(I know the novel isn't technically canon, but I like Vanitas' backstory in it so just pretend, OK? Also, way to end the story with an epic fight scene! That I had to write twice! Thanks to everyone who left comments or kudos, it's what keeps me going. I hope I see you all for the next one)

Vanitas was awake, and that could only mean one thing. Xehanort had failed.

Some days it felt like the black-haired boy couldn't catch a break. The only reason Vanitas had even joined Xehanort's cause to begin with was because he promised a way out, a way to escape the pain that consumed his half-baked heart. His entrance into the world was not a pleasant one, ripped violently out of Ventus' heart and forced into existence as an imitation of a whole being but with only half the ingredients. He didn't even have enough of his own essence to congeal the darkness that sustained him into a useful form at first, existing as a black formless shadow with only glowing red eyes to differentiate himself from any of the lesser Heartless that existed alongside him.

That was, until the day he suddenly gained a form. It wouldn't be until many years later that it would become apparent that his appearance was not his own, stolen from the heart of a nameless child that had sacrificed their own heart to protect Ventus from the clutches of death. In a sense, the child had also indirectly saved Vanitas, although it was not appreciated. Every wave of misery that swept over the black-haired boy spawned the Unversed, creatures just as reviled as he was for their mere existence, and every time they were destroyed his own pain would just increase their numbers.

Vanitas would've taken the sweet nothingness of the void over the pain of existence any day of the week, but fate was not so kind. While Ventus continued to breathe his light would shine strong, and that damned light sustained Vanitas in its shadow. The only way to release himself from the brutal cycle would be to take Ventus down with him, ending both halves of their joint life in a single fell swoop. That was what Xehanort had offered him, the opportunity to destroy the boy that had created him and the tools to do so.

Xehanort gave him the chance to die, and Vanitas had royally fucked it up. All the pieces were in place, the pawns had played their roles and all that was left was to call checkmate. But he didn't. His heart came so close to Ventus, the two halves clinging on to each other even as their respective owners fought viciously. Vanitas heard the call of the light, beckoning him into its arms and away from the pain of his cursed existence, and he didn't doubt that Ventus heard it too. The incomplete χ-Blade vibrated in his hand at the sweet sound the light sung to him, ready to close the distance between the two for good. Xehanort could keep his lousy Kingdom Hearts, Vanitas just wanted to rest.

Ventus didn't agree. Whether it was through the strength of his own heart, or through the unknown heart that had bolstered it since the day it plucked him from the fangs of death, the blonde had fought with all the ferocity of a cornered animal and overpowered his own darkness. Vanitas could barely remember the final blow, but he remembered how it felt to watch the χ-Blade slip from his grasp and shatter into twenty pieces. The one chance he had at saving himself was callously torn away in front of his amber eyes. If fate was merciful enough to give him just one more minute - just enough time to regain his composure - he could finish the job, but Ventus' heart had already had enough. It gave out under the stress of their battle and the two had faded into the darkness together.

If Vanitas was still alive, that meant that Ventus was too.

Vanitas grumbled, scowl muddying his features, and roughly stood up from the bed he had awoken in, sheets forgotten and tossed to the floor. He had hoped that would be the end of it, both hearts lost to the darkness where time didn't exist and he could remain in sleep for all eternity. Sure, it wasn't quite the closure that he had hoped for, but he would take what he could get. The raven boy's mind was fuzzy about how long he had drifted in stasis like that, but he could clearly recall feeling an impossibly bright light, brighter than even that of the χ-Blade that reminded him what it was like to feel the sun on his skin. Vanitas prayed as hard as his half-heart would allow that he had reconnected with Ventus and the two were about to escape their prison together, and he dove into the light.

Then he woke up here, wherever here was.

Vanitas may have failed in his attempt to form the χ-Blade with his brother, but if Ventus had still died then he would've counted it as a victory, regardless how minor. Hell, it didn't even need to be him that did it! Xehanort would've had every opportunity to plunge No Name in between Ventus' ribs while he was incapacitated; he couldn't fathom why the old man would have allowed the blonde to continue living after their scuffle. Xehanort was a pain in the ass, but he was also deviously intelligent.

Whatever, it didn't matter now. Vanitas was alive and seemingly unharmed. He didn't need some crippled old guy to stab some people in the chest – he could just find Ventus on his own and finish the job. It can't have been that long since the two were swallowed by the darkness, so hopefully his brother was still injured and ripe for the picking. Their hearts were connected now so there was nowhere for him to hide. Vanitas would track him to the end of the universe if he needed to.

Smirking to himself now that he had a plan to set in motion, he placed one hand over his chest and closed his eyes. He could feel his pulse rushing through his veins at the touch. His brother's heart wouldn't be able to conceal itself from him for long. Focusing his minds eye, he strained for a moment and cried out into the void with all of his heart, and eagerly awaited the echo that would no doubt call back to him.

Wait a second, since when did he have a pulse?!

Heart or no heart, at least he still has a conscience. You might not hear it, but right now it's loud and clear. And it's telling me you're on the wrong side!

Somebody knows where I came from. If I can't get answers here, I'll get them somewhere else. That'll be the person I trust.

How could he say that...? He's wrong. My Keyblade is not a sham, and neither am I!

Please don't do this, Master. I'm not strong enough.

Vanitas couldn't have imagined a pain worse than every time one of his Unversed were slain. He felt their cries in his bones, in his heart, reverberating inside his head, but nothing compared to this. The agony that ripped through his body was so severe that he couldn't find the breath to scream, his heart about to burst through his chest as needles dug into every inch of his skin. His head felt like it was going to collapse in on itself as his mind filled with screams, coming from every direction and drowning out all his other senses.

Then a switch flipped and it was over.

He tentatively peeled his eyes open. Vanitas wasn't sure when he had collapsed to the floor, head in his head, but any signs of the pain had completely vanished like it was never there, like the voices had suddenly been silenced. The room was dim, lit only by several candlesticks and the glow of the moon through the window, but he was certain that he was alone.

He had called out with his heart, and four others had answered.

This was quickly passing absurdity and crossing the line into disturbing. One of those voices was undeniably Ventus, but Vanitas had no idea who the other three belonged to and they were so damn loud as if they were standing right behind him. Who could possibly have such a powerful connection to his brother's heart and why was it not the other two pain-in-the-ass apprentices? Vanitas needed to know what was going on, and now. His brother couldn't keep his secrets for long.

Vanitas pulled himself to his feet and picked up the golden candelabra resting on the nightstand. The flames didn't even flicker as they passed through the air, obviously lit by some magical means. Vanitas was concerned that the light source would give his position away to any would-be attackers, but the other option was to stumble around in the dark, so he would have to make do. Holding in his left hand so his right could be free to summon his Keyblade if necessary, he pushed his way through the imposing double doors and out into the world beyond.

Well, wherever he had been regurgitated into wasn't a world he recognised. The hallway that greeted him seemed to go on forever in both directions, lined with windows in the shapes of crescent moons and stars. If Vanitas stood on his toes he could just see outside, the sight of a deep purple sky fading into impenetrable fog the only sight as far as the horizon. If he squinted hard enough he could almost make out a train moving through the dense fog, but it vanished as soon as he blinked. The raven boy scowled to himself, the realisation that escape into the world outside was more of a pipe dream dampening his mood. The floor of the hallway was parted by a thick shag carpet, dyed crimson red and embellished with fine golden thread that seemed to move as the light from the candle danced across it. It was very harsh on the eyes, but whoever lived here was obviously loaded.

Vanitas picked his way down the hall, ears ready to detect even the slightest of noises, until he came across a jumbled set of furniture covered with off-white cloth. It wasn't possible to make out what could be shrouded under the fabric, but the sizes and shapes weren't consistent as if they were haphazardly thrown together. The smell of mothballs filled his nostrils, a departure from the opulent furnishings the black-haired boy had come across so far. He could almost make out faint whispers originating from whatever was hiding behind the cloth, the hairs on his neck standing on end with unease.

An image of the Keyblade unleashing its ultimate power flows into your mind.

Vanitas shook his head sharply, trying to banish the intruding thoughts from his mind. This wasn't one of the voices that had assaulted him before, almost as if the words had no speaker behind them and were instead manifested from his own brain. Funnily enough, the actual image it was describing didn't reveal itself to him, only the words themselves, as if they were intended for someone else. Vanitas didn't know if someone was trying to trick him but he was getting real sick of all these people who thought they had the right to set up shop inside his head. His scowl deepened, forehead embedded with unsightly creases, and he ripped the fabric away to expose the assailant that was hiding beneath.

He was met with his own reflection. Or rather, he was met with a mirror.

Even in the dim lighting provided by the candelabra, Vanitas could immediately pick out the discrepancies in his appearance. Standing so close to the mirror that his breath left fog on the otherwise perfect glass, he inspected his face with a mixture of shock and concern. His features were exactly as he remembered them but the colours were completely different – jet black hair was replaced with chocolate spikes that seemed to defy gravity, and his sickly yellow eyes shone with a blue pigment like the ocean. Even his cheeks were rounder and healthier looking, although the deep-set bags under his eyes were the same.

Vanitas knew this face; it plagued him every time he looked in a mirror, only this time the foreign reflection refused to fade back to his own visage no matter how many times he clenched his eyes shut. He was never unlucky enough to have met the child that had willingly sacrificed his own heart to shelter Ventus in his darkest hour, but Vanitas' own heart knew him well. This was his face. He didn't resemble his brother, he resembled the boy. Somehow his own disgruntled expression didn't suit the brunette that stared back at him, which only made Vanitas angrier. It felt like he was looking into the eyes of an imposter, but he wasn't sure if it was actually the other way around.

Come to think of it, that explained a lot…

The boy, whatever the hell his name was, had offered his own heart to Ventus and acted as an anchor, tethering his soul to the Realm of Light when it threatened to fade into obscurity. The boy's light had fended off the darkness that sought to devour it, and filled in the space that Vanitas had left behind when he was torn out of it, taking a piece of Ventus with him that he would never get back. Their hearts were clearly already connected, so when Ventus had self-destructed to destroy the χ-Blade he already had a second heart to fall back on. But in the same way that a heart could be a hospital, it could also be a prison. What if Ventus was still there…

Bracing himself and growling as his stern expression caused his twin's brows to furrow in an unsightly manner, he placed his right hand over his chest once more. There was no doubt in his mind that one of the voices that had screamed at him before was coming from Ventus, or at least what was left of his heart, and it stood to reason that one of the others was coming from the unknown boy. If his brother had taken refuge inside the brunette's heart, then just maybe Vanitas had too. It would be worth the pain it inflicted on him to find out. He had to try.

Look — whoever you are — you don't know the first thing about Terra. Me and him will always be a team!

What are you talking about? We gotta find Kairi!

