Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.
Eventually it would all be over.
They would die or go home, slip back into a routine so mundane that after only three years of adventure it had faded to a dream. Blades would be placed on mantles or forgotten in corners, keychains would gather dust in bureau drawers along with batteries and old friendship bracelets. They would become re-accustomed to fishing and patching boats while their combat skills grew rusty, and struggle to renew friendships with kids they had known since birth, but would never be on even footing with again. There would be fresh clothes every day and soft beds every night, there would be clean water and grit free sandwiches and the comfort of room that didn't need to be paid for by the day.
They would wean themselves off adrenaline and sleep deprivation, lose the edge from those quