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This is mostly a flashback chapter, but hopefully it clears up some issues as far as Kairi's amnesia and backstory is concerned.
On with the show!
Chapter IX: The Dauntless Dreamer
They're everywhere.
Horrible, twisted creatures with glowing yellow eyes and, jagged, screeching mouths.
The torrential downpour, accompanied by peals of thunder, and slashes of lightning, makes the creatures seem that much more intimidating as they close in on us; Sora and Riku are ferociously relentless in their defense of me, wielding ornate swords from nowhere.
Their defense is impenetrable—years of sparring together has made them acutely aware of each others strengths and weaknesses, and they compensate for them so flawlessly, their cooperation is so cohesive, that their movements seem almost precognitive.
Their strikes are hard and fast, swinging for the fences in a lethal dance of blade and pitch-black smoke; they flicker in and out of sight like otherworldly guardians, fierce and unwavering.
They are a swift, powerful, and brutally efficient war machine, and for that I'm thankful.
I don't have the physical prowess or the endurance that Sora and Riku do—that is a direct product of constantly competing with each other.
But even though they've been competing with each other for years, their stamina is not without limits.
They're bleeding from at least a dozen wounds each, and Sora is favoring one leg more than the other.
Sora's face is still a mask of grimly unwavering determination, but Riku starting to fade.
My heart is in my throat, and I realize the stupidity of coming to the island alone—no one knows we're out here. If something happens to us...
No.
I won't think about that.
I can't.
The explosive staccato bursts of gunfire are so woefully out of place that it takes me a moment to realize what they are. I throw myself down on the sand, screwing my eyes shut; the horrible gritty taste of it makes me want to gag.
When I open my eyes again, Sora and Riku are on their knees, covered in sweat, exhausted.
A forest of camouflaged legs surrounds us, and a rough hand hauls me off the ground and I spit some sand out of my mouth.
"You kids okay?" someone says.
I look toward the source of the voice—it's a man clad in army fatigues, followed by a cadre soldiers. I'm tired, so very, very, tired that I can barely summon the strength to nod.
Sora and Riku both grunt in what sounds like an affirmation.
"We're here to evacuate you. Destiny Islands is under attack by some sort of creatures, and the mayor has declared that the city be evacuated immediately."
Another nod.
This isn't happening. It's not real. This is just some horrible nightmare. I tell myself, but I know it's not true.
"No shit, Sherlock." Riku quips, and I have to stifle a giggle, despite the horrible situation we're in.
Sora pushes himself to his feet, staggering as his wounded leg takes his weight. "Take her first."
"No can do, kid. You're injured; protocol says-"
Sora lurches forward, even thought the motion must be painful, his eyes burn with a visceral, knife-edged wrath; a grim, relentless determination so intense that the soldier takes a step.
Sora seizes the soldier's collar, his white teeth flashing in the moonlight as his mysterious blade finds the man's throat. "Fuck protocol. Take her first, or so help me gods, I'll cut my way through each and every one of you and take her myself."
The soldier swallows hard and nods, visibly shaken.
For a moment, I'm appalled at Sora's language—all of our parents would be furious if they could hear him now.
And then, I'm overcome by the knowledge that Sora is fighting for me, in a way that no one's ever done before.
Butterflies explode in my stomach, and I feel nauseous and wonderful; sick and thrilled; awful and fantastic, and I think that maybe, if we were alone, I would kiss him.
But I can't.
Not here.
Not like this.
And before I even have a chance to say 'thank you' or hug him, the soldiers are dragging me away.
Sora's eyes meet mine, and there's a sort of profound tenderness there. It's raw, primal, the kind of soul-bearing vulnerability that most people never have the guts to show. It's beautiful and different, and hit strikes a chord in me that no one has ever been able to touch before, not even my mother.
And then, tears are welling in my eyes, stinging and smarting, and spilling down my cheeks, blurring my vision in tandem with the rainwater. I wipe them frantically from my eyes, just in time to see Sora mouth.
"I'll come for you Kairi. Always. Let me know when you're safe."
"Okay," I mouth back.
***DMS***
We've been walking for a long time, long enough that my legs start to protest at the relentless pace of the soldiers.
I can't really blame them though; they're soldiers—I'm just a fourteen year old kid who doesn't exercise anymore than her P.E class every other day at school demands.
"Can we...just rest...for a minute?" I gasp before I can help myself.
"We're almost there." the soldier in the lead—the one Sora threatened—grunts, and I can't help but wonder if he's taking his frustration with Sora out on me.
Out of nowhere, the creatures descend on us with piercing, ululating cries that stab at my eardrums. They make quick work of the soldiers, and before I even have time to shout for help, before I even have time to be shocked at the sight of the soldiers' mangled bodies, they're on me, clawing and scratching and biting and screeching.
I hit the ground hard and my breath goes oof, and then I'm lost under their flailing claws.
Ripping.
Tearing.
Shredding.
Blood spills onto the sand, mixing with the rain, turning the fine rock particles into a muddy paste.
My consciousness is slipping away, but I have just enough time to shout for help a final time
And then, I'm out.
***DMS***
I wake up with a start, clutching my bedsheets as my heart hammers a fearful tattoo against the back of my ribcage—I can barely manage to restrain myself from smashing the alarm clock as it screeches out its unwelcome wail.
My breath comes in short, sharp, painful gasps; my t-shirt clings to me, sticky with sweat.
Gross...