It's okay, Aqua. Trust me, that guy in the mask is history. He'll never bad-mouth Terra again.

Forget it! There's no way you're taking Kairi's heart!

It took everything that Vanitas had not to lose himself. The voices spun around and around in his head, his mind and the floor spinning with them until he could barely see. His own thoughts were drowned out by the noise as if caught in a tsunami. They just wouldn't shut up. His own heart was too weak to fight off the hearts of the two boys that were credited with his existence, and they threatened to swallow what was left of him whole until only they remained behind.

Vanitas curled his fist and rocketed it into the glass mirror.

The glass shattered and crumbled to the floor with an almighty thunder clap, streaked with blood from his knuckles, but it was enough to silence his mind. He took several deep breaths as if his body had forgotten the taste of oxygen and waited until his limbs fully returned to his control. He pulled his hand back but the pain barely registered to him, as if the blood seeping between his knuckles belonged to someone else. He supposed it technically did.

If there was anything left of the mirror it would have reflected the malicious grin that crawled across Vanitas' borrowed face. He was right – Ventus' heart had been sucked back into place right alongside the heart that had linked itself to him all those years ago, and it had taken Vanitas with him. He didn't know who the other two strangers were and frankly he didn't care. If he allowed the barriers around his own fragments of a heart to weaken, the two would seep through like mould and wear away at him until his heart was just another cog in the machine. Vanitas didn't intend for that to happen. If he wanted to be free from his suffering, he needed to take Ventus with him. His heart would continue to exist even as a shrivelled husk while his light still burned, but now he had a chance to extinguish it for good.

If Ventus was needing the boy to keep him alive, Vanitas could take all three out in one go by ending the brunette's life. All three could be free of the curse that tied them together, and Vanitas could finally get the peace he dreamed of.

An insane laugh burst out of his mouth before he could silence it. Here he was thinking that fate had shafted him once more, but it couldn't be further from the truth! It wasn't in the way he was expecting, but his brother had practically played right into his hands, and this time there was no stopping him. There was no need to fuse together and summon the χ-Blade for this to work, he could just take the brunette out the old-fashioned way! His heart had to be unfathomably strong to support the weight of at least four other hearts alongside it, but the kid was still mortal. His heart wouldn't protect him from a well-placed blade or noose.

His confidence reinvigorated, Vanitas sprinted down the hallway in search of anything he could use as a weapon. He was creative enough to macgyver something that would be of use to him in his morbid quest. He ducked his head inside each room he passed but only found multitudes of animated brooms and mops cleaning the place while their master slept. Vanitas was not one for piety, but he prayed that the master of the house didn't cross paths with him. He didn't know if he could summon the Void Gear while caged within someone else's body, and he had no reason to assume that the brunette had any magical prowess of his own. He would be easily overpowered.

His elation continued to grow as he stumbled across a kitchen. The smell of home cooking caressed his nostrils as if someone had recently eaten there, although every surface was spotless to the point that he could've seen his own reflection in the polished marble. He had hit the jackpot! Who even knew what sort of deadly equipment was hidden from sight in any of those cabinets or drawers, concealed from prying eyes and just begging to be used on unsuspecting flesh. Vanitas set the candelabra down on the dining table so he could still see what he was doing, and shoved past a couple of the enchanted brooms that had tried to greet him, knocking one over in the process.

He was practically spoiled for choice. Should he use poison, something to stop his heart mid-beat? Should he fill a pot with water and dip his head inside until his lungs gave up? Could he climb on the counter and out a window and see what was veiled in the endless fog below? So many options, he barely knew where to start! Vanitas' mind was made up for him as his eyes passed over a set of kitchen knives, glinting in the light and calling his name. He licked his lips in anticipation and grabbed the handle of the largest knife, unsheathing it from the rack and rotating the blade as the warm light from the candle bounced off the surface like a disco ball. It was perfect.

Vanitas could feel his heart racing, the fullness in his chest aching as the other hearts leeching off the brunette's martyrdom practically vibrated as his excitement rose. He was about to be free. No more pain, no more Unversed, no more Ventus. He wouldn't need to beg for a reason to exist anymore, he could fade away and no one would remember him and he couldn't think of anything sweeter. His knuckled were white as he clung onto the blade, the only thing keeping him grounded. He was so close, he just had to take the plunge.

He lifted the knife to his neck, veins bulging under the skin, and prepared himself. He'd lived through so much suffering in his short life, what he was about to experience would pale in comparison. All he had to do was draw the blade across his jugular and he would have won. The two pairs of blue eyes that looked at him with such sadness would close forever.

So why couldn't he do it.

Xemnas, there's more to a heart than just anger and hate. It's full of all kinds of feelings. Don't you remember?

I see... Your Wayfinder broke. Well, don't worry. Friendship's more than an object.

Vanitas slammed the knife back into the counter in frustration, shaking the bench and filling the kitchen with the sound of jars plinking off each other.

"SHUT UP!" he demanded. "I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!"

He clenched his teeth until he felt as if his jaw would shatter, the voices becoming more and more muffled until eventually the only sound in the kitchen was his own heavy breathing. Vanitas knew that only one of the two voices belonged to Ventus, but the speakers blurred together until it become impossible to tell which was which. He suspected they were assaulting him on purpose, filling his head with static to keep him from sinking that blade into their shared neck, but the phrases were jumbled as if he was privy to two separate conversations at once. He could almost see four pale white arms holding his own hand back, as if the other hearts were aware of the danger they were in and were fighting Vanitas for control.

