxas pushed her away and began rubbing his neck, trying to get it warm again. "You're freezing! Maybe you should stand by the fire."

"No, I'm fine." Xion swept over her eyes with the heel of her hand. "It's okay. Just... Really... Thank you for trusting me. It means so much."

Roxas watched her, chewing his lip. He couldn't bring himself to let her down. There was definitely no backing out of this one. He would have to do what she wanted, even if it meant breaking Xemnas' trust all over again.

The news had taken quite a while to reach the shore, but the disaster itself had happened early on.

Not even a week after the S. S. Monstro had set sail, a storm had struck its path and sent it down into the depths of the sea. When that news had finally reached Vexen's ear, it churned his stomach; he could have been on that boat. He could have seen that disaster take place first-hand, but he had been saved, and now he sought to thank the one who had saved him properly.

"I've heard you don't take help from other people," said Vexen, looking down at the boy on the church steps. "I've heard that you ignore the food and money that people leave for you. I've heard that you refuse to be invited into homes. However..." Vexen reached into his rucksack and plucked from it an apple and half a loaf of bread. He set them down on the child's lap, careful to avoid getting crumbs on his beloved, blank-paged tome. "I could think of no other way to thank you."

The boy looked down at the food warily, then back to Vexen, scrutinizing him with a blank expression. Then, carefully, ever so gently, he lifted his book from his lap and set it aside on the stone steps, freeing his arms to bring the apple to his mouth. He held eye-contact as he bit into the skin of the fruit, as if he were trying to get a message across, though Vexen was utterly lost as to what the message could be.

The man sighed and crouched in front of the child, resting his arms on his knees. "You are a very strange child, Corazza," he said softly. "You're mild-mannered, polite, quiet, and very intelligent. Beyond that, you seem to be capable of strange skills, not quite like my own, and yet perhaps not entirely dissimilar." The child only stared, continuing to munch on the offered fruit, not understanding a word of what was said to him. "You are strange, and you should know, I find myself drawn to the strange. Not only that, but it seems I owe you my life. That being said..." Vexen mentally rehearsed the words he'd requested for Geppetto to teach him one last time before daring to speak them aloud. "Corazza, ti piacerebbe viaggiare con me?"

The child paused, the apple freezing part-way to his mouth, which hung open in a surprised expression that didn't quite reach his eyes. He glanced down at the book beside him, then back to Vexen. Then, slowly, barely moving at all, the boy nodded.

"Good." Vexen smiled. "I am very glad to hear that.

The door seemed to stare at Roxas, seeming to admonish his decision. Honestly, he didn't blame it. He wasn't exactly all for the idea himself. He'd been avoiding the door for so long, subconsciously as well as consciously, that he'd grown strangely anxious about it.

Actually, to hell with 'anxious'. Roxas was terrified.

It was absolutely ridiculous. It was just a door, after all. A forest green, intricately carved door, but a mere door no less. What on earth could he possibly be afraid of? What could Xemnas be hiding in there? He was a private man, no doubt about that, but who was Roxas to judge? He had secrets of his own, and none of them were as dangerous as Xion seemed to imply that Xemnas' were. Still, her warning from the week prior rang out in Roxas' mind, the memory pure and clear as fine glass.

"I know Xemnas seems nice at first, but he isn't. You should go somewhere else. Anywhere else. But not here. It's not safe."

What could Xemnas have done to make her mistrust him so deeply? Was Roxas about to see for himself? Was he putting his life in danger by opening the door?

No. Surely not. Xion would never have made Roxas go alone if she was sending him into danger, and she had been so insistent on him going by himself.

Something he needed to see on his own... Something he might misunderstand if Xion went with him... It was eerie, how cryptic Xion got when she talked about Xemnas, as if she was some omnipotent god and she feared that leaking his secrets would call upon his wrath.

Why was she so afraid of him? Roxas supposed there was really only one way to find out. Willing his hands to be still, he reached out and grabbed the door by the handle. It was locked, of course. Right, as if that could keep him out.

The mechanics of the lock clicked into place at his will, and Roxas pulled the door open to reveal...

"What?"

A set of stairs.

Where Xemnas had claimed to be a study, there was a dusty room with empty shelves, a few discarded paintings that faced the walls, and dark stairwell that led down into the basement.

