2.
Ienzo has just turned six. He's been at the castle for most of a year.
Aeleus is icing the simple white cake when Even goes to get his morning coffee. "You're spoiling the boy," he says in lieu of greeting. "Ansem gives him more than enough sugar with all the ice cream."
Aeleus shrugs. "It's not a birthday without cake."
"Indeed, when presented with such things when I was younger, I nearly went feral," Dilan says. "Though sugar does not seem to affect his countenance."
"Not much does."
"It's worth celebrating, that he's speaking," Aeleus says. He puts the frosting knife in the sink. "Maybe we can encourage him to talk more."
He still does not speak much, even now. His sentences are short, plain, often monosyllabic. At least they no longer need to rely on the whiteboard.
But now that he speaks, his nightmares have heft, sound. Even can hear him cry for them. It never hurts any less.
"Ah, speak of the devil," Dilan says. Ienzo appears, still in pajamas, rubbing his eyes. "Happy birthday."
He blinks. "That's today?"
Even chuckles. "I figure today we can do something you like. Play, or perhaps go outside?"
Ienzo opens the fridge door and takes out a juice box. "No thank you," he says politely. "I want to finish my book."
"Anything for the prince, eh," Dilan says. He's taken to calling Ienzo that; despite the fact that he and Ansem have no blood ties and that "king" is an elected title. "If you go outside you can get more books, you know. Not just this dusty old tosh."
This grabs his attention.
"I'll even buy you one as a present."
Ienzo turns pink. "Thank you."
Dilan smiles. "Why it is my pleasure. Go get dressed. We can leave after breakfast."
He retreats to his room quickly. Even puts up oatmeal. "That's kind of you," he says.
"He needs exercise. It's not normal to be cooped up all day."
"Dilan spoils the boy, but I can't?" Aeleus asks dryly. "The double standards."
Even laughs a little. "Such is the way of life."
He returns to his lab. He had success with another fertilization; this one actually divided twice before dying. What was the difference? He doesn't think he did anything differently. During all of his medical school studies, he did not recall IVF to be so finicky.
This isn't the same thing. It's a vehicle.
He studies the corpses of the cells under blacklight, trying to find anything that might illuminate the truth.
Ansem approaches him now, not the other way around. Even would be lying if he said he doesn't enjoy the power. "Sorry to intrude," he says.
Even looks up from the chaise and decides to be nice. "Nothing to intrude. I was mending Ienzo's coat. He's growing so quickly, I had to let down the hem." They can buy clothes at the shops, but not many vendors sell lab coats in children's sizes. They're teaching Ienzo general chemistry; he needs to have protection.
"You're sure? He's awfully small."
He hums idly. "He's on the bottom end of average," he admits. "I have a feeling Ienzo will always be relatively petite. But he eats plenty, and Dilan introduced him to the library in town, which is an incentive to walk."
"...He goes on his own now?" Ansem asks. He sits without being invited.
Even pauses slightly in his stitching. "How old were you when you ran your first errand?" he asks instead. "He has to be back in half an hour, otherwise we take away the books. Funny. For most children reading is punishment." He holds up the jacket, checking for evenness. "Can I help you with something?"
He picks up the book he's carried in. It's an odd size, old, the cut of the paper uneven. "I… admit I still do not know anything about which you're working. But I know you have a body problem. I wonder if this might help."
He eyes it derisively. "Not exactly cutting edge science, is it?"
Ansem chuckles. "No, but… I've spoken with a new… friend, and I wonder if this is food for thought."
Even takes the book from him. The font is ancient, hard to read. "Mysticism of the Heart? Sounds a bit… Romantic."
Ansem shakes his head. "It's nothing to do with feelings. Well, not quite. The author was a sorcerer… oh, many years ago. She studied the heart."
"...As have I. As have we all."
"The meta physical heart, Even." He seems exasperated. "I find myself… intrigued, as well. I was up all night reading it."
"...That so?" He strokes the cover, the soft, crumbling leather.
"If you… want to make something living, you have to understand the forces behind it. At least, that's how I see it."
"None of this is proven," Even says, but despite himself he can feel his mind stirring, the block loosening.
"Maybe not with science. Maybe not with black and white."
"Consider my interest… piqued."
Like Ansem, he finds himself engrossed in every page; he takes copious notes. The text is hard to read, from the font to the fact that it is an older dialect of their language. But the ideas behind it are fascinating, and not just from a scientific standpoint.
Everyone knows a person is made of a body, heart, and will; but nobody understands the latter two, how they function. Nobody can test something so abstract. But if he can figure it out… or at least start to get there… maybe it will mean something for the dying cells smeared on his slides.
He can feel an excitement rising in him, an eagerness, a passion, that he hasn't experienced in some time. He's finally getting somewhere. He photocopies the book to have as reference, and without a word, gives it to Aeleus.
Within two weeks none of them can shut up about it. Ienzo watches them discuss it, warily, another fantasy story in his hands. Even finds himself digging through the libraries all throughout the castle for more-there has to be more. But everything else he finds about the heart is vague, at best. Limited. A single line in a dictionary. He bites the bullet and begins looking towards texts of religion and philosophy as well, but unlike Mysticism of the Heart, it is all waffling.
The sorcerer who crafted the book spent her whole life studying the heart. After apprenticing under a master magician, she spent years crafting spells to look within-to feel the heart, what it might mean. She asked as many people as she dared (it was a time and place where magic was viewed as heresy, so Even can't help but admire her nerve) if she, too, could look within their hearts. She wrote out each as a case study, but her major conclusions were as follows:
-Hearts are not mere physical matter. They are made of two forms of metamatter, heretoafter deemed "light" and "darkness." Like yin and yang, they were not necessarily good and evil, but rather seemed to have certain qualities: light was associated with feeling, healing, and nurturing, while darkness was associated with power, knowledge, and a desire to better oneself rather than the collective.
-Hearts are about "feeling", about aqueous aspects of identity.
-The presence of bonds seem to make a heart stronger or weaker, depending on their health.
-Stronger individuals could always produce more and fulfill themselves more.
Even had, of course, studied darkness and light; but they had been viewed mostly as pejoratives, things that were intangible. If this is right-this dusty old tome from who knows how long ago-it's so much more literal than they ever could have guessed.
He is trying to draft ways to explore this more clearly when Ienzo finds him. Without a single word, he places a book on Even's lap. "...What's this?" Even asks him.
"It talks about hearts."
Even examines it. It's a fairy story; one from Ansem's study. He feels a swell of something like pride when he realizes that Ienzo likely took it without permission. "A fantasy story?" he asks.
Ienzo shrugs. "They talk about dark and light."
There's no point on waiting for him to elaborate. "I will… examine it in more detail," he says, shunting it to the bottom of his list.
Ienzo begins to leave, but then turns. "And magic," he says.
Even furrows his brows. Acting on impulse, he opens the storybook Ienzo left behind.
Well, hell.
It all causes a massive dissonance; how much lore, nebulous and malleable, actually has more truth in it than they all think?
As a man of science, and yes, he thinks, reason, how can he possibly believe it, when this whole time he only believed what could be proven with numbers?
Even's mind slivers into pieces: the part of him invested in his experiment; the part of him beginning to play into this heart nonsense; and the part of him that looks after Ienzo. Because the boy really does need looking after.
He's still not well-with the absence of proper treatment, he can never be well. No longer trusting only Ansem's word, Even takes a look at his predecessor's reports-Ansem's office is so disorganized, he will never notice if these things go missing for a few hours-and discovers to his horror that Ansem wasn't embellishing at all.
The shift in Radiant Garden's economy from manufacturing to STEM brought unprecedented progress. It increased their food yields, meaning nobody went hungry; it gave them technology and medicine to save lives, to make life in general easier. But with that shift meant a loss in other ways of other studies; they became neglected. Namely, the humanities. And under these older referendums, psychology was not deemed a hard science.
The people are feeling the strain. This, on top of the cultural stigma that comes with seeking help. Not so many students are studying the subject-none that will pursue the accreditation, anyway. Meaning with a dying and retiring population of therapists, there's increasingly nowhere to turn to.
It isn't just psychology, either. Even doesn't have the time to crunch the numbers, but with the arts and humanities slowly being neglected, Radiant Garden is going through a slow cultural death. It upsets him more than he thought possible.
Perhaps this is why, after one of Ienzo's nightmares, he does more than leave him be.
It's almost a routine at this point. It's clear that Ienzo has no control of himself during these spells; as soon as he wakes up, he tries his utmost to quiet the cries, so as not to disturb the rest of them. More upsetting yet.
Even brings him a cup of weak tea with honey, a cool cloth for his face. "...Are you alright?" he asks the boy. He has no idea where to begin. "How do you… feel?"
Ienzo looks at him as though he couldn't have asked a stranger question.
He tries again, feeling rapidly out of his depth. "Are you afraid?"
He sniffles. "No. I… see them."
"In your dreams?"
"All the time." His small hands tremble when he takes the teacup. "I know they're… dead."
"Yes," Even says. "I'm sorry."
"I don't… remember. Except for…" He touches his shoulder. "Did I make it up? Those monsters."
"...No."
He considers this. "They ate them?"
Even flinches without meaning to.
Ienzo interprets this as a confirmation. "They ate them."
"It is never… easy, to lose someone." The ever-present ache around his heart tightens. "We've… tried measures, to get rid of them." It doesn't help that the Unversed population is almost impossible to track; but this isn't Even's purview. "We won't let anyone hurt you."
"I know," he says.
"It's okay to miss them," Even says. "You know this, yes?"
Slowly, Ienzo nods. "Where are they?"
"We… had them cremated shortly afterwards. While you were recovering."
He shakes his head, and repeats the question.
"Oh… well… there's no clear answer." He clears his throat. "Some people believe that they go to a heaven, or an afterworld. Others believe that their souls are reincarnated into other people, or animals. Some think that they… merely go to sleep."
He thinks about this. "Is it peaceful?"
Even's heart about breaks. "Yes," he says softly. "It's very peaceful."
"...Okay," he says, and shrugs. "As long as they're okay."
"If you would like, I can… make a space for you to mourn. With the… mortuary tablets."
"No thank you," he says. "I'm tired now. Good night."
Even does not know how else to broach the subject, but the conversation reveals him to be something of a hypocrite. How can he possibly teach Ienzo how to grieve when he refuses to grieve his own losses?
But he can't begin the process and not end it; it would be continual, it would take work. It would distract him for his research and possibly incapacitate him for some time. He couldn't give in to that urge now, not when he is so close to a solution. This is what's been missing, he's sure. Something… that can't be created literally. But to move forward first he needs to understand more about hearts, and how they relate to their people.
"Master? Forgive me for intruding."
Ansem looks up at him wearily. "Oh… hello."
"Are you alright?" he asks, without meaning to.
"I'm merely tired. I've got… more arguments on my hands. It's hard to find the budget to jumpstart a mental health program without taking away other things-and none of my colleagues can stand any of my suggestions."
"I've no idea why you decided to go into politics."
"Consider me a fool for trying to enact change." Ansem sighs. "What is it you need?"
Even folds his hands together. "I don't need more resources, but I was hoping to… reallocate some things," he says. "We-Aeleus and Dilan too-would like to investigate the matters of the heart more scientifically. It would mean certain projects would have to wait, but… we all feel a passion for it, and I can't pretend that's meaningless."
"...Yes," Ansem says. "I… feel the same way about it. Finding truths about life itself… would make my work feel a lot less frivolous."
"I can draw up a budget-"
"No need." Ansem smiles. "Do what you must."
So that's it, then.
They need a workspace, one where they could all gather. There's space in one of the lower levels, near the castle's CPU; the maintenance techs will not be happy to deal with their comings and goings, but Even could care less. It is a bit isolated, but that also means it will be quiet.
It has been a long time since the four of them worked together on something, since shortly after graduate placement. And truly they had never done it like this.
Dilan surveys their office space with distaste. "...Quite sterile, isn't it? No natural light." Aside from two offices, the space is completely open; Ienzo spends quite some time running to and fro, and as he scarcely does this, they indulge him.
"...Is it? I could rather care less about decor." Even opens one of the boxes and gently begins unpacking his gear into a cabinet.
"I'll bring some plants," Aeleus says.
"Well, we have what we need; where do we begin?" Dilan asks.
"Ansem started this. Maybe he has some clue." There's a loud crash; Ienzo ran clean into the sharp end of one of the metal tables and clutches his knee. He does not cry, but grits his teeth in silence. "Oh, goodness. What have you done to yourself?" At least he had the good sense to place his first aid kit towards the top of the pile. He tends to the small cut. "Be careful, alright? There are more dangerous things in this room than just a table."
He shrugs, and drops his eyes. "I got excited," he says.
It is all terribly exciting. It shouldn't feel this strange to have Ansem back in the room with them. They sit clustered around the worktables, brainstorming or trying to; Ienzo studies, supposedly working out some math problems Dilan set him.