The inescapable dread from a few moments ago loosens its death-grip on my heart, and in that moment I want nothing more than to wash the grime and the memories from my body.
I force myself up out of the bed and step into the shower, tracing the thin, pink ribbons of scar tissue that crisscross my back in savage lines.
They've healed well over the years, but they'll never go away.
Just like the memories.
Some wounds never heal.
I shake my head, jarring myself back to the here and now, and step into the freezing cold shower in the hopes that the frigid torrent pouring from the showerhead will help me wake up.
It doesn't help—it's just cold and wretched.
I get out of the shower and drag the comb through my hair, brush my teeth, and get dressed. A quick glance in the mirror reveals that the brutal dodgeball blow from yesterday hasn't done any noticeable damage to my face.
I actually have time to eat a decent breakfast this morning—a banana, some yogurt, and a Cliff bar—as opposed to a half-baked Toaster Strudel.
Whatever Sora gave me yesterday definitely helped my knee—unfortunately, the walk is no less creepy.
I arrive at the training facility with a few minutes to spare. Roxas is munching on a bagel, and Riku's leaning against a folding table, nursing a coffee.
"'Sup, probee?" Roxas' impish grin is slightly more amusing, considering that he has cream cheese smeared around his mouth.
"Hey, Roxas. You have um..." I dab at my mouth with the back of my hand and Roxas seems to get the message, because he reddens and whirls to grab a napkin.
Riku grins and chuckles into his coffee cup as he takes a sip. He pours another mug and nods to me. "Morning, Kairi. How do you take your coffee?"
I try keep my mind from wandering at the question, to keep it from straying to thoughts of Sora, and I succeed, but only just. "One cream and one sugar."
Riku nods and dumps the ingredients into the mug, stirring it with one of those little plastic thingys before handing it to me.
"Thanks." I tell him, trying not to chug the thing, but I'm going to need all the energy I can get if I'm going to have even the ghost of a chance at passing that obstacle course today.
No sooner have I finished the last dregs, than Sora breezes into the room fingers laced behind his head of wild spikes, the picture of his old self—the one with out the curt, unyielding mannerisms, the relentlessly demanding expectations, and the ruthless, uncompromising will.
I try to freeze this moment in my memory, to immortalize the real Sora in my memory before the mask comes down, and his inflexible, unappeasable ethics become fetters of will that imprison his true colors.
Who said poetry was dead?
Sora's hard glare catches mine, and in that instant, his body stiffens into a rigid line of restraint, his eyes narrow into spiteful slits.
Despite his malicious glare, my heart rockets into my throat and my stomach churns at the sight of him. My face burns so fiercely, so intensely, that I'm sure he can feel the heat coming off it.
"Guys," His greeting is stiff, perfunctory.
"Yo." Roxas' standard greeting fits right in with Sora's short, to-the-point salutation.
"'Sup." Riku nods once, somberly, and I can see little bits of Sora in both of them—his unwavering resolve, his sheer force of will, his refusal to admit defeat—and it scares me a little.
And then, their expressions soften, and I feel a little more at ease.
But only a little.
I sink into a kneeling position to hide my ferocious blush from Riku and Roxas, but mostly to acknowledge Sora's presence.. "Master,"
"Grimm. Rise. We have work to do." Sora's tone is barely this side of derisive, his lips pressed together in a hard line.
I nod. It's reflex now, more out of sheer desperation to appease him than anything else. I will not waste this chance. "Yes, Master." I follow him back to the obstacle course.
Sora repeats his stellar performance from yesterday, and stares me down from the opposite end of the course.
The sheer pressure of the task before me turns my guts to lead.
I fight back the panic threatening to immobilize me and choke down the bile rising in my throat.
I will succeed.
I must.
Because if I don't, if Sora decides that I'm not worthy...
I can't bring myself to consider the consequences of that reality.
I don't know whether it's from stress, or nerves or some strange Wielder-exclusive precognition, but time seems to slow down, and I can see each fluid motion of the pieces in the course in agonizing detail. Despite the wheeling and spinning and hurtling, it's all clockwork, smoke, and mirrors.
Difficult, but not impossible.
Sora raises his hand. Ready.
His eyes narrow. Set.
And then his hand falls. Go!
I don't think, there isn't time for that, I just hurl myself across the starting line, moving without conscious thought.
My limbs obey me with an iron purpose as I strain in a singular endeavor toward my goal: the finish line.
As I take to the balance beam, smooth and efficient, it hits me.
In this raw and unforgiving trial, will and determination translate into reality as simply as flipping a switch, and even though I know that it's more from dumb luck than skill, I make it to the finish line unscathed.
Panting, exhausted and sweaty, I collapse into a kneeling position on the finishing platform and wait for Sora's appraisal.
Sora nods grimly. "Well, done."
That's high praise coming from him, and I let myself smile just a little. "Thank you, Master."
Sora gives no indication that he's heard me. "Rise. Now do it backwards."
I swallow hard and force my unwilling legs to bear my weight as I turn to face the course once more.
Sora may have given me the chance to become part of his exclusive cadre of elite guardians, but he never said it would be easy.
He's leaning in now, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he whispers, sending a hot, furious thrill of desire ripping through my veins.
"On your mark."
Sora's hot breath tickles my skin.
"Get set."
I have to force myself to focus now, to remember his mantra.
Earned, not given.
I plant my feet and square my shoulders.
"Go!"
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See you next chapter!
~Script
