Author's notes: Well, beyond this Act there is only the epilogue. It has been fun. Enjoy!

PLAYING FOR KEEPS

Act V

Sora was lucky to have avoided breaking his neck after diving into the empty dumbwaiter. The harrowing journey through darkness with slick metal all around him seemed far more terrifying than whimsically Wonderland. There had been no indication of the floors flying past; there had been no open panels, or even markings suggesting they were there. When blind terror clogged his heart, he imagined the fresh splatter of Sora-meat at the bottom of the shaft or the mangled corpse that had sooner collided with a dumbwaiter cart stopped somewhere before ground level.

Only his reflexes saved him from those fates when a slim square lit by moonlight came at him. He was moving slowly enough at the time, squeezing against the shaft's sides with his limbs, to be able to clamber out of the shaft upside-down and then topple onto his face.

Laying his forehead on the floor in front of a godsend of the open dumbwaiter an unknown number of floors down, he choked on vomit and panic while trying to figure out what to do next.

Dawn approached: his savior, moonlight, receded from the windows as a rosy aurora threatened the skyline with morning. Sora felt the castle breathe and stretch, flexing its construction, ready to greet another day; an alarm clock shrilled distantly; heavy footsteps raced down an adjacent hallway. Standing up was easier said than done, while trying to quickly elude the sounds of waking castle inhabitants yielded only a stumbling sort of lope—his legs had all but jellified, mind, as legs do after close calls with death.

Unfortunately his memories were required to aptly navigate the castle, for there dwelt too many twists and turns to get caught up in. The best substitute for a map he had were his fleeting prayers that he might be able to sneak around long enough to find an exit without being caught. Around every corner he expected to find Axel waiting for him with open arms strong enough to crush ribs during the next angry hug. He avoided sunlight by sneaking to and from shrinking shadows, hastening down enclosed spiral staircases whenever he encountered them, and (should he hear a voice or footsteps) diving behind the occasional suit of armor or large potted plant.

It was a nerve-wracking experience, and also frustrating, because he was supposed to remember these hallways, these voices fading in and out, these ugly floral patterns on the wallpaper—even these doors with their elegant gold placards. As he passed a window niche with two tasseled throw pillows, he imagined sitting there to watch a thunderstorm or the stars during a bout with insomnia. He imagined it being peaceful there when he was alone with thoughts that didn't know death and loss and pain all the time. Of course, he had no recollection of ever spending time there. As he lingered for a few seconds more, he promised himself that he would rectify his situation and then come back to this window niche. He would appreciate the simplest things—the simplest luxuries—and hold onto them fiercely. He would watch the thunderstorms and stars again.

An hour of unsuccessful maundering butchered his determination. There resided only so much patience in him, and since each hallway looked exactly like the first, he didn't know how long he could stand wandering around. The windows provided no clue as to whether or not he was any closer to the ground. Freedom always looked too far away. On top of that, narrow escapes were becoming more and more frequent, and his prayers for safety were becoming more and more incoherent. He wouldn't have the immunity of good luck forever.

Right now, the voices were too close to go on. Sora cowered behind the giant basket fern, curled into the tightest ball possible.

Don't breathe! said that quiet, removed shard of himself.

"Why d-didn't anyone check sooner?!"

"I'm really gonna be sick—"

Don't even think.

"We can't stop! We have to tell the Court right away!"

"Who could—who could do such a thing—"

Someone retched only a couple feet away, splattering the expensive royal carpet. Sora slammed his eyes shut and devoted every part of fractured spirit to aimless prayers; enfeeblement made his thoughts random and abstract, mostly constructed of images rather than words; amidst the swirling montage of things, he wondered when he had last slept properly. Fatigue turned his limbs into lead, his eyeballs into fire, and his saliva into glue. He wanted more than anything else to find someplace to sit down and cry—

Stop being a pussy, that shard of him ordered. Keyblade Masters don't cry.

