The blow never comes. Instead, he hears something worse.

The sound of the dagger pierces flesh, but Axel doesn't feel it. He fears that the dagger might've found Sora.

Had it not been the sound of the victim choking on his blood and the smell of salt that reminds Axel of the sea.

No.

Axel uncurls himself from Sora, and finds the boy unharmed. Sora himself has pulled out the dagger, of which he holds in his hand, his other pressing onto the wound. Blood seeps thorugh his clothes and stains his hand.

The world has gone into a suffocating silence. All around them the fighting has stopped.

He turns to find Tifa with her whistle in her mouth. Maleek's body at her side; but he can't see any signs of injury.

Axel looks over and finds Roxas, heaving breaths, staring into nothing as his hand still grips his sword. Axel follows the line of his arm towards his hand, and then the hilt of the blade towards –

"No." he whimpers.

Roxas yanks the blade out and staggers back a step. Immediately Axel seizes the chance and scrambles over to Demyx's still body. He manages to roll him over onto his back, his eyes are shut, his body warm, but growing alarmingly cold.

"Demyx!" he screams.

Zexion is instantly at his side, breathing ragged and eyes glistening. Demyx doesn't react as Axel lifts his shift to examine the wound. He then starts to pat Demyx's cheeks. He carefully holds the blonde's head as other start to gather around them.

Tifa removes the whistle from her lips and smirks. She then turns and starts to make her way towards the small remaining group of her survivors, who don't argue, or speak, or flinch.

"Demyx?" Axel whimpers.

Zexion already has his hands hovering over the man's body, his head pressed against his chest. Axel sits aside and watches Zexion's face. His eyes are wide, eyebrows high and wrinkled with worry and fear. He breathes heavily as he continually runs his hands along Demyx's chest.

It's when Zexion grows still does Axel's heart sink. Zexion curls his cheek into Demyx's chest and squeezes his eyes shut. He looks up to find his friend, panic shaking throughout his body, and spoke, his voice just above a whisper, "He's dead."

Tears flow free anyway. Axel is suddenly breathing heavily. "No."

Demyx is dead.

Axel stares at the body.

An empty body, stabbed simply in the stomach, but aligned carefully to hit every internal organ to ensure the kill. The damage is enough that Axel's clothes are already black with blood.

People gather around them, and Axel smells the faint tang as someone is sick nearby.

But he just stays there, letting the others fan around him as they gather themselves from the carnage.

Suddenly, there's a tone that everyone hears, low and deep. Then Roxas grunts, and shakes his head. He blinks and his pupils finally return to normal. His canines retract, his ears soften into curves. He holds his head and moans, staggering a few clumsy steps. But his face soon morphs into raw fear.

Roxas looks around and finds nothing but carnage. The coppery scent of blood fills his nose, so much he fears he is going to be sick. He looks all around, seemingly forgotten where he was last. It is all a blank.

Rushing footsteps are behind him and he turns to find Luxord rushing past him. Roxas follows his gaze.

The world slows to the beat of an ancient, ageless drum.

Roxas beholds the sight.

Before him, some of his and Axel's men are on their knees, their hands folded, heads bowed. Tears and sniffs and stifled sob fill the air.

And on the ground . . .

On the ground . . .

Roxas can hear the sounds growing closer, reaching the air around him, but their words are somehow muffled. Like he is still underwater, the sounds coming from the surface above.

He stands at the front of the group, gazing at the blood, and Demyx's bloodied body atop it.

Demyx is dead.

The ancient, ageless drum – his heartbeat – pulses through his ears, drowning out any sound.

Demyx is gone. That vibrant, fierce, loving soul; the bard who had played with Roxas while he read, or simply tuned his sitar in his company; the man who had been a beacon of hope – just like that, as if he is was no more than a wisp of candlelight, he is gone.

Gone by Roxas' hands.

Roxas cranes his head towards his hands, they are coated with blood, but a fresh coating is on his right, and his blade drips it onto the grass.

Roxas falls to his knees. His hands shaking. "No, no, no, no, no." he whimpers.

He shoves his hands into the grass, his eyes catching the blood the swallows most of his forearms. Images of Ventus' death collide with Demyx's, and Roxas can feel the weight settle onto his shoulders.

It is always the same story, the same loss.

Roxas can feel the sobs wreck his body, the tears stream down his cheeks, but he doesn't make a sound. But he can listen; and each sob and sniff and sigh he hears lacerates his heart.

