XIV.

"...I'm afraid I don't understand whatever it is you're implying," Ienzo said.

"The score is mine," Demyx said. The realization cut his voice in two.

"No, it can't be. That means that somehow you'd have to be hundreds of years old. Surely you would have recognized it before now. No. I'm sure whatever connection you feel to this musician is just that." He waved his hand dismissively.

"I wasn't fully human before." The pain in his head was worsening. Demyx could barely look at the score without feeling halfway shocked. The runes seemed to shift, become blurry, and like that, become legible to him. He was hyperventilating. He'd known for a while that he was from that time; but it hadn't felt real.

The memories poured in like a flood, sending white-hot agony through him. He clapped his hands over his ears, as though that would stop the onslaught of color and sound, the battles and enemies and friends (so many friends just lost like that) and Heartless and Darklings and Unions and Foretellers and yes music, music despite everything, music bleeding out of everything, he'd never wanted to be a Keyblade wielder but master had insisted-

He must have screamed. His throat felt hoarse. He was barely aware of Ienzo on the phone, his face drawn, hands trembling with panic. Demyx couldn't do anything but let the memories batter him, one after another, until he was only dimly aware of the world outside. The pain of it wrung him dry.

A pinprick in his left arm, then a sleepiness. The memories didn't stop but they came more slowly, like molasses, and the pain remained.

Through this sedated haze he thought he heard voices.

"...So it's true then."

"...Yes. It's true. I've studied his DNA myself. You positively would not believe it, Ienzo-"

"And you didn't think it prudent to ever mention this to me?"

"Would it have changed your mind?"

"...No."

"Precisely. I assure you he hasn't experienced that passage of time."

"...He said he'd remembered something from his past. I did not think it was this . So that means he's really a-"

"Yes. I worked so hard to make replicas who could wield Keyblades, and we had four wielders right under our noses."

"But will he be all right?"

"Hard to say. All of those memories, some doubtless very gruesome and traumatic, his heart just healing… we must be patient."

Demyx wondered if this was what it felt like to drown.

For a long while he felt himself being pulled every which way by memories brighter and more intense than anything he had ever experienced. Dark, chaotic, discordant melodies twined around him, threatening to tear him apart. Pain seared through his chest. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't feel his body. Couldn't so much as twitch a finger or scream for help. Anything to make it stop, but the waves dragged him deeper and deeper and he couldn't swim with the music weighing him down-

Death and destruction-hell and Heartless-people falling and falling and falling until it seemed like there were more Darklings than people. It seemed like every friend he made disappeared; vanished, killed, or straight up abandoned. He never wanted this. Never wanted the Keyblade. Didn't believe in their cultish prophecies until they willed them into truth. They called him a coward for not embracing his heritage. Then a woman in a pink robe offered him a second chance, a chance to escape to a better world. She called him his name. They all did. Each and every time it felt like getting stabbed. These did not feel like his memories, such as they were. They were so vivid and yet so disembodied at the same time.

If he so chose, he could let go, could slip under this riptide of memory. Even was right; his heart couldn't take all the strain. Nearly twenty years of trauma battered him, etching him like acid. On some small level he knew he should want to fight it. For this new life. For Ienzo. But how could he ever bear up against it all? He'd never been strong. He'd just been lucky. It would be easy, like going to sleep. And he was so tired.

Slender arms grabbed him in the water of memory, and heaved.

A beach. Moonlight. Coarse sand and seawater in his mouth. He coughed and spat. His skin felt raw from all the salt.

In it all, a voice that should not be there. "Are you alright?"

He looked up. Ienzo crouched next to him in the sand. He too was soaked, dripping, breathing hard. None of this should feel real, and yet it did. "Ienzo?"

He nodded. "Yes, Demyx, it's me."

"What are you doing here? How-" A harsh cough choked him off. Ienzo patted him on the back.

His eyes were bright and urgent. "My power brought me here."

