Well, it's been a little while since I last updated, hasn't it? Sorry; I've been obsessing over an original story, and it's taken my a while to pull myself away from it to work on this. Hopefully I'll get the next chapter out sooner…

Thank you xXLiberationXx, TWI1IGHTMAST3R, and Rhyme13kh14Xion8 for reviewing last chapter!

Chapter Four: Lessons

Cora stared into the night sky through the window of the house, worry creasing her face. Ven. Where are you?

She heard the door open, and immediately whipped around and confronted her husband frantically, "Did you find him? Is he alright?" Then she realized she'd sounded too anxious, and immediately added, "He'd better be, or it won't be worth beating on him."

Draden just gave her a look from sad eyes and shook his head.

She looked away to hide her anxiety. "Idiot. Where has he gone?"

"I looked through the town thoroughly," Draden told her tiredly. "There was no sign of him anywhere."

"Mommy? Daddy?"

The small voice drew the attention of both adults. Yuruo was standing down the hallway, rubbing his eyes while he stared at his parents. Cora was the first to move, heading over to her son and wrapping him in her arms. "What are you doing up so late? Go back to sleep."

"Mommy, when is Uncle Ven coming back?"

Cora stiffened, and behind her, she heard Draden's sharp intake of breath. Quietly, her voice quivering only slightly, she responded, "I don't know."

Ven leafed tiredly through a book, his vision blurring. He and Xehanort had been in the library for hours now, searching for information on something that the old man called 'The Keyblade War.' His master had been very vague on the subject, so he still didn't entirely understand what it was about, only that it was a major event in the history of the 'worlds.'

This 'Keyblade Apprentice' thing was proving to be a lot different than he thought it'd be.

Ven exhaled heavily, closing the book and rubbing at his eyes. "Master?" he whispered, deciding to ask a question that'd been bothering him for a while.

"What is it, boy?" Xehanort questioned. Unlike Ven, he seemed to be wide awake and having no trouble focusing on his research.

"Why did we have to sneak in here? Couldn't we have just asked them to let us in?"

"I'm afraid that would not have been possible, boy. You see, there are some here that I have clashed with in the past. It would end badly if we were to anger them."

"Oh." Ven absently wondered who his master could have angered, but decided not to press the matter. Instead his eyes focused on a helmet in the window at the far corner of the room. "Hey, do Keybladers have armor?"

Xehanort was suddenly staring at him with very alert amber eyes. "Why do you ask?"

Ven fidgeted uncomfortably under his master's scrutiny. "Well, I just saw that helmet, and wondered. I mean, Keybladers are kind of like knights, right?" He laughed uncertainly.

Xehanort followed his gaze. "Indeed." He walked over to the helmet, lifting it carefully from its perch and turning it around to examine it. "It appears this is a piece of Keyblade armor from times long passed."

"So Keybladers do have armor?"

"Yes, some do." Slowly Xehanort set the helmet down. "However, armor is not your concern; summoning your Keyblade is."

"But-"

"Come along; I believe we've had enough research for today." Ven frowned, but followed his master as they left the library.

Xehanort didn't bother to crush the spark of dark amusement he felt as he saw Ven dash at full speed out of the Corridor of Darkness and back into the rocky, barren landscape of their training ground. "What's the matter? Didn't you like Radiant Garden?"

"Huh? No, it was great!" The blond-haired boy grinned up at him, and he realized belatedly he'd made some form of a joke. "The Corridors of Darkness are just kind of creepy."

How different from the way I thought. When he had been a boy, he'd found the darkness comforting, wrapping around him like a warm blanket when the light had been too harsh and judgmental. Strange that his apprentice would be so different from him.

But, regardless, he had to take the boy's mind away from the idea of Keyblade Armor. If he wanted his darkness to grow, then he'd need to make sure he had full contact with the element. "Now, let us return to your training."

He noticed Ven's crestfallen expression. "Now? But it's nighttime."

"If you wish to be a Keyblader, then you must be willing to do whatever task is required, including training whenever your master tells you to."

Ven seemed to quail beneath his gaze before slumping his shoulders tiredly. "Yes, sir."

Xehanort lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. Spheres of darkness came to life around the barren area, floating lazily as Xehanort moved away.

The old master turned back to watch his apprentice in time to see him dash away from one of the spheres. Disapproval lanced through him. "Don't dodge, boy! Fight! You shall never summon your Keyblade otherwise."

Ven spun around to stare at him, a look of alarm painting itself on his face. "What?"

One of the spheres impacted his stomach, throwing the boy backwards with a gasp. Xehanort closed his eyes tiredly. Perhaps this endeavor is not worth my time. It seemed it might be more profitable to search for a different apprentice, and return Ventus to the home he so obviously missed.

Yet Xehanort was not a man who would easily give up.

His eyes snapped open to watch as Ven rolled away from another sphere. He exhaled slowly as his apprentice seemed to hesitate, looking as if he were about to dodge to the right for a moment before spinning around to the left, avoiding the sphere by a hairsbreadth. Xehanort felt a spark of interest. If that were a real opponent, that would've been a feint. Shabby, perhaps, but it may have fooled them. Unfortunately, Ven hadn't capitalized on the opportunity to counter-attack, and was now back-pedaling away from the spheres. He leaned back to dodge as one neared him, then leaned forward to dodge another. Well, he's certainly becoming better at dodging. But this will never do.