His heart jumped as something pointed and dangerous embedded itself into the back of his head.

"Put it down and turn around. Now."

Vanitas' mouth ran dry. He swallowed deeply and forced his iron-clad grip on the knife to slacken, slowly resting it down on the marble counter below his fist. The hearts in his chest were suspiciously silent, leaving a gaping hole in their wake that echoed with his own thoughts like a cathedral. Moving slowly so as not to incur the wrath of his aggressor, he pivoted around with both hands in the air. Vanitas despised the thought of submitting to the orders of another, but he couldn't allow this opportunity at freedom to be taken from him. Not again. Keeping his breathing under control, the raven Keyblade wielder firmly locked eyes with the threat in front of him.

It was…

Just some kid.

Vanitas couldn't help but feel disappointment welling up in his chest at the realisation that the guy threatening him was just another insufferable punk. His long silver locks almost seemed to shimmer in the dim candlelight, messy from sleep and brushing past his tensed shoulders. His cyan eyes held a fierce and murderous glint like a tiger ready to snap at a moments notice. But most interesting was the weapon currently pointed directly between Vanitas' eyes. A vicious looking bat wing tipped with a needle point was only inches from his face, clenched in the stranger's right hand and embellished with a small angel wing. The individual feathers seemed to flutter in the flickering light.

"A Keyblade…" Vanitas mused out loud. Were they just handing these out now?!

"SHUT UP," the silver-haired boy barked, his brow furrowing deeper as if he was physically holding himself back. "Don't play games with me. Who are you, and what have you done with Sora?!"

Vanitas didn't grace him with an answer, his gaze firmly glued to the tip of the blade that was inches from poking an eye out. The possibility of him encountering a Keyblade wielder of all people that wasn't one of the two remaining apprentices was so unfathomably small that he hadn't even considered it, but it opened a whole slew of options. Even in the hand of the most inexperienced user, a Keyblade could still unlock a person's heart, so if he could somehow disarm the brat he could use the weapon to free his heart and release himself from the prison he was currently in. Hell, if he could goad the kid to attack him, he wouldn't even need to subject the Keyblade to his whims at all. It didn't matter to him which of the two voices belonged to Ventus – he could drag both of them with him. He and Ventus would fuse and finally disappear like they were supposed to. The other one didn't matter to him enough to consider the fate he would be forcing on it.

Vanitas didn't need to take himself out, he could just have this guy do it for him.

"ANSWER ME! I'LL KILL YOU!"

Vanitas was pulled back into reality as the Keyblade jutted another inch closer, almost grazing the skin between his eyebrows. The silver-haired boy was growing impatient with his lack of response, the controlled rage in his eyes replaced by something more feral and uncontrolled. Vanitas gave an evil smirk; he was making this too easy.

"Firstly," he began forcefully. "None of your business. Secondly, no idea who 'Sora' is. And thirdly-"

He confidently grabbed the tip of the Keyblade and forced it down, angling it straight at his chest.

"If you're going to kill me, at least do it properly."

Vanitas paused for a moment to give the boy a chance to impale him with his blade like he commanded, but the blow never came. His cyan eyes flickered with an emotion he couldn't place, his fury tainted with confusion at the request to end his life. Vanitas growled to himself, growing frustrated that the boy wasn't following his extremely simply instructions. Keyblade wielders could be so dense, and their emotions so unpredictable.

"You're…. notRoxas?" the silver-haired boy questioned, uncertainty clouding his voice as the grip on his Keyblade became less confident. Vanitas rolled his eyes.

"Are you stupid?" he sneered. "Come on, we don't have all day. Right between the ribs."

He puffed out his chest in a show of bravado, the sharp tip of the bat-winged Keyblade digging into the skin of his chest as if he was inviting it to close the rest of the distance. The brat's cyan eyes were now lined with fear, searching his face as if he was begging for a sign of recognition. He was too stunned to make the move to finish what he had threatened. Vanitas got the feeling they would be waiting for a long time, and asking politely clearly wasn't going to get him anyway. He sneered and batted the Keyblade away from him nonchalantly, the kid's grip now so loose that the weapon slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor.

"Pathetic," he snarled. "How did a snot-nosed kid like you even get a Keyblade. Well, whatever- "

Vanitas reached back behind him and grasped the knife that had patiently waited for him right where he left it. Still facing the silver-haired boy, he returned it to the skin on his neck and began to slide it across, deep enough to draw blood.

"-I'll just do it myself."

He didn't even have a chance to blink before the boy snapped to his position and grabbed the arm holding the blade, twisting it sharply and forcing Vanitas to drop it with a cry of pain as the friction burn set in like acid. He spun around and dug his elbow into the chiselled cheeks of his aggressor, sending the silver-haired boy recoiling dizzily and releasing the hold on his arm. Funny that the brat who had threatened to kill him was now trying to stop exactly that from happening. Vanitas ducked down and swept the knife back up from the floor, jumping forward and slicing the blade through the air towards the other's face. He reflexively leaned back enough for the singing blade to just miss carving a chunk of flesh out of his cheek, the metal whistling as it zipped through the air. Now Vanitas was pissed off he was more focused on killing the other boy than on killing himself.

Rearing his arm back, he stabbed the blade towards the Keyblade wielder in an attempt to sink the knife into his skull. The brat obviously had some combat experience and was quick enough to duck under the attack, the knife embedding itself in the wooden door of a cabinet and refusing to budge no matter how hard he tugged at it. The wind was knocked out of his lungs as a fist found itself in his stomach, sending him flying backwards with a gasp and landing hard on his back. Stars flew across his eyes as the back of his head bounced off the hard stone floor, but Vanitas refused to stay down.