But I don't know how to get out of this mess! I'm fucked. Here came a vivid series of snapshots detailing the ideated torture he would be put through once imprisoned again. I'm going to be caught—the rack—and thrown back in jail—dismemberment—and Axel will just come and laugh and laugh—the iron maiden­­—and laugh. I have a headache—cat-o'-nine-tails—and I'm hungry, and . . .

"I'm going to have nightmares for weeks," said a wobbly voice. "It was all over the w-walls . . ."

"Me too," whispered the other voice. "But—but we have to get going, because who knows if that maniac is still around and the Court is just now assembling for breakfast . . ."

And just like that, the voices moved on.

You're not lost, his shard said. You're only a few stories away from freedom. Can't you remember?

Sora sniffed and rubbed at his nose and eyes with the heel of his palm. While he valued the encouragement from that split-personality of his, he didn't know if words alone were enough to refuel him. No shadows lingered between the windows or in the corners to help him now. The halls were aglow with sunshine. He crawled out from behind the potted plant.

Run, he told his legs silently. Run.

Maybe one good sprint was left in him. He collected the fragments of his strength, resolve, and hope; he patched them together to produce a coin of warmth, which he inserted into his heart. His arms hung as deadweights, he could barely open his eyes, his torpid tongue was grossly bitter—yet he still ran. Halfway down the next stairwell he bumped into someone, but the resulting shower of documents lost from their hands tolerated his moving on with impunity. He ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, and ran.

The grand staircase was never a more welcome sight. He arrived, breathing hard and knowing that, thus far, no one had noticed him. Breakfast had not yet been served, but from his vantage point he could see a few servants shuffling around the hallway that led to the anteroom.

I ate in that room, but I don't remember, he thought and frowned. He snuck along the banister, timing his movements to coincide with the servants' absences so he could avoid being seen any sooner than necessary. At times he ducked down and the wide white balustrades marginally concealed him from casual glances; however, if a servant were to investigate further, he would have no hope of remaining undetected. Whenever cringing behind the railing, he studied the portraits hung on the opposite wall. They were all paintings of former kings and queens, and expertly done: the colors were vibrant, the polishes smooth, the frames tasteful.

I walked up these stairs, but I don't remember. He wanted to cut his losses and charge down the steps, throwing himself into freedom's embrace dramatically—but he didn't want to hazard being detained. Regrettably he wasted a lot of time puttering on the staircase to prolong being seen, and the more time he wasted the more exhausted he became, and the more exhausted he became the less coherently he thought, and—

I used to . . . I used to . . . uh . . .

—well, his better judgment also suffered.

Somewhere in the middle of the staircase, when he looked up at the portraits, the king—a mere kid, really!—sitting on the throne wore a cheeky, exuberant little grin and seemed awfully familiar.

I was made King. I posed for that portrait. . . . But I don't remember. Axel had stolen his memories, those very important memories. Rather poignantly, Sora realized that his memories were what constituted his identity. The fusion of emotions, beliefs, ideas, and experiences created his identity. His life. Memories made him who he was. Memories were the only records he had that really said I was here. Memories taught him lessons and made him smile and even made him cry even though pigheadedness wouldn't let him acknowledge that.

Sitting there, having to believe his name was Sora and he had been King because Axel said so, he felt like an impostor—like he was borrowing the real Sora's body, displacing his mind (What about the little voice, huh? Who is THAT?), taking root in what was otherwise a dry husk prepared for inhabitation by Axel's trickery. Not only did he feel injustice as Sora, someone deprived of his identity, but he also felt injustice as Nobody: a body-snatcher who Axel had attempted to employ for his dark agenda.

He had to correct all of these wrongs. If he—Sora, Nobody, whoever he was—wanted to one day recline in the window seat, he had to proceed with reckless abandon. He bit his bottom lip and nodded to the portrait, the painting of who he had been. He issued another promise. Then, in a spasm of movement, overcoming the objections of his frazzled instincts, he raced down the stairs and lunged into the frontmost foyer before a stray servant could look his way.