He dismissed the spheres with an irritated flick of his wrist.

Ven looked over at him with surprised but relieved blue eyes. "Master? Are we done training?"

"No, boy," Xehanort responded, slowly walking towards him, "we are simply doing a different kind of training."

Ven tilted his head to one side. "Different kind?"

Xehanort's Keyblade appeared in his hand with an onset of static. He lifted the weapon above his head. "Defend yourself!"

Ven released a cry of alarm as the weapon flew down towards his head. He ducked into a roll, avoiding the strike and allowing Xehanort's weapon to fall upon the ground and raise a spray of dirt. Xehanort lifted his weapon and turned, unhurried as he pointed the tip of his blade towards his apprentice. He saw alarm flash across the boy's face as electricity collected at a ball on the end, exploding from the tip and racing towards him. Ven spun away on one foot, a small, relieved smile stretching across his face as the magical attack seemed to completely miss him.

Xehanort had a smile of his own stretched across his face for entirely different reasons. The ball of lightning seemed to shudder in the air before taking an illogical turn and flying back towards the blond-haired boy. Ven could only yelp in fear and surprise as the electricity impacted his chest and forced him to stumbled backwards towards the waiting Xehanort. His blade cut through first air, then fabric, then flesh, drawing a jagged line of red that dribbled long stripes of blood.

Ven fell forward with an agonized cry, lying prostrate on the ground. "You'll never summon the Keyblade if you refuse to fight. If you were facing a real opponent, you'd be dead." He waited, expecting his apprentice to rise and nod so they could continue training. Xehanort released an irritable sigh when he didn't, striding forward and nudging him with the tip of his boot. "Get up, boy. It's only a shallow wound."

At that point something nearly imperceptible caught on the edge of his hearing. It was several moments before he realized it sound like crying. Looking down, he saw that Ven was shaking, tears streaking down his half-visible face. "N-no more, Master. Please."

What was this uncomfortable feeling wrenching his gut? Xehanort shook it off, asking coldly, "Do you no longer wish to learn how to wield the Keyblade?"

Ven cracked open a glass blue eye. "Of course I want to learn."

"Then get up."

Ven remained on the ground for a few more moments. Then with a shuddering sigh he pushed himself to his feet. He stared at Xehanort, tears still running down a mournful face and eyes flickering with fear. But he was still standing. It struck Xehanort how young he was. Hardly out of childhood; in fact, not out of it at all. He narrowed his eyes, debating. He lifted his Keyblade; Ven flinched, but to his credit didn't run. Xehanort was mildly impressed by that fact. Perhaps he's not so helpless, after all. "Curaga."

Ven's blue eyes widened in surprise as the green healing light fell over him. A smile crossed his face. "Master-"

He was cut off as Xehanort hit him across the chest with the flat of his blade. "Don't get distracted, boy." Ven stumbled backwards, but caught himself and nodded. Xehanort struck again with the flat, watching as Ven slid away and contemplating his decision to heal such an insignificant wound. It wouldn't benefit me to have him hate me. Besides, with his age, he's likely not to have the fortitude to handle a wound like someone a few years older would. It certainly wasn't because of the odd, uncomfortable twisting in his heart; he'd abandoned that part of himself years ago, when he'd turned his heart to glass.

He lifted his Keyblade and struck at the boy with vehemence he hadn't realized he'd felt.

Ven shifted uneasily on the hard ground. He winced, feeling the sting of bruises accumulated from sparring with Xehanort for the past several days. 'Sparring', he supposed, was an operative word, considering the fact that he spent most of his time trying to avoid his master's blows. To his relief, though, the old man had stopped using the sharper edges of his weapon.

Ven rolled over, folding his hands behind his head and staring up at the indigo blanket of the sky, small flecks of light glimmering amidst it. The light blurred, and he rubbed at his eyes to focus them again. The back of his hand came away wet, and he realized he was crying. "Huh? Wh-why am I crying?" He smiled and released a choked laugh, sitting up and rubbing more fiercely at his eyes.

"What's wrong, boy?"

Ven jumped at the sound of Xehanort's voice, looking over his shoulder at the elderly master. There were many things he could say in response to that question; he missed home; he hurt; he was cold, and tired, and hungry; he was lonely. He answered with none of these, however, instead replying, "N-nothing. I'm fine."

Xehanort raised an eyebrow, seeming not to believe him. He didn't press the matter, however, and turned away to leave.

Ven felt a sudden flash of panic at being left alone. "Wait!"

Xehanort stopped, glancing briefly back at him. "Yes? Didn't you say nothing was wrong?"

"Well, yeah, but-" He stopped, uncertain how to proceed. He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, asking in a quiet voice, "Um, I was wondering if you could tell me a story?"

Silence stretched between them for a few moments before a harsh sound broke the still air. It was quiet, but in the silence that had proceeded it, it seemed infinitely louder.