None of this was making sense. Zexion had power over illusions, but that didn't mean he could actively get within memory. "Your power? I thought you didn't have any-"

Ienzo held something out to him. A book. It was the lexicon, and yet not it at the same time; it was slimmer, a different color. "I've found it. My power as Zexion let me bring people into their memory. It only seems natural that as Ienzo I can bring people out of it."

"It's different," Demyx said. "Still, you're in my head-this is weird."

"I'm sorry. I… I was trying to help." He looked out towards the sea. "You could've drowned. You were drowning. I could feel your heart there, so tenuous-"

"Memory," was all he said.

"I know who you are," Ienzo said. "Even told me. But I saw, too."

His breath hitched. "I tried to tell you-"

Ienzo touched his face. He felt something like a shock. Somehow or another, this was Ienzo's very real consciousness, and this was all some kind of very weird mixture of illusion and memory. "I know. You couldn't've. I'm not mad at you."

Even though he was out of the water, he could feel the pain rising again. "So much pain they tried to hide from us," he said brokenly. "They did a shitty job. I can see everything that happened . "

"Xehanort?"

He swallowed thickly. "The Foretellers." His lip twitched. Ienzo drew him into his arms and Demyx started to cry.

Ienzo jerked away like he'd been shocked.

"Ienzo? What's-"

His nose was bleeding. He touched it with a shaking hand. A steely resolve masked the fear in his eye. "Come back with me. Quickly. We both have to wake up."

"You're bleeding-" What did that mean in this context? Nothing good, for sure.

"My power, it's…" He trailed off. He grimaced, holding his head tightly.

"You're burning out."

"Worse. I'm…" A whimper broke through his gritted teeth. "This is power I'm not supposed to have."

Thick anxiety pushed against the pain. "Shit, shit, shit. Okay. Um." He pinched himself hard. "Fuck, why did I think that would work? What do you normally do?"

"I've never done anything like this before."

Demyx blinked. "This is probably really stupid but I can't think of anything else-" He cut himself off and kissed Ienzo square on the mouth, blood and all.

And woke up.

His bedroom seemed piercingly bright, and his ears were ringing. Adrenaline made him shake. A warm, clammy hand held his, but it was limp.

Ienzo sagged towards the bed. His nose was bloody here as well; much more bloody, actually. He was breathing in a heavy, labored way and groaning a little.

Demyx sat up, dizzy and alarmed. He grasped Ienzo's shoulders. "Hey," he said roughly. "Hey, Ienzo." Demyx checked his pulse. It was weak, erratic. He all but fell out of bed and lay Ienzo down. "Wake up. You have to-"

He needed help. His throat had sealed shut. He patted Ienzo's pocket, dug out the gummiphone, dialed Even. Closer was always better. "I need help." His voice was a hoarse whisper. "Even, I need-"

"Demyx?" Even was more confused than anything. "How long have you been conscious?"

"I think Ienzo's dying and I don't know how to stop it."

"I'm coming. Stay on the line. Put it on speakerphone, do you know how to do that?" Quick, matter-of-fact.

Demyx looked at the bright screen.

"It's a phone icon with sound waves."

He pressed the button and set the phone aside.

"What happened?" Even asked. Demyx could hear items being rattled, cupboards opening and closing.

"He found me. In my memory. I don't know how, but he-he said he wasn't supposed to have that power." He heard the sob in his voice more than felt it.

Even swore. "No. He isn't. There's a reason humans don't control the elements willy-nilly. What are the symptoms?" He sounded slightly out of breath.

"He's having trouble breathing. His pulse is really fucked up. His nose is bleeding and it seems like he's in a lot of pain-" Another sob cut through Demyx. "I'm sorry, Even."

"I know you didn't ask for this."

"Why is this happening?"

"Power like that comes from the will. It can only exist without the presence of a fully realized heart-otherwise, it's too much power. Hence why Nobodies can use it as a defense mechanism. At that point, entropy starts wreaking havoc on the body. Your cells literally start to break down and melt. The will to live starts to wear down."

"Ienzo…"

"I've messaged Aerith. I don't think my skills are enough. We must keep him alive until then."

