XV.
Ienzo made himself eat. He cut one of the white pills in half and took it, flinching at the bitter taste. He set a timer for the three hours, took the small hand mirror from his bedroom, and crossed back to Demyx's room. He sat at the foot of the bed.
Mirrors and reflections always made this easier in the past. What else was an illusion than a reflection of hopes, or fears, or memories?
Ienzo leaned back against the bed frame. He waited some time for the medication to take effect, trying to keep his thoughts orderly and calm before proceeding. He didn't think he would feel anything, but after about twenty minutes or so a vague tingling started in his extremities, and his vision became woozy. He was convinced that Even gave him a sleeping pill rather than a painkiller or nerve block, but the sensation wasn't like drowsiness. The walls seemed to have no straight edges. His breaths felt foreign.
Ienzo picked up the mirror. There was his own face, clear as day. He shut his eyes.
Magic, aside from the most complex glamour, had always come easily. He understood now more than he had before how deeply Demyx grieved the loss of Arpeggio. Dark or not, this power had been part of him. His control over the illusion was a projection of the loss of control he'd had over his own life. Manipulating others had been the easy way out.
No more.
He took a deep breath, and let his memory drift back. Surely the utter clarity of his own memories was a sign he could still work with others'.
In the beginning, those first numb and horrifying weeks as a Nobody left him overloaded to the point of silence. Xemnas took Ansem's role as their leader seamlessly, down to the name. At first it seemed clear to them that they would continue their experiments, albeit with a pool of participants all the World over. But Xemnas-Xehanort-had a larger goal in mind. Kingdom Hearts. To get there, they needed Keyblade users. So they were sent out into the World to try and find them. Heartless hunted him mercilessly, figuring due to his small size and fragile nature he was easy pickings. He returned badly wounded more than once before his power manifested.
Heartless, after all, were easier to fool than people. Give them a decoy and they'll chase after it. As he grew, physically and mentally, so did his power. His illusions deepened, took on the ability to also interact with the senses. It was all perception, of course, entirely artificial. He found he could sense the memories of others, could build these memories in real time.
His own memory was easiest to work with. He straightened his spine.
Remember. And create.
Perhaps an emptier room would have been a better starting point. He imagined his other bedroom, from the Organization. The barren gray walls. The cold metal floor. The bookshelf packed with volumes with identical spines. The window out into the Nobody city, how it always had its own damp sticky scent. The feel of the black coat against his skin, soft and supple.
Despite the medicine, he could feel hollow echoes of pain gnawing hungrily. Ienzo touched the space below his nose-still dry. He opened his eyes.
The space in front of him had changed. The surge of relief he felt was nearly enough to shake what little illusion he'd built. It was an imperfect manifestation-things seemed to twitch in the corners and in some spots he could still see Demyx's real bedroom peeking through, as if through a veil. But it was something.
He stood slowly, dizziness battering him. He approached the mirror above the dresser hesitantly, aware that Zexion's room had been bigger and he likely hadn't yet regained the ability to manipulate spatial perception.
Ienzo looked at himself-and flinched. Zexion stared back. He could feel his human clothes, but what he saw was the cloak.
"It's over now," he said to himself.
"Is that what you think?"
The reflection in the mirror moved with him, but the voice in his ear was definitely his own. Ienzo turned away. The facade of the cloak melted away, leaving him in his apprentice garb.
"Clever, clever Ienzo," said the voice. "You should've realized that you're not immune to your own manipulations anymore."
Ienzo scowled. "You are a poor projection of my own guilt. I don't need you anymore."
"I'm not too sure about that. Come here."
The illusion pitched and pulled. He found himself standing in a cold dark room in Castle Oblivion. A large and familiar book was in his hands. "So this is what you are," he said. He looked down.
The color was no longer a sage green, no longer adorned with the Nobody insignia. It was a soft blue, with an artistic rendering of a heart.
"Old friend," Ienzo said. "You're different."
"You do see why I haven't come sooner?"
"I believe so. But do elaborate. It's not often I can converse so clearly with my own subconscious."
"You had to begin to forgive yourself. You had to accept the love you were given. Steep costs for you."
Ienzo frowned, disappointed. "I've done it, then?"
"You may have a complex mind, but your heart is no different than anyone else's."
Ienzo stroked the soft cloth cover. It was an odd sensation, familiar-yet-not, like so much of this life. "So he was the key."
