Folding

Tatami mats carpeted the boardroom floor. The marble table leaned upright against the chaotic control room wall and a folding silk screen, in threads of gold and emerald, stood inside. Sandalwood incense burned in clay braziers, heady and fragrant. The transparent glass walls of the boardroom darkened to obsidian.

Operatives carried a tasseled cushion inside the chamber flickering with mellow candlelight. Lockhart guarded the door. Leon entered with Cloud, waving the smoke from his face and waited; the latter lowered the Buster sword carefully on the mat.

The spiritual medium arrived, layers of amethyst and cotton white fabric rustling with her movements. KBWA members cut a path as she settled on the cushion, legs folded underneath her.

"Close the door," Squall ordered and the chamber sealed shut.

The magatama around Maya's neck glowed like a miniature, golden sun. The silk screen depicted egrets and lotus flowers in full bloom. "Did this sword belong to him?" she asked and pressed her palm against the broad blade on the floor.

Strife nodded, light capered across his face.

"I'll begin the channeling," she announced and clasped her hands. "If there is a problem, knock me unconscious." Leon muttered his consent and Maya breathed deeply. The fragrance lulled her into semi-consciousness and her eyelids drifted close.

When they opened, the irises glowed sapphire.

Swathes of fabric slipped off Zack's shoulders and yelping, he gathered the robes, stopping when Strife stared at him, mouth agape. Grinning, he grabbed his former student in a hug, how wonderful of Cloud to visit him, and blinked confusedly at the shock of long hair spilling across his chest.

"Zack," Leon called, a hand resting on his hip holster, "how are you feeling?"

The soldier sat back on the cushion, the silk sash around his waist threatening to undo. "...Great." He gazed around the darkened room, lit only by candles. "I am dead, right?"

Cloud choked at his words.

"Yes," Squall removed his hand from the gunblade hilt. "Can you tell us who did this to you?"

Flames danced, wax pooled in the candelabras. "I was in Hollow Bastion like you requested," Fair brushed a fringe of hair behind his ears. "I was ambushed, I didn't realize it until I was dying." Cloud clenched his hands into fists, mako eyes blazing vengefully. "Where is Vanitas?" Zack asked, "he'd probably punch me," he laughed.

"Zack," Leon droned, "you don't belong here." The soldier ruefully nodded. "Now tell me, who did this to you?

10:30 a.m.

Wright and Co. Law offices

Justices' office

The cactus on the mantelpiece basked in a beam of sunshine slanting through the blinds. Desk strewn with papers, newspaper clippings and case documents, Sora helped Apollo classify evidence, these would further be filed in the archive room, kept under lock and key till needed. Sometimes, cold cases were given a new lease on life and old pieces of evidence became the prime focal points of arguments between prosecutors and lawyers.

"I'm worried about my brother," Sora blurted out in the middle of arranging photographs. He crashed on Apollo's swivel chair and zoned on the poster of Klavier Gavin tacked on the wall. "Ever since... he's not himself lately."

Closing the file he worked on, Apollo placed it on the corner of his crowded table. "Did you try talking to him?" he asked and picked a fountain pen, turning it over in his hands. "Level 6," he blanched, "wow, I can't afford this."

"Vanitas bought it for me after I joined," Sora mumbled miserably. The mike and speakers used for the Chords of Steel routine were neatly stowed in a corner. Apollo's red wardrobe door hung ajar, a coat sleeve peeked from within. "He doesn't want to talk," Sora continued, "which is odd..."

Removing a stack of magic cards from his penholder, Apollo considered dropping it out of sight when Trucy sailed in. "Polly!" she exclaimed brightly and he grumbled good naturedly at her exuberance. "Sora, you are here too."

The junior attorney waved listlessly and kicked off his shoes. He curled his knees under his chin and touched the thorns bristling from Apollo the cactus. "Do you have any left over cake?" Sora questioned eagerly. "It's the only thing Vanitas eats these days."

"He needs better nutrition," Trucy wagged her finger admonishingly, "like a burger or something."

"I can hear the Maya in you," Apollo commented and sighed at a pair of silk gloves jammed in his drawer. "Trucy, get your things out of my workspace, my office isn't a circus."