The sky was filled with morning and he shielded his eyes against the glaring blue, adjusting to its brightness through his fingers. He trusted his luck now—it had gotten him this far—but he did not delude himself into thinking he could amble down the exterior marble steps undetected. As an alternative, he crept along the castle wall; stone led to mulch and also to a cover of tall shrubs, which he trod behind. He rested against the wall, soaking in the dew and a woodsy smells, and congratulated himself for an escape made good. That hushed inner voice of his did not speak up, but he knew it was proud too.

"The hard part is over now," he verified aloud. "Now, to find Axel—"

"It's about time you got out," said a shadow lurking among the shrubs' branches. "I've been waiting."

His mind jammed. He could do no more than watch as the shadow slunk to the ground and then augmented up into a recognizable humanoid form. Axel glared at Sora, his bright green eyes vivid when against the backdrop of dark conifers. A teeth-baring grimace cut through the shadiness like a razor.

"We have some unfinished business to take care of," Axel said. "I'd like you to come with me—now."

"Unfinished business?" Sora asked. His throat was coarse.

"you could have said 'this is like old maid not gold fish' you know" and i'm nodding and grinning like an idiot as i flummox the shadow

His eyes widened. "No! The things—they're coming back—"

"I'm talking about the game of cards, Sora—the game you apparently 'remember' something about by now. We never got around to the final round because I had decided to take a break. I've had to endure letting you run amok ever since."

Axel leered and grabbed Sora's wrist; his grip was uncomfortably snug.

"Let—let me go!" Sora shouted.

"Shall we, then?"

The world shattered around them.

Returning to the memory of Destiny Islands was disorienting, but painless. Odds and ends of the real world floated down around him in prismatic snowflakes that caught and deflected the sunlight. Morning dew and arboreous smells succumbed to humidity and salty spray. Gulls revived from small discharges of sparkling feathers. The ocean filled instantaneously and beat against the unrolling beach, and the tide was closer than Sora remembered. The wicker glass-top table and the wicker chairs, the fine china tea set, the shady canopy crafted from convenient, intermingled palm fronds: it was all there, untouched, ready for them again.

"The final round," Axel announced, while sitting and gesturing to Sora's own seat, "begins right now."

Sora eyed him shrewdly. "What are the stakes?"

"Should I win, I will take every last one of your memories. I will then destroy them so you will never be able to gain them back."

Perching on the edge of his seat, Sora contemplated these terms. Axel had told him about the losing streak from before, and he didn't know if there was any way to win against someone who was probably playing the loopholes to cheat. Sora could reject the terms, but there was no other way to secure what had been purloined from him. The betting odds were against him, but he had to play the final round—and he had to win. If he didn't, there would be no hope left.

"What will happen to me if you take all of my memories?"

"When I mean all of them, I'm even talking about the unconscious ones you have that you aren't even aware of. I'd be taking the instructions for your brain, also known as the instructions that allow you to function. Your heart will forget how to pump—your lungs will forget how to breathe—and to make a long story short, you will die."

Bleak horror ate through Sora as his fists clenched. He supposed, in the part of his mind not reserved for self-doubt, that dying was preferable to a lifetime spent without an identity, "living" as Nobody. He swallowed and tried to make himself stop shaking like a windblown strand of tinsel. He was afraid, exhausted, and angry. But above all else, he was stubborn. His stubbornness quelled his hot shivers; his stubbornness made him smile at Axel.

"What are you so happy about?" Axel demanded. He shed his gloves and cloak, and from the latter he removed the infamous, elongated playing cards. "I don't think you're going to break your losing streak with this game. I'd walk away right now if I were you; I'm not forcing you to be here if you're going to be a spoilsport about losing . . . though taking the breath from your lungs is going to be really enjoyable . . ."