His pulse was getting stranger and more erratic still. Weaker. The strained breaths stopped. Demyx touched Ienzo's face. "Don't do this. Please don't do this."

"Demyx?"

"He's not breathing."

"I need you to start doing compressions. Hard. We can fix broken ribs."

Tears clouded his vision. The cool wetness of Ienzo's blood made him shudder, but he did as he was told, forcing Ienzo to breathe. Forcing his heart to beat. "Why would you do this? Why didn't you let me drown?"

Even burst through the door. His eyes were bloodshot. He took a syringe of something and jabbed Ienzo in the arm. Demyx's arms ached, but he couldn't stop moving. Or crying, for that matter.

Time moved weirdly. It could've been a half an hour or five minutes before Aerith was barrelling through the doorway with a bag slung over her shoulder.

"You should go," Even said.

"I'm not leaving him."

"You are in far too much distress to be a comfort to him."

"But what if he-"

Even seized his upper arm and pushed him out of the way. Aerith slid into Demyx's place, whispering spells. He sat out in the hallway. His head and heart were pounding and he shook all over.

Demyx felt frozen in place. He couldn't feel or think or move. The next thing he was aware of, Aeleus came by and gently heaved him up by the elbows. Demyx didn't know how he knew. Aeleus guided him to the kitchen, sat him down, and wiped the blood off of his hands with a damp cloth. He made him tea and waited for him to drink it. Demyx couldn't taste anything and could only feel the warmth. He was then shepherded into the sitting room, sat on the couch, and an unfamiliar wool blanket was draped over his shoulders. Aeleus sat on a chair opposite of him and began piecing together a puzzle.

Dilan ran into the room. "What on earth is going on?" he asked breathlessly. "All of a sudden that woman is barging in here like she owns the place-"

Aeleus held a finger to his lips.

Dilan looked towards Demyx. "You're awake," he said.

Demyx tried to curve his lips around the words, but couldn't.

Dilan approached him slowly. "The boy is in shock. Shouldn't we get help? Ienzo would probably know the most about such psychological-"

Aeleus fit in a piece with a soft click. He shook his head. Dilan turned very pale, then red, and then he went back down the hallway to investigate it for himself. When he came back, he said, "Demyx's return had a price. But why? Why would he-"

Demyx's breath, through his teeth, sounded like a hiss.

"He loves you," Dilan said with a sigh. "Of course."

"I know," he said quietly. "I know I'm not good enough for him."

Aeleus set the puzzle piece down. He touched Demyx's shoulder and shook his head. "That is not true."

Dilan seemed to be struggling. After a pronounced moment, he said, "We really don't know one another, do we?" He sat down next to Demyx on the couch. "However were we to know about your past?"

"I didn't know either," Demyx mumbled. "I guess Even spilled the beans."

"You really do have a Keyblade?" Dilan asked.

"Yeah. I do." His voice was hollow. A snarl of memories, like a scare chord, stabbed him behind the eye.

"I can only imagine what that time was like."

"Well, it was no fucking walk in the park, I'll say that much."

There were a few beats of silence. Aeleus fit in a few more pieces.

"It's why he kept you," Dilan said softly. "And why he wanted you back."

Demyx nodded. "If it weren't for the Keyblade, I would've been dead a long time ago. So that's why they made me join."

"Surely you could've chosen-"

"Chosen what?" Demyx cocked his head. "I was a kid, a kid who couldn't remember shit, and then a nice man offered me a chance to understand. What was I supposed to say? How was I supposed to know it was all a lie?"

Dilan blinked.

"Look. I get you don't like me, or whatever, and that's fine. But I don't need anyone moralizing at me anymore. I get it. I know I fucked up. Okay?"

"I never did say I was better than you," Dilan said with a scowl. "Do you think I do not comprehend what it means to prey on the vulnerable? To be manipulated? For Xehanort, we were both. And then becoming Nobodies drew out our worst selves. Like poison. So no, I do not know who you are. Nor do you know me. Don't you think it would be worth something, to try and fix that?"

Demyx stroked the hem of the blanket. Slowly, he nodded.