She immediately crossed to his desk and opened the drawers one by one; retrieving a flattened top hat, a scarlet scarf, a grape juice bottle; Justice wondered how on earth it ended up in his desk; and a set of three china plates drawn with obscure runes. Fascinated, Sora watched while Trucy dumped the paraphernalia in his lap.

"How... did those things get... never mind," Apollo gnarled darkly under his breath. "I don't want to know."

Sora searched for the answer to life's mysteries in the swirling designs on the plate. "My brother," he fretted again when Ema passed the office doors, munching loudly on chocolate snackoos. "I... um... I guess it's my problem." He stewed in his thoughts. "Sorry," he apologized.

"What are you apologizing for?" Trucy demanded, hands on her hips. A chiffon summer dress pooled at her feet and Apollo picked it up, exhaling like he aged fifty years. "Hmm." Trucy thought and a lock of chestnut hair curled over her cheek. "How about you invite him to the offices for a day?" she suggested. "The change of pace might be good for him. Vanitas could see where you work, you can take him to visit Kairi for the afternoon," her idea gained momentum, "Daddy and Polly can give him a tour of the office," she smiled zealously, "and in the evening, I'll put on a magic show with Athena as my assistant."

Yeah, Sora ruminated; and he'll probably hit on you.

He tried to imagine what Mr. Wright would say if Vanitas asked Trucy to be his girlfriend.

He smiled weakly; not happening. I'm not sure I want to be out of my dream job this soon.

"What do you think about the idea?" Apollo asked after Trucy breezed out, the aroma of freshly baked biscuits lingered in the air. "Do you think your brother would be okay with so many of us around?" Justice recalled the prickly Clavius. "He's different from you," he tactfully added.

Spacing out on the bouquet of white flowers, Sora spun on the chair. "Huh?"

"Is Trucy's idea any good for your punk brother?" Apollo bluntly rephrased his question.

Punk? He's not a-

"Riku's here!" Trucy chirped and entered the office with a Pearl in a tow.

Riku? They are on a first name basis already? Sora worried his baggy sweater sleeves, and why does he keep on showing up at the office? Can't I get a break?

Groaning in frustration, Sora petulantly nibbled on a croissant, courtesy of the cafe underneath the agency. Last night, he counted the bruises accumulated on his body. A tiny, waistcoat wearing cricket joined the vast training chamber and distracted by the talking insect, Sora earned a smattering of wounds as he defended poorly from a lunging attack, flailed and pitched forward, arms bracing painfully against the grey ground.

He loitered for fifteen minutes, decided he did not want to invite the Grey Knight's wrath; and dejectedly shuffled out of Apollo's office.

In the lounge, Nox sat ramrod straight on the couch; he smelled of expensive aftershave and politely declined a proffered cup of tea.

"I want a break," Sora proclaimed as soon as he met his trainer. He drew to a stop and paled.

Urk… I said it aloud!? He swallowed when Riku raised a silver, questioning eyebrow.

"Is it okay to let him off for a day?" Phoenix strode in, a couple of folders tucked under his arm and sharp in his tailored blue suit. "Sora's been busy for the past few days, helping us review cases." Wright meaningfully dumped the files on the coffee table where they met the wood with a jarring thud.

Wedged next to Charley, Sora nodded meekly.

Nox consulted his journal. "Clavius needs to log in at the gym every day," he intoned. "I can't give him a break unless he is actively busy with a case." The journal snapped shut. "These terms have been agreed to by him."

Pouting angrily at himself, Sora emerged from hiding

He arrived late to Leon's office and dipped his head to the two companions waiting for him. Their boss paused in his work, bags formed under his eyes. Vanitas handed his reports, stamped with magic runes and presented elegantly in cream, manila envelopes.

"Thanks for your hard work," Squall muttered gracelessly and forked over the respective pay. "I'll be looking forward to more missions from you three." He turned back to his laptop and resumed reading intently. The high tech silk screen fluttered and Vanitas craned for a glimpse of the vice-chief. "Tifa is on duty," Leon informed. "She won't be back until you have clocked out, I'll tell her to contact you as soon as possible."