He crawls towards Demyx's body. He takes Demyx's cold hand and folds their fingers together. "I'm sorry." Roxas mumbles, his voice barely audible.

"Roxas?" he can hear Sora sob.

He shimmies closer and is about to rest his head against the man's chest when he hears Axel scream.

"No! Get away from him!" his words are followed by a harsh shove of his hands against Roxas' head, his other hand detaching Roxas' from Demyx's. Roxas stumbles back and nearly whines, as his canines still stain with blood and his ears droop slightly.

"Axel . . . I –"

"No! Stay back!" Axel screams.

Roxas tries to crawl closer to Demyx, wanting to feel his hand. He carefully speaks, "Axel, I'm so sorr –"

"I said stay back!"

This time, Axel's words are followed by his hand as it viciously slaps across Roxas' face. The crack of his palm against Roxas' jaw splits the room.

Roxas stumbles back, stunned; his eyes watering. He has never cried when his father hit him. He merely saw it as a punishment for his errors. But this, this is different . . . Bile rises at the back of Roxas' throat.

Sora's voice rings out shortly after. "Axel!" he shrieks. "It's not. His. Fault. You know that!"

"No, I don't." Axel retorts darkly.

He lifts his gaze to Roxas, who is shaking like he's been caught in a snowstorm. He mimics a child, but the blood prevents Axel from seeing him as such.

"I don't know anything about you anymore." He says while glaring at the assassin. "I know nothing of your kind!" he spits. "I guess sometimes children are bad people too."

Roxas' lip quivers as tears stream down his cheeks. His lip stretches wide as he readies to break into a hysterical sob.

The truth is too harsh to touch, and Roxas shies away from it before it sears itself into his brain and becomes real.

If I can't feel, I'm not alive, I'm not real.

Instead Roxas find a quiet place within himself where assassins don't exist, his family is still intact, and he's not covered in anyone's blood. Maybe if he tries hard enough, he can leave his broken world behind.

The harsh kneeing inside Roxas' head becomes muted – the grief of some other boy. Not his. Roxas holds himself as if he'll fly into a million pieces if he lets go.

He hears the faint wailing of the grief-stricken boy grow louder.

Then, it's muffled away by the sound of a high-pitched whistling.

Not again! Stop!

"No," Sora says. "You're wrong." To Axel's surprise, the servant boy angles Axel's head to see what is happening. And he says: "Children raised by bad parents do bad things."

The remaining Faceless members, Kairi, Namine, Yuna, all of their eyes water and their faces show horror, fear and sickness. They cowardly huddle as their Mistress approaches them and huff her cheeks another time on that confounding whistle.

A scream filters the air and heads turn to see Roxas gripping his head and flinging himself to the ground. He looks to be following Tifa and her remaining soldiers. Only a third left of what had greeted them in the game park, all wearing purple cloaks. Still, most of them with their wrappings about their head he can't tell apart from the three girls how they might feel.

Roxas is screaming and thrashing against himself. He shakes his head and grunts and whimpers as he turns away and tries to run back over to Axel and the men. He cries out as he fights off his Elven form once more, his teeth hesitating into fangs, his ears stretching and shrinking from points to rounds.

He tries to run to Axel, but Tifa suddenly grabs him by the back of his neck. Roxas only glances shining black hair and her brown eyes before being thrown to the blood-puddled grass. Pain slams through his face, light splintering his vision. She then places her foot on his back, seemingly to acquire a staff from one of her members. Her armor glows, pulsating with a purple light, her flaming sword has ebbed and rests like a normal sword at her side.

Roxas desperately claws at the grass to try and get away from her. Though he tries to stop them, tears of pain well.

"You belong to me, now." Tifa snaps at her son.

Roxas hisses, baring his human teeth, but the sound is muted. Fangless.

"You, are my son." She presses the whistle to her lips and blows, this time daringly close to Roxas' ears.

He buries his face into the blood and grass and dirt, whimpering and screaming once more.

Magic boils in his blood.

"I don't know anything about you. I know nothing of your kind!"

Your kind. Like Roxas is now just a completely different species entirely, and Axel wants nothing to do with him because he isn't human. Not fully anymore. Roxas can still feel the tingle in his cheek from Axel's slap across his face.