"There must be a way to unify these two methods," Ansem says. "The science, the magic. Why shouldn't it be some combination of both of them?"
Dilan all but rolls his eyes. "That's all fine and dandy, if it were not for the fact that none of us have any training."
"Couldn't we learn?" Aeleus asks. "The… manuscript details how these things were done."
Dilan twists the ends of one of his braids. "...Teach a machine how to do magic," he says slowly. "It's so insane that it might actually work."
"A machine?" Ansem asks.
"Well, the manuscript also mentions how exhausting such spellwork is-not to mention, how advanced. We can't afford to wear ourselves down. Nor do we have the time to study such things for so long."
Even thinks about it. "You may be onto something."
It takes time, and it takes all of them; fall wears into winter. The castle has always been drafty and damp, but here in the basement it's basically unbearable. They huddle around space heaters, wander around in too many layers. Dilan spends hours-weeks-poring over page after page of blueprints, trying to figure out how to make it work.
It isn't as if Even can sneak away to try to work on his own projects, so he focuses on Ienzo. The boy isn't perfect; he does trip up and make mistakes and occasionally can't wrap his head around things. He has more aptitude for some subjects than others, favoring biology over chemistry and psychology over math. Even can't help it; maybe he can't give Ienzo the help he needs, but maybe he can give the boy the tools to eventually help himself.
Intellectually, he's more advanced than many. But he's still a child, with all the trappings of one. When he sees the snow on the ground, he's tempted. So Aeleus takes him out to play. He returns delighted, pink-faced and soaked, and for the first time Even can recall he doesn't have a nightmare.
Then he gets sick.
The castle's something of a germ vacuum. Of course the moment Ienzo's vulnerable something sneaks in. At first it seems merely like a cold; he sneezes over his studies, needs to be reminded to cover his mouth. Even gives him cold medicine, keeps an eye on him; all he knows is that he can feel this is something more, and his reliance on that instinct embarrasses him. When the boy begins audibly shivering Even takes him upstairs to bed. Ienzo's fever rises dramatically-he'd forgotten how bad, how terrifying it can be in small children. Even plies him with fluids, with an antiviral. He just has to wait, to mop the poor child's sweaty brow and hope it gets no worse.
"...How's our patient?" Dilan asks. He carries a tray with soup for the both of them. "Don't protest. This is for you. You've been up all night."
"It's the flu, I'm afraid." He's just dipped this cloth in cool water, it's warm already. "Thank goodness he's sleeping. He'd be miserable otherwise."
Dilan stares down at the lump that was Ienzo, barely visible below all the blankets. "...How bad is it?"
Even checks his log; he's been taking his temperature every two hours, in the vain hope that it'll break sooner rather than later. "Hovering around 40.5."
"...Goodness, that's…"
"If it gets higher we can chance an ice bath. But I'd rather not do that if I can avoid it. He's already so sensitive-odds are his mind would interpret the cold as pain."
"Couldn't you simply… put the boy to sleep?"
"As if the ice water wouldn't wake him up?"
Dilan puts a hand to his forehead. "Forgive me… my head is rather foggy."
"You must be exhausted." Even rewets the rag and places it back on Ienzo's warm little face. "Get some rest. The last thing we need is for you to get it as well."
He nods. "Should I… call someone?"
"Like who? Dilan." He chuckles. "I've seen many sick children in my day. I promise I'm qualified."
"I know you're close to the boy. That can cloud things."
"...We'll be just fine. Your concern touches me."
He stays with Ienzo that night; Ansem comes in and out, bringing them food, blankets, tea. He makes Even go sleep for a few hours. Even hopes his own exhaustion is just that. The last thing he needs…
Ienzo's fever drops from 40.5 to 39. An improvement, but not much of one; now instead of being asleep, he's conscious and miserable and the cold medicine only makes him irritated. He still can barely keep anything down. Even tries not to worry-it takes much longer than two days for the flu to pass-but inside a web of anxiety is spinning, gently, what if he doesn't get better, what if the fever suddenly worsens in the night and he seizes, isn't there something else I can do? He almost has to force the boy to drink, considers starting an IV line. After a few hours Ienzo sleeps, fitfully, shivering hard. Despite himself, Even drifts too, jolting back into consciousness every time his head nods. He knows he should ask for someone to relieve him, at least temporarily. But who?
During one of these sleepy waves, he hears it. "Daddy?"
Even blinks hard. "It's Even, little one. Go back to sleep."
He takes a shaky breath, one full of phlegm. "Where is he?"
He cracks a little. "I'm sorry. He'll be back soon."
"He's supposed to-" Ienzo's reeling a little, his eyes rolling.
"What, love?"
"The song to make it go away-" He shudders, propping himself up.
"Lay back down. It's alright." His family must have had rituals, Even realizes, just like any other. "I can read to you, would that help?"
"Why did they leave?" His voice breaks.
"Oh, love. They didn't want to."
Ienzo bursts into tears. It's not the same as the nightmare-induced panic attacks; there's a cold sentience to this. Almost instinctively, and against his better judgement, Even draws him into his arms. He's unsure of how Ienzo will react to the touch, but to his surprise he feels the boy clinging to him. It feels so familiar. The weight of him is almost exactly like-
Anything but that.
He tries to focus on comforting the boy, but all he can say are some variations of "it's alright." It seems to take a very long time for Ienzo to calm down, settling down against Even's chest in an exhausted heap. He dares not move, lest he disturb him more.
The next thing he knows he's waking up, the boy still asleep in his arms. As gently as Even can, he lays him back down and tucks the blanket more securely around his shoulders. He checks the boy's fever. 38, only a touch higher than normal. They're out of the woods. Or, he notes with a groan as he feels a sudden ache in his back, Ienzo is. He makes his way slowly out of the room and sees Dilan. "Don't come any closer," he warns. "I believe I've caught it too."
Dilan sighs. "I'll bring you some soup. Best get to bed."
"...Right. Never a dull day around here, is there?"
"If only."
He is beginning to feel the brunt of it in earnest; he shivers as he bathes no matter how warm the water, and the blankets do not seem to be enough. Dilan, in a mask, brings him medicine. Even tries to read for a while, but nothing has straight lines anymore, so he succumbs to a restless sleep.
Of course he's aware delirium can twist the mind, can weaken it, can lower one's defenses. That doesn't make him prepared for the onslaught that follows. He can see their faces clear as day as desperately as he tried to forget them-he can hear their voices-
Dad, look! Look, I got it! The boy, hanging determinedly from a set of monkey bars.
