The morning of the invasion of Twilight Town carried with it an air of rare excitement among the ranks of the Organization. Ever since the incident at Radiant Garden all those years ago, one of the primary laws of the Organization had been never to reveal it. Now this rule no longer applied. Not only that, but with so much going for them – thirteen members, an entire armada, and a partially-completed elemental cannon under construction – victory seemed inevitable. Breakfast therefore was a particularly bright affair, in light of the operation that was to take place in mere hours.

Xemnas sat at the head of the long table in the Hollow Cafeteria, placidly reading that day's Twilight Town Courier; on either side of him, Xigbar and Xaldin were deep in a discussion of strategy for the first battle of the impending war. They represented quite different approaches to it. Xigbar frequently punctuated his speech with aggressive gestures, having neglected his half-eaten breakfast as he anticipated a glorious campaign of destruction all the way to the Door to Darkness. Xaldin was the perfect foil for Xigbar's ambition, calmly dissecting a grapefruit and playing the part of the other general's voice of reason. As much as Xigbar boasted about not even needing an armada for victory, Xaldin was quick to remind him that attempting universal conquest without one would not be prudent.

Lexaeus polished off a quart of orange juice and signaled to a nearby Dusk for more food, predicting a drawn-out, house-to-house assault with little time for a lunch break. Zexion had elected to take over reconnaissance from Axel, and was working feverishly to finish a detailed grid map of the town proper, dual wielding compasses and holding a half-eaten banana between the second and third fingers of his left hand. Luxord was absent; he had decided to sleep in that day. Saïx, conversely, was already on his way to the core worlds to spy on the Heartless – the Organization's real enemies.

Vexen was working on the ANTI-Cannon in the factories for the day; Axel's place was empty for reasons known only to him. Demyx tipped his chair back on two legs, feet on the table, as one of his Water Forms fed him cereal. His hands were otherwise occupied, as he was focused intently on his own acoustic arrangement of the full score from Les Miserables. Larxene sat at the end of the table, eating salad speared on her knives, with which she insisted on eating "like a warrior should." Marluxia passed behind her, bent to whisper something in her ear, and circled the table to sit in his place with his waffles. Larxene grinned, winking back at him.

From a smaller table in the corner of the room, Roxas watched Larxene and shuddered. "Can't imagine anything's wrong with her, can you?" he quipped, trying to make conversation with the girl across from him.

Naminé followed his eyes, shivering when Number XII glanced at her and grinned wickedly. "I'd watch out for Larxene," she agreed, scooting her chair so that Roxas was between the two. "Now that she isn't the lowest-ranking member, she'll want to enjoy it. Her idea of fun…isn't the same as ours." She put down her fork, and adopted a fake smile, hiding her fear. "Why am I telling you this? We just met – I should be making you feel welcome. Have they put you anywhere yet?"

Roxas nodded, swallowing a bite of scrambled eggs. "Yeah – I think," he admitted. "I've got somewhere to sleep, at least, with a bed and everything. But there's this whole wing between my room and everywhere else that's just…empty." His gaze flicked to somewhere beyond Naminé and lingered on three Dusks fighting over table scraps. "It's like they stuck me in the farthest corner they could find," he sighed.

"It's not like that at all," Naminé clarified. "Not for you, anyway," she said under her breath, and Roxas detected a hint of regret in her voice. Naminé picked up the conversation again before he could pursue this mystery. "That whole part of the castle is yours – you're free to furnish it with stuff you find in other worlds." Both teenagers were aware of the unfortunate implications – "find" in this context meant "plunder."

"Like they did with me," Roxas muttered, rolling his eyes. His breakfast was forgotten; it was impossible to hold in his feelings any longer. "Look at me. I don't know why I'm here, why I was in Twilight Town, or even who I really am – or used to be." He stood abruptly, sweeping his plate aside; it crashed to the ground, and Naminé shrank back in her chair, eyes wide and wary. Roxas was too angry to care. "I've got powers I don't understand, this Keyblade I don't remember finding, and now they say I'm one of them. What do you think that means, huh?What do you want with me?"