"You say you've already won," Sora said. That smile quirked his lips higher, refusing to be displaced by fear or fatigue. His cheeks began to ache, but that pain felt good because lately he didn't have many reasons to smile. "You act like you could just as well reach over and strangle me for real. Forget about your stupid game. Let's have it out physically if you're yearning for a piece of me."

Uncertainty formicated in Axel's eyes, dampening their brilliance. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, shuffling the cards. "The card game is an avenue to your destruction that doesn't require my hands to get dirty. I prefer it this way. You should take the threat of death seriously, too, for life is precious! Please savor your final moments."

"You've never fought me with anything more than words or cards! You're a wimp, you're a weakling—you're nothing!" Sora yelled, standing up and laying his fists on the table. "As soon as you admit to that, I'll play the game!"

Axel squinted and twitched, but did not rise to the gibe. "It's perfectly understandable if you're afraid," he said in a controlled voice.

"I'm not afraid of you," said Sora, "but it's obvious that you're afraid of me. Am I hitting any nerves yet? How does it feel to know that the person you're so certain is the loser is actually the winner? You have to kill me with a card game because your own power can't do the job! I'm far more admirable than you'll ever be because I don't have to hide behind a cheap method like this."

"You're a FOOL!" That was enough. Axel whipped out an arm and knocked the china teapot onto the ground; it crashed and split apart, splashing the sand with hot tea. "You don't think I can stand toe-to-toe with the Keyblade Master? I've already established how much more powerful I am than you are! Nothing about you impresses me. I almost don't believe you defeated Ansem—"

"Ansem!" Sora cackled, leaning forward. "Ansem, Ansem, Ansem. Now that's a familiar name. Where do I remember that name from, do you think?"

A spark leapt from one of the playing cards.

ansem is framed against the sky and he's talking but i don't care what he's saying i just want to stop him for all he's done and all he's planning to do because no matter who or what he eclipses i'll always be there to shine amidst his darkness

"Oh—Ansem," Sora said, crooning the name some more. "I remember Ansem. He was such a pushover."

"He's your ultimate downfall," Axel said, flinching. "He's the one—"

"So he's the mastermind who sent you?" Sora redoubled his smile's vehemence. "I guess I really did fuck him up if he thinks you're the one who will be able to defeat me once and for all."

Axel bristled visibly, and Sora knew he had struck something deep. "You should be thanking me for killing you rather than letting Ansem do it personally!" the man shouted, slamming his playing cards down. "He doesn't have enough time to bother with a stupid, unworthy kid like you, Sora—you don't deserve to die directly by his hand. You're a mere blip on the radar; there are far more important targets to go after!"

"Is that so?" Sora said dangerously. "You tell me to take death seriously, but I really think you should practice what you preach. I'm the one who defeated Ansem, and just so you know: it was startlingly easy."

The cards issued more sparks; Axel looked at them, his bewilderment obvious.

i wail into ansem with the keyblade and he's screaming and laughing but i see the blood it pools like shadows and his eyes are fever-bright and i'm screaming with everything that's been pent up inside of me since all this started and this stroke is for riku and this one for kairi and these for everyone else he hurt and i'm not going to let them down i'm not going to give in i'm not going to fall i'm not i'm not i'm not i'm not i'm not i'm not i'm NOT

Axel's attention shifted away after that pause, confusion yielding to joyful rage. "Ansem is no longer a man confined to the mortal coil! He can do so much more now—he's more powerful than you could possibly imagine—and he has you to thank for it! Thank you, Keyblade Master!"

"Then as soon as I've dealt with you, I'll make sure to find him and finish the job properly, no matter how powerful he is!"

"Go on believing that until your last breath if you wish it. Within the next hour, you'll be no more than a memory of an unstable, faux king in the eyes of your former citizens."

"Fulfill your prophecy. I'm waiting."

Sora jeered at Axel, who did little more than stare at him—and for one fleeting moment, Sora thought he had outstripped Axel in verbal warfare.