Donald and Goofy departed after receiving their pay, their bubbling voices abruptly cutting off as they teleported, Vanitas lingered in the office. The sheet lights in the room dimmed, evoking the despondent luster of dusk.

"The... investigation?" he prompted, planting himself in front of the exhausted boss. "Do you have any leads?" Vanitas desperately asked.

"Your attachment to Fair is surprising." Leon wheeled away from his laminated table and laced his arms behind his head. "Whatever..." He rubbed his eyes. "Yes, we found out how he died," he reluctantly admitted when the Black Saint perked, failing to contain his excitement shining poisonously through golden irises. "The heartless murdered him."

What?

"Heartless?" Vanitas lowly asked, fingers stiffening on his jeans. "You... you expect me to believe a heartless killed a High-tier member?" The question seeped through clenched teeth. "Do you think I'm dumb? Do I look like I was born yesterday?" he hissed.

An image flickered on the laptop and Squall shut the lid. "There are many different types of heartless and some entities are extremely powerful. We are still investigating, you are on a probation period of two more days," a tablet on Leon's table lit with a glow of an incoming message and he ignored it, "pass the period relatively well behaved and I'll let you join the investigation."

Gulping back his tide of anger, Vanitas sloppily saluted. "Yes sir." He bowed politely and spun on his heel to leave the room.

Massaging his forehead Squall checked the tablet. "It's a good thing he didn't see you," he muttered, "or Clavius would tear down everything we've worked to accomplish."

The living quarters housed a multitude of temporary members, whether they visited from other KBWA branches, or simply joined this one for an extended mission. A block of luxurious cube-like rooms spanned between two adjacent walls. People tumbled out of their chambers and Vanitas caught snatches of their lives.

Bed sheets in bold colors or an antique sofa. A giant seashell-esque bed, glimmering in tints of mother of pearl lay behind a clear pane of glass. Most occupants darkened their front, glass wall and he paused by a cube.

The name plate read Riku Nox.

Forgetting about Goofy and Donald, Vanitas peeked through the transparent front and into the room beyond. A white double bed, a standard reading lamp and a tiny wardrobe. Fluffed pillows, everything orderly and undisturbed like a person never lived there. The only color came from an emblem of Disney Castle hung on the wall, and a stack of training books heaped on the side table next to the bed.

Recalling his mission, Vanitas continued past the block of rooms and to a communal shower space bustling with people. The crowd glanced at him surreptitiously and hearing Donald's distinctive, sharp quacks aimed at Goofy, Vanitas leaned against the wall and waited for them.

He tensed when a blonde exited the bathroom, clad in crisp black leather and spikes of hair dripping with water. Tossing Leon's caution to the winds, Vanitas followed Cloud to the cube chambers.

"Tell me who killed Zack," he insisted brusquely.

Strife clipped the Buster Sword to a magnetic harness across his back, the blade reflected Vanitas' pale face.

"I don't know," Cloud replied.

Goddamn liar!

Swearing, Vanitas summoned Void Gear and held it aloft. "I guess I'll get my answers after I beat the crap out of you!" He lunged, the teeth glancing off the Buster sword and cursed at how easily his opponent wielded the bulky weapon. Thunder crackled on Void Gear and he unleashed it, using the blinding pall of light as a cover for a second, blizzaga spell.

Cleaving the electricity in half, Cloud grunted in annoyance as a giant chunk barreled towards him with accompanying, frigid winds. The pearls of water in his hair froze, his scalp itched. A firaga blazed on the length of his sword and slicing through the ice, he clobbered Vanitas with the blunt edge.

A fork of blood erupted on Vanitas' forehead and he irritably wiped it. Muddy darkness seeped from beneath his boots, dripped off his tight jeans and clung like second skin to his arms and body. A helmet covered his face and parrying an overhead strike, he grabbed Strife's collar and smashed his helm against the latter's head.

Cloud hissed in pain when the Keyblade thrust into his shoulder. His pained expression reflected off Vanitas' smoky helmet as the Black Saint sawed the weapon back and forth. Blinding pain numbed Cloud's arm, flecks of blood spattered the alabaster white tiles.

A person screamed.