Roxas screamed this last question, glaring at the rest of the cloaked Nobodies and practically shaking in his boots. Demyx yelped, fell backwards and crashed to the ground; blushing, he opened a portal in the floor and scurried through it. Some stared at Roxas, surprised, amused, or apathetic. Xemnas fixed him with a steely glare, folding his newspaper and rising. "That," he stated, his voice like icy needles in Roxas's veins, "is a matter which you need not fully understand at this juncture. For the foreseeable future, I strongly recommend you trust the motives of your superiors, whatever they may be." His words were neutral, his tone dangerous. "Perhaps that should be our cue to depart for the day's proceedings," he finished, turning to Xaldin. Number III stood, clearing his throat. "The Superior speaks correctly. Gentlemen and lady, report to Shipyard II in fifteen minutes." He thought a moment. "Oh, yes, and somebody find Axel or Roxas will witness firsthand the consequences of disobedience." With a bow to Xemnas, he disappeared; the rest of the Organization followed suit, a few with snide glances in Roxas's direction.

Only Xigbar remained, and he fixed Roxas and Naminé with a dangerous, one-eyed grin. "Don't get us wrong, rookie," he said. "We're happy to have you." The Freeshooter chuckled darkly and teleported off before Roxas could respond.

Roxas was frozen for a moment; then, defeated, he sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands. He stayed where he was for a minute or so before a gentle hand on his shoulder reminded him of Naminé's presence. He looked up at the young Nobody, smiling sadly down at him and standing out from his surroundings in her plain white dress. With a choked sort of sound that yet was not a sob, he stood and hugged her, suddenly realizing how alone he really was. Sensing this feeling of isolation, Naminé tentatively returned the unfamiliar display of affection. They stood like that for several stolen moments, allowing Naminé a rare period of contemplation.

In the time since Xaldin had discovered her and brought her to the Castle, Naminé had been a slave to the Organization. Her days were rigidly scheduled: wake up at 7:00 and have breakfast until 7:30, at which time she was to report to the senior operatives for observation and experimentation regarding her nature. Lunch at noon, followed by another round of testing until 4:00. After that time she was allowed access to the Blank Library and other common areas of the Castle until dinner at 7. From 8 in the evening until the next day, she was confined to her room, under strict orders not to leave or to disturb the others, all of whom had free access to her quarters at their discretion.

She was unique among the Nobodies in that she had no memory of her previous life and apparently no concept of emotion - the perfect, analytical, logical being, according to some of them. She had quickly fallen out of favor with her captors when she inadvertently refuted each and every one of their hypotheses. Yes, she appeared to respond emotionally to external stimuli, such as suffering or witnessing pain; with no memory or knowledge of emotions, the Organization was forced to conclude that she alone had the capacity to feel - not that they had ever mentioned this to her. No, she hadn't demonstrated any powers on the scale of the Organization members' - indeed, she seemed to possess none. She showed little interest in weapons or traditional toys, preferring to read - or even more, to draw. She was provided with sketchbooks and pencils; at first any drawings were confiscated for research purposes, but this practice was soon halted. She apparently drew nothing outside of her surroundings or whatever her imagination showed her.

Other than her drawings and her books, Naminé had no outlet for expression or activity that didn't involve serving the Organization in some capacity. Without an identity of her own, she was defined by her treatment by the other operatives - an unfortunate situation indeed, as most of them either loathed or ignored her. Xemnas never spoke to her, only gazed at her as if she was something to be studied and not conversed with. She'd take curiosity any day of the week, though, rather than Marluxia's hungry leers that were reminiscent of a predator stalking its prey. Was Marluxia jealous of her emotions, or indulging in something darker? Naminé didn't know, and dwelling on the matter only made it worse in her mind.

Xigbar wasn't overtly malicious, but his pranks verged on the truly dangerous - he had once moved Naminé's sparse furniture to the ceiling, and when a passing Demyx broke his focus the girl was nearly crushed by her falling bed. Zexion usually pretended not to notice her outside of the laboratories, but she had overheard him and Marluxia discussing her as they passed her in the halls one recent afternoon. She had caught something about "what might happen if he were allowed to run things," but who or what they were talking about was impossible for her to guess. Demyx mystified her - one day he would tell her good morning, perhaps even smile at her as they passed in the hallway - a replica, nothing truly amiable or friendly behind it, but the best the girl could hope for. On other days the Melodious Nocturne's smile turned wicked, a sure warning sign for a Xigbar-esque stunt that invariably left Naminé soaked. She had learned to be paranoid, although nothing the others ever did lasted - partly because she was a Nobody and could heal, and partly because the Superior had nearly turned Larxene into a Dusk when she was caught holding the younger female over the edge of the Tower of Blades.

Naminé's thoughts were finally interrupted when Roxas broke the silence.