"SORA!" the silver-haired boy screamed, retrieving his Keyblade from the floor as Vanitas pulled himself back to his feet. "I know you're in there, fight back!"

Vanitas completely disregarded the outburst and harshly pulled one of the chairs from under the dining table and tossed it legs-first at the Keyblade wielder. He raised his weapon to deflect it, but the weight of the furniture was enough to catch him off guard. The blade remained in his hand, but it was enough to topple him over. Vanitas felt exhilaration powering through his veins at the thrill of the fight; not since facing his brother had he battled someone on equal ground. It was a feeling he had missed, but he still needed to end the fight quickly if he wanted any chance of victory.

Ignoring the stabbing pain in his right arm from the friction burn, he summoned the Void Gear and raised it above his head and brought it down hard, ready to find its place in the caved-in skull of his opponent. Riku raised his own Keyblade to deflect the blow, but Vanitas planned to put enough force behind his attack to even shatter the stone below-

Wait, who is Riku?

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Sora turned his head to look at Riku, shocked at the worry that marred his friend's face. The two were heading back home after a long day of doing nothing, sparring in the sand of the beach and making up constellations in the sky above them. It was Riku who had decided to retreat for the night, and the brunette was more than ready to follow his lead as always. The boy held out an arm to stop Sora in in tracks and pointed to his face as a single tear squeezed its way out of his right eye and down his cheek. The tear trail glittered like diamonds under the icy moonlight, and Sora instinctively reached up and rubbed the liquid away.

"That's weird," he remarked. "It's like something's squeezing me inside…"

Sora rested one hand over his heart. A deep sorrow radiated out across his chest, but he didn't know why.

"Somebody up there must be sad," Riku replied, indicating up at the stars in the sky above the two. "They say every world is connected by one great big sky, so maybe there's somebody up there in all those worlds who's really hurting, and they're waiting for you to help them."

Sora fixated his eyes on the endless sky that stretched out above them, the stars twinkling at him as if they were in agreement with the words. Riku was always the more sensible of the two, and he spoke with such confidence that there was no reason to disbelieve him.

"Well gee, do you think there's something I could do?"

"Hmm…" Riku pondered for a moment, arms crossed as he considered the brunette's desire to help. "Maybe they just need you to open your heart and listen."

Sora raised one eyebrow in confusion, but conceded.

"I dunno Riku, you say some weird stuff sometimes, but… I'll try it."

His heart warmed at the gentle smile that crossed Riku's face, and he turned his body back towards the ocean. The soft crashing of waves against the shore was always so soothing to him, so maybe it could do the same for whoever was calling for him. He closed his eyes and puffed out his chest, and reached out a hand to the source of the sadness. If there was anything he could do to ease the suffering of another, even someone he had never met before, then he was willing to give it his all.

Hey, can you hear me?

It hurt. Someone was screaming, but he didn't know which part of him. His Keyblade burned in his hand like hot coals, eating away at the skin on his palm until he couldn't stand it any more and he let it drop to the floor. The silver metal of the blade and gold of the hilt were almost blinding with how brightly they glowed. Someone wouldn't stop screaming, but he didn't know which of the five parts of him it was. They wouldn't stop screaming.

I heard your voice. It cut through the darkness around me.

All alone, I followed the sound into a sea of light and found myself here. With you.

You gave me something back when I needed it the most.

A second chance.

I did?

But now… I have to go back to sleep again.

Are you sad?

It hurt. It hurt.

Would you mind if I stayed here, with you?

It hurt.

Riku knew there was something wrong with Sora before he even knew himself.

He couldn't deny that he hadn't made the move back to Destiny Islands particularly easy, although it wasn't intentional. At least, not entirely. Riku didn't consider himself to be a very empathetic person but even his dense eyes could tell just how far the others were pushing to keep him included in their circle of friends. There was a pang of jealousy that shot through his heart like an arrow every time he saw Selphie, Tidus and Wakka acting like a trio without the others, but he tried to remind himself that he hadn't been a part of the community for over two years. It had been so long that he was practically a stranger to them, and they were to him.

Riku struggled every day with trying to find his place in the ecosystem of his homeworld. After spending what felt like an eternity submerged in the Realm of Darkness he didn't have much in common with his friends any more. They were all still the same age, but he felt like an adult surrounded by toddlers, his stubborn yet cheerful demeanour replaced by something colder and darker that even he couldn't put a name to. It was difficult to make light conversation with the people who should rightly hate him for casting their homes into darkness. The innocent and oblivious looks on their faces made him sick.

Worst of all was when Sora gave him that same look. Even after all he'd put his best friend through, Sora still couldn't bring himself to hate Riku. That just made Riku hate himself more.

There were days when Riku just wanted to leave; vanish into a dark corridor and never return. He had accepted the darkness in his own heart as part of who he was now, but that didn't mean he wasn't still haunted by it. Instead of using the face of Ansem, his darkness took the face of the friends he'd tossed away like broken toys. Mickey could tell him that he needed to forgive himself, that he had already paid back what he owed tenfold, but Riku didn't know how. Some days it was tolerable, the warm sand and salty breeze soothing his heart and reviving the child inside of him that never got to live. Some days weren't as good.