Please be careful-oh, love-
Even, kids get hurt. Let him have his fun.
He ran out of time. He should've been with him. If he'd've been there maybe none of this would've happened. They'd still be-
Officers in deep blue uniforms-
An electrical failure-
Transformer blew-the place likely went up in minutes.
They probably didn't feel much of anything.
He wasn't there, making his imagination work all the harder-did they cry? Were they together when it happened, holding one another? Did they think of him? It has to have been awful-to feel oneself be torn apart-no matter how quickly it happens-
Something cool pats his face, bringing him almost, but not quite, to consciousness. He feels horrifically nauseous. "Go back to sleep," says the voice.
"I have to… check on him," he mumbles.
"Ienzo's doing much better. His fever broke. You, on the other hand-" A wry chuckle. A sound like woodsmoke.
Smoke? "I should've-"
"Nonsense. You took excellent care of him. Now you must look after yourself."
"He could've fallen."
"Ienzo's going nowhere."
Even's feeling increasingly woozy. "He feels like him. Why did you do this to me?" And then it's happening, he's crying again, a sensation that physically hurts. He feels a hand on his back above the blankets.
"Why do you feel you must suffer alone?"
Darkness, for a long time. When he wakes he still feels horrid, but at least things are beginning to sharpen again. His head's pounding, and his muscles feel like lead. He groans a little when he tries to prop himself up.
"Even?"
His head snaps up; the sudden movement worsens the pain. "You should go, you needn't see this."
Ansem looks exhausted. His hair is unkempt, his beard needs trimming, and the circles under his eyes are nearly comical. "You're too unwell to take care of yourself. I was near Ienzo, so if I'm already infected, no point exposing the others." He pours Even a glass of water and hands him a few pills. "Your fever's not so terrifyingly high, but you were quite delirious for a while."
"I am… aware." He scowls. He's so thirsty. The moment he sets down his empty glass, Ansem gets more. He's dragged a chair to Even's bedside; it's here Ansem sits.
"I wish to have… a word," he says, with difficulty.
"While I'm essentially a captive audience? Not very sportsmanlike, is it?"
"Well quite bluntly otherwise you'd flee. Because you've been avoiding it like the plague."
Even lays back down with a huff.
Ansem scratches his beard. "Kick and scream, I don't care. We'll chalk it up to your illness. You're clearly suffering. Pushing it away isn't going to make it any easier. You're living in a state of quasi-denial where everything's fine. Everything needn't be fine, Even."
"You think this is denial?"
Ansem looks him in the eye. "Yes. I do. The longer you put it off, the more you don't have to face the fact that your life is forever changed, that your residence in the castle is no longer a temporary one. You have to grieve them, Even. It's been almost two years."
He looks up at the ceiling. The dome light, a moth flickering around it agitatedly. "...Has it been that long already?" he asks. "I… hadn't realized." He's again exhausted but can't find the energy to be angry.
Mostly because Ansem's right.
He feels Ansem's warm, dry hand slide over his. "I do not expect you to be the same. But I would like you to let me help you."
"What could you possibly do for me?"
"Listen."
"With all your free time?"
"Even."
He exhales shakily.
"Bonds can make a heart stronger," Ansem says. "That's what you need right now."
How very like him, to frame it in context with Even's work. "Where would I even begin?"
"You mentioned that Ienzo feels the same."
It's hard to breathe. "...Yes," he says. "They're about the same size. He was, rather. My son." Saying it feels like getting stabbed. It's easier not to look at Ansem, so he doesn't.
"I… remember. But he never had an aptitude for the sciences. A gentle soul, that one."
"Incredibly. Dare I say it, too fragile to last very long. Almost like we were tempting…" He trails off.
"...Fate? Even, I thought you didn't believe in such things."
"Ansem, I'm not certain of anything anymore."
"...That's quite alright."
"I had wanted to make things better."
"It's not too late."
"It always will be, for them." He closes his eyes. "As for me…" He doesn't know what else to say. "Other than my work, truly…"
"What is there to live for?"
"...I'm frightfully pathetic."
"No. You're in pain." He adjusts his grip on Even's hand. "Closing yourself off to the world won't heal your heart."
"I suppose it won't." It's an emotion he's unsure of, fragile and pale. "Why is it you care?"
"Even, I've known you since university. I've seen your brightness, your hope. I know you can find it again."
"I'm afraid your certainty must be enough for the both of us."
"I will try my best."
He feels a bit different after the sickness, like he's shifted a bit to the left. It takes a while to regather his strength, physically and otherwise. He spends this intellectually useless time with Ienzo, in the large library; the boy can't seem to believe there are so many books. The excitement of it soothes Even. He wishes he could feel the same, that he could go back to the point where he, too, saw so much wonder.
Truthfully, other than his size, Ienzo bears no resemblance to his son. That child was an artful soul, constantly drawing; Ienzo never picks up a marker unless it is to write. That child loved to play; Ienzo would much rather read and seek stimulation more quietly. Were he older, Even thinks, Ienzo might have been a peer to himself. He surely must eventually go to university, to meet more people his age like him. Scientists are poor excuses for friends.
"So that's him? Cute kid."
The voice startles him; his heart jolts unpleasantly. He turns and sees a man he can only vaguely recognize, in the castle's deep blue guard uniform; his short dark hair is slicked back, and a red kerchief covers his collar, breaking protocol for sure. "I'm sorry, can I help you?"
The man puts a hand on his hip. "Heard you guys are cooking up a project, and could use the extra help around here." He sticks out his white-gloved hand. "Name's Braig. We've met."
Even glances briefly back at Ienzo, who has barely moved. Braig's glove is a little dirty, and after he shakes his hand he makes a note to wash his own as soon as possible. "Then surely I needn't introduce myself. That boy over there's Master Ansem's ward, Ienzo."
"Figured. Everyone's been talking about him." Braig observes him for a moment. "You're Ansem's right hand man, aren't you?"
"Master Ansem," Even corrects. "And I'm one of his science officers, if that's what you're referring to."
The man shrugs. "So then why are you on babysitting duty?"
Even takes a breath to compose himself. Braig's manner is most unbecoming to a supposedly-stoic castle guard. "I assist with the boy's education," he says instead.
Braig chuckles. "If you want to call it that."
He tries to bite down on his temper. "Don't you need to return to your rounds?" he asks, politely.
He shrugs. "I'm off the clock. Just taking a look at my new digs. Only saw it briefly during orientation, which was a lot longer ago that I want to admit."