"What's that?" he said, pointing at something in the air behind Naminé. She watched his suddenly inquisitive expression, drawn to those eyes – "the eyes of a hero," she thought furtively – then, remembering where she was, turned around, thankful Roxas couldn't see the crimson tint to her cheeks. Roxas was pointing at the heart-shaped moon, a skeleton of what it would one day be. "Up there? That's Kingdom Hearts. As far as I know, it's always been there."

"Why's it shaped like that?" Roxas asked. "What's it for?"

"I don't know," she lied.

The noise in the shipyards of the Dark City was deafening; cranes, drills, and countless other machines ran nonstop, assembling the Silver Armada from the city itself. The rest of Something From Nothing was a sunken, skeletal plain in an already dead city, stripped of any useful metals and mined down several hundred feet. In places, great pillar-like towers of earth and metal rose from the pit, having been mined around in favor of better raw materials. Whether through the ravages of time, industry, the winds or all three, one would occasionally become unstable and collapse, spilling debris across the ground as if to portend the ultimate fate of all great cities. The factory itself towered a mile above the wasteland, a magnificent and terrible spire of industry surrounded by a cloud of freshly constructed fighters and warships - some receiving maintenance from various worker Nobodies, others rising to join the rest of the Silver Armada in orbit. This impossibly tall building was connected to the city proper by an equally long bridge, which was barely wide enough for two people to cross side by side. The precarious height of this pathway was put into particular relief by the lack of guardrails anywhere along its length. Twelve smaller towers were spaced at intervals equidistant from the main tower, each marked with a Roman numeral from II to XIII, like the numbers on a clock.

The tower at the 1 o'clock position dwarfed the figures that waited at its entrance discussing the forthcoming confrontation. Xigbar and Xaldin argued below a great archway, welded together from various pieces of scrap metal and emblazoned with letters cannibalized from other signs, which spelled "Shipyard II." The Organization's highest-ranked field operatives, who also served as the generals of the Silver Armada and answered only to Xemnas, were the first and so far only ones to show up for the mission. This wasn't their primary concern.

"I still don't see why we need the sentient fighters," Xigbar muttered. "The regular ones with pilots work fine, and even those are pushing it. I've been over and over the mission reports, and the Twilighters absolutely do not have anti-air capability."

Xaldin scowled. "Need I remind you who lives there?"

"I know who we're going up against. I know who's most likely to organize any resistance, and for the eighth time this week we don't have to worry about him," Xigbar insisted, exasperated. "We've got a dozen battalions of Nobodies loaded up on my ship already. That's a division of over ten thousand, all of which can teleport, and that's before the elite companies of Dragoons, Snipers and Assassins in the vanguard. And if that weren't enough, there's six of us in the field today. As far as I'm concerned, Yen Sid is a nonentity." The Freeshooter considered this firepower a point of personal pride, partly because his flagship was hosting the attack and partly because the Battle of Twilight Town promised to be the Organization's largest operation to date.

Xaldin opened his mouth to rebuke Xigbar for his hubris; he finally decided against it, turning and staring darkly off into the distance as if hoping to find the other operatives. After about half a minute he had composed himself and responded: "The other day I was reviewing some old history notes from the days of Ansem the Wise. According to our former teacher, Archmage Yen Sid was himself a Keyblade Master. After the last Keyblade War he declared neutrality, swearing to never again use his Keyblade unless the balance of Light and Darkness was threatened and without another to maintain it. If and when he enters the war, it will be on the side of the Light, and he will consider us agents of Darkness."

"Why should that matter?" Xigbar said. "We've got a Keyblader of our own, remember?"

"That's the only thing that worries me more," Xaldin retorted, but distractedly; Lexaeus had just stepped out of a portal nearby. "Xaldin, Xigbar - permission to voice concerns."

"Hello to you too, Number V," Xigbar cracked. "I'm fine, thanks, and so are the ten-thousand-plus reasons your concerns are invalid."

Lexaeus raised an eyebrow, both in surprise and annoyance, glancing at Xaldin for an answer. "He's been like this all morning," Xaldin quipped, pointedly avoiding Xigbar's gaze. "Some of us are less excited about the idea of going public."

"Is that cowardice I detect, Number III?" The silky baritone insult belonged to Marluxia, fresh out of another portal. "Surely you're more than certain of our military superiority? I would expect one of the generals to have full knowledge and command of our vast resources." Xaldin reddened noticeably, eyes narrowed and glaring viciously at the Graceful Assassin. Hatred of this neophyte and his lack of respect was one of the only common sentiments among the senior members of the Organization.