The darkness – it would be a relief compared to the hell smoldering in his veins. A part of Roxas is screaming – screaming at himself to get up, to keep fighting, to rage and roar against this horrible end. But moving his limbs, even breathing, has become a monumental effort.

He is so tired.

He can only hear Axel screaming as Roxas grows limp, and stops fighting. He feels the shift happen. And darkness swallows him whole and drags him down deep.

When Roxas open his eyes, they are angled once more, ears pointed with fangs sharp he whines again, and howls. His pupils reduce to slits again, and Tifa slowly leans off of him. Roxas rises, with wooden and twitching steps. As Tifa raises her staff, she shouts. "Today, we shall claim Twilight Town as our own!"

Apart from Kairi, Namine and Yuna, only a handful of the remaining members cheer and raise their swords and weapons. While Yuna wordlessly follows, her face a blank slate as she pulls her hood over her head. Perhaps he can have slight understanding. Both of her friends of the Faceless are dead, Maleek is a traitor, perhaps she's not as close to everyone else.

Roxas wordlessly follows, his eyes thin, ears twitching. He walks with stiff steps towards the Faceless, his mother in tow.

"Roxas!" Axel screams. He scrambles to his feet and goes to charge for Roxas, but hand claps his shoulder and halts him.

"No." speaks a raspy voice. Axel turns to find Maleek, alive, gripping his stomach as blood seeps into his wrappings. "No."

Axel growls at him, but he knows he can't fight off Roxas. Not like this. Besides, Demyx needs to be laid to rest. The thought pains him.

He watches as Roxas follows Tifa and her army through the far end of the gates. Until they're on the horizon and out of sight.

Unbearable grief sears through Axel as he falls to his knees. As he watches his lover rigidly walk with the band of Faceless, off with his crud mother, he feels tears overflow his cheeks, his heart harden and sink, and Axel braces himself on his hands and knees as he sobs.

Roxas.

Ventus.

Demyx.

He's losing everyone. And he can't do anything to protect them. The weight nearly crushes his chest, and Axel can feel himself sinking deeper into the dirt. Something inside him snaps, like a tether binding him too this world and he starts to feel himself floating up and up . . . until a hand grips his shoulder.

Vanitas feels chills on his arm as she sees the growing distance in the captain's eyes. He has to say something. Anything. None of them can afford to lose both men tonight.

"There are preparations to be made." Vanitas says.

"He would want to be here." Axel says, barely recognizing his own voice.

"But he would want you to do it."

Axel sighs. It takes everything he has to push to his feet and turns his back towards the carnage Roxas had left in his wake. "What about them?" Axel notions. "They deserve better. We can't just leave them like this."

"Leave them to me." Zexion immediately chimes.

As Vanitas follows Axel, out of his peripherals, Axel can see Zack, his eyes glassy with shock and distant. He walks over to the man and stands in front of him. Zack slowly raises his head and Axel can see that his eyes are almost like his left eye, glassy and frosted over with shock, pain, grief and loss.

"She is safe now." Is all he speaks to the man.

Zack nods. Axel's blood-crusted shirt rustles, and then he has an arm around Zack's shoulders. Zack himself hadn't realized how cold he was until he finds himself leaning against Axel's warmth.

He is still warm.

Even after what had transpired. Even after what he had witnessed, he still bears cordiality. A fire that it not violent and forged in anger. A fire that is a beacon of light, a siren for those lost souls who can't find their way. The lighthouse in a sea of darkness.

Perhaps he hadn't really known his captain as well has he thought he did.

Axel doesn't say anything as Zack buries his face in his hands and weeps at last.

The sun signifies the late afternoon, but a grey overcast foreshadows it's light, coating the world in silver. Even though most wouldn't recognize them in their current state, the men remain silent as they pass through the iron gates at the back of one of the castle gardens. Demyx won't be entombed in the white marble building though; inside is for the family of the property.

Axel leads the walk around the domed building, feeling as if the faces of the cerement angels stare him as he passes.

None of them had bothered to change, the blood-stained clothes and swords at their sides; the holes torn in their shirts and bruises on their skin speaks enough about their grief. Perhaps it'd be enough to keep onlookers away. As though their sorrow is a plague.

But none of them gives a damn; the mourning isn't for anyone else's eyes. Axel leads the pack round the back of the mausoleum and beholds the stone rows of graves in the gravel garden behind it, the pale worn stones illuminated by their tendrils of the light of the sky. Statues depicting everything from mourning gods to dancing maidens mark the resting places of distinguished nobilities, some so lifelike they seem to be people frozen in stone.

