F R A G M E N T S. chapter two: memories
It had been the biggest surprise of his life.
At first sight, it was simply a hooded, cloaked figure that barely reached his waist. A miniature version of the other Unknowns; nothing too impressive or awe-worthy. But the silent, sombre figure proved to be a fighter. It moved with an unnatural speed, crashing through the Heartless like a breaking wave, the simple, inverted keyblade scattering shadow with ease.
Within a minute, it had done what had seemed impossible – to halt the flow of Heartless and send them back. After they had withdrawn, the King stood over the fallen warrior, dark eyes coolly taking in the wounds and exhaustion.
Shock and confusion emanated from Ansem, along with vestiges of doubt and suspicion. The emotions intruded on Riku's own, trickling and seeping through his mind, clouding his thoughts. With a burst of effort, he furiously pushed them away, forcing the other man out – for another moment at least. And in that moment, he whispered a word of thanks to the stranger, and struggled to stand, boots slipping in the rainwater.
A large, gloved hand reached out and tugged him up to his feet with a smile.
Since that day, the King appeared frequently, his small mouse-like shape proving more than a match against the Heartless legions. However, he only appeared when the fight grew truly desperate, materializing when and where he was needed most. With a touch of amusement, he found himself regarding the mouse as a small, fierce guardian angel.
The Unknowns themselves never mistrusted his sudden arrival, accepting his presence without question. Perhaps they had already known of his existence there, in the shadow world. Riku did not know.
And either way, he was grateful.
flash.
On the day of his departure from the nameless island, Riku's mind was still working in a sort of feverish overdrive, churning through old memories. It worked its way through the scrambled, disjointed tale of his escape, and leaped back through the years, dragging up lazy summer days he thought had been all but forgotten.
flash.
None of the children had ever climbed the paopu tree before. They tried, of course, but constant failures and bruises taught them to avoid the thing, despite whatever ambitions they had of capturing its legendary fruit. The first time Riku tried, he fell and crashed hard to the ground below, the sharp, metallic taste of blood in his mouth.
He was up there again a second later, and managed to climb further. But along with that slight advancement came a harder fall, hands slipping on the smooth bark. When he landed, his arm made a sickening crack. He limped home with bruises and a fracture, to the great upset of his mother.
A week later, he dared to climb the tree again, arm still swathed in bandages, face tight with determination.
.... And against all odds, the child succeeded.
flash.
Sweat rolled off his body, salty drops falling and scattering on the sand. The fourteen-year-old boy practiced alone on the shore, arms straining as he threw solid coconut shells into the air – a heartbeat after each throw, a wooden crack rang out across the beach. The practice sword wove smoothly through the air, the boy's bare arms working hard with each stroke.
His sparring partner had gone home hours ago, abandoning the practice session. Chocolate hair dripping with sweat and sea-water, Sora had been reluctant to leave the sands... but a plaintive stomach and aching limbs had forced him on his way.
The only one left was a red-haired girl seated on the dock, kicking her heels restlessly. She watched him practicing with no one to practice with, watched him dance across the sands. A distant, wistful look clouded her eyes, and she lightly gnawed on her lip.
Hours after sunrise, she finally slid silently off the dock, sandals burying themselves in the sand. Sensing the shifting behind him, Riku lowered the sword and turned to face her, with a wry grin playing about his lips. It was greeted with an uncertain smile.
"Do you want me to walk you home?"
A pause. She bit her lip again, and nodded slowly. Her gaze still seemed withdrawn, and he noted it with a grain of worry. When she saw him looking at her, she tried to smile again, but the effort dropped short. In the end, she simply fell in by his side with a sigh.
As the two of them walked home in the settling dusk, Sora lay awake, staring at a white-washed ceiling through eyes blurry with tears.
flash.
As his mind tumbled back to the present, Riku was surprised to find his hands clutching the pillow by his cheek, fingers twisting and digging into the cotton. As he willed his muscles to relax, he realized his throat was strained as well, clenched tight with emotion. Even as he sluggishly started to wonder why, his thoughts settled back into place.
Had it really been so long since Kairi had smiled at him? Really smiled, not just a fleeting one that was gone before it was ever there, with quivering lips and eyes dark and sad. Had it been so long since he had heard Sora laugh? So long since the two of them could simply be friends, instead of friends and rivals, or friends and competitors... or enemies.
Furious, the silver-haired man swung his legs off the cot and stood up shakily. He was in a tiny cabin off the side of the ship, the only window closed and locked tight to prevent any light from falling through. The ship heaved beneath him, carrying him home but rocking him off-balance at the same time.
Had he always been so blind, in those days? It seemed so obvious now, when he saw it again. How could he have missed all the hints, all the subtle signs of his world falling apart? Kairi's sorrow and Sora's jealousy and Riku, a fool. A half-assed fool, blind and deaf.
flash.
"Such a pretty boy. So strong. So beautiful."
Claw-like fingers brushed at the nape of his neck, long black nails dragging white lines across his skin. At the first whisper of her touch, his spine arched away from her hands. His green eyes narrowed, and his body quivered in rage before he finally knocked the witch away. She hissed softly in disappointment.
