Creation Realm
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"There was neither non-existence nor existence then; there was neither the realm of space nor the sky which is beyond. What stirred? Where? In whose protection? Was there water bottomlessly deep? There was neither death nor immortality then. There was no distinguishing sign of night, nor of day. That One breathed, windless, by its own impulse. Other than that there was nothing beyond. Darkness was hidden by darkness in the beginning; with no distinguishing sign, all this was water. The life force that was covered with emptiness, that One arose through the power of heat.
Desire came upon that One in the beginning; that was the first seed of mind. Poets seeking in their hearts with wisdom found the bond of existence in non-existence. Their cord was extended across. Was there below? Was there above? There were seed-placers; there were powers. There was impulse beneath; there was giving-forth above.
Who really knows? Who will here proclaim it? Whence was it produced? Whence is this creation? The gods came after-wards, with the creation of the universe. Who then knows whence it has arisen? Whence this creation has arisen - perhaps it formed itself, or perhaps it did not - the one who looks down on it, in the highest heaven, only he knows - or perhaps he does not know."
-Ancient Nasadiya ("There Was Not") hymn contained in the ancient Hindu scriptures, the Rig Veda. Source from 'Textual Sources for the Study of Hinduism', tagged by "Parallel Myths" by J.F. Bierlein
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Balance shifted. The door had opened. The key that was Ansem's fell into a thousand glittering glass-mirror pieces, reflecting sun-golden and ocean-blue, and incandescent light. No more was the shining crystal that contained his essence of light, the light that had destroyed the Guardian, the light that had kept Dion safe from the Heartless and the light that kept Sephiroth toiling too far into madness.
A fierce wind blew the cold, minute blades of snow into his face. It pulled them into the bright, blinding world beyond where the light spilled like a gushing fireworks shower of pure white. Straying fire-fly sparks escaped from above, flying in a thousand different directions toward the sky. But the world of steel and concrete was swallowed by the realm of sunlight beyond the door, threads of both good and evil twining around Sephiroth and Dion's legs and arms.
Dion's grasp couldn't hold on for very much longer. Their bodies were poised at the threshold of Kingdom Hearts, withheld only by the ferocious will to hold onto each other not out of friendship, but of mutual desperation.
Then the dual forces yanked them apart. Dion flew out of the door; Sephiroth vanished inside it.
Vast ocean.
From horizon to horizon. The sea and sky seemed one and the same. He was falling into the clouds, reflected in the mirror-still gloom of the ocean, it's glassy surface undisturbed. He fell forever... the descent threatening to burst his lungs and destroy his body, as it went on far beyond his abnormal endurance. And yet when he thought he could take the pain no more, the cold of water suddenly stole the last of the air from his lungs with his final gasp.
Down... deeper he went, his cloak and jacket gone and just his pants and shirt, but through the fabric the water soaked to his skin and beneath it. Was it cold? Was it warm?
He fought for the surface. He needed the air... his mind was as clouded as the aquatic atmosphere that sought to pull him farther into the darkness.
A dawning realization struck him as his strength began to wane.
I have failed.
He let it alone. He let the tug of water swirl around his body, wrap him in a seamless blanket and bear him down into the fathomless nothing that loomed below him for uncountable miles. If he tried to swim free, it would still be there beneath him, waiting. Waiting to swallow, to consume. To destroy his mind with its maddening simplicity.
There was no escape.
I have failed myself.
The source of the light above the sea was now beyond his sight, whatever it was. He continued to hold his breathe, gasping uselessly what air remained to circulate in his lungs, again and again, poisoning him slowly... more slowly than if he had just taken a deep gulp of the burning liquid.
I failed you...
Ansem...
Can you forgive me?
Tears stung his eyes somehow. He opened them, and nearly jerked back in alarm but the blanket of water tightened about him. He gazed with blurry eyes at the object floating just a handful of inches in front of his nose.
It was round. The oblete sheroid dangled in the water, the chain glittering as though encrusted with gems. The blanket released him enough to reach up and slide his fingers around its silk-smooth surface. The surface temperature was warmer, much warmer, than that of the water.