"It didn't necessarily have to be him. It could have been any love. Familial, platonic. This just so happened to be first."
"Can I still help people?"
"That's up to you."
Ienzo opened the book. The lexicon had always been infinitely useful. Its pages seemed numbered, but the content was completely under his control. Whenever he read or wrote something, it could be accessed inside forevermore. He could access memories. Data.
The inside of the front cover was written in ink. Property of Ienzo, age 8. He remembered that birthday Ansem had given him a fountain pen and he'd been incredibly proud of it. The handwriting looked similar to it had back then, an attempt at neatness and maturity, falling short.
"Was Even right?" he asked slowly. "Will this risk my life in the process?"
"All power has a cost. You know this."
Ienzo stared down at the lexicon for several moments. There simply wasn't time to parse this out properly. He had no idea how much of his three hours he'd already spent. Time he was wasting. Time that trauma could be eating Demyx alive. And if he were to do nothing , and Demyx were to lose the will to live, what then? Could he ever forgive himself? He might as well kill him with his own hands.
"Do you want this power back?" the lexicon asked.
"I cannot let people keep suffering."
"Then there's something we have to see."
The pages of the lexicon shifted of their own accord. Within it was a memory, rendered as though it were a children's story, with the same etched-looking illustrations.
Ienzo and Xehanort, walking through the castle. The ever-present sea salt ice cream.
"Seven years old. A grown up little man," Xehanort said.
"Yes," Ienzo said.
"Master says you're doing wonderfully well in your studies. Most children your age are only barely learning to read and write, and you're studying neuroscience. If only there were more minds like yours. This world would be a vastly better place."
Reading it now, it was so incredibly obvious, the way Xehanort hefted and tugged the strings.
"I only wish he would let you help with our research. A fresh, young, innocent perspective might be just what we need."
"I like helping."
"I know. I know you do."
"I can ask again. I'm seven now."
"It's worth a shot. If that's what you wish."
The story faded, shifted to a new memory-Ansem's study, Ienzo so very small in the chair across from his master, head bent over a book that filled his lap.
"Master?"
A kind smile. Ansem had always doted on him, except when it really mattered. "What is it, my boy?"
"Am I very smart?"
"Why yes-of course."
"Can I help you work?" His speech then had been much simpler, much more plain. Initially, the trauma of losing his parents left him completely mute. It had taken nearly a year to shake the silence.
In the present, Ienzo felt something very like pain. He did not know if it was physical or emotional. "Why are you making me see this?" he asked the lexicon. "I know how it all went down."
"Do you forgive him?" The text appeared on the page, no longer a whispered voice.
"Master Ansem? Is that… part of all this?"
"He is part of me. He is part of you. His choices have rippled through your life. Carelessly. He agreed to these experiments. He didn't stop them until it was too late."
"It is not my place to say anything of the sort."
"Perhaps when you were a child. That's not the case now."
The book trembled in his hands.
"He gave me a home when no one else would," Ienzo said.
"He said he would take care of us. But he changed his mind." The book shuffled again, to a different illustration, of darkness consuming Even and Ienzo. "Doesn't that hurt?"
"Of course it does, but that was not his choice, he was thrown into-"
"Do you forgive him?"
Ienzo swallowed. "Must I? To take back this power?"
"All it requires is clarity of thought."
"Because lately that has been so easy." His mouth was sour. "No. I do not forgive him. Not yet."
The lexicon flicked through some illustrations. Being strangled to death, waking up as Ienzo, assisting Sora, reuniting with Demyx when he was a vessel. Reuniting with Ansem. Working on the replicas. And every little thing that had happened since then, one after the other, faster and faster, until-
The room in Castle Oblivion gave way to a starry night. Long grasses curled around his knees. Illumina petals, wild and free, glowed softly in the dark, lighting the path forward. Another thin finger of pain, gagged and numb, crawled up and down his spine.
"Where am I now?" Ienzo asked the lexicon, but its work was done; it was silent. He treaded the path. A gentle breeze stirred up the smell of the flowers. Time was truncating; it seemed like he walked both a very long way and not far at all. The scent of the field mingled with something like a sea breeze. He held the book tightly under his arm as a sort of anchor and kept walking, touching the spot below his nose every few hundred meters, but it remained dry.