"I don't even know your name," Dilan said.

"I'm not going to change it," Demyx said. "Even though I know it now. A lot of really crazy shit happened then. I'm not that person anymore. I mean. I guess I am. I am but I'm not. I literally woke up like an hour ago. I have no idea what's going on."

"Such is the only constant of this existence," Aeleus said softly. "There is always a struggle within. Ours just happen to be… exacerbated. Yours especially."

"Indeed, how does one even begin to face that struggle," Dilan said. "It is intense when one is young, but you are also pliable. The rest of us… not so much. It's harder to learn to live at thirty-five than at twenty."

"Do you want to be better?" Demyx asked.

Dilan hesitated. "I suppose I do."

"You have to think about it constantly," he said. "And then it becomes habit. At least that's what Ienzo-" He pressed a hand over his mouth.

"How is he?" Aeleus asked.

Dilan looked away. "They would not tell me. But I-I assume if the news was truly terrible, I would have heard that much."

Under his blanket, Demyx trembled, though it had little to do with the cold. "This is my fault," he said. "If it wasn't for me he'd be fine."

"You are not at fault," Aeleus said.

"He overextended his power for me," Demyx reasserted. "To save me, and I-"

"Take a breath," Aeleus said.

Demyx tried to obey. His chest was tight. He didn't think it was possible to be so numb and yet so panicked at the same time.

"...You truly care for him?" Dilan said.

"Of course I do. More than anything."

"In that case I owe you an apology." He sighed. "Perhaps you and I should start over."

Demyx nodded a little.

"Would you like to help me?" Aeleus asked. He pushed over the box of loose puzzle pieces. Demyx had just picked up one of the tiny pieces when they all heard footsteps.

Even looked frazzled, his eyes bloodshot. "He's stable," he said in a low voice. "Aerith is with him now."

"What exactly happened?" Dilan asked. "Demyx said something about overextending his power."

"As far as I can tell-and it's still early-that's the case." He clutched the back of a chair, the veins visible in his hands. "We're not meant to truly have access to our elemental power. It's an essence of the self, a projection in the absence of a heart-weapons are another mystery. By trying to regain it, however lightly, the entropy of a Nobody's nonexistence began to eat away at his organs. Particularly his heart."

"...The organ?" Demyx asked numbly. "Or-"

"We're not sure how his metaphysical heart has been affected. But I have to learn to relinquish control when something's out of my hands… and it is. Aerith is healing the physical damage. He's asleep right now. Ansem is with him too." He met Demyx's eyes. "Might I have a word with you?"

Demyx tightened the blanket around his shoulders and followed Even out of the sitting room. He was brought through a door he had only seen closed before; it was an apartment, like Ansem's, though far smaller. It was neat as a pin, though barren of any real mementos. A spare lab coat hung on a hanger on the heavy mahogany wardrobe. A pale green chaise and pair of chairs were around an empty table.

Even gestured for him to sit. "Can I get you some tea? Something to eat?" The hospitable tone of his voice was off-putting after so much harshness, and Demyx began bracing himself.

"I'm not hungry-"

"You're going to need your strength." He reached into a cabinet above a hot plate and pulled out a tin of biscuits. He pushed the open tin in front of Demyx like he was trying to feed a feral cat. He stood in front of him and started to take Demyx's vitals. "Slight fever. Blood pressure low. Eat something. It'll help. We should probably try to get some more caffeine into your system too."

"Did you lie to Aeleus and Dilan?" Demyx asked.

"Not technically." Even shed his lab coat. The clothing beneath it was plain and a bit shabby, and more than that conservative. Unconsciously, Even tugged the turtleneck he wore a bit higher up on his neck. He sat across from Demyx and crossed his legs. "I need to gather more information about the situation. And considering the extreme… delicacy of the situation, I figured you'd rather have some privacy."

Demyx shuddered a little and dropped his eyes. He looked at the sad crumbly biscuits in the box. He considered eating one just to avoid talking. "How is Ienzo really?" he asked dully.

"The picture I have is not clear." He put a hand to his head. "As I said, use of his power wrought havoc on his internal organs. There's a good deal of internal bleeding, as well as kidney failure. But the most concerning of these things was his heart. I'm not sure yet for how long or when, but use of his power stopped it from beating. Not… death, exactly, but a type of sleep very near it. Something impossible to maintain without intervention. So, naturally, once he tried to wake back up, he went into shock." Even paused. "Have your eyes always been so green, or am I just getting old?"

Demyx cocked his head.

Even shook himself. "Can you tell me what you recall from earlier yesterday afternoon? Do you remember anything?"

Demyx exhaled. "That's putting it mildly," he said. He explained that they'd been working, that he'd realized the ancient score was his. "I just… started remembering. Everything about my life then started coming back, wave after wave after wave. There was just so much pain. I felt like I couldn't escape it. I couldn't . And then… well I don't know how. But he got into my head, literally, and dragged me out of the memory. And then I woke up."

"...Fascinating," Even mumbled. "Zexion always could use the memories of others to create illusions. But to actively be able to alter them…" He clucked his tongue. "If he's closely bonded to you, it makes sense that he was able to do so. Naminé was only able to alter memories of those in and around Sora. His power must have functioned similarly."

"He should have left me there," Demyx whispered.

"I believe his friendship with Sora has given him something of a hero complex." He uncrossed his legs. "Nonetheless, you deserve to live too. I have been too harsh with you. I always have."

"I wasn't exactly a good person then."

"No worse, I'm sure, than I. The complex dynamics of the Organization involved quite a lot of groupthink. It was easy to blame you as the source of our problems. The truth is more nuanced than that."

"The Organization was all I knew at the time." He was feeling genuinely cold now. "I still wanted to be free. But I didn't want it enough to make the effort of fighting worth it. So I made do."

"As one does."

"It's okay." Demyx sighed. "Dilan and I agreed to start over. Maybe you and me should do the same."

Even nodded. "Second chances involve quite a lot of forgiveness," he remarked. "But perhaps we all have more common ground than we think."

He had a point. All of them had been brutalized and traumatized; Demyx and Even, specifically, were the only ones to have been made vessels twice. Demyx still didn't remember why he'd done it, or if he'd even had a reason. The disorientation of those first few minutes (and it only had been a few minutes) as a human made everything fuzzy.

"I understand you're still in shock, and naturally are very worried. But will you tell me about your past? I can only imagine what this must all be like for you."

"Shock is right. I feel numb."

"Perhaps you should get some rest."

"I want to see him."

"I don't know if that is necessarily the best for either of you at the moment. Believe me. We will keep an eye on him. Sleep might help you get some clarity."

It was odd to see Even looking at him for so long without malice. Something inside Demyx was getting ready to give way. "What I'd like to do is take a bath. I'm so cold."

"Then by all means."

He left. Started filling the bathtub. At least the water was hot. He meant to undress quickly, to spare himself the chill, but he accidentally caught sight of himself in the mirror. It was exactly like looking at a stranger. Everything was in the same place and was the same shape, yet the sensation of being himself-and-not was unshakeable. His eyes were more green, his hair more brown. He gathered it in handfuls. How was it that he hadn't had a haircut the whole time he'd been human, yet all the remaining wisps of blonde were gone as though they'd been dyed?

This is me. This is my body.

It did not feel that way. His old and new memories crashed up against one another, filling him with remorse and bitterness.

He whispered the old name. A painful lump in his throat made it hurt to breathe. He slipped off the remaining clothing and submerged himself fully, the world above rendering into bluish ripples. The tension seemed to rise within him until he had no choice but to scream into the water, where the sound was mercifully muffled. Demyx came up for air.

"It's okay," he said to himself. "It's okay." Over and over again. Like a mantra. I'm going fucking crazy. No, this was just shock. Warm water ran down his face. He could not tell if it were water or tears.

He stayed in the water until it started to cool and then scrubbed himself down, as if to physically get rid of the bad memory. Demyx crawled into bed and breathed.