Being back in Valendia was both reliving and nerve-wrecking. The next morning after the assassination attempt on Kiros, and after Kadaj did damage control for the attack on the Queen, she, the prince and The Thirteen arose early before dawn to head back to the Royal City. Dressed in borrowed clothes from Kadaj, Roxas feels bad he didn't even get to say goodbye. Though perhaps it was for the best.

Seymour shortened their trip dramatically once again after he opened a portal so that the group could spare crossing the river that divides the Royal City from the Greylands. Roxas decided to ride with Kiros despite his need to see the Queen. But as they were filing out of the manor into the carriages, one look at the Queen with blood permeating a fresh set of bandages made his stomach sink and he started to shake.

Maleek was escorting her, and Roxas' heart skipped a beat when the captain didn't even spare Roxas a glance. The rest of the Thirteen members shift and filed around the carriages as Seymour opened the portal with the Darkmarks and one simple step through, and they are on the main road towards the Royal City.

Roxas, listening with his immortal ears, had heard that Kadaj delivered the news to Sephiroth already. Oh he feels like he's going to vomit. To picture Sephiroth waiting for them when they arrive . . .

Roxas hasn't felt this kind of fear and anxiety in years. Not even in Gollund Mines did he allow himself to feel fear, even as they whipped him into unconsciousness. His knee was bouncing the entire ride after they stepped through the portal, Kiros sitting across from him set a hand on said knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. Roxas simply shook his head and looked out the window.

Now they are pulling up to the black gates that lead to the gravel path snaking up towards the front doors of the marble castle. Already Roxas can tell the guards are more tense and fidgety than normal. They work quick getting the carriages through the gates and readying to help the Queen out.

Peeking out the window, Roxas watches as Maleek and the Queen step out of the carriages, she still being supported by Maleek. No more than three seconds later does Sephiroth come bursting out, past the marble columns obstructing Roxas' view.

He grabs Queen Rydia by the shoulders, his beautiful face having red-rimmed eyes and his skin paler than normal. He looks to the Queen, taking her chin, and then when their eyes meet, Roxas watches the Queen's shoulders shudder and she collapses into Sephiroth's arms in tears. He holds her tight, the two of them crying together before he picks her up with an arm under her knee and carries her inside.

Maleeks stands there, watching after them, his hands fisted at his sides. He then turns towards the carriage, Vincent and Kain standing there, his lips say something and the two nod. Then the members begin to file inside.

Maleek's eyes suddenly flick straight to Roxas' as if he knew Roxas was watching. The assassin jumps and ducks down into the opposite end of the seat. Kiros simply sits with his hands in his lap, his chin high and demeanor cool as their carriages begins to move to the front door. Maleek is still standing there, his back to the doors. Roxas feels his breathing become uneven.

Kiros takes his hand and Roxas looks to the prince, whose warm eyes blink and he slowly nods his head. No amount of words could express the relief and gratefulness Roxas feels as the prince guides them both out of the carriage as Cecil opens the doors.

Kiros keeps his chin high as he steps down, not accepting Cecil's hand to help him out, but sparring a thankful nod. Roxas keeps his head down, cowering within the hood of his cloak as the prince leads them inside. They pass Maleek, and Roxas hears him say, "You should go see her, when you can."

The words stop Kiros for a moment, and Roxas only glimpses up at Maleek from under his hood, and the captain's face is still stern. Roxas looks away ashamed and takes a step forward, Kiros resuming their walk.

Once they're inside, Roxas continues to follow Kiros, accompanied by two of the palace guards. Kiros' expression becomes heavy at the remembrance of his dead body guards, of which they had to quickly bury late in the night of the assassination attempt. There' wouldn't have been any other time or way, but at least they got a proper burial. Kiros fiddles with the rings of his fingers.

When Roxas leads him to his chambers in the castle, the two share a long, tight hug until the prince retires to his chambers. Roxas looks to the guards and says, "Watch over him."

Tucking his hands into his pockets, Roxas walks his way back to his own rooms, his pace quickened as he doesn't want to run into Maleek or Sephiroth along the way.

Now he has no distractions other than to sleep, but he feels so wired right now it's impossible. If only Seymour could fast forward the time of the day with the magic he possess.

The Queen got attacked because of him. He was supposed to protect her. Now what's going to happen? He's going to be punished, that's for sure. But to what extent? Each time the thought comes, Roxas starts to shake so uncontrollably.

The most that he fears is of them sending him back to Gollund Mines. It seems a little extreme, but he let the Queen get hurt, things could've gone horribly wrong if she didn't survive. And the child . . . Roxas' hands shake so much he tucks them into his underarms.