He heard tides. Softly at first, then closer and closer. The field of grass gave way to sand, which was soft and cool under his now-bare feet. Ienzo's illusions had never been this strong to him personally. If he had to, could he get out? The lexicon in his arms seemed to shudder a little. How much farther could he push?
The sea spread across the horizon. A quarter-horn moon coated everything in a silvery light. The surf looked calm, and gentle, but he could feel the pain radiating from it. He approached cautiously.
His powers were stronger and weaker than ever before. He had gone, somehow, from recreating memory to actively walking within it.
He set the lexicon down and placed a hand in the gentle, cold surf. Keyblade wielders-child warriors-gathered listening to a woman in a pink robe give an impassioned speech. Something about they will not remember. Fighting alongside other young children who called him another name, against Heartless and other deformed creatures, and the then-unscarred ground of the Keyblade Graveyard-
Ienzo yanked his hand out of the water, feeling as though he had somehow violated Demyx.
"Where are you?" he asked.
No response. He could see nothing, just sand, and water, and night. Ienzo took another step towards the water.
A harsh, sharp pain shot through his chest and back, almost knocking him over. This was too much power. The entropy. He had to act quickly. Otherwise this would all be for naught and they would both end up dead.
He waded into the water. It was icy cold, and painful. Little whisps of memory darted across his vision, memories that weren't his. He tried not to look at them, but he couldn't necessarily help it. Fights. Keyblades. Songs- the most melancholic music he'd ever heard. He took a deep breath, and dove.
Demyx was drowning, immobile and sinking slowly, his palms outstretched. Ienzo, never the strongest swimmer, pressed hard against the viscous memory. His chest was hurting again, though whether it was from entropy or the perceived lack of oxygen he wasn't sure.
Ienzo grasped his hand and felt something like a shock. The pain of it made him cry out and lose more precious air.
This was unnatural. This would have a price.
It was too late to turn back.
Ienzo grasped both of his hands and pulled. Between the weight and the effort and the memories, Ienzo couldn't be sure he was bringing them to shore.
They surfaced at last. His muscles were weak and trembling. He dragged Demyx away from the surf and all but collapsed.
Demyx coughed and gagged, spitting up seawater. He groaned.
"Are you alright?" Even outside of the water, the pain was still there, hungry.
Demyx looked up. Apprehension and fear crossed his face, and for a moment Ienzo wondered if he should have left him in the water, if he were disturbing some necessary process. "Ienzo?" His voice was hoarse.
Ienzo breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, Demyx, it's me."
"What are you doing here? How-" He coughed harder, and Ienzo patted him on the back.
"My power brought me here."
"Your power?" He sounded incredulous. "I thought you didn't have any-"
Ienzo picked up the lexicon and held it out to him. "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," he said softly. Demyx shook his head. "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. Uncanny, how realistic the wetness and sand felt. "I know. You couldn't've. I'm not mad at you."
Demyx glanced away at him. His eyes were watering. "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.
Another pang of pain inside of his head. This time it was like lightning. Ienzo knew there would be blood before he even checked.
"Ienzo?" Demyx asked wearily. "What's-"
"Come back with me," Ienzo said. "Quickly. We both have to wake up."
"You're bleeding-"
"My power, it's-" The agony tightened within him. He didn't know how to get out of here, but he had to do it fast. Even his illusory body was losing strength.
"You're burning out," Demyx said.
"Worse. I'm-"
"Shit, shit, shit." He was panicking. "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.
The next thing Ienzo was aware of was the pain. He couldn't move. His insides felt like they were burning-they probably were.
Demyx was yelling. "Hey. Hey, Ienzo. Wake up. You have to-" Hands at his shoulder, his wrist, checking for a pulse. Pressure against his pockets. "I need help. Even, I need- I think Ienzo's dying and I don't know how to stop it."
Was he dying? He was feeling more numbness than pain now.
Even's voice. "What happened?"
"He found me. In my memory. I don't know how, but he-he said he wasn't supposed to have that power." Ienzo heard a sob.
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."
Alive.
Ienzo could not feel anything, not even fear. He tried to keep drawing breaths, to stay alive , but his lungs were not responsive. He was starting to get dizzy, and drowsy. There was more pressure against his chest, repetitive and insistent. Demyx's voice, again, heartbroken: "Why would you do this? Why didn't you let me drown?"
He tried to fight the pull of sleep, but with his will cleaved, he had no choice but to give into it.