Retrieving Void Gear, Vanitas snapped it on Strife's wrists, the idiot refused to let the sword go. Whipping the Keyblade across his face, Vanitas kicked him and Cloud tumbled across the floor, leaving a bright trail of blood.

He sprang upright, azure eyes glittering and Vanitas renewed his grip on Void Gear.

Don't look at me with those eyes!

A cut to Cloud's upper arm went wide; he blocked a series of strategic stabs, aiming for throat, sternum and abdomen. The Black Saint pushed him back, the halo on his raven locks glimmering mockingly. Gripping his boot when it came for his face, Strife swung his sword in a one handed grip and sliced Vanitas' calf.

Shrieking, the Keyblade wielder disappeared.

Cloud's hand collapsed on air, breathing heavily, he clasped his sword in a guard stance.

Vanitas reappeared uncomfortably close, Void Gear tore through Cloud's trench coat, its uneven teeth grazed his ribs. Locking his legs around the blonde's throat, Vanitas pushed Cloud to the ground and pinned him there.

The Keyblade heated uncomfortably on Strife's ribs, the signs of fira, he gasped for air, the grip on his blade weakening.

"Did you remember who killed Zack?" Vanitas growled, his helmet dissolved and he licked blood off his lips. "Or," he pressed Void Gear painfully against skin, "should I jog your memory furthe-"

"Stop!" Donald and Goofy quacked in tandem and he tossed an aeroga at them.

Seizing the moment, Cloud thrust his palm and threw Vanitas off. The Keyblade wielder teleported again and keeping his injured side guarded, Strife spun when he reappeared in mid-air. Both of them raised their weapons and jabbed, aiming for vital areas.

Void Gear lashed dully on a staff. The lacquered wood cracked.

The Buster sword sheared through a custom Gunblade.

"Enough," Mulan commanded and pummeled the tip of her staff in Vanitas' solar plexus, he crumbled to the ground, half unconscious.

Squall studied Cloud, oozing blood from messy, raw wounds. His arm inflamed dangerously and purple bruises spotted his skin. "Get patched up in the infirmary," the chief ordered and the blonde left, irises pulling to Vanitas for a brief second. "As for your breach of protocol yet again," Leon crouched to the squirming young man, "Clavius," he sighed, "what are you trying to do?"

"I... I want," Vanitas gasped, tears pricked his eyes. "I am angry," he squeaked. His nose watered. "I don't know why I'm so angry." Of course he knew, he didn't want to admit it. "Whoever killed him, I want to know, I want to KNOW!" he screamed and touched the pit of his aching stomach.

Mulan thwacked her staff on his nape and he jerked like a ragdoll.

"Take him to therapy," Leon straightened, "and get a-"

"I don't need therapy!" Vanitas bellowed. He rolled when Mulan tried to help him up. Exasperated, she cast sleep on him and her eyebrow rose in astonishment as he valiantly struggled against it. Golden irises burned with potent wrath, but eventually, the heat in his eyes mellowed and he drifted to sleep.

When she passed Leon, the unconscious Keyblade wielder in a fireman lift, the boss pulled a tissue and wiped the blood crusting Vanitas' forehead.

He woke surprisingly quickly, wiggling to escape Mulan's iron armed grip. He recognized the lambent glow of the portal room and lattices of shadow prowled the bases of the rocky columns. The lady transferred him from her shoulder, to a bridal carry and despite himself, Vanitas flushed. He bled all over her silken robes and scowled when a section of the circular floor lifted.

"Where are you-" he began questioning and without warning, Mulan tossed him into a portal.

Mushu crawled from beneath her collar. "That dude is bad news," the ruby scaled dragon stated and twirled its whisker. "He's cracked in his head." Mushu perched on Mulan's shoulder, grimacing at the blood starching her dress.

"He is grieving and confused," Mulan muttered as the whirling eddies of darkness swallowed the thrashing Black Saint. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

03:50 p.m.

Keyblade Wielder's Association

Gym

A bamboo screen separated the gym area proper from a quiet room washed with mellow light and the gentle humming of machines. Sora lay on a dentist's chair, head enveloped by a machine. A virtual reality clouded his mind, where he interacted normally with people, didn't have a crippling dependence on his twin and generally had the courage to stand up for himself.