He reaches his chambers and Roxas slips inside without even sparing a glance to the guards. He steps out of his boots, kicking them aside next to the door and when he reaches the top of his stairs, he stops at the center of the rotunda, he turns and looks out to his balcony – watching the bridge stretch across the massive extent of courtyards.

Perhaps it'd be better if he wasn't in the castle at all today. It almost feels, undeserving. And the weather is decent today . . . Yes. He probably should spent the day outside. It doesn't feel right to be here in this castle after that level of failure.

Grabbing his black riding boots, he closes his bedroom door behind him. Quietly he hurries down the steps of the cavernous entryway and out to the stables.

Pulling open the doors, all of the horses lined in their pens along the walls turn their heads to him. Roxas smiles, wanting to take all of them out today, perhaps in the afternoon. But he had his eyes set on the one horse that has been his faithful non-human friend since he started living in the marble castle. Tallie.

Grabbing the bridle hanging just outside the horse's pen, Roxas pulls open the door and smiles as the horse lifts its head and huffs.

The horse was black as pitch, with dark eyes that bored into his own. The proud mare is a horse of Valendia hand-picked from The Orient themselves. Legend claimed that the elves had made them from the four winds—spirit from the north, strength from the south, speed from the east, and wisdom from the west, all rolled into the slender-snouted, high-tailed, lovely creature that stood before him.

The horse hops slightly in excitement as she beholds Roxas. The assassin loops the bridle around the horse's head, securing the throat lash and letting Tallie adjust the bit into her mouth. Roxas giggles as the horse's tongue flaps as she tries fit the bit right. "You silly girl." Roxas smiles as he pets the horse's muzzle.

Leading the horse out of the pen, they walk down to the opposite end he came in, and preps Tallie's saddle. Setting the blanket down before the saddle, he adjusts the straps and buckle, yelping slightly when Tallie's tail whips at him, smacking his shoulder. He turns to the horse who is staring right at her. "Too tight?" he asks.

The horse huffs. Rolling his eyes, Roxas finishes setting up the saddle, pinching the horse's buttock. The horse huffs, another tail whip. Then hooking his foot into the stirrup, Roxas swings himself onto the horse's back and snaps the reins.

Taking the back gates of the castle's backyard, Roxas and Tallie leaps over the black iron bars and they're on a small trail leading to the main road. Trotting through the cobblestone street, it was relatively clear as most of the carriages don't roll out until nine. So he has the whole road to himself, but he forces himself to stay sitting tall, the anticipation building.

Once they reach the front gates of the stone walls, he passes by the guards with a simple nod, they barely return it. Taking the couple steps over the threshold, Roxas' hands snap and Tallie takes off across the bridge like a bolt of lightning.

Flexing the muscles behind his eyes, Roxas blinks as his third eyelid comes down across his eyes. The world becomes a blue of green, red and orange. The breeze of the afternoon air makes Roxas' skin chill, feeling the vibrations of Tallie's muscles as they thunder through the woods. Overhead the clouds race by him, blurs of fluffiness; the wind whistling through his hair and filling his lungs.

He lets Tallie navigate them through their self-made trail, the two of them knowing this forest like the back of their hand and hoof. The two became acquainted while Roxas was out roaming the castle one night trying to memorize its interior for exits and passageways. Tallie was up late herself, pacing back and forth around her pen.

The stableboy working the late hours said she was a wild one; and he wasn't wrong. Roxas took one look at the horse, saw the spark in her eye and just knew, there was something they had in common. What it was, he didn't know. And he still doesn't.

Roxas practically dedicated his life to Tallie, rising early to clean her stables and brush her coat, spend the afternoons riding through the woods outside the kingdom's walls, and just nights sitting with her in the pen, telling his stories to a nonjudgmental creature.

Roxas always thought horses were better than people. They're good listeners.

They break through the trees and a clearing explodes in colors of green and brown. Over in the distance, dominating the horizon, Roxas can see the grasslands reining tall. Roxas weaves and turns within the field, fast as a stream down a mountainside. Back under the shelter of skeletal boughs, a large oak blocks the path ahead, foliage and moss growing over it to try and make it one with the forest once again.

They leap over it like it's nothing but a small river bend, but within the moments of elevation, Roxas closes his eyes, feeling weightless for those few seconds. They hit the earth again, and Tallie keeps running.

"Faster, Tallie," he whispers in the horse's ear. As if the mare understood him, she takes off, Roxas' legs gripping the mare's side. He feels the horse gruff, a neigh of excitement reverberating through his bones.

They make as far out as the foothills to the mountains, their snowy peaks scraping against the sky. As the wind kicks up, whippings his hair this way and that, Roxas opens his arms wide and howls with joy.