So he doesn't even have newness as an excuse for this behavior. "I see," he says distastefully.
"Can I introduce myself to the kid? Don't want to freak him out if I'm going to be around."
Even blanches. He hates to admit Braig has a point; Ienzo needs to be familiar with those around him. "...He is rather shy. Don't be surprised if he simply ignores you."
Braig shrugs. "Eh, I've had worse." He approaches him slowly. There's something lazy, almost cat-like, about the way he moves. Even watches him warily. "Hey, kiddo. Whatcha reading? Doesn't look like a whole lot of fun."
Ienzo looks up at his assailant with an expression of dull disappointment.
"Name's Braig. One of the castle guards. 'Fraid you're going to be seeing this ugly mug a lot."
"Okay," is all Ienzo says. He goes back to his reading. Braig crosses back over to the door.
"Not a people person, I guess," he says. "Be seeing you, Even."
Even bristles when Braig doesn't use his title. "With all due politeness, if we're to work together you must be respectful."
Braig smirks a little. "Sure thing, Doctor." When he leaves, his tread is nearly soundless. Even sighs a little out of frustration.
"Ienzo? We must go get some lunch."
"I'm not hungry," he says, turning the page.
"You lost weight when you were ill. The last thing we need is for you to get sick again."
"...I admit he's… a character," Dilan says, his lip curling.
"Is there no one else?" Even asks. "If this is to be the constant, I wish for it to be someone who's… more in line with decorum."
"Ansem does not seem to mind," Dilan remarks. He looks pale, the skin under his eyes the color of a bruise. Even's not sure which cup of coffee he's on, but he's also sure he doesn't want to know.
"I understand the… trepidation," Aeleus says slowly. He searches through the tome he's holding slowly. "I worked in tandem with him for some time. Braig is very experienced, and the people like him. That's not for nothing. Have you truly never met?"
Even feels his face reddening. "Not that I can recall."
Dilan chuckles. "Perhaps he'll respect you if you respect him."
"Of course his labor is valuable."
"...Not what I said."
"How are things going?" Even asks instead.
He takes off his reading glasses and rubs at the bridge of his nose. "Feels I'm running a fool's errand," Dilan admits. "I consulted with the wizard Merlin, as Master advised, yet…" He digs something out of his pocket and sets it on the table between the three of them; it's a blistered, patinated bit of scrap metal, its edges splintered. "This is all that's left of my prototype."
Ienzo hops down from his chair to investigate. He reaches up to the table to take the piece of metal, his arm too short to reach the center of the table.
"No, child, that's quite sharp," Dilan says.
"I just want to look at it," Ienzo says, with a hint of a whine. Aeleus hefts the boy onto his knee. He peers through the curtain of hair at the metal. "Not aluminum." He pronounces it like "lumininum." Even corrects him gently.
"No. It's… it was an alloy," Dilan says.
He shakes his head. "Needs to be something flexible."
They are all silent for several moments; Ienzo cocks his head slightly.
Dilan scoffs a little to himself. "The boy's right. Good on you, Ienzo."
Ienzo beams at the praise, revealing his missing front teeth-the milk teeth fell out some two weeks prior.
Dilan drums his fingers on the table. "But if not metal, then what?"
Ienzo shrugs. "Master says gummy."
Even raises an eyebrow. "What, rubber?"
"Gummy," he repeats, slowly, as if that makes it any clearer.
"Ienzo, we've no idea what you're talking abou-"
He turns red. "That's what his friend says!" He's almost yelling. Ienzo's temper is a new development.
Aeleus rubs his shoulders gently. "Calm down and think about what you need to say," he suggests.
He's tearing up, sniffling in frustration. It's clear Ienzo occasionally has difficulty stringing together his thoughts, especially as he becomes more verbal. "His friend, his friend speaked about it-"
"Spoke," Dilan corrects.
Aeleus tucks a strand of gray hair behind the boy's ear. "What about this friend?"
Even's almost sure the conversation's meaningless until Ienzo says, "His friend has a star. He's little, not like me. And he has a…" He shapes something with his hands, something long and thin.
Aeleus offers him a pencil and some graphing paper. "Why don't you try drawing it?"
The boy begins sketching dutifully, the lines messy. It looks almost like a sword, or a bat, but he adds something to the tip of it, something like-
Even's heart all but stops, and from the looks on Aeleus's and Dilan's faces, theirs do too. "Are you… quite sure of what you saw?" Even asks gently. Ienzo is not a particularly imaginative child, but this seems more plausible than the truth on the paper in front of them.
He nods. "I see… I saw it."
There, in the horrible fluorescent lighting, is a drawing of a Keyblade.
There are so many thoughts going through Even's mind, he doesn't know how to keep track of them. He honestly isn't sure if he feels sick or exhilarated.
They always thought that Keyblades were legend. But considering Ansem's fascination with other worlds… Has he, privately, tried to contact them?
Is Ienzo merely lying?
The boy is not a liar, but it makes so much more sense if Even believes he is. Well, there's one simple solution to all this. He may make a fool of himself, but he has to pursue this feeling.
During a break in Ansem's schedule, he goes to see him. He considers bringing Ienzo too, as a sort of collateral, but Aeleus is in the middle of a biology quiz, and Even knows how busy Ansem gets.
He feels breathless, and sweaty. "I must have a word."
Ansem's head snaps up. "My friend! Are you alright? Please, sit."
He does, sinking first down onto a pile of files before he remembers to remove them. Ansem pours some water from a decanter and hands it to him. Even watches the light refract off of the crystal glass, trying to gather his nerve. "You had Ienzo in on a meeting," Even says.
Ansem looks more confused than anything. "I never involve him in city work."
"A visitor, then? Some friend of yours?" He sounds a bit wheezy. "The boy is either… telling tales, or you've been up to something."
Ansem hesitates, and this hesitation tells Even everything he needs to know. "I did not intend for Ienzo to be there, but he just so happened to arrive when-"
"Who?"
Ansem sighs heavily. It's a sound of getting caught.
Forty-five minutes later, Even has a splitting headache. He may, he reckons, be going completely insane.
Apparently out of the blue one day a mouse king arrived from another world, teleported willy-nilly via something he called a "star shard." Even does not know how to begin unpacking this. Mouse? Child-sized, sentient, speaking their language? And of course Ansem immediately started asking him about this-the two spent some hours talking about their worlds, the commonalities, the differences. Which of course Ansem kept to himself. Only then the mouse (mouse!) king returned, during one of Ansem's tutoring sessions with Ienzo. This time he brought books, books from this other world, and some aqueous cubes of material he calls "gummi blocks." And he was very pleased to tell Ansem he'd become a Keyblade master.