He had done it for Sora. Riku was perfectly content to live his life as a nomad, hopping between worlds at the slightest whim and correcting all the mistakes that he'd sowed along the way, but the brunette was cause for concern. He knew he wasn't the only one who had seen it either – Kairi, the King, even Aerith and Hayner of all people had offloaded their worries on to the silver-haired boy. It was barely noticeable at first; the glassy, absent gaze that clouded Sora's eyes followed by confusion and malaise could simply be a sign of exhaustion. The brunette had a tendency to take every call for help personally, and trying to force him to get a decent night's sleep was becoming more and more impossible.

Then the sleepwalking started, and the excuses quickly ran dry.

Riku couldn't place a finger on when the problem began to get out of control, just yet another of his failings. To begin with the reports almost mirrored each other, detailing how Sora had awoken late at night and wandered around with a far-off look in his eyes, completely unresponsive to outside stimuli. There was no purpose to his motions, so simply locking the brunette in his room was enough to prevent the unconscious Keyblade wielder from wandering off a bridge and hurting himself. Unusual behaviour for Sora but pretty standard as far as sleepwalking went.

Then the reports took an alarming turn: Sora went from a mindless zombie to almost appearing fully awake, interacting with things around him but not recognising his own name. Soon locking his door wasn't enough as he would nimbly escape out a window, he would even speak as if someone else was using his voice, expressions crossing his face at random. He would suddenly snap out of his stupor, consumed with panic and inconsolable as if he had been wrenched back from the edge and into a body that wasn't his. He would inevitably calm down and his bright smile would return, but it was a far cry from the placid state he would enter into before.

Mickey and Riku didn't always see eye to eye, both literally and figuratively, but they were in accordance over Sora's deteriorating condition. They had to delay the Mark of Mastery. Sora was growing more and more exhausted as sleep evaded him, even the nights when he remained in his bed no longer enough to make up for the time spent wandering around as a puppet without strings. The threat posed by Xehanort was approaching rapidly and the duo desperately needed to pass their training if they had any hopes of beating him, but the risk posed to Sora's health far outweighed the urgency.

Sora had refused, just as Riku expected him to. The brunette spoke emphatically about the message left by Naminé: their hurting will be mended when you return to end it. They already knew that Roxas continued to live on inside the heart of his Other, and DiZ had been using it to hide his research for who knows how long, so who was to say just how deep the rabbit hole went? How many hearts were connected to Sora's to the point where he had become the pivot around which the rest of the world turned? He couldn't help the hearts trapped inside of him by resting, he needed to fight. He wanted to fight.

Riku didn't have it in him to refuse.

He knew the King was unhappy, but there was just no talking Sora down from the ledge when he had his mind set on something. The two had at least agreed to a compromise, setting up shop inside the Mysterious Tower to make preparations before the Mark of Mastery began in earnest. Riku expected Kairi to take the news badly, but she was surprisingly on board with the idea. The red head refused to go into details about the last time Sora had gone sleepwalking, only that she had found him at that island and brought him home, but he could pick out the concern in her eyes. Sora was safest surrounded by competent fighters.

The fact that she still trusted him around her best friend never stopped hurting.

Riku still clung on to the possibility that his worries were baseless. They already knew that Roxas continued whatever sham of an existence he had within Sora's heart, so the idea that he was somehow taking control over Sora's body while he slept was not out of the realm of possibility. There was little way of knowing how loyal the Nobody still was to Xehanort, so the idea that he might run off with Sora's body in the middle of the night and deliver it to their biggest foe was also not out of the realm of possibility. Riku got the impression that the King only gave his consent to proceeding with the exam because he would be accompanying the brunette, and he was one of the few people who could reliably take Sora in a one-on-one if he switched sides.

Riku had lived through that reality himself once before. He had no intention of allowing Sora to tread the same path that he had once taken.

He wasn't sure what was different that night, but he had woken in a cold sweat. Riku was used to surviving off minimal sleep – the Realm of Darkness wasn't exactly a place where one could sleep peacefully, lest a stray Shadow tear his heart away before he had a chance to react – and he had developed a habit of sleeping fully clothed in case he was called to action with little notice. Sora often did the same; it was just a curse of their profession. His nights were generally dreamless, focused solely on repairing the damage that he inflicted on his body every day, but that night was different. His dreams were filled with Sora's voice, echoing off empty walls until he could swear it sounded like four people crying out to him.

They were all calling out for help.

Riku wasn't one to disregard an omen like that. He threw himself out of bed and dashed towards Sora's room, Way to the Dawn already summoned in one hand in preparation of the worst-case scenario. He didn't know why, but his heart was pounding in his chest and he was sweating with fear. Sora was legendarily stubborn, so if his dream wasn't just a figment of his exhausted mind then something must be very wrong for his friend to admit that he needed help. His fear grew exponentially as he rounded the corner, almost ploughing through a couple of enchanted brooms that could only be described as running away from something.

The next thing he noticed was the mirror. Someone had uncovered it and shattered the glass, the floor now lined with tiny glass fragments and streaks of ruby red blood. If Riku gazed at his reflection in the glass he could envisage the Keyblade unleashing its ultimate power for him, but in its broken state it was completely silent as if the magic that powered the mirror had been stifled. The glass was partly swept into a pile, no doubt by the brooms he ran past before, but why had they abandoned their task when it was clearly still incomplete?

"SHUT UP! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!"