Freedom. This is what freedom felt like. No daggers, no blood, no secrets. Just a wild boy and his horse, bounding through the plains without a care in the world.

Roxas and Tallie spent the morning together, stopping in a field of tall grass speckled with dandelions when Tallie became too winded to run. Roxas removed the saddle and bridle, allowing Tallie to drink form a nearby river.

As Roxas bathes in the sun, feeling the tall grass ripple around him, he sways a small stalk of grass between his teeth with his tongue, ticking like the dial of a metronome. Tallie is rolling in the grass, huffing and shaking her head. Roxas often had wonders if the mare was part dog.

The sun has risen over Valendia, the sky becoming darker as the clouds keep drifting across the sky until they disappear from sight.

Hopefully Maleek won't come looking for him. Though, Roxas doesn't expect him too. The disappointment that was on his face, Roxas hasn't seen that since he was a child. Roxas still takes into consideration the words that he exchanged; to go and see the Queen. It'll be hard, but Roxas knew Maleek was right. He should.

Roxas swats away a pesky gnat that keeps tickling his forehead. He probably looked psychotic with strands of his hair practically sticking out of his head like porcupine quills. He groans, throwing his arm over his eyes.

It's getting a little warmer, the winter chill slowly dissipating, and his black tunic is absorbing the sun's heat. He's going to have to go back eventually, right around noon actually. That's most likely when the Queen is going to be left alone. Her time usually dedicated to her court will be reduced to spending time in her chambers.

Sighing to himself, Roxas spreads his arms and legs wide, mimicking a child making an angel in the snow. Tallie walks over to him, her mane well ruffled from rolling on the ground. The mare's soft muzzle tickles his cheek and Roxas giggles. As he pushes himself to his feet, he dusts himself off and pulls dry leaves out of Tallie's mane and tail.

Riding back to the Royal City, it wasn't as exciting, but it was enough to keep Roxas in a good mood as he heads back into the streets, uncaring of how wild his hair must look. He steers Tallie back towards the gates that divide the castle's property, and rounds back to the stables.

Roxas hops off, patting Tallie's croup. "Gods, I'm starving. You hungry too, Tallie?" The mare's tail whips up, smacking his in the face. Roxas spits and wipes his mouth. "Carrots it is. Got it." Running his fingers over his tongue, he removes a strand of Tallie's tail hair, his lips contorting into disgust.

Roxas sneaks his way in through the servants' doors and up towards the training room. He still needed to keep himself distracted. He hasn't once given thought to those cryptic words both his father and Vanitas had spoken to him. And now certainly wasn't the time with his concern of the Queen.

So Roxas happily wastes away the rest of the day training until his arms and legs are ready to fall off. Still, that pain is slim compared to the disturbance he feels when Maleek doesn't come looking for him.

Slugging his way back to his rooms, Roxas must've look as exhausted as he feels as his guards almost shift to help him inside. Once alone, somehow he finds the energy to wash and bathe himself, hang up Oathkeeper and Oblivion on their weapon racks and crawl into bed, burrowing into the warmth of the down comforter.

All too quickly, he finds sleep. But even his dreams can't help him escape his thoughts.

In his dreams, he stands in a field of grass and stones. In front of him is a large crevice, deep, deep, deep below he hears the roar of water. He can't move, but he doesn't feel scared. There's a warm breeze that tickles his hair and huffing draws his attention towards an outcropping of rocks. He looks to find deer, ranging from dark grey to black gathering on the rocks.

He still doesn't feel threatened, even when he knew his body felt heavy enough to signify he had an array of weapons. Except his heart triples in speed when he realizes he's not in his armor of the Thirteen, but the Guild armor from his dark days in the Guilds of Twilight Town.

Something draws his head towards the ravine towards a forest region where the trees had leaves and blooms, but their colors were dark. The sky was dark, only the full moon haloed in ivory was their only light.

A shadow moves out from the shelter of the trees, its light footsteps signifying its weight.

It steps into one of the rays of moonlight, and Roxas' throat hitches.

A large fire with its flames stretching up to the height of a normal person.

As if the moon's rays are burning away its embers and flames, Roxas hears a faint hissing and watches as the fire retreats back to reveal dainty hands as pale as alabaster, small scars etching across the front and back. The fire continues to ebb away and soon, a familiar blond hair is revealed, and then a soft chin, angelic eyes, a warm heavenly glow pulsates around him.

Ventus.

Roxas almost squeals, his eyes watering as Ventus beholds what Roxas was. His heart hurts at their extreme difference. Roxas is dressed in his Guild uniform and armor, a black cloak enveloping is form, and Ventus is in a long dress. It looks feminine, but it suits him to a degree that Roxas can't explain.