"Don't touch me," he snarled back. His skin still tingled, and he felt like taking a bath to wash away the filth of her touch. She always tried to step close, to draw him in with a thin, sibilant voice and hands creeping by his neck. He suspected these attempts were wreathed with black magic, too, but they always failed. She would batter away at his mind, saying wouldn't it be so nice to submit? So nice to give in, and give up mind and choice and free will? Wouldn't it be nice to be owned, to be owned so utterly and entirely by Maleficent, the great sorceress, so mighty, so powerful, so tempting?
He still worked for the woman, running errands: kidnapping and killing and commanding those blank Heartless. But he was still in possession of his own mind. Riku was his own, and would always be. He felt a thrill of pride every time he effortlessly batted her away. He worked for her, but he would always demand recognition, demand that she treat him as an equal. He would do this work, and she would give him the resources to find Kairi, the resources to save her.
"Has the ship arrived yet?" Riku demanded, voice harsh. Maleficent smirked back, entwined in a steadily pulsing green light. After her initial shock at her failure, she would always pretend it had never happened, pretend she had never tried to coerce and he had never beaten her.
"You work so hard for your happily ever after, boy. How does it feel, now that it is so close?"
He ignored her.
flash.
He had been so arrogant. So damned pretentious. Riku rested his head against the wall, breathing deeply and trying to weather out the storm of memory. As the next one came rushing up, he recognized it – and his eyes widened, breath catching in dread.
No. Not this. Please not this no please no
flash.
Everything had come crashing down. The precarious balance between his own goals and Maleficent's, all his careful plans and all he had sacrificed. It had been for nothing. He was beaten, and the keyblade was gone, and he was alone and Sora had changed. His old friend – no, enemy – had suddenly become something unrecognizable, something great and threatening and Riku had lost and everything was lost. Maybe it was time to give up. Maybe it was time to admit defeat. He was a boy, a simple little island boy playing at big games and big destinies...
After his defeat, he had fallen to his knees in Hollow Bastion's great foyer. That self-depreciating voice rambled on, battering down every single scrap of esteem, every last inch of pride. An endless litany of hatred and shame fell upon his ears, spoken by his own voice.
But then another voice intruded, breaking through the flux of thoughts. The voice rumbled deep, reverberating throughout the hall in full, rich tones. Something tickled in the back of Riku's mind; something familiar.
"Know this."
He had been alone, but all of a sudden, there was someone else in the foyer. And as the hooded figure appeared before him, it clicked into place and the boy remembered. A rainy day eons ago, creeping down the tunnel to confront monsters, dirt on his knees, fingernails digging into the ground, damp roots brushing his cheek... A falling star, a girl washed up on shore... A tall, hooded, unknown figure, with a deep voice that rang through his heart... A voice that promised and alluded to vast treasures and riches and worlds, worlds beyond imagining...
His name was Ansem.
"The heart that is strong and true shall win the Keyblade."
Riku drew in sharp intake of breath, suddenly indignant. He could berate himself as long as he liked. But this figure, this stranger, had no business commenting, no business drawing attention to what had gone so horrible wrong. "What? You're saying my heart's weaker than his?" the boy spluttered, irate.
"For that instant, it was."
A pause, and he struggled to his feet, prepared to rage, to shout. But the man continued, nonplussed. "However, you can become stronger. You showed no fear in stepping through the door to darkness. It held no terror for you."
Another heartbeat, and Riku's spirits began to lift slightly. It was true. He had stood in the face of that storm, of that destructive vortex. He had feared nothing then. But now he was broken and ruined, and...
"Plunge deeper into the darkness, and your heart will grow even stronger."
Indecision wracked his mind. But in the whirlpool of his emotions, three things clarified. By joining with Maleficent and her dark forces, he had been given powers, the strength to control the ravenous Heartless. The one with strength of heart gained the Keyblade.
His heart could grow stronger.
"What should I do?" He was an eager boy again, grasping at threads he couldn't see, stumbling onwards to something he didn't understand.
"It's really quite simple," the stranger said smoothly in return. "Open yourself to the darkness. That is all."
Riku took a faltering step towards the hooded man.
"Let your heart, your being, become darkness itself."
flash.
Tears shimmered at the edge of Riku's vision. He had slumped to the floor, fingers clutching at his head, a trembling mess propped against the wall, whimpering and sobbing. The memory had faded, but not in time for him to escape the pain. The pain rode through him in waves, and he relived it as vividly as if Ansem were stealing his body once again. He could remember the feeling of slowly becoming unaware of his body, unaware of his own actions. And the voice. The voice hounded him for years after, years and years and...
That pride. That foolish pride in pushing Maleficent away, thinking how strong he was, congratulating himself for resisting. And then he came, and Riku relinquished himself without pause, never looking back. And the puppet and puppeteer were born.
He could remember glimpses of battle. Fighting Sora, and that one terrifying moment when he found himself turning against Kairi. Wresting back control of his body, and the punishment – the pain and agony – that followed. Ansem's scorn, and the simplicity in which he ripped Riku's soul away, casting it astray, setting it out to flounder madly. The days of darkness afterwards, walking endless chalk-white paths, trying to find a way back and trying to find his friends but not knowing how much time had passed, not knowing if they were alive. Not knowing what Ansem was doing.
Sometimes he still imagined he heard the voice, nudging at the edge of his consciousness. But that was impossible. He was worlds away from the heartless king. He was safe. He was safe. He was safe.