Xemnas...had lied to him.

Roxas clenched his teeth. That one undeniable fact was enough to make him believe everything that Xion had said. Just by opening that door, he had already proven that Xemnas was not the man he seemed. The fear and uncertainty that had plagued Roxas up to that point disappeared all at once. He no longer cared what Xemnas thought of him, or what the consequences of disobedience might be. Whatever was down those stairs was worth hiding, and Roxas aimed to find out what it was.

Throwing caution to the winds, Roxas stepped past the threshold and into the dusty room that was the would-be study. He descended the stairs, filled with purpose despite the darkness that swirled around him. The air surrounding his body dropped drastically in temperature as he strayed further and further from the warm fireplaces above.

Dark... Cold... Roxas felt as though he was creeping his way into the very manifestation of depression itself.

Why would anyone ever have a room like this? Why would Xemnas be hiding it?

The closer Roxas drew to the bottom of the stairs, the harder it was to ignore the quiet noises that crawled their way up the stone walls from below.

The first to reach his ear was a quiet, high-pitched clinking. It sounded as though some noble with a full coin purse was running in place.

The second sound was more difficult to describe. It was a sharp, shuddering sound, even softer than the clinking it accompanied. A weak hissing, like steam rising through a thin, metal pipe, but unevenly, staggering in its frequency.

Roxas reached the bottom of the stairs much sooner than he thought he would, and his boot met the floor with a jarring smack, one that sent a shock through Roxas' leg and up into his knee, causing a tremor in the joint like that of a ringing bell.

The room fell into dead silence.

No more quiet clinking.

No more hissing.

Roxas held his breath.

Then the clinking began anew, and this time, there was no doubt in Roxas' mind that the sound came from a set of chains. There was something alive down here, chained up, and it was moving. Dragging its chains across the floor. Moving right for him.

But then it stopped. Just as soon as the jingling had started again, it ended. A shudder rolled up Roxas' spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the cold. His heart pounded heavy in his chest, and Roxas couldn't help but think that surely the creature must have been able to hear it. It was so loud in his ears, in his head. He wanted to run, but he feared that even the slightest movement would incur the beast's wrath. Why had he come here? What on earth had willed him to do so?

Xion, he remembered. He'd promised Xion that he would see what was in Xemnas' study. He'd come so far already. How could he let her down now?

Roxas swallowed. He took a step.

The instant his foot hit the ground, a deafening, strident roar filled the room, as if the very air were being destroyed around him. A violent orange filled every corner of the room.

Fire.

The room had suddenly been filled with fire.

As soon as Roxas realized this, he covered his face with his arms in an attempt to guard himself against the wrath of the flames. For just an instant, he could have sworn he'd seen a pair of glowing, green eyes staring at him through the ribbons of blazing effulgence, but before he could get a good look, something, or rather, someone appeared in front of his face to shield him from the fire, and blocked his vision.

"Go," said a deep voice, barely audible over the roar of the flames.

"Xemnas?"

"Did you not hear me? Go."

Roxas was hardly in a position to argue. He swallowed hard and whipped around, fleeing the room of fire and climbing the stairs as quickly as his frenetic legs could carry him. He wasn't even sure whether it was truly the fire he was running from or if it was his landlord, who seemed to have to power to appear out of thin air. Both seemed equally terrifying at the moment.

The light from the so-called study above led Roxas to the top of the flight and he made his way through that and into the foyer. From there, it was only a short wait before Xemnas followed, walking casually, flakes of niveous ash falling from his face.

"Did I not tell you to refrain from entering that room?" asked the man, his gold eyes narrowed in a cold glare. "Or was my reminder to you mere hours before I left the manor simply unclear?"

"Maybe I wouldn't have gone in if you told me the truth!" snapped Roxas. He was terrified, yes, but the fury from being betrayed was still stronger. "Why did you lie to me about your stupid 'study'? What was that thing? And why the hell are you keeping it chained up in your basement?!"

Xemnas strode closer to Roxas, uncomfortably close, peering down his nose at the boy. Roxas almost shrank from the intense glower, but forced himself to stand his ground. He needed answers. He demanded answers.

The glower transformed into an appraising glare that lingered for just a second too long before Xemnas lifted his head and simply walked past. "Come with me to the library," he said. "We have much to discuss."