It's a gold and ivory silk gown with long belled arms, gold trimmings and beading. A gold belt encircles his waist, a single strap falling down his front. He has his hands folded in front of him, a gentle smile on his lips.

Roxas wants to cover himself, retreat into the shadows, but he felt doing that would be a horrible mistake.

Ventus stares at Roxas, his eyes burning through the assassin as he stood on the opposite side of the ravine. Roxas still can't move, and despite the distance, he feels Ventus' warmth as if he was standing a mere foot away from him.

A horrible, torturous distance standing between them just like when they opened that portal to the other world. A boundary that Roxas can't cross.

Roxas' eyes sting, and his nose sniffles.

Roxas tries to say Ventus' name, but his throat seems too tight. Stuffed with words he wants to burst to him, but feeling as if there is so little time.

The angelic boy simply smiles at Roxas; a gentle smile that Roxas only ever saw while Ventus was in his life. Only Ventus smiled at him like that. It was out of the love of friendship, nothing more. Roxas never knew how much he missed just friendship. He's had enemies, he's even had lovers. But he's forgotten what it was like to have a friend. Sora is there, but as Roxas realized many times before, nothing can fill the void left by Ventus. That was for Ventus alone.

Ventus continues to smile at Roxas – silent, contempt, accepting. Roxas could hear whispers, but didn't pay attention to what they said.

Then, without a word, Ventus turns way from him and heads back into the woods. Leaving Roxas alone at the edge of the ravine.


Roxas awakens and instantly feels his cheeks tight and raw with dried tears. His body was sweaty and he was short of breath but all he did was breath through his nose. In and out, in and out.

He wipes his tears and sits up and slowly gets out of bed. He takes a few steps then pauses in the center of the room, staring into the dark. On this day does he distrust and is weary of the shadows.

A cold breeze tickles his left arm only and his entire body ripples with goose bumps. His heart is still beating hard and he feels clammy.

He remains there for a moment, staring into the blackness without end.

For some reason one of his cheeks is warmer than the other, almost as if a hand had been caressing it.

As if he could forget the day when what he had loved had been wretched away from him, and he'd lost the only person that had ever truly loved him.

He doesn't to touch that grief again. He barely wanted to acknowledge its existence. For within that grief also lies that monster that had possessed her the night he had stormed through the mines, and when he had attacked and dismembered Kairi. It is cold, it is deadly, and it is dangerous.

Roxas leaves the castle well before dawn.


Maleek makes his way up the steps towards Roxas' chambers. Dressed in his usual armor for jogging, his only new addition is a thick leather cloak to help with the chilled wind today. He was supposed to meet up with Roxas for their run at dawn, but it didn't surprise him when Roxas didn't show up. He knew Roxas must've been a little shy and ashamed of himself for not protecting the Queen, probably even preparing himself for a verbal thrashing, which Maleek did have prepared, but he knew when and where to do it.

He nods to the guards posted outside the doors and enters in. after his anger had subdued, Maleek soon sorted through the facts and reasons, coming to the conclusion that it really wasn't Roxas' fault. He wasn't on guard duty that night. Maleek and the Thirteen were. And granted Roxas was prepared, but he was just so caught up in being young and having fun like a normal boy –

The captain sighs. The one time Roxas tries to be normal, to try and have fun, and things go awry. It disturbs Maleek that he actually wasn't surprised that something like that happened to Roxas. It's saddening, and if Roxas refuses to talk with him, Maleek has other ways of showing the assassin that he forgave him.

Maleek can't help the small smile as his excitement grows on spending the day with Roxas.

His smile fades when he reaches the assassin's chambers and finds it quiet. He first goes over to the library and finds only Kiros sitting at the small table. He imagined to see Roxas sprawled along the couch reading a book, but it's only the prince with a small plate of fruit in front of him.

Maleek bows. The prince nods his head, and says, "I'm afraid he's not here."

All other doors of chamber are open wide enough that Maleek can see and hear that no one else is in the rooms, the bed neatly made signaling Roxas has been awake for a while. Besides, not like the prince would lie to him. "Where is he?"

Kiros' eyes soften, and he picks up a note that was lying among his table. "He has taken today off." The prince says, reading form the note before setting it down. "If I were to guess, I'd say that he is as far away from the city as he can get in half a day's ride."

"Why?"

Kiros smiles sadly. "Because today is the two year anniversary of Ventus' death."

Maleek's breath catches. He remembers Roxas mentioning how he had killed his one and only friend by order of his father. It was either he killed him, or his father would torture him. He didn't tell Maleek anything else, and Maleek didn't dare to ask. Maleek can't imagine having to kill his best friend. Let alone after that said friend forgave him before the sin was even committed. That kind of thing doesn't happen.