"You will address me with respect, Number XI," Xaldin replied testily, "lest you sabotage your own quest for a heart."

"If I may," interjected Lexaeus, interrupting a barb from Marluxia, "I don't doubt that we've got more than enough manpower. My problem is what to do about the witnesses. As far as we know, gummi travel is relatively limited in Twilight Town, besides the obvious special-interest denizen." He did not need to clarify who he was talking about. "What of the Heartless? Once Twilight Town falls they'll know, and they'll report back to Xehanort's Heartless or Maleficent." He had to raise his voice as the wind picked up, mingling with the thunderous sounds of machinery and the crackling noise of something burning in the distance.

"We've got it covered," Xigbar said with a careless wave of his gloved hand. "We'll brief you once we're in the air. Believe me, we've looked at this from every angle." Xaldin scoffed, but said nothing; he'd long since given up on arguing. "By the way, has anyone seen VIII and XII?"

"Negative," answered Lexaeus, inwardly rolling his eyes. He had a good idea of why they were missing, and regretted their lack of focus. "Axel ate quickly and left, and Larxene disappeared after breakfast."

"Off to find Axel, no doubt," drawled Marluxia knowingly. "Such a shame if they tired themselves out before the party started." Xaldin, unamused, took back control of the situation. "Make yourself useful, XI, and find them. I needed them here thirty seconds ago."

"No need, General. They come." Marluxia pointed opposite the factory's entrance, where two Nobodies walked hand in hand.

Minutes earlier
Somewhere near Something From Nothing

Outside of the shipyards, Something From Nothing was totally deserted. This sector of the World That Never Was looked depressingly like a minimalist version of Hell, a blasted and stripped-down artificial valley whose features were determined suitable only for military construction. Brick and wood husks of buildings on high towers of worked-around earth loomed here and there, casting long shadows and towering ominously by the surrounding desolation. Here and there fires burned in garbage cans or piles of debris, offering light for small sections of land. The entire area was otherwise locked in a state of perpetual darkness; morning in the World That Never Was could only be distinguished by the Organization's diligent timekeeping. Larxene stood near a fire pit which hosted several shattered, smoldering crates. The average temperature of the world was around fifty degrees, and a light drizzle only exacerbated Larxene's discomfort. She hugged herself for warmth, willing small static charges to crawl across her skin and keep off the chill. She had been waiting in this forsaken place of forsaken places for ten minutes, which for her was six hundred seconds too many.

Just as Larxene was deciding to give up, her back heated considerably. A pair of black-clad arms encircled her waist, and she turned around to see Axel gazing down at her.

Lucky bonehead. He's naturally warm; he doesn't have to do what I'm doing. "Mmmm. Toasty," Larxene murmured, simplifying her thought. She snuggled closer to him, returning his embrace to maximize contact. Axel didn't move, and this registered as odd to Larxene. She looked up at the taller Nobody, searching his expression. His hair, slightly damp from the rain, seemed a darker crimson than usual, which contrasted nicely with the black of his cloak. Larxene studied his eyes, the same shade of green as hers. They told her nothing on their own. Her gaze drifted down across his cheeks, lingering on the twin teardrops tattooed there; someday she'd have to ask him about those.

Lower, lower…she stopped at his lips. Axel was smiling, but it was thin, false, manufactured. Another oddity, even if none of their smiles could truly mean anything. Axel parted his lips to speak, but Larxene didn't give him the chance. She raised herself up on her toes, gently but firmly pressing her lips to his.

Now he responds. Typical man.

Axel tightened his embrace slightly, returning Larxene's kiss – but no more than once. His lips touched hers, and moved not, only acknowledging their closeness and not savoring it. "Only once?" It was Axel, then, who broke the kiss and stepped back from a somewhat sexually frustrated Savage Nymph. "Care to guess why we're here?" Axel began.

Larxene crossed her arms in mock contemplation. "I guess in a metaphysical sense, nobody knows yet. Personally, I think we're just two people who came about by the whims of destiny, and were fortunate enough to eventually hook up." She placed a hand on his chest, running a finger down his zipper. "Am I close?" Larxene closed in for another kiss, but was rebuffed. Axel gripped her shoulder firmly, pushing her back and crossing his arms defensively. "You know what I mean. Twilight Town. What happened there? You're flirty, but not like this."