The scenes shifted like a dreamscape.

He floated in puffy, sunlit clouds; a rainbow gushed color across the streets and he stood in the middle of a pedestrian crossing teeming with people who smiled and waved at him. He grinned back, perfectly at ease.

The humming stopped and the dome machine retracted from his head. Blissful, Sora checked the attached monitor; he grabbed a notepad laying on it and jotted the results of the psycho-analysis.

Attunement to the following attributes:

Light. Fire.

Incompatible with:

Blizzard. Wind.

Compatible with:

Darkness.

This made little sense, according to the charts taped on the pastel orange walls, Darkness and Light were opposite attributes, they needed a fine balance to be used properly together.

Calculating strongest magic spells...

Calculation complete.

Strongest magic spells:

Salvation 100%

Faith 62%

Mega Flare 87%

Raging Storm 46%

Special: Union X 29%

Curaga 99%

The percentages confused Sora and shrugging, he dutifully recorded the figures. When the screen blanked, he flipped through the notebook, checking his previous analysis results, the percentages increased by a margin each time he finished a session. As he prepared to put the book away and wait for his trainer, the screen lit again.

Special...

The codes scrolling across the LCD worried him. In the gym, Association members pumped their legs on bikes, perfected their poses on yoga mats and engaged in friendly, competitive banter.

Special...

The screen continued scrolling and hoping no one would suddenly walk in on him, Sora slapped it. His hand stung, the monitor flickered and he spent the next minute steeping in worry as the word Special... beeped.

Special: Session 50%

He scowled at the screen as Nox entered.

The notepad exchanged hands. "There is something you must know," Riku informed and checked the results. Session? He narrowed his eyes.

Stomach churning, Sora waited for the news, when Nox pored over the notepad and seemingly forgot about him, he cleared his throat politely.

"Vanitas has been sent to another world for therapy." Riku tucked the latest report in his journal while Sora gaped like a fish out of water. "He will be there till Squall deems it appropriate for him to return."

Another world? Therapy?

"He... he… he needs therapy?" Sora stammered and wrung his hands. "His condition is not that bad is it?" he mumbled. "This morning he..." Sora broke off. "We've got psychologists here," he desperately reasoned, "why does he need to go to another world?" It sounded surreal. "How... err... how far is it? The world?" he babbled. "Never mind, Vanitas would've told me, where is he?"

Waiting for the spazzing brunette to calm down, Nox added, "The Black Saint initiated a fight this morning. It wasn't a friendly spar." Sora froze like a deer caught in headlights. "He attacked a Mid-tier member, a protégé of Zack Fair. Clavius dislocated Strife's arm, scorched his skin and nearly blew a hole in his ribs."

"Why?" Sora shivered, this didn't sound like his brother. Sure Vanitas was crass and unnecessarily rude and threatening but...

"He wanted to know who killed Zack."

Silence, thick and choking, broken only by the droning of machines.

"You can go home." Nox declared. "I have an assignment, so I won't be coming to fetch you tomorrow and the day after." Sora nodded timidly. "This doesn't excuse you from going to the gym and practicing on your own." Riku hoped for a stronger reaction than the trainee staring at his socks. "Clavius, you're," he paused, searching for the right words. "I think you're doing okay; with the Keyblade and magic," he dissolved into a mess of words.

Was that supposed to be encouragement?

"Are you afraid of me?" Riku further asked. He regretted his question when the brown haired man tensed. "Don't mind what I said." He waved his hand dismissively

"Not really," Sora admitted. "I was, back when we were at school, now... now you seem like a pretty cool person." If a bit annoyingly punctual.

Riku pinched his cheek when an involuntary smile appeared. He forgot how to smile.

Smiling hurt.

When the Grey Knight left, Sora heaved a sigh of relief. He shuffled to the edge of the bamboo screen and jammed his feet in his shoes. Absentmindedly patting his pockets, Sora remembered the reception confiscating his phone.

Still, Vanitas aggressively maiming someone? Sora tucked his chin in his scarf. That didn't sound like his brother at all.

Blue.