What in the world is going on? Nobody has ever believed Keyblades were real, and here the proof is in the pudding, so to speak. It's all true, which makes Even feel even more mad; it seems like everything he's learned is a lie.
In it all, a glint of hope.
Ansem lends him the books. Here there's more information about light and darkness-well-reasoned studies proving, more than anything, that it's a whole lot more literal than any of them have ever thought, and provides them with building blocks on how to seek it out in the environment.
The gummi material is exactly as alien as Even thought; immensely mutable, easily replicable. He spends hours subjecting the stuff to tests-extreme heat, liquid nitrogen, stress, impact, gravity. It can hold shape with ease, hardening to become like glass, its texture scrambling to become whatever they urge it to conform to. And it seems to be extremely durable.
"Something flexible," Dilan says with awe. "This must be what Ienzo meant."
It seems to be exactly what they need to move forward with their research. Now that he knows he's not suffering a mental breakdown, the possibilities excite Even, actually make it difficult to sleep at night.
They create something like a pod, with the hope of being able to isolate the light from the darkness. They need something living, to study; they examine mice, reptiles, insects. While these things do seem to carry light and darkness in their own way, they also lack hearts-the real, intangible, metaphysical hearts. The proper thing to do would be to study people. The machine seems to do no harm to the lesser animals, but the moment humanity comes into it, it gets intensely more complicated.
"It will take… quite some doing," Ansem admits. "You have to create a risk impact statement, and that statement has to pass the board of ethics. And I need it to. I will not have anyone getting hurt. We know so little about these forces."
"Of course we will obtain informed consent," Even says. "We merely wish to examine them, and to ask them questions about the more… mythical things. Like bonds, or memories. How do we measure these things? We can only figure it out by gathering data."
"I warn you, this may take some time," Ansem says. He crosses his legs, looking towards the machines-Dilan has made two more. "The typical amount of time it takes things to pass the board is six months-something like this? Perhaps longer."
Even curses his own lack of foresight. He should have drafted something earlier, before they got swept in this nonsense, to avoid these roadblocks. But who, says a small voice inside of him, would really stop them? Who would inspect them? After all, this would all be so harmless. "...Of course."
"I will try my best to force it past them-but they must carry out their own studies, and observations. The people have a right to know what happens at this castle. Especially if it may- however nebulously-impact them." He closes his eyes for a moment. "I'm sure you have other things to pursue in the meantime."
"I suppose I could… spend some more time on Ienzo's education. I fear in all this excitement it's been rather neglected."
He smiles, but it's tired. "I'm sure the boy learns much more than you think merely being around you."
"It was his idea to use the gummi blocks," Even admits. "I think he intuited their use before we even experimented on them."
Ansem stares at him. "Is that true?"
"Children often have fresh, blunt perspectives," he says. He goes to adjust the band in his hair, but again, the elastic breaks against his fingers. "...Blast."
Ansem chuckles. "If it bothers you so much, cut it."
"It is rapidly getting to that point." He takes the band and tries to tie it around the mass. It holds, barely. "As I was saying. Ienzo's intellect here pairs well with that freshness. He can see things we're too stubborn to see, in a way far less complex."
Ansem twirls a pen. "Would it do him good to continue to observe your work? Does he enjoy it?"
Even thinks. "I believe so. It started this way out of necessity-if he's not with you, he's with one of us, and this is where we've all been."
"If it's as harmless as you say… I see no reason why it shouldn't continue. So long as he still gets sunlight, and the like."
For a while they all slip into a sort of lull. Even takes Ienzo to town with him, hoping to enroll him into some sort of activity that would encourage him to make friends; but the stimuli of the city actually reduces Ienzo to tears, and Even ends up carrying the boy home. It's strange; Ienzo's always been able to make it to the library, but the library isn't in the dead center of town. He puts him to bed, lays a cool cloth over his eyes. "We can try again when you're ready," he says softly.
Soon, though, Ienzo disappears again, for more than his usual trip to the town library. Even tries to be more rational about it this time-the boy probably lost track of the hours-and he finds he doesn't have to go very far. He's merely in the square, near a blonde teenage boy wearing odd clothing (the fashions these days). He must've been bringing Ienzo home. "Ah, there you are. Didn't I warn you not to wander off, child?" Ienzo gives a small shrug. He turns to the blond boy. "I see we owe you our thanks. We have done our best to raise the boy, since his poor parents are not here to do it."
The teenager stares down at Ienzo. "Oh, you're on your own, huh?" Then, to Even-"Sir, I'm looking for a friend of mine. He's a tall guy dressed kinda like me. Have you seen him?"
Even would not have expected such politeness from someone dressed so. But he knows a gaggle of teenagers gathers on the outskirts of town. "Perhaps I did see him in the outer gardens. Just follow this road."
"Thank you." Something about this boy's face is familiar. Who knows-such kindness and eagerness to protect might make a good guard out of him.
Even smiles a little. "No, thank you, for keeping Ienzo out of harm's way." He pauses. "And… well, let's just say I have a feeling we are destined to cross paths again."
The boy seems unsure of how to respond. They part on that note. Even notices a sudden vacantness in Ienzo's eyes.
"How kind of that young man to bring you home," he says. "Then again, I suppose everyone knows who you are."
"No," Ienzo says.
"No, what?"
He looks up. He squeezes his shoulder once. "Nothing. It was by chance. Do you think you'll meet him again?"
He blinks. "I think anything's possible. Don't you?"
He's finally fallen deeply, blessedly asleep one night several weeks later when he's being woken. Aeleus, urgent and flushed. "We need you," he says.
"What? This late? Why?"
"It's Ienzo."
He doesn't bother putting on his formal clothes and follows Aeleus in his dressing gown. The air's cool, dry; it smells like ozone. Even notes that outside it's storming. They go down to the new lab. Even can taste his heartbeat, knowing all too well that nothing good has happened here. Braig, of all people, is cradling the boy; he's in an odd state of quasi-consciousness. Even notices for the first time that the man's wearing an eye patch, one he most certainly did not have several weeks ago. What did that miscreant do? Well, it's not important now.
"I was doing my rounds down here when I saw him," Braig begins. "I asked the kid what he was doing but he just stared at me. He was standing over there-" Braig points to one of the machines. Aeleus darts over to investigate. "I dunno. He started breathing all funny and then dropped like a sack of potatoes." He lays Ienzo down so Even can examine him. His pulse is elevated, and he's nearly hyperventilating. A finger of panic threatens to overtake Even, but he swallows it down.