Maleek's stomach clenches. What kind of horrors had he witnessed that day?

He runs a hand through his hair. "He told you about Ventus?" Maybe it holds a shred more information – anything for him to better understand what sort of man he'd be facing when he returns, what sort of memories he'd have to contend with.

"Not in much detail," Kiros says. "They were vague descriptions. Possibly the same that he has told you. I didn't dare ask more." Kiros watches Maleek with a calculated stillness, a switch to the defensive that he recognized.

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

Kiros returns to the book in front of him. It looks like an English book set with Valendia's alphabet. "He said he won't be back until after nightfall. If I were to guess, I'd say he didn't want to spend one moment of daylight in this city. In times such as this, solitude is best."

Maleek almost needs to sit down. He can't imagined how hard it was for Roxas to kill his own best friend. He could tell Ventus had a large impact on Roxas' life, enough to make him look so broken and damaged beyond repair. Sometimes Maleek thought that it wasn't Axel he was competing with, nor was it Vanitas. But really, it was Ventus he was competing with for Roxas' attention.

But soon, Maleek learned that he would never compare to Ventus. There was just something about the boy that Roxas had admired and adored so much, probably something even he can't explain. Maybe he's not meant to.

Maleek remembers Roxas snapping at his mother when she provoked him with Ventus' name. Built up anger and grief and sorrow, emanating as a deadly monster, feral and wild. Ventus' name holds quite a weight with Roxas, it carries a heavy weight while also having a large sensitivity.

Maleek can tell it's something that Roxas holds close to his heart. He'll need to be ready for when Roxas comes back. He'll probably not want him there, but Maleek just wants to try. He needs to be there for Roxas. That's probably what he wants more than anything. A reminder that he is not alone.

Maleek thanks the prince with a bow and leaves the castle. He takes the run on his own, working his muscles until they ache deep into their marrow.


In the misty foothills next to the Royal City, Roxas strode between the trees of the small forest, barely more than a sliver of darkness winding through the woods. The sun is drowning beneath the weight of a purple twilight as he weaves, walk twenty yards into the middle of them, their skinny trunks and thin, graceful branches reaching for the heavens as if hoping to scape against the stars, and find what he's looking for.

He's been walking since before dawn, Tallie following him as she would. Today, even the forest seems silent.

Good. Today is not a day for the sounds of life. Today is for the hollow wind rustling branches, for the rushing of the gleaming cerulean river, for the crunch of grass and dried leaves under his boots. The complete absence of life.

There's a gathering of trees with bushes based all around its trunk. Bushing the branches aside reveals the inside to be hollow and big enough for Roxas to crawl inside, wrap his cloak around himself, and lie. He lies on his side, curling into himself like a caterpillar. Tallie followed as close as she could, delicately touching the side of Roxas' head with her snout.

He reaches up and scratches at Tallie's chin. He feels her turn away, and then the crunching of leaves as the horse sits down.

Looking out into the still forest, Roxas remembers the day he lost everything.


"Sedative." His stern voice then commands.

A needle pokes at Roxas' arm and almost in an instant he stops fighting. But now he simply wails in a horrible, dying-animal way until his voice gives out. Roxas' heart begins to slow down. He sobs with relief. For seconds all he can do is sob with relief. That was not fear. That was something else; an emotion that shouldn't exist.

The drug causes sedation, not sleep, so Roxas is trapped in fuzzy, dully aching misery for what seems like always. His throat burns like coals of a hearth. From screaming no doubt.

The hallucinogens have wrecked his body beyond belief. Every sound is torture, every twitch, every flick of a muscle sends searing flames of agony through his veins.

"Roxas."

Roxas blinks fast so he can see him through his tears. His face, along with Ventus, express horror and heartbreak but at least they're not getting devoured by mermaids or assaulted by filthy men; they're all right. Roxas' head pounds. When the men's hands finally release him, he doesn't move.

His muscles ache, probably from being clenched for however long Cloud left him with that serum pulsing through him. Roxas lifts his hand, feeling heavier than normal and rubs his head. He feels . . . light. Like his head was inflated, and the slightest tilt made him feels disoriented. When his hand falls away from his face, a few specks fall with it. It falls heavy on the wood.

No one touches Roxas, no one advances towards him. The room spins as Roxas lifts his head, but he manages to put his legs over the edge of the table and stand. He feels slight vertigo as he delicately sways.

"Roxas." Cloud's voice says.

Roxas slowly turns to face his father. And the anger from the hallucination blazes fresh and new. Cloud doesn't say anything, and Roxas would have if it weren't for a gurgling in his stomach. Roxas ends up burping, but along with it comes bile and yellowed bits of the dinner he ate hours ago.