Riku almost hit the ceiling with fright at the powerful voice that reverberated down the empty hallway. It was gravelly and dark and commanded such power that he almost swore Ansem had returned for him, but it sounded far too young. At least he knew his dream was not without purpose. Clenching the Way to the Dawn in his hand, he sprinted down the hallway as fast as his legs would carry him. The Keyblade wielder didn't care for how much noise he was making, only concerned with closing the gap between himself and the source of the yelling before it was too late.

He almost allowed himself to feel relief at the sight of Sora in the kitchen, until he saw the knife in his hand.

There was a moment of gratitude towards the fact that the brunette was still in the tower so could be restrained if necessary, but Riku wasn't wholly convinced that the boy in front of him was really Sora. His hunched back was tense with anger, his knuckles white with their grip on the hilt of the knife and streaked with blood from the mirror. Even his breathing was heavy as if he'd been exerting himself, despite the fact that he was alone in the room. Suspicion filled Riku's mind as he approached the boy's back, moving quietly so to not disturb his target. If indeed the person in front of him was someone other than the brunette, he needed to get the drop on him to have the upper ground.

He raised his Keyblade and rested the pointed tip of the bat wing against Sora's scalp, not enough to hurt but enough to alert him of the other's presence. His posture immediately stiffened, back straightening out as the brunette realised too late that he was no longer alone in the kitchen. Riku forced himself to distance his actions from his emotions – this was still his best friend and the idea of threatening him made him feel unwell.

"Put it down and turn around. Now."

Riku was a little surprised at the confidence in his own voice, but Sora ceded to his commands. The knife slipped from his grasp, although the tension in his posture refused to dissipate. Riku took a step back to allow Sora to face him, both hands in the air in a sign of submission. His sea-blue eyes almost reflected a sickly yellow in the low candlelight as the two finally made eye contact, but it was like looking at a stranger. The silver-haired boy's heart sank at the knowledge that he was right, the person in front of him was using Sora's body but he was not in the presence of his friend's heart. Riku never felt so devastated to be right.

Sora barely seemed to register his friend in front of him, eyes locked on to the tip of the Keyblade jammed into his face. It was as if he had never seen a Keyblade before, despite owning more than one of his own and being one of only two people known to dual wield. A hunger resided in the brunette's eyes as he completely ignored Riku's presence, captivated by the blade as if nothing else existed to him.

"A Keyblade…" Sora muttered to himself. Riku was growing impatient.

"SHUT UP," he growled fiercely, having to physically restrain himself from lunging forward and attacking whoever had stolen Sora's body from him. "Don't play games with me. Who are you, and what have you done with Sora?!"

Sora didn't even respond to his own name, something that Riku knew was a running theme with his sleepwalking. Something about this felt very different from what the others had reported – no one else had been able to get the brunette to respond to their voice in a meaningful way. If it wasn't for his unusual and suspicious behaviour Riku would've sworn that Sora was fully awake. Thankfully he had known to expect the worst, otherwise he might have left Sora to his own devices. He didn't want to think about what would have happened with that knife had he arrived a moment too late. His controlled anger was quickly becoming eclipsed with an animalistic rage towards however had stolen Sora's body, and the lack of response was pushing him closer to the edge.

"ANSWER ME! I'LL KILL YOU!"

Riku jabbed his Keyblade closer, almost enough to prick the skin in between Sora's eyes. He didn't like that his enemy wasn't taking him as a serious threat, so maybe he needed a reminder. Sora flinched at the sudden movement before a sadist grin crossed his face, warping his features until he could barely recognise his own friend. It was an expression that was so foreign to the brunette that Riku had no idea he was even capable of conveying such malice.

"Firstly," Sora finally responded, spitting out his words like he was speaking to an infant. "None of your business. Secondly, no idea who 'Sora' is. And thirdly-"

He confidently grabbed the tip of the Keyblade and forced it down, angling it straight at his chest.

"If you're going to kill me, at least do it properly."

Riku could only blink in response, his wrath suddenly replaced with confusion. Sora confirmed his suspicions that someone was using his body in his place, but why would anyone want to steal another person's body and then ask to be cast out of it? What even was the point of that? Riku couldn't fathom the stranger's motives for such a thing, unless he was trying to get him to kill Sora by proxy. Even Roxas, who had fought Riku right up until the end, had willing merged with Sora so he could be woken from his year-long coma. The likelihood of the blonde Nobody puppeteering Sora's body around was becoming more and more remote.

"You're…. notRoxas?" the silver-haired boy questioned, uncertainty clouding his voice as the grip on his Keyblade became less confident. Sora huffed and rolled his eyes, not even responding to the name of his Nobody.

"Are you stupid?" he sneered. "Come on, we don't have all day. Right between the ribs."

Sora puffed out his chest as if encouraging the blade to pierce his skin and embed itself in his chest. Riku was so overwhelmed with confusion that he was unable to move. He had been so certain that the cause of Sora's sleepwalking was Roxas that he hadn't considered the possibility of his problems arising from someone else. Someone that Riku didn't know. The snappy manner of speaking reminded him so much of Ansem, all those times that he had whispered into his ears and led him down a dark and dangerous path, but there was a level of arrogance that set it aside. This person was dangerous, and they knew it.

Even though he knew this person was openly giving him the option of ridding his friend of his influence, Riku couldn't do it. He couldn't raise his Keyblade against Sora, not again.

Sora sneered at his weakness and batted the Keyblade out of his face, ripping it from Riku's slackened grip and sending the weapon clattering to the floor. Riku had fought so hard, jumped through so many hoops to prove that he had overcome his weaknesses and was still a worthy Keyblade wielder, but it wasn't enough. How could he hope to become a Keyblade Master if he couldn't even protect his friend?