"What is it, Aeleus?" Even hedges.
"Come here," Aeleus says in an odd voice.
"I'm tending to Ienzo, Aeleus, he needs-"
"You really have to see this."
Braig shakes his head. "I'll keep an eye on the kid," he says.
Shakily, Even joins Aeleus. Instantly he can tell what overtook Ienzo; the strong scent of chlorine gas makes his eyes water before he can turn away. The ventilation is good enough that it shouldn't affect the rest of them now; but for a small child, one good lungful is enough. A hole has been burned clean through the ersatz gummi glass; something's a molten lump inside, pinkish and still smoldering. More alarming than this, though, are the thin purplish tendrils rising from it.
"Chemical smoke?" Aeleus asks.
Even knows this is not the case. He isn't sure how he knows-it's just a certainty deep inside.
The gummi block drips darkness.
He tells Aeleus to put on protective gear and seal the block somewhere safe so they can observe it. Meanwhile, he has more important things to deal with. He brings Ienzo to the med bay, decontaminates him in case the chlorine got on any other parts of his body, and starts him on oxygen. He does not need to be intubated, thank the stars, but it takes much too long for his breathing to sound less labored. In all this, the poor boy falls asleep.
He sees Ansem's face peeking in through the glass panel on the door, but he doesn't dare intrude until Even gives his approval. He rushes over to Ienzo, pulls him close; Even's shocked to see a tear run down his face. Once he seems to assure himself the boy's stable, he turns to Even, danger in his rust-colored eyes.
"A word," is all he says. A command, not a question.
Even stands and glances over towards the bed.
"Aeleus will keep an eye on him. Come."
Even follows several paces behind, his heart pounding dread. Once they're well out of earshot, in the breezeway, Ansem speaks, his back turned to Even, his hands held behind. None of the affable friendliness of their normal interactions-no longer just Ansem, but Ansem the Wise, King of Radiant Garden.
Very well.
"This must not continue," Ansem says. His voice is soft, and low, barely audible above the rain pattering loudly on the crystal ceiling.
"Do not blame this on me. The boy went down there on his own."
"Of course he did! He's a child, a curious one. We've done nothing but enable him, and now we've put him in danger." Ansem looks over his shoulder. "I forbid him from observing this research any longer, at least until he's old enough to understand consequence. I figured that you of all people would know better."
It feels like a barb, rendering Even's retort useless. He doesn't catch his breath for a full moment. His heart is full of ice. "What are we to do, then? Have him under lock and key? Am I to keep twenty-four hour surveillance on him?"
"I mean you need to be careful."
"I am nothing but careful." He should feel enraged, but all he feels is a strange, cool distance. "We are all careful with him. Moreover…" A breath. "He's your son. We did not collectively agree to raise him. If you're so concerned about his wellbeing, perhaps you should have a more active role in his life. I can't do everything, Ansem."
He turns. Even holds firm.
"You prattle on about my recovery, and yet, you've no idea of the weight of the responsibility you've placed on me."
"You think I do not know responsibility? " There's a sharpness to his tone Even's never heard before.
"Abstractly, yes, of course. But when faced with it in the flesh, you-"
There's a splitting crack outside, a crack of thunder; a shockwave cracks the crystal window closest to Ansem, and they both jump. "What on earth ?" Ansem spits. "Even-dear god, look out the window."
The sky is swarming with darkness-luminous pink and violet and black tendrils. "We must get inside."
"Get Ienzo. Go somewhere safe, all of you. Go. "
"Don't tell me you're going to go out in this?"
"Even, I must see what's to be done. The people may be in danger."
He takes a breath. Be careful, he nearly says. "...Alright."
Ienzo's conscious when he gets back to the room.
"What's happening?" Aeleus asks.
"I've no idea. The three of us are going down to my lab. There's-" He feels Ienzo's eyes on him. "Something's going on outside. A bad storm. Best keep away from windows. No need to worry."
Aeleus knows he's lying for Ienzo's benefit. "Can you walk?" he asks the boy. "You know what? Here." He hefts him into his arms. "You'll soon be too old to be carried around, yes? Might as well enjoy this small luxury."
They go together, Even carrying the oxygen tank. Ienzo still seems limp, tired, though his eyes betray something else happened down there. What on earth had the boy done? Melted down a gummi block? But how? Nothing Even did to them had that reaction. Something that resulted in a production of chlorine… unless the gas the melting block emitted simply seemed like chlorine? They do not truly know what the blocks are made of, just that they can make themselves into any substance.
And how did it produce darkness in its rawest form?
Ienzo's staring at him, so he tries to smile. "You, little one, are in a lot of trouble," he says jovially. "What were you doing in the lab on your own? You know it's not safe! It's a good thing Braig found you. You could've gotten sick."
Ienzo says nothing. Again, he's limp against Aeleus, but his breathing's not audible and his pulse feels more or less normal, all things considering.
"We will talk about this," Even says to him sternly. "Once you've rested."
In the lab, they rest the boy on Even's cot, the one he uses when he's simply too exhausted to walk all the way back. He tucks the blanket around the boy's shoulders. "Try to get some sleep." He sits with Ienzo until the boy's drifted off. The thunder's much quieter here, but still, to the listening ear, audible-even through all the stone.
Aeleus wordlessly hands him a cup of coffee and nods his head towards the supply pantry. Even follows him inside and shuts the door most of the way. "Have you any idea what this is?" Aeleus whispers.
"I… almost feel as if I imagined it," Even says in an equally soft voice. "The sky was full of color-of darkness. But I don't know-where would it have come from? We've no idea what so much of it can do-the myths all point to destruction. I was told to come here with you and protect the boy." He feels his lips curl into a sneer. "And of course I must follow orders."
Aeleus sighs. "He blames you?"
"Of course he does. I'm afraid I lost my temper."
"I'd be surprised if you didn't."
"We have to figure out whatever Ienzo was doing," Even says. He fusses with the dry ends of his hair. "Not just for his safety… for our research. And why he decided to do this on his own."
"He likes independence," Aeleus says simply.
"Well. There's plenty of time for him to be independent when he's older-"
"Even?" They hear him call from the other room.
He crosses over to Ienzo; he's fiddling with the oxygen mask, unable to get it off of his face.
"Little one, you should leave that on. You breathed in some nasty business."
He blushes, then admits, embarrassed, "I need the washroom."