Most of the snow has melted since this morning, so it is easy enough to spot the grave by the upturned earth for it. Zexion is already there, a ceremonial book in his hand as he flips through the pages. He had done a phenomenal job in cleaning up the garden, everything was clean, as if the bloodbath had never happened. Axel had watched from the window of his bedroom as he picked out clothing for Demyx to be buried in.

Zexion had raised his hands and had casted the entire park in a golden light. The bodies of the many Faceless that littered the game park lifted tentatively off of the ground and hovering flatly, as if on an invisible bed, and all lined up in front of him. Axel then watched as the blood evaporated, the singed grass bloomed green once more, and Zexion as he walked along each member, speaking blessed words of spirituality, wishing the souls well and hoping that they have found home in the gates of heaven. Then, one by one, each of the bodies were lit on fire, and burned into ash that got carried off into the wind.

During that time, Axel's started to cry; his lip quivering and he could've sworn he heard the sounds of the departed, weeping, singing, or cheering as they ascended into the sky.

Now . . . now it was time for them to mourn their own. And Axel can only hope that he will feel Demyx's soul depart into the land where he can sing and play and dance to his heart's content.

There are no flowers, not even a headstone. Just fresh soil and a sword thrust into the earth – the sword he used in the battle. Apparently, no one had bothered to give him anything more, not when he wanted to be remembered as a warrior.

The men gather around and Axel can feel Maleek and Vanitas at his sides. Their hands are folded in front of them, their heads bowed. Sora remains close to Vanitas, holding his arm and linking their fingers. Zexion begins to speak, reading the passages after passage that will act as the bridge for Demyx's soul to cross over into the afterlife.

Axel stares at the dark, tilled earth, a chill wind rustling his hair.

His chest aches, but this is the one last thing he has to do, the one last honor he can give to his friend.

Once Zexion finishes, and the group mumble: Amen, they allow the silence to settle along the group like a blanket and stopping the breeze from reaching them.

He watches as a blue butterfly – a butterfly in the near end of winter – flaps its wings along the air and settles at the head of Demyx's grave. There's a soft collective intake of air as they watch the butterfly settle on the grave.

Maleek then tilts his head to the sky, closes his eyes, and begins to sing.

Axel turns his head to the assassin; his eyes closed. It is in the language of Atlantica. And when the men hum along to the melody, their voices hiccup with half-sobs, the vowels stretched by the pangs of sorrow, the consonants hardened by anger. Some of them beat their chests in tie, so full of savage grave, so at odds with the bloodied clothes they wore.

The sky darkens, and everyone can see the shadows stretch their way across the property, like a looming figure. Maleek still sings the song as the men lift their heads. He merely opens his eyes.

The sky has darkened to mimic night, but a gorgeous aurora dances across the sky fading from color to color. Green tipped with pink, red smearing with orange. They seem to churn with the words of Maleek's song, and Axel can only imagine Demyx dancing within the lights. The gods welcoming him home.

And within the finishing stanza of his song, the lights slowly fade away and the sky returns to a grey overcast. Then after a soft rumble of thunder, rain begins to trickle down. The men tilt their heads up towards the sky and sigh, imagining the rain as blessing from the gods, washing away their sins and blood.

A breeze whips past them, making the branches of their trees moan and creak. Setting the capes of their cloaks billowing to one side.

Axel is the first to lower his head. He keeps his eyes closed as he feels a string of water slide down his cheek. The rain feels cool against his already raw cheeks. He looks at the grave once more and pulls out a small withered bouquet of blue flowers. Bouquet isn't really the best way to describe it, merely a gathering of Demyx' favorite flowers from the greenhouse; simply five or six flowers.

He bends to one knee and places the bouquet in front of the sword impaled into the mound. Demyx's favorite color was always blue. Axel remembers him saying that it's the reason why he loved to the ocean. To be surrounded by vast expanse of blue both above and below; he couldn't dream of anything better.

Rising to a stand, Axel wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm. He is the first to leave, and only Sora follows him. Maleek continues to lead the in the songs to honor the dead, some sing along, some remain silent. As Axel leaves through the black iron gates, he tries to suppress the ache in his chest that beats with his heart.

And he so desperately prays to the gods, as he hums a song of the departure, that he won't have to sing one for Roxas.