Roxas haunches over, several men averting their eyes as he vomits onto the carpet, dropping to his knees without meaning to. The bile burns his throat like an acid, and a drop of it makes its way into his nose. As he tries to turn, he winds up banging his head against the side of the desk, but it feels good. He does it again before he grips a shaking hand onto the desk, hoisting himself up. His foot nearly slips in his own vomit as he stands. He leans one hip against the edge of the table and sloppily wipes his mouth with his sleeve, spitting a dribble of drool off to the side.

Before he can react, another needle injects into his neck and Roxas' arms floppily flail at nothing by the time the needle is removed. He haunches over the table, ready for another entourage of horrific hallucinations, but nothing happens. In fact, he slowly starts to feel better.

The dizziness in his head deflates and he can feel his stomach calming as it was preparing to gurgle again. As his pain begins to decrease, he forces himself to take a breath. He feels the magic of the serum work all along his body. The pain in his muscles reduces to a mere throb, his urge to vomit vanishes.

Roxas blinks and his vision becomes clearer and less rocky. "Roxas." Cloud repeats. Roxas whirls around and gives him a look of absolute loathing. "Kill him. Now. Or you will suffer once more."

Something desperate and dark awakens within Roxas, biting through his stomach like bile. He wants to fling the sword across the room and stick it in his father' throat. Roxas gives a vicious snarl, a soft, deep growl as he reaches for the short sword.

"Roxas." Roxas looks over to Ventus, of whom has his head down. Roxas hurries over, keeping the grip on the sword. His movements aren't as smooth, but it doesn't matter as he collapses in front of Ventus. Roxas goes and gently cups Ventus' face like he does. Ventus lifts his head and as impossible as it seems, the boy is smiling.

"Ventus -"

"It's okay, Roxas." Ventus' voice quivers and his eyes fill with tears. They spill over instantaneously. "I forgive you."

Roxas lets go of his face and takes a few paces back on his knees.

"I forgive you." Ventus repeats, a strangled sob escaping his lips, as if trying to look brave. His tears stream along his cheeks, gathering at his chin and dripping onto the carpet.

Roxas gives an inconspicuous shake of his head. Ventus gives a weak, breathy laugh.

"I forgive you, Roxas. Now do it."

No lie. Roxas can't believe it. Forgiveness before the sin was even committed, unasked, undeserved. As he holds the short sword, Roxas feels like dying. To kill his friend as a sacrificial lamb for his father, all so that Roxas wouldn't have to undergo another round of tortuous delusions. All to save his own life. No, it needs to be the other way around. Roxas should be enduring all the horrific mirages in the world if it means sparing Ventus' life. But what will happen to Axel and the others?

Roxas takes two careful steps towards Ventus, now standing over him. Tears are in his eyes. His lips quiver and stretch into a sorrowful frown. "Thank you for being my friend." he whimpers quietly. His tears spill over.

Roxas swings the blade.

With a sickening, wet thunk, the sword plunges deep into Ventus' chest, burying itself to the hilt. Blood pours from the wound, dark crimson. It slides along the silver in a single, sinuous streak as Ventus slowly sags to the floor. Red spit oozes from between his lips. The metallic tang of the blood swamps Roxas' senses. He tries to hold his breath, but that just forces him to swallow blood-tainted air until he feels like screaming.

Roxas feels as if the whole world is collapsing around him, crushing his heart.

"Ventus!" Axel screams; his voice feels like acid ripping through his throat.

Ventus' eyes roll up in their sockets, dull white orbs. Roxas yanks the blade out, warmth pooling into his palm; the blade coming free with a damp, sucking sound, dripping onto the carpet in a small stain. Blood trickles out of Ventus' nose and mouth.

"Ventus!"

Ventus' eyes close, and his body goes limp. One last breath wheezes from his mouth.

Roars of sobs and screams fill from the crewmen and the cloaked figures, like ghosts glide over to the members and hold them all back. Roxas registers Axel's voice most of all, calling him terrible, terrible things past his tear-filled eyes and reddened cheeks. While most of the men rise for the first time, remembering they have legs, Demyx and a couple others stay knelt, their faces red and noses congested.

"Well done, Roxas." Cloud says.

"Shut up." Roxas whispers back. Cloud didn't hear it, or if he did, he didn't do anything about it.

"I'll clean up the body." A man of the Wolf Guild offers.

"No," says Cloud as he takes the sword from Roxas' hand. "My son made the mess. Let him clean it up."