"Pathetic," Sora snarled. "How did a snot-nosed kid like you even get a Keyblade. Well, whatever- "

He nonchalantly reached behind him and picked up the knife that was still resting on the counter. Riku remained frozen in shock, but the sight of the blade stirred up something inside of him that told him he needed to act now, that the situation was about to go in a direction that he did not want it to. The brunette raised the knife to his own neck as began to slide the serrated blade across the skin, a trickle of blood leaking from the wound and tainting his complexion.

" -I'll just do it myself."

The vision of Sora's blood leaking down his neck was finally enough for Riku to snap. He leapt forward and grabbed the brunette's arm and twisted it, putting strain on his elbow and forcing him to drop the knife as he wailed in pain. It was a sound that Riku had prayed he would never experience again, but Sora would have to forgive him later. If it was necessary right now, then he would do what it took to save Sora from himself. Sora responded by wildly shoving his other elbow into Riku's face, banging against his nose and freeing the vice-like grip the Keyblade wielder had on his arm.

Riku managed to steady his backwards fall just in time to jerk his head back, allowing the knife that Sora had picked back up to skim past his face. It was so close he could almost see his own reflection in the metal blade, stained red from the blood that coated it. He ducked away from the out-of-control brunette as he attempted to sink the blade into Riku's eye socket, the blade instead now trapped within the shards of the wooden cabinet behind him. As Sora tried and failed to free the weapon, Riku saw the rabid look on his best friend's face, an incomprehensible rage combined with undeniable joy.

He truly believed that Sora would murder him if he was given the chance.

Riku punched Sora in the stomach as hard as he could manage before the crazed brunette could pull the knife out of the cabinet, knocking all the wind out of him and sending him flying backwards. He shook his fist as the cramps from the blow set in, and used the opportunity to retrieve his Keyblade from the floor. He didn't want to use it for fear of unlocking Sora's heart and turning him back into a Heartless, but his friend wasn't giving him a whole lot of other options. The weight of the weapon in his fist calmed his thoughts a little, returning some of the logic that had escaped him in the scuffle. He knew his friend was still in there somewhere; Sora had the strongest heart of anyone he'd ever met. If he had truly called out to him in his sleep, then maybe he could return the favour.

"SORA!" the silver-haired boy screamed, both with his mouth and with his heart. "I know you're in there, fight back!"

It was a desperate plea, but Riku believed in Sora with all of his heart. For a moment he felt something respond to his call, four voices calling out in unison, but they were so quiet he could barely make them out. Sora used the opportunity to lob a chair at Riku while he was stationary, a move that was so dirty that it was hard to believe the righteous brunette was behind such tactics. He was able to deflect the furniture with his Keyblade, his grip renewed in its strength after it was disarmed by the boy before, but Riku still ended up on his back. Sora's movements were so unpredictable that he was barely able to react in time.

His eyes met with Sora's once more as he stood him, Kingdom Key in hand and an ugly sadistic grin on his face. He lifted the Keyblade above his head, ready to impale the silver-haired boy into the ground where he lay. Even when faced with his own demise, Riku couldn't bring himself to use his own weapon on his best friend. He squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for the feeling of the final blow, the one that would take his life.

It never came.

Riku thought at first that the screaming was in his own head, the last gasp of a dying heart, but when he finally mustered up the bravery to open his eyes and face his fate he saw that it was coming from Sora. The brunette had thrown the Kingdom Key to one side, the hilt practically glowing with the heat it was emitting, and was screaming at the top of his lungs. His hands covered his face like he was trying to gouge his own eyes out, staggering backwards and barely finding the time to breathe. It was like the cries of a wounded animal, cornered and frightened beyond belief. Riku wanted to cry.

Instead he jumped to his feet and punched Sora in the face as hard as he could.

The wailing was immediately silenced as Sora crumpled to the floor, his body hitting the exposed stone of the floor with a dull thump. He didn't get back up.

Riku let out a heavy sigh and allowed his body to sink to the floor, the adrenaline that had been holding him upright finally releasing its grasp on his body. He didn't have the energy to remain upright, instead lying on his back and feeling the cold stone against his skin. Somehow it was a painful reminder that he wasn't dreaming, that he was really here and he had really just attacked his best friend. Only the gentle rising and falling of Sora's chest gave him any release from the existential weight that sat on top of him and crushed his heart.

Well, that definitely wasn't Roxas.

Allowing the Way to the Dawn to dissipate, he ran his fingers through his now messy silver hair. He hadn't realised how much he was sweating in fear until he was given the chance to pause and consider it. Riku still didn't really know what had just taken place between the two Keyblade wielder, but his mind wandered back to Naminé's parting words, left for them in Jiminy's Journal and deciphered by their own data incarnations: their hurting will be mended when you return to end it.

Riku didn't know if whatever had seized control of Sora's body and tried to murder him in cold blood really deserved to be saved, but he now knew more than ever that Sora was right. They needed to complete the Mark of Mastery. As much as he hated the idea of putting Sora in that much danger, the episodes were only going to get worse as time went on. Either they needed to vacate Sora's heart of all its stowaways, or Riku needed to become strong enough that he could beat Sora in combat every time he lost control of his heart.

Riku didn't like either option, but it was the only two he had.

It was OK.

Vanitas had waited for longer than this. He could wait a little more.

Xehanort had taken him back. Said he wanted him to be part of the Organization. Said he would give him Ventus. They could go free.

It was OK. It wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.