"Well, if you insist. But first—"

Axel moved forward, stretched out an arm, and firmly wrapped his fingers around Sora's silver crown necklace. It was a piece of jewelry Sora only realized existed when he felt the chain bite into his neck. Two hard jolts were required to break the clasp; Axel returned to his former position, palming the charm for Sora to see.

"Don't you think this would go gorgeously with my vesture?" Axel said, openly admiring the necklace.

it's shiny and smooth to the touch and it's just so wicked i look up at kairi and i promise her silent that i'll wear it every day for forever and ever just like i later promise her i'll bring back oathkeeper

"NO!" Sora screeched. "GIVE—THAT—BACK!"

"What's it to you?" Axel said, grinning and knowing damn well what the necklace meant—just like he had known what the keychains were. "Isn't this some paltry trinket your little friend gave you once upon a time?"

Sora hurtled across the table, upsetting the tea set's sugar bowl and the playing cards. Though Axel's reflexes were keen enough to avoid the main attack, one of Sora's errant hands snapped out like a scourge and left long, nasty-looking red marks on the man's face. Axel swore colorfully and stayed behind his chair, backing away as staunching the first trickles of blood with his frilled sleeve. Straightening and smiling, albeit morbidly, Sora held out the responsible hand. There were traces of skin and blood beneath his fingernails.

"I want my necklace back. Now."

"You want to play that sort of game instead, do you?" Axel growled. He released the charm, but held fast to the chain; he swung it back and forth like a pendulum, and it flashed brightly whenever the light hit it at certain angles. "I'm the one giving you a shot to win it all back—the only shot you have. But all the cards are stacked against you if you want to act like you are now. I won't spare you."

"I want my necklace back," Sora said and advanced. There was a glint in his eyes that Axel didn't like. "I want it back right now, asshole."

"Please spare me the reiteration. I heard you the first time." Cautiously, Axel matched Sora's steps; he headed around the table, making sure to keep it between them at all times. "Really—I don't think you understand what you're forsaking."

"You're bluffing," Sora said. "You can't do anything to me or my memories if I don't agree to play your game."

"That makes no sense!"

Sora shrugged and smiled thinly. "Not even the Devil can take your soul if you haven't put your signature on the dotted line. You may have my memories, but you haven't won the right to destroy them. Isn't that how all types of evil operate?"

"I have powers more fearsome than the Devil's."

"Tell me another one."

"Forget it," Axel said. "I'll give you your damn necklace back if you agree to play the game."

"You're killing me," Sora laughed. "You're really fucking with me."

The Key appeared in his hands. He knocked the glass-top wicker table away—it dissolved upon contact with the Key—and charged, kicking up great clouds of sand behind him. There were many promises he needed to honor, those to himself and those he had given to others, and Axel was just another annoying barrier on the road to atonement.

However, Axel easily dodged the onslaught because he had been anticipating an attack like that, and then he caught Sora's shoulder roughly as the boy rushed past. (The Key's tines came within inches of ripping into Axel's flank, but were not close enough to be too distressing.) Sora gave a startled yelp as his forward momentum disappeared; grunting with effort, Axel yanked the boy with enough negating force to also knock him onto the ground. The sand was more forgiving than stone, so nothing was broken when Sora's head hit first, though the air went out of his lungs with a whimper, his chest knotted up, and he couldn't breathe.

A heel came down on the wrist of the hand holding the Key, preventing Sora from attacking, but Sora was too dazed and exhausted now to even try. He suddenly didn't want to fight anymore; he didn't want to fight off his fatigue, or Axel, or darkness. The Key weighed a hundred pounds and his fingers let go of the handle.

Axel smiled and set that same foot on Sora's upper chest. Sora felt a strange and near-painful twinge there because his collarbone was bending a little too far inward.

"If I moved up a bit and pressed any harder, I could steal your breath without having to enter a damn contract," Axel said, glowering. "I'm a nice guy, Sora—I'm giving you a fair shot, right? But you've wasted a lot of my time, even after I gave you a chance to reconsider your disfavor of the game."