It came to life at once.
The stone burned his hands. He screamed without sound, his hands closing around it as much as they wanted to let go. But the blanket was gone. He was not going down. He was going up. At least he believed it was ascension, ascension toward the light that grew stronger. The water roared past his ears, pressing the blazing jewel against his chest. And, as all living things move toward the light as its energy, its source of motion and breathing, so did Sephiroth, focusing all his determined being onto the point of light that shined just beyond his reach.
He broke free of the surface. He foundered, gasping and sobbing as his one hand clutched the hot stone, his hands blistered and burning from its intensity. He tredded water in an ungainly fashion, moving from one side to the other. All of his body seemed to be screaming for a painless respite from the waking world.
Then as soon as he thought he would start to wish for it, his wish came true.
* * *
Cool waves... gentle breeze... the ultimate paradise...
"It's just a dream."
I don't want to...
"It's just a dream, warrior. Wake up."
His parched lips opened, and he spoke in a gutteral moan. "I'm not a warrior."
"Yah. Could've fooled me, get off your arse, mate." Rough hands bore him up to his feet. He hunkered down again, zero effort in everything. The world blurred and swung awkwardly to one end of the horizon to the other. Then he shuddered once, and the world simply rippled out of view again.
It must have been a dream. When he awoke again, he saw clouds passing overhead against a backdrop of perfectly azure blue sky. Clouds, fluffy and white like whipped velvet, sifting across his vision lazily.
They infected him unexpectedly with hunger. And at the edges of his lower calves, he felt the tickle of water and soaked cloth. Then, almost with a spurt of violent energy, he threw himself onto his side, reaching around his throat for the crystal. It wasn't there.
The sunlight blinded him as his gaze swept a white sand shoreline, which stretched only a short distance on either side of him. Beyond that his vision faltered and it was a vague blur of greens, browns and grays. His senses smelled the salt, and felt the grainy texture of the hot, hot sand. The heat itself blistered his already bleeding hands.
Bleeding... he looked at his palm, his fingers shaking and his vision wavering besides. But he saw the deepening marks, the crimson fluid that caked through the edges of the infected flesh. He closed his hands and almost sobbed with the pain. The jewel was either nowhere to be found, or he couldn't see it.
But all the same, that it was gone was enough to send his hopes plumeting. The silver-haired man sank onto his side, not even wincing as he pressed his cheek into the freshly hot sand again. He moaned quietly, closing his eyes once more and seeking the sheltered vertigo of unconconciousness.
* * * *
"There's too much within to be sure if he's going to survive. Chances that he will pull through are nearly nil..."
To his alarm, he was not in the burning sunlight. But he was very hot... Someone, whoever they were, had dragged him into the shade and into the squatting little building. From inside, it looked like a decent little shack with one room and a bed. The owner of the voice who had spoken was gone. Or perhaps simply had not been at all.
The shack sat beside and slightly below a pool of water which was constantly fed by a glittering waterfall. The effect was a perpetual rainbow, a vanishing and reappearing ghostly band of colors.
And above the island rose the sun, fighting free of the darkening clouds. The clouds themselves became nothing more than remnants of the terrible storm that had preceded the coming of the strangers. The green leaves dripped, small jewels of water glittering and evaporating, or falling to the earth into collective puddles.
Wooden outcropping dotted the beautiful landscape, coloring it with human habitation that neither interrupted nor imposed upon the natural loveliness of the realm. It was a playground for the idle mind, a wonderland for adventurous youngsters.
It was Destiny Islands.
* * *
For several days, he wandered in and out of the waking world against his will. When he dreamed, he dreamed of the terrifying oceanic hell that loomed beneath him, always reaching, always striving to claim him as another of its many countless victims. Sometimes he also dreamed of Ansem. But these dreams were never kind. Every dream ended with some terrible catastrophe that ripped them from one another, leaving Sephiroth bitter or weeping in the ramshackle bed where he rested.