Vanitas floated upside down, or down side up, he could not tell. A fish tail, his tail, curved above his head, and he arced his back to touch it. The scales rippled, diaphanous fins branched from his abdomen and floated, like salmon pink membranes of a jellyfish. He swished his tail and spun out of control.

A school of butterfly fish, striped yellow and black, flitted past him and he cursed them, trying to right himself. His tail was an eyesore of color, banded in tones of aquamarine and fuchsia and the lack of clothing bothered him.

Two whirlpools ripped open and Vanitas huffed in annoyance when Donald and Goofy emerged and saw him struggling upside down.

"What the hell do you two want?" he scathed and crossed his arms, blood throbbed in his temples. Goofy, a sea turtle, swam towards him and gently righted Vanitas. "Thanks," he muttered and grabbed a fin, fascinated by the translucent webbing between his fingers.

Donald propelled himself with a bunch of baby blue tentacles. "Was picking a fight really necessary?" he quacked furiously. "Two days! Two more days and you could be part of the investigation, what is your problem?"

Incensed by the lecture, Vanitas awkwardly propelled away and bashed his tail against an undersea cliff. Clownfish darted from beds of coral and a geyser erupted right in his face. Growling, he tumbled upside down.

Again, Goofy helped him upright.

"You were one of the last people to know of Fair's death," the anthropomorphic dog/turtle stated and Vanitas glowered at him. "I'd be mad too."

He struggled through the ravine, scattering frightened fish, scaring off an eel and flopping over a giant clam. The clam parted on contact, revealing a slimy, velveteen bed of tissue inlaid with a giant pearl; and snapped shut on Vanitas' arm. Struggling to free his bruised arm, he smashed his fist on the shell and in a fit of rage, lifted the clam and bashed it on the floor. Sand clouded the water, the clam split, spitting his arm and its pearl out.

"I'm not mad," Vanitas cleaned the pearl, its pearlescent shine calmed him. "I'm not mad," he repeated, convincing himself.

The trio emerged over the edge of a jagged cliff, darting through beds of colorful algae and a forest of dark green, slippery strands of kelp. The ocean undulated over looming, cyan cliffs and Vanitas squinted, a sunken ship?

Launching off, he held his hand out for Void Gear, mildly surprised when his weapon materialized, holding it in a reverse grip, he cast fira and whooped, when the jet stream of flames rocketed him forward. His companions shrieked in alarm at a giant shadow travelling over his head and sparing the blue whale a passing glance, Vanitas tried to control his speed, failed and slugged into the rotting planks of a long forgotten ship.

Strands of unidentified substances clung to his pale arms and torso, his tail snagged on a giant, rusting nail and shuddering in pain, he gingerly worked it free.

Barnacle crusted the ship. A wooden beam slanted sideways, jagged ends poking through what appeared to a porthole. Curiosity piqued, Vanitas hauled himself around using Void Gear as a lever, and stumbled on ancient cannons, metallic surfaces rusted beyond recognition. The mainmast housed a thriving economy of coral and more than a dozen fish flitted out of their brightly speckled homes to ogle the merman rifling through junk.

"Is he new?" a fish asked and Vanitas banged his head against something dark and disgusting.

The fish spoke?

"Are you from Atlantica?" the silver scaled needlefish enquired when the merman turned, rubbing a bruise on his forehead. "I guess not, you look like a lost hobo," the fish dejectedly added and at his words, the rest of the school dived back into the coral. In seconds, the area became as quiet as ship's graveyard.

The fish definitely spoke.

I can understand fish; Vanitas hovered above the island of coral, waiting for a glimpse of the local population. Instead, they collectively snubbed him and impatient, he resumed exploring.

Didn't sunken ships contain treasure?

Dimly excited by the prospect, he paddled through a slanted corridor with crumbling doors and the remains of luxurious rooms. Frayed fabric floated, bleached by water and spider web thin. Sea sponges rooted liberally on every surface and he clumsily maneuvered through a door when a glinting chest caught his eye.

The box cracked at the slightest touch and inside lay heaps of gold. Coins carved in an obscure king's name, cutlery; Vanitas lifted a ruby studded choker from a tangle of other jewelry.