Laughter. Xehanort was laughing. "A story?"

Ven's hand and head fell, his eyes downcast. "Just, please?" His voice sounded ridiculously pitiful, even to his own ears.

A raspy sigh escaped the old man. "You really are just a boy, aren't you?" Footsteps crunched against the stone, and even though a part of Ven realized they were coming towards him, he hadn't believed it to be true until he felt a hand land on his head. He looked up against the hand, eyes stretched wide as they stared up at his master. "Very well, but it will be a story that pertains to your training, not some useless fairytale."

If he wasn't so relieved that his master had decided to stay, he would've protested against fairytales being 'useless.' As it was, though, he gasped out, "Thank you, Master."

Xehanort snorted, but whether he was amused or exasperated by Ven's expression of gratitude, he couldn't tell. "I'm sure you've heard stories about the stars; every world seems to have them."

Ven blinked in surprise at the choice of topic but nodded. "Yeah. Mom always told us that they were special. If you saw a shooting star, then something big was about to happen in your life." Ven felt his heart clench as he remembered his mother, but he had little time to dwell on that particular painful memory.

"Perhaps. But the stars are, in fact, other worlds that were created from the fragments of what was once one. The light we see is the light that radiates from the heart of each world."

"Other worlds like Radiant Garden?"

"Yes."

"Master, what did you mean by 'what was once one'?"

"Exactly what I said; there was once only one world." He seemed faintly disappointed by the fact that Ven didn't pick up on this fact, but it was difficult to tell. "Thousands of years ago, so long that it has faded into legend, there was a great battle between Keybladers. That fight destroyed the world as it once was. However, the light was able to restore it, in a sense."

"A fight? But what were they fighting over?" Is this the 'Keyblade War' you told me about?

Xehanort remained quiet for so long that Ven wasn't sure he'd answer. Finally, in a voice nearing silence, he answer, "The X-blade."

Ven cocked his head to the side. "Keyblade? But why would they fight over something they already had?"

Xehanort exhaled a heavy sigh. "Perhaps I will explain it to you at some other time." He turned and began to walk away.

Ven scrambled to his feet. "Master!" The old man stopped, his shoulders seeming to sag with another sigh. "What was your apprenticeship like? I mean, what was it like to train with your master?"

Xehanort remained peculiarly still. "It's none of your concern."

He left, leaving Ven alone in the darkness. He fell back to the ground, upset with himself for ruining his chance at having any sort of companion for the night. He dragged his knees up to his chest and rested his arms across them, letting the loneliness and fear was over him. I wish I was home.

Something - something uncomfortable, almost unnoticeably - pulsed in his heart, writhing like a small parasite. He didn't know why, but it made him feel cold like Xehanort's Corridors of Darkness did. He pulled a hand away and gently touched it to his heart, confused. What is this? Is this something related to the Keyblade? It felt unpleasant, but somehow comforting at the same time. He wondered at it, noticing that the more he focused on the odd feeling, the more it faded.

It was only after it had gone that he realized his fear had faded to a bearable ache in the background.

Xehanort found that he was having difficulty sleeping. He tapped his fingers against each other, eyes leveled out across the vast expanse of barren rock. He considered going for a walk; the darkness would soothe him, wrapping him in its warm embrace like it had always done. Yet in his heart he knew that it was only a temporary salve.

Much as he hated to admit it, the boy had struck a wound that still seemed to be open. And through prying that wound further apart, he had let in the light of a memory nearly buried:

"Xehanort, you did well. It took me far longer to manage to summon my Keyblade the first time."

Xehanort looked up at his Master, a 'thank you' on his tongue, when Eraqus nudged him, grinning. "Don't think I'm going to fall behind because you summoned your Keyblade first."

Xehanort beamed at his friend. "Heh. You'd better not. It'd be boring if I just had the old man to spar with."

The 'old man' scoffed in mock offense. "Old man? Pheh. I could take you young ones any day. In my day, kids had more respect."

"Master, you're not helping your case."

"I'm not? Hmm, what was my case again?" He scratched his chin, his eyes screwed up in thought, but they twinkled with mirth. Xehanort glanced at the younger apprentice, and together all three burst into laughter.

Xehanort found himself shying away from the light. He wanted to forget; to cloak his past in a shroud of darkness. Inside him, he thought he could hear the child he once was wailing, "Master! I was the oldest; you should've chosen me to succeed you. Why? Didn't I do everything you asked? Wasn't I good enough?"

Xehanort scoffed at his own weakness, brushing the 'child' aside. It is foolish to dwell on such things. They have no meaning. Only the future is important.

But the open wound still throbbed in his heart. It reminded him of just how different his relationship with Ven was compared to the one he'd had with his Master and fellow apprentice.

He didn't want it to be the same, though. He was just using the boy. It would do no good for him to get attached to him, or vice-

His thoughts cut off abruptly as he realized that part of the reason he himself reached for the darkness was because his master, someone who had seemed to care for him, had rejected him. A cruel smile twisted his lips. Perhaps allowing the boy to believe I care would have some benefits after all.

And that'd be the end of chapter four. Reviews would be great, please?