He saw nothing of his caretakers. Whenever he awoke, it was always when they were gone.
His wellness did increase. His strength returned; he slept less and less. Finally, after nearly a week and a half, Sephiroth found himself awake and restless in his bed and eager for the fresh sea air that called to him from beyond the makeshift door of cloth.
A particularly fine breeze blew across his brow, cooling his skin. He sat up slowly, growling at the cloth, before forcing his aching body to do his very bidding - which was to stand. So he did. He sat down again, fighting off dizziness, before he tried again.
This time he remained upright. Although his clothes were dirty and the rest of him soiled with sea-salt, he found it necessary to get out and explore. His invisible caretakers were nowhere to be found. The roar of the waterfall caught his attention, and he made it his goal to reach it.
It was fresh water. The mist felt wonderful against his face. It did not carry the sting of salt, nor the harshness of the ocean. He waded, blindly, into the pool which was only about knee-deep. He sank down, letting the water bear him up as he gripped the edge of the pool which was constructed of stone.
"Found the water, hm?"
He winced, shutting his eyes tightly. "It is true that creatures who come from the sea, must eventually return to the sea. "What the sea giveth, the sea also taketh away."
"So it is, so it is..." A hand rested against his shoulder, light and strange. He opened his eyes finally, turning his head back to stare into the face of the being.
It was hard to see. For one, the man wore a black mask over his face, made of white cloth. His hood was also white, but beyond that his eyes were shadowed completely. The faint dull glow of yellow took the place of the eyes. His outfit was of the same manner: short white cloak, white gi pants and sleeveless shirt, accompanied by a loose silver belt and samurai sandles.
"Who are you?" Sephiroth demanded as he pushed himself away from the edge of the pool, staring at the man. He was crouching, a katana sheathed casually at his side in an ornate obi, a ball of red string with several strands dangling from the pommel.
"I am Hikaru," the man said, standing up. "I found you by the sea. There was nothing I could do for you but to keep you cool and hydrated. I am glad you recovered so well."
"Are you the only one?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Are you the only one that lives here!?"
"What kind of answer do you want?"
"The kind, honest one," Sephiroth replied. He began to pull at the edge of his shirt, and tore it off, throwing it onto the stones at the edge of the pool, dunking his head briefly to come back up, sweeping his thick hair behind his ears. He looked intensely at Hikaru, waiting for his answer.
Hikaru refused to speak. He bowed his head, the hood covering everything in his face now. "Destiny Islands," he said softly. "That is where you are. But there is no one here but a young girl and several young children. They're home now... they do not know that I am here, nor that I have been taking care of you. It is well that they do not know of me."
Sephiroth moved himself toward the edge of the pool. For some reason, he was once more exhausted. His head throbbed as he tried to pull himself onto the ground around it. Hikaru took hold of his arm, helping him, and sitting him down so that Sephiroth's bare feet still remained submerged.
"Are you a spirit?"
"Maybe... Maybe I am an angel."
"Must be... you saved my ass from drowning."
Hikaru watched this man carefully. Saw how his hand moved to his throat, the sudden twisting of pain in his expression. He made no sound to acknowledge it, but reached to grasp the hand and rest it against Sephiroth's knee.
"I don't know what you're looking for," the hooded stranger said quietly in a comforting manner, his low timbre ringing of familiarity. "But whatever it is, I didn't find it on the beach anywhere beside you."
"That's alright..." Sephiroth closed his eyes slowly, bowing his head so that all the shimmering silver hair masked the tears glittering in his eyes. "It was ...very... precious to me."
Hikaru continued to watch him. Finally Sephiroth motioned that he wished to stand, and Hikaru helped him, letting the other lean upon him as they moved back into the warm shack, leaving a dripping trail of water the entire way there until Sephiroth finally sank down onto the ground in the small shack.
The surge of despair came unexpectedly. Especially for Hikaru. Unprepared for the sudden fit of emotion that tore the breath from Sephiroth's lungs, he had but to sink down next to him and wrap his arms around him.