"Where is my necklace?" His hand jerked to his bare neck. A cold feeling of dread settled in his stomach as he mentally backtracked. Did he have it when he arrived in this underwater kingdom? Or did it snag on a rotting splinter of wood as he traversed these ghostly, rippling corridors? He scanned the gloom, thick with particles of plankton and disturbed sand. "My crown necklace is gone," he croaked to Goofy, navigating expertly through the ship.

The sea turtle bumped to a gentle stop at the treasure chest. "Gawrsh, do you remember when you last wore it?"

"Forget it," Donald interrupted, "he's never going to find a stupid necklace in this junk." He pointed to the choker. "Wear this, its real gold and rubies." The squid/duck examined the treasure chest and extracted a layered necklace dripping with crescent moon and sun charms. "Or this, the KBWA metal detectors won't go off for sterling silver or gold."

"My crown necklace is important to me." Vanitas swam to the entrance of the dilapidated room and moaned as his hip crashed into a jutting corner. "It's a matched set with Sora's, I got it from my parents. I can't afford to lose it!" He picked a block and hurled it, the object floated placidly before coming to a stop.

"You're not wearing any clothes," Goofy pointed out.

"So what?" Vanitas barked, "are you getting excited?"

"Your clothes and necklace could have disappeared the moment you came into Atlantica," Donald huffed. "Why are we putting up with this whiny man child?" he rhetorically asked. "King Mickey is not paying us enough."

Meekly swimming back to the pile of treasure, Vanitas fitted the choker around his neck and sorted through the heap; separating cutlery, a tarnished cigarette case with a mermaid motif and other odd things from the jewelry. He forced an ornate armband around his bicep and clasped identical thick cuffs around his wrists. The turquoise in the center glinted like jeweled teardrops.

Donald snagged the layered necklace around him and the little suns and moons cascaded over his chest. Goofy dug up a dainty belt and grabbing it off his flippers, Vanitas slung it around his waist.

"How do I look?" He searched for a reflective surface, but the underwater flowed, breaking shapes, scattering light.

"Like one of those old faeries... furlough?" Goofy struggled for the proper word. "Ahyuck, those ancient kings a... furrow?"

"If you mean pharaoh then yes, he looks like one." A temperate voice said from above. "It's wonderful to meet you, Black Saint." A scarlet haired mermaid waved from above. "You were supposed to be in Atlantica," Ariel moved a beam and descended, "not in this dingy old ship."

Promise

Evening

Wright's office

Phoenix flipped through two binder files on his table, stopping at pictures of Apollo and Trucy. The door opened and he apathetically acknowledged Athena entering his office, her arms full of legal work waiting to be approved. She stopped a respectable distance, her bright blue eyes quickly skimming across his table and pausing at a proud photo of Trucy in graduation robes.

She placed the folders on a cleared corner of the walnut desk. The huge oak wood shelf behind the table gradually filled with recovered documents.

"Apollo and Trucy's files," Athena stated to break the silence. Charley's cousin drowned in the scarlet rays of a setting sun.

"Yes." Wright leaned back in his chair. "Polly was really angry at me," he recalled with a penitent smile. "But I promised someone I wouldn't tell him..."

Athena lingered for a comment, self-consciously curling her russet ponytail in gloved fingers.

Would Mr. Wright offer an explanation?

"I promised the Siren of the Ballad, Lamiroir I wouldn't tell them anything," he continued and stared out of the newly repaired window. He showed a photograph. "She is very beautiful, isn't she?" he asked.

An engraved bangle on her wrist, Athena noted critically. Her features bore hints of Trucy.

Could they be related? She mused.

Athena politely dipped her head, unnecessarily reminded her boss about the piling paperwork and exited the office, smiling at the figures of Apollo and Trucy arguing over which noodles to cook for dinner.

A/N: I wonder how would Maya look if she channeled Zack. There is a picture of her channeling this other old dude in another game, and I thought of simply changing the eye color and gender. Merman Vanitas has fins branching off his main tail and gills on his throat.

Once again, please read and review, constructive criticism is always appreciated.

CallofRanger13: You're right. Thanks for pointing it out and I'll keep it in mind for the next time