Roxas stares vacantly ahead as Axel and the crewmen are dragged out of the room, still screaming and still roaring with anger. He can see his father from the corner of his eye. Cloud reaches out and touches Roxas' face with his fingers.

"It's for the best, Roxas. Someday, you will understand. And you'll thank me." He says to him.

Something happens inside Roxas. It starts deep down in his chest, a seed of anger. Of revenge. Of hate. Something dark and terrible. And then it explodes, bursting through his lungs through his neck, through his arms and legs. Through his mind. Roxas doesn't even bother to turn his head. He feels his father kiss just above his ear, and Roxas feels like he's going to get sick again.

All the men clear out of the room, leaving Roxas alone. He remains standing before the body. He feels dumb struck, and is on the verge of screaming.

Heavy footsteps enter the room, and approach Roxas. Despite his hairs standing on end, Roxas doesn't move. Lexaeus stands next to him, only looking at Roxas, not even glancing at the body. In a way, Roxas doesn't want him to look, or to even see it.

"I failed." He says, his voice oddly distant. Lexaeus is about to reply, when Roxas turns and moves in a stiff, methodical manner. Lexaeus watches him, all while having a forlorn expression on his face. Roxas opens a closet door filled with spare sheets.

Lexaeus takes a few long steps back as Roxas comes back and kneels before the body, mopping up the blood. He keeps his eyes straight down, afraid of seeing the body the sight of it is so . . . wrong.

Lexaeus rounds to stand behind Roxas and places a hand on his shoulder. Roxas flinches, jerking his arms and ruffling the sheet. "Listen," he kneels down. "I've checked the entire hall. They are all gone."

With that he gets up and walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

In the deafening silence, sadness consumes Roxas. He grabs Ventus' lifeless body and pulls him into his arms, ignoring the blood, ignoring the frozen look of death on the boy's face.

"I'm sorry." Roxas weeps. "I'm sorry!"

Even as he speaks, Roxas realizes his voice is laced with something wrong. Almost insanity. He hugs Ventus close to his chest, squeezing him as tightly as possible, as if that could somehow bring him back, or show thanks for saving his life.

For being his friend when no one else would.

Roxas cries. Weeps like he's never wept before. His great, racking sobs echo through the chamber like the sounds of tortured pain.


Maleek flips the pages of the book he had been reading while he waited for Roxas to come home. He had finished A Thief of Virtue and helped himself to one of the many books in Roxas' personal library. He was halfway through before he stood from his seat as the door quietly opened. He marks the book and sets it aside on an end table.

The outside hall was fairly dark, a majority of the servants having gone to bed. He had heard the clock chime midnight some time ago, but he knew it wasn't exhaustion weighing down Roxas' shoulders as he slipped into his chamber. His eyes are purple beneath, his face wan, lips colorless.

Roxas glances once at Maleek, her turquoise-and-gold eyes weary and haunted. Maleek's heart feels heavy at their bleakness.

Roxas begins unfastening his cloak as he walks past Maleek into the dressing room. Wordlessly, Maleek follows him, if only because Roxas hadn't had a hint of warning or reproach in his expression.

Roxas removes his coat and then his boots, leaving them wherever he happened to discard them. Maleek didn't look away as Roxas unbuttoned his tunic and walked into the dressing room. A moment later, he comes back out, wearing a set of night clothes

Maleek swallows hard. He should have given Roxas privacy instead of waiting here. If Roxas had wanted him to be here, he would have written him a note.

Roxas stops before the dim fireplace and used the poker to stir the coals before tossing another two logs on. He stares down at the flames. His back was still to Maleek when he speaks.

"While I appreciate you waiting, it was a waste. There's nothing that can be said, or done."

"Then let me keep you company."

"I don't want company." Roxas says with a small shake of his head, as if having Maleek here is more painful than being alone. But Roxas' voices hitches, as if he wanted to stop himself.

"Want and need are different things." Kiros, probably, should have been here—another child who could understand the weight of such a loss. But he didn't want the prince to be the one Roxas turned to. He can't turn away from Roxas — not today.

"So you're just going to stay here all night?" Roxas flicks his eyes to the couch between them.

Maleek's throat tightens. Does he not even want to share a bed tonight? "I've slept in worse places."

"I think my experience with 'worse places' is a lot more horrible than yours." Again, that twisting in Maleek's gut.

Roxas stares at him, and then he rises. He crosses from the fireplace to where Maleek stands, stopping a hand's breadth away and staring up at him. Some of the color has returned to his face.

Maleek reaches for Roxas, a hand slipping around the assassin's waist and the other twining itself through his hair as Maleek holds him tightly. His heart thunders through him so hard he knew Roxas could feel it. After a second, Roxas' arms came up around him, his fingers digging into Maleek's back in a way that made him realize how close they stood.

He shoved that feeling down, even as the silken texture of her hair against his fingers made him want to bury his face in it, and the smell of Roxas, laced with mist and night, has him grazing his nose against Roxas' neck.

There are other kinds of comfort that he can give Roxas than mere words, and if he needed that kind of distraction . . . He shoved down that thought, too, swallowing it until he nearly chokes on it.

Roxas' fingers are moving down his back, still digging into his muscles with a fierce kind of possession. If he keeps touching him like that, Maleek's control was going to slip completely.

And then he feels Roxas shudder. The assassin takes a deep breath, and when he exhales, it's shaky. Slight warmth beings to tickle his chest.

Maleek rests his cheek against Roxas' hair, stroking the assassin's back as he begin to cry.

It starts off quiet, a couple of chirps here and there, but soon it rises in volume, to the point where Roxas literally buries his face in Maleek's tunic as he wails in agony and sorrow.

His knees begin to buckle from exhaustion, and Maleek is already there, tucking one arm under Roxas' knees, and carrying him over to the couch. He sits Roxas in his lap, silently content as Roxas nestles into the crook of his neck, his ugly sobs making his cheeks and eyes red.

"It's all my fault." He hears Roxas whimper. It's no loud than a whisper. Maleek simply coos him, knowing words are dangerous when Roxas is in this vulnerable of a state.

Wrapping hi arms around the assassin like a cocoon, Maleek simply pets Roxas' head, hissing his forehead every thirty seconds. Maleek finds himself gauging the distance between their lips, his eyes flicking between Roxas' mouth and his eyes, the hand he had entwined in Roxas' hair stilling.

Desire roars through Maleek, burning down every common sense reason he's convinced himself he had to maintain. He cups one side of Roxas' face and leans down and kisses Roxas' lips. They're still cold that it shivers him, but he feels sudden warmth flood him as he feels Roxas kiss him back.

Roxas' hands travel back up until he's holding Maleek's shoulders, inhaling heavily as they press together. Yet it still feels as if there's too much room between them. Letting his restraints loosen, Maleek runs his hands down Roxas' sides until he cups the assassin's bum.

But then his heart sinks when he feels Roxas remove his hands. He doesn't say anything, and the beating of Maleek's heart intensifies when he sees Roxas' eyes looking a little deader than before.

"Not tonight." He whispers.

"I'm sorry." Maleek says with a slight nod of his head.

"But please," Roxas says taking his hand. "You are more than welcome to stay." Roxas wipes his eyes, a couple more rouge sobs escaping his lips. Maleek reaches over to the end table and retrieves a tissue. Roxas accepts it, getting up from the couch and walking over to the trashcan as he blows his nose. Another sob rattles his shoulders.

Whoever this boy was, he was something special to Roxas. In more ways than Maleek is allowed to know. The love Roxas had for him – it's deeper than that of their own; it extends farther than the normality of friendship. They were like two lost souls that had at last found one another.

Maleek knew then, that no amount of love Roxas has for him, or for any other living thing, would ever compare to that of what he had for Ventus.

"Just let me know where you want me."

A ghost of a smile on Roxas' lips. He walks over to Maleek, extending out his hand. The captain takes it, and Roxas guides him over to the bed. At least Maleek was wearing night clothes already.

Maleek follows Roxas around his side of the bed, pulling back the sheets for the assassin. Roxas nestles down, feeling like a child when Maleek tucks him in and rounds the bed to his own side. He gets in between the sheets and wraps one protective arm around Roxas.

Roxas takes in Maleek's tan skin and muscled chest, the slender scars that pepper his torso. His heart is beating so fast he can hardly breathe. His hand roams across Maleek's abs, exhaling in admiration. While a part of Roxas does mean for things to move a certain way, he also just wants to feel Maleek.

Feel his power, and his muscles, and his skin. Feel that he is real and he is here.

Maleek brushes a large hand down Roxas hair, and Roxas almost purrs.

Roxas smiles into the pillow and leans into Maleek's touch some more, even going so far to put a hand on his broad chest, savoring the steady, assured heartbeat pounding beneath.

"Thank you, Maleek." Roxas murmurs, his own words slurring as he yawns.

With his hand intertwined to Maleek's, clasped to his chest, the assassin feels something molten course through him, pouring over the large cracks and fractures widely gaping and open. Not to hurt or to mar – but to weld. To forge. But at the same time, it melts down the remains of his walls.

The silence within him – the icy silence that has hardened him since he had lost his friends, his home, himself – it ebbs ever so slightly. And slowly, Roxas can feel himself releasing the things that has become so foreign to him. Warmth. Happiness. Hope.

Love.