Larxene rolled her eyes, turning and circling the fire. "Oh, is that what all this is about? Here for a minute I thought this was important." She turned back to him, now on the other side of the pit. "For someone who controls fire, you're remarkably frigid." The fire flared higher suddenly, exploding fifteen feet skyward; Larxene flinched and shut her eyes, and in her moment of distraction she failed to notice Axel portaling across to her. When she opened her eyes again, Axel towered over her, watching her carefully as the flames resumed their placid crackling behind them.

"You're avoiding the question, Larxene. Sora dies, giving us free reign to wage war. Suddenly you're into me. All I want to know is, is there a connection? And if so, what do you want?" Larxene stared at him incredulously, finally scowling and turning her back on him. "If you think I'm somehow turned on by death, you're dead wrong. Just because something happens at the same time as something else doesn't mean the two are related."

Axel considered this, turning back to the fire pit and scooping up a handful of flames. He tapped Larxene on the shoulder; when she didn't move, he willed the fire to leap to her cloak and quickly spread. Larxene tensed, half a second from dropping to the ground and extinguishing the fire, but after a moment she realized it wasn't burning her. Rather, it served as a pleasant, controlled counter to the chill of the morning air. Feeling foolish, she faced Axel again, grudgingly accepting his gesture and noting the way the tiny raindrops seemed to evaporate before touching her. Axel offered his hand; with a rapidly disintegrating glare, she accepted.

"Not that I'm complaining," Axel offered, pulling her closer. Larxene's eyes lit up, and a small smile flitted across her face before she returned to her apprehensive bearing. Axel passed a hand over her chest, and the fire leaped back into his hand. He closed his fingers into a fist, handily snuffing out the fire. "Look. No matter what I pretend to be – and let's face it, we're all pretending here – you of all people should know where I'm coming from. Yeah, the Twilight Town thing felt good, but my mind and my body are two separate things. There's always some part of me that's looking at the situation from the outside. Analyzing it." Axel's free hand, still steaming slightly, came to rest on Larxene's hip; the shorter Nobody shivered at its heat. "In case you've forgotten, we don't have hearts."

Larxene drew herself up against Axel, so that only their cloaks separated their heartless shells. "Exactly," she said, pausing to kiss his neck. "No emotional investment. No complication if and when we should choose to break things off. The fact is that the Organization isn't a very touchy-feely group, and I have needs. We all do." She fell silent, looking up at him. "Except possibly for Xemnas and Saïx…" Her attempt at humor failed to earn a reaction. Axel searched her eyes for deception for a moment; then, with a fierceness that surprised even Larxene, he grabbed the back of her head and crushed her lips against his. The intensity of his kisses bordered on violent, and it was all Larxene could do to fight back with her own mouth. Axel broke away once more, and Larxene held eye contact with him, eyebrows raised in anticipation. "I can indulge you." Axel said. "But only for my sake. I'll be watching you. Try anything and you'll have me to deal with." He cracked a smile then, and Larxene couldn't tell if he had been joking or not. She smirked, deciding not to care. So eager to play this little game...No turning back, Axel.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she concluded mockingly.

They remained where they were for two or three more minutes, the rain turning to steam around them as their body temperatures involuntarily increased. For a couple hundred seconds their bodies were all that mattered to each other; Axel's lips on Larxene's, her tongue battling for dominance in his mouth, held sway over their senses. Axel gripped Larxene's back, his fistfuls of fabric drawing her cloak tighter around her body, crushing her against him. The sensation of her cloak hugging her skin made her shiver and press closer against Axel - a cycle of arousal that caused her skin to crawl with electricity. Every kiss buzzed against Axel's lips with a sensation that at first shocked him, but for which he gradually developed a taste bordering on hunger. The fire pit nearby flared higher as Larxene bent her head to nip at his collarbone, and lightning arced from Larxene's body to a nearby weather vane when he took the opportunity to do the same to her ear. Destructive energy crackled around their hormonal nexus, creating a spectacular light show visible from afar; finally, they separated, and the light dwindled down to the glow from the now-dying fire. Axel and Larxene exchanged self-satisfied glances, both awaiting the next time - for already, the moment had passed and the pleasure was fading from their emotionally numb bodies.

"Let's go," Axel told her. "We don't want to miss out on the fireworks, do we?"

Larxene giggled dangerously. "Get me all worked up like that and you can bet I'll be out for blood."

Axel took her hand, heating his palm as much as he felt Larxene could stand it. The crackle of electricity against his own told him she was thinking the same way.

Together they walked to the shipyards, and into their destiny.