A cool, light-weight something dropped onto Sora's chest (it was the necklace that had been pilfered from him). Axel eclipsed what sunlight Sora could see filtering through the foliage overhead, and the man's smile became lost in the shadows that swept over him. The foot shifted and pushed into the hollow slope of Sora's throat, just below his Adam's apple.

"Death is the only adventure you have left," Axel commented from far away. "I know what you'd say back—don't tell me—'To die would be a great adventure.' I'm so glad you allow me to render this service. You're welcome."

Dying felt weird, Sora decided while lucid thoughts were still his to keep. Dying didn't feel like the real sharp burning of his lungs as they were steadily deprived of oxygen. Dying didn't feel like the real way his mouth dried up or the real way his tongue became too heavy to even attempt forming words with. Dying didn't feel like many real things, all of them the most logical things and the things one should feel when life was being cheated so prematurely. It felt like . . . like he was falling into oblivion.

The world around him dimmed and slipped away; soon Axel's shadow was no more than a distant blotch of black inside what was otherwise nothing. Dying was not light or dark, but the absence of both. Dying caused his insides to clench and loosen alarmingly. Dying caused his tears to come fast and hot, sliding down his temples and then dripping onto the sand. Dying caused his memories to come, memories that he hoped were the real ones and not poor afterimages: there were the cherished memories he thought of each and every day, there were the faded memories that worsened over time, there were the silly and the happy and the funny and the crazy and the warm and the mundane and the scary and the sad memories he could never ever let go of.

I can't move, his strangled thought said. He wanted to laugh but couldn't. Dying feels weird.

Axel grinned. "What's the matter, Sora? You no longer have a sharp tongue to waggle at your comrade?"

"a keyblade that unlocks people's hearts" my voice is tired and i can hear how it trembles with every word god i've been here for what seems like forever and my body aches like i've never experienced before i just want to go back home with kairi and riku "I wonder" i add and look down at this new keyblade it is long and slim and black and wicked and it throbs with darkness but i can sense it is a poor imitation for the real thing but i have to give kairi her heart back i just have to

Bright sparks flashed in the unsteady remainder of Sora's vision, brightening Axel's imposing shadow as they arced by. Something buzzed loudly, right next to his ear; it spit out the sparks that kept intruding upon the nothingness that wanted to swallow him whole. Weakly, Sora's eyes shifted over because his head could not, and through the sheen of tears and pattern of eyelashes, even from where he was floating away into oblivion, he saw all the playing cards scattered across the sand. One was crackling with unspent energy. ("Curiouser and curiouser," said Alice a long time ago, and that was how Sora would have described this.)

He latched onto the memory of the dark, false Keyblade and let it fill his invisible gaping holes.

the real keyblade is thrilling to the touch and this is just a crappy dead substitute it's cold and hard and lifeless and kinda like holding a corpse but i smile anyway i smile big and wide and suddenly it's like everyone knows what i'm planning

Another shower of sparks—it was very much like a fireworks display—rained down before Sora's eyes. He was so close to the end. He could taste coppery blood in his mouth. He could see the proverbial tunnel of light. But . . . this memory wasn't going to let him go just yet . . .

it hurts to do it but i just force my hand hard before my resolve breaks and the key slices into my chest bloodlessly and it stings so bad and i know i should be screaming but i'm just smiling wide still don't you see i'm doing this for you i hope you know okay thanks and around me the world is rushing away and i hear the tumblers of my heart clicking allowing entrance allowing that which is stored within me to be free and hey if it loves me it'll come back right isn't that what they always say

He was lying there—lying there—moments away from asphyxiation with the smell of sea salt and genuine leather up his nose—the gulls screaming and circling up above, the sun getting a good final look, the tide demolishing that lone sand castle—his friends' shocked faces in front of him, the ghostly pain that squeezed his heart—Axel was turning his face down and his grin was too wide and his eyes were too green—and beyond all of this, there skulked the future filled with Ansem's victorious laughter and the slow sucking noise that he heard when a world he hadn't been able to save was being overrun with Heartless. Thoughts left him like the oxygen did, his brain too overwhelmed to continue filing all the input rationally. The sand was hot and rough, the air was humid, his collarbone might have been broken, the island was withering and dying with him.