"Oh-of course." Even takes it off, points to the door where it could be found. "But it goes on the moment you're through."
They wait for him. Aeleus pulls a puzzle charm out of his pocket and begins working on it. "Can't solve this one. I've been on it for weeks."
"You and your games."
"It keeps the mind limber. You should keep neuroplasticity in mind. We're at the age where we begin to lose such things."
Even looks into his half-drained coffee cup. "I'll ignore what you're implying," he says.
Aeleus chuckles.
It seems like Ienzo's been gone a long time; is his stomach upset? Even debates for a moment or so on checking in. Or-more insidiously-was he overtaken again by faintness? He can't help himself; he knocks on the closed door. "Ienzo? Are you alright?" He hears what sounds like muffled breaths. "You sound like you can't breathe, child." It's the silence that worries him. "I'm sorry, I'm coming in."
He finds Ienzo curled opposite the toilet, rocking a little. If Even hasn't seen this before, he'd figure it does have to do with his breathing. He kneels down next to him. "That was scary, yes?" He says gently. "You're safe now." He flinches away from Even's touch for the first time in a long while. "Ienzo?"
He's sobbing a little, a sound that hurts to hear.
"It's safe here," he reasserts, only to immediately be contradicted by the loudest peal of thunder yet; they both jump, and Ienzo continues to shudder. "It's merely a storm."
It takes a long time for the boy to calm. He's shivering; Even drapes his robe over him, but it doesn't seem to do much good. He wants to go get a blanket, or better, get the boy back to the cot, but he's also unsure of leaving him alone. He's on the verge of asking for Aeleus to get it for him when he hears a small "I'm sorry."
"Oh, child, it's alright."
He shakes his head. He uncurls a little, revealing that he's wet himself.
"No matter. Happens to the best of us. I'll get something clean for you to change into, yes?" Privately, he's concerned; how deeply shaken was Ienzo, in order for this to happen? He goes to prop himself up, only to feel a small hand grab at his. "I promise I'll be right back. Aeleus is nearby. You're safe."
Aeleus does give him an odd look; all Even does is shake his head and press a finger to his lips to tell him not to speak of it.
"I need to go get a few things," he says instead. "Wouldn't hurt to check on the situation, either. Perhaps we can go back upstairs, to bed. I'm exhausted. I'm sure you are too."
Aeleus shrugs. "We'll be here."
It seems like a very long walk back upstairs to their residences, but it isn't. Even's endlessly troubled; first and foremost to what is obviously a trauma response in the boy, and also to the unearthly cataclysm going on outside. Never, as long as he's been alive, can he recall ever experiencing something like this. Radiant Garden is prone to violent outbreaks of wind, but only in the winter. Climate change is the only thing he can think of, but they moved away from harsh fuels long ago-before he was even born. And truly carbon dioxide cannot cause this.
And why is this happening only after they've had contact with an outside world?
Even gathers some dry pajamas and a blanket from Ienzo's bedroom, and one for himself and Aeleus while he's at it. He hopes that, wherever Dilan is, he's safe. Dilan may be occasionally foolhardy, but at least he's practical. He chances a glance out the windows in his quarters. To his immense relief, the sky is no longer dark in that abnormal way-the rain now seems normal. But is it only temporary?
Where is Ansem in all this?
He returns back to the others. "Things seemed to have calmed," he says to Aeleus. Ienzo still appears to be hiding in the bathroom, door cracked slightly. "I'm sure you'd rather be in your own bed," he adds, for Ienzo. He hands him the dry clothes through the crack and gives him privacy. Aeleus bobs his head towards this, and Even just shakes his head. After a moment Ienzo emerges, his face flushed with embarrassment. "Shall we go?" he asks the child. He nods.
Even is finally able to put the child to bed, and insists he wears the oxygen, at least until morning.
"I know it's not very comfortable, but humor me," he says. "You'll feel better for it."
Ienzo clings tightly to his small stuffed cat, a relic from his parents' home. "It hurts," he says, his voice muffled through the mask.
"What does?"
"The… the noise," he says. "I can-" He glances towards the window.
"The thunder?" It becomes a little clearer; he's sensitive enough as it is, all of the noise must have been internalized as pain. "It's rain now, little one. Hear how it's letting up?"
"I… I heard…"
"What did you hear?"
"Someone was angry. Screaming."
"In the lab?"
He shakes his head. "In the sky?"
The darkness? Has the boy sensed it? Is it possible? More likely, this is part of that same trauma."Is it still happening?" Even asks.
"No," the boy admits.
"Perhaps you had a nightmare. You know how those bleed into reality sometimes."
"It wasn't," he insists, with more anger. Then, "Darkness."
Even exhales. "Let me look into this for you. It's possible you're sensitive to it. In the meantime, you have to rest. Things will be clearer in the morning."
"Believe me?" Ienzo asks.
"Of course I do, little one." He squeezes his hand. "And should you need to get out of bed, you can take the mask off by pulling this tab." He stands.
"Can you leave the lamp on?" he asks.
He tries to smile. "...Certainly."
He knows he needs to sleep as well. It's getting light out at this point, and the covers of his bed feel heavy, nearly alien. Even drifts for a while, fighting the worry that's swelling in his chest, only to be fully roused by the soft creak of the door opening. He huffs. "Can't a man have an hour's worth of peace?" he asks.
Ansem is standing there, soaked to the skin, his red stole hanging limply against his jacket. "I apologize," he says. "I wouldn't ask for your assistance if it weren't warranted."
Even could do without his tone. "What is it now?"
"Dilan and Braig found a boy-a young man-in the square. Seems to be injured and reeling."
"And? Can't he go to the hospital like everyone else?"
Ansem frowns. "We believe he arrived with the storm."
Despite himself, it all makes sense-he read however nebulous about darkness's ability to transmute, to transport. "I will dress and be there shortly."
The young man's about eighteen, and unconscious. They found him facedown in a pool of rainwater in the square. One of them has changed him into dry clothing. Braig and Dilan hover nearby; Dilan exhausted, Braig vaguely pained. Even examines him and notes that aside from some a few nasty scratches that require stitches, he seems to be alright. His hair isn't gray like Ienzo's, but a much more violent shade of silver; his eyes, when Even opens them, are a glistening gold. But the young man won't wake. "Well he has no brain injury," Even says. "No fever. I'm not sure why he won't rouse. Was he conscious at all?"
Ansem sighs. "But for a moment."
"Did he say anything? Did he give a name?"
He looks towards the young man. "Xehanort."