The darkness is rippling now, shifting with sound and color that he passes through. Roxas paces around the blackness above, around and below him. He tumbles through a thin, pale pink mist that swishes and curls around his hands.

"Roxas." Someone says behind him. Roxas pauses his step and looks all around, rotating to find the origin of the voice. Is it the ruler of Hell, come to claim him at last? "Roxas."

Roxas feels his body is rigid, as if he's frozen in his place. He can fists his hands, wriggle his fingers and toes, but his legs are lead, and his arms are pinned to his sides. But he manages to turn his head to look over his shoulder.

Demyx is whole, handsome and untouched, his eyes full of love and compassion. And then from behind him emerges Ventus, beautiful and tall. His death had been so similar to Demyx's, and yet so much worse, because Roxas knew what he was doing. He had not saved him, either. There's a whisper that causes Roxas to turn his head and he finds the two of them standing in front of him. Demyx steps past Ventus and approaches Roxas, still immobilized in his place.

He prepares for the slap, for the damning words that will forever lock him in scorching irons of Hell. Prepares for the hatred to seep into Demyx's eyes and for him to tear Roxas apart with each word.

But instead, Roxas watches as Demyx's eyes soften, he gives a smile of genuine concern and love. And he pulls the assassin into his arms.

His heart thumping loudly, Roxas so desperately wishes to embrace Demyx. To lift his arms and bury his face in the bard's shoulder. To inhale the scent of the sea and lotus flowers and forever remember the joyous and extraordinary light of a life he had so cruelly extinguished. He will wear the scent around him, encased himself in it and forever seize the burden.

"I am safe now," Demyx whispers to the assassin. Roxas' voice hitches as a sob tightens his throat. He nuzzles his cheek into the nape of Demyx's neck. Tears flow freely and he tries his best to compose himself, but his body wrecks as his shoulders jerk up and down. "We are safe."

"Please forgive me." Roxas begs. He wants to drop to his knees, but he can't bend them. Behind Demyx, he can see Ventus, his face is soft, smooth. "I'm so sorry."

"I know you are."

"Please," Roxas implores. "Please stop me."

"No man nor woman can heal your broken heart, Roxas. You must learn to do that on your own."

"I can't." Roxas can feel Demyx rub his back. The feeling similar to someone tickling Roxas' spine with flower petals.

"You can. You are stronger than you think you are." Demyx coos. He speaks as if he is a thousand years old, the wisdom so deep in his tone. "Not many can bear the burdens that you do, and still be willing to walk, to breathe, to fight."

"I cause nothing but destruction. Blood trails in my wake and live end so abruptly at my blade." Roxas sobs. "I keep so much anger inside myself. I grasp my angst and loneliness and hold it in my chest. It has changed me into something I never meant to be. It has transformed me into a person I do not recognize. But I don't know how to let it go."

"You must fight, Roxas." Demyx holds his shoulders, and the urgency in his voice makes Roxas' spine tingle. "You can win. Face this darkness."

"How do you destroy a monster without becoming one?" he asks. Demyx is silent, and a pebble of anger skips across Roxas' thoughts. "I don't cause commotions. I am one. I can only cause destruction."

"Because you let them." Demyx chimes. Roxas looks to him, his lip quivering.

"Is there anything worth fighting for?" Roxas cries. Axel has abandoned him damning him for the loss of so many lives and of his friends, his father is locked down in the dungeons frail and useless and mad, and he is not trapped in his own mind and body while his mother leads him towards his hometown to throw the whole population into extinction.

He can still hear Axel's words: I know nothing of your kind! I don't know anything about you anymore!

"You must've let the words lacerate your heart. Those who suffer lash out with blind anger, like an arrow astray from the bow."

"He certainly hit his mark." Roxas murmurs.

"Roxas." Ventus' voice chimes. Demyx steps aside as the assassin looks up and the beautiful boy approaches, his body surrounded by a calm, golden light. "Remember what I told you." Ventus cups the assassin's face, his hands so smooth. "Do not let your light go out."

The assassin only sighs, even as the boy brings their faces close, resting his forehead against Roxas'. Ventus' hands feel so warm, as did Demyx's. Perhaps it would even be more beneficial to just drop dead like they did. Lie cold on the ground, blue and cold as the sky burns.

"Do not let your light go out," Ventus orders.

Roxas opens his eyes, his lips parting to say something, but he looks to find he is once again along in the blackness.

Finally, Roxas drops to his knees, and sob after sob wreck his body. His bark arcs and he folds into himself, covering his mouth with his hands. He sobs like he never has before. His sounds are absorbed easily into the blackness; and he could swear he feels it pulsate like a heartbeat, feeding off of his misery and anguish.

Anger soon travels through his body as he finishes pooling out his sobs of grief, sorrow and regret. He can feel its levels rise, or perhaps that's the magic, but it flows through his veins, smooth yet mild.

He tries to picture his hands, his actual hands, and tries to think of surface other than the flat surface of the abyss. Slowly, his ears twitch. He's not strong enough, not yet.

But still, there's the sound of stone cracking, and something waves across Roxas' face.

He opens his eyes and finds a small hole about five feet off of the ground, no bigger than the size of a softball, and bright light leaks through, bathing Roxas' being but also stretching the dark shadows behind him. Pushing to his feet, Roxas approaches the small opening, realizing it's his exact height.

He angles his eye carefully and peers through. He can see his feet popping in and out of his vision; he is walking. There is a mixture of grass and stone beneath his feet; the sounds of chatting far, far away, and the soft clinking of metal against rustling clothing.

It's his body, and he's merely observing. As assumed, he is shut out while this thing, that creature that he had seen, it is in control of his body. Roxas steps back and looks around, expecting to find the creature not far, but it's all just blank blackness.

He feels way, way down, underneath his own skin; and waiting to hear his name again.

He has to try . . .

Closing his eyes, focusing on the heat on his eye from the peephole, Roxas tries to imagine moving his fingers though his hands are fisted at his sides. He keeps his focus.

Focus.

Then, something slips along his hands, then trailing up his arms. Roxas doesn't dare open his eyes to look in fear of breaking his concentration. Much like sliding on a jacket, Roxas can feel weight compress onto his arms, his shoulders and his chest. HHHe's sliding into his own skin. He can feel the blood flow once more, rising the temperature of his unknowingly cold skin, cold like a wraith and silent as the grave.

The sounds become more distinct, clearer when his Elven heritage slowly sharpens his senses. He can feel the thumping of his feet against the ground though he still feels welded in place. Everything is still dark, though he can see the movement. Roxas still doesn't try to open his eyes. Instead, he lifts his head and can feel the motion of his real head follow. His teeth tick with small pinches of pain, and his hair soon wafts in a breeze, along with the sleeves of his clothing. He can feel the clacking of his weapons against his sides.

He would've indulged in it more had it not been for the sudden lightheadedness that makes his knees buckle. Roxas throws out his arms, but keeps his mind clear and concentrated.

Roxas once again lifts his head, up towards what would be the sky. He can smell the dew on leaves, the thick air of a rain shower, the cooling effect of a cloud passing in front of the sun.

The back of his head tickles as he thinks of many other voices joining in with him. His imagination travels across the land, over the shimmering blue seas of the North and over the large grassy plains with white-tipped mountains. He can see people, tall and lean with beautiful armor ornate designed with weapons of exquisite designs, shadows obscuring their faces and features. But they too lift their heads and open their mouths.

Roxas then opens his mouth and begins to sing.

Tifa was riding on her horse, leading in her army of her assassins, her Elven son with gleaming teeth and pointed ears up front. He was quiet as expected, his face cast to the ground as his pupils remain thin.

She didn't pay much attention to him, though she did fondle with the whistle around her neck.

But her attention was easily diverted when she heard her son start to sing. Her head jerks to find his head tilted up towards the sky, eyes closed. Her other members immediately turn their heads at the sound of Roxas' voice singing a song that easily flows from his lips.

It was not in any language that she knew. Not in the common tongue, or in the original language of Atlantica, or in the languages of Agrabah or the Pride Lands or anywhere else on the continent of Kingdom Hearts.

The language is ancient, each word full of power and rage and agony.

He has an amazingly beautiful voice. The hair on the back of her necks stands as the lament pours from his mouth, unearthly and foreign, a song of grief so old that it precedes the land itself.

As Roxas sings, he could swear he hears the voices of distant listeners join him in mourning, aiding him in along with harmonies and fitting layers of notes. He can see the shadowed faces

And then the song finishes, its end as brutal and sudden as Demyx's death.

The lament still echoes through the world around him, carried on the wind like the pealing of distant bells.