But when it happened—when it happened just like this­—it made perfect sense.

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown," Axel whispered.

Sora's body convulsed and forced upon him a do-or-die share of energy. It was a bargaining chip, his remaining strength, and it was hefty enough to say You can win this hand if you try.

His knuckles went white as they tightened around the Keyblade's handle; the tines came up and connected flush with Axel's slight hip.

Sora shut his eyes against the summoned super-nova of lightning.

Axel screamed and fell back. Sora could breathe again and regardless of how lightheaded and nauseous he felt, he stood up.

i am falling into darkness and it feels like dying i know i am dying and falling into darkness but i just want to see their faces one more time i want to see them smile for me

"They're my memories," Sora said. It was hard not to deny his verdict: the cards were grinding like wind-up toys and discharging many sparks still. He cleared his throat. It felt scratchy and sore. "The cards, I mean."

Axel stared, saying nothing, and lifted his hand to wipe at the dark blood trickling down from his nose and mouth. Sora pointed the Key at him.

"Isn't that right? The cards are reacting to my 'memories'—I mean, look at what they're doing. Are they storing the memories that you've stolen from me?"

"Sora, comrade—exalted one," Axel said beseechingly. "How about we did down and talk civilly about this?"

"Fuck you."

Arching a brow, Axel smiled in an unnerving way. "Okay."

"Shut up. And don't move or else I'm going to hurt you until you're bleeding out of every pore on your body."

"I'll be a good boy."

Yeah, right, Sora thought wearily. And I wear Queen Minnie's garters.

"How do I unlock the memories?" Sora picked up one card. He expected to be zapped by the sparks, but they induced only mild tingling. "Do I destroy them, or—?"

"You're an idiot if you think I'm going to tell you," Axel interrupted.

"You are going to tell me."

"I never got that memo."

"How do I unlock the memories?" Sora cried.

Axel tilted his head, still smiling, and let out a soft hissing sound. A moment later he unwound and sprung at Sora, as quick as the lightning that had temporarily stunned him. He caught Sora's left wrist this time and wrenched. Sora began to squirm and fight when the Key hummed and warmed in his other hand—and he knew, as blackness encroached on his vision in specks and flurries, that he had no other choice: Firaga. The flames raced downward at an angle and lashed the ground; intense heat congealed the sand to create the slushy, boiling beginnings of glass. Sparking, crackling cards were caught up in the fire, and they burst apart in tandem after brief exposure. Sora watched as the real horror entered Axel's eyes.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Axel yelled. He let go of Sora and went for the few cards that had not been immediately consumed.

Flecks of light drifted down and coated everything like ash because these flecks did not melt. They were warm and dusty and Sora didn't care about Axel anymore: memories he had lost rushed back into his head. He sighed with the passion that had been building up to this moment. Ash-light patterned his hair, making it glow, and it got all over his clothes and even the Key. He picked up his necklace where it had fallen off his chest; he knew Kairi had given it to him, and it meant a lot to him because he loved her. It went into his pocket with Oathkeeper—another one of her gifts—for safekeeping until he could repair the clasp.

"Postman," Sora said and turned to look at him. "You asked me how I felt before, and I finally have an answer for you: I feel complete."

Axel was grinning. His face and hands were burnt; blackened fingers were holding onto charred scraps and even a number of whole cards. "Complete?" Axel whispered. Suddenly Sora's skin felt like it was tightening and stretching paper-thin; it was like he needed to shed it, or else it would tear on his bony joints. "Complete? No, you are not yet complete. Only darkness makes you complete. That's the real secret."

"What—"

"I wonder what I've taken for good," Axel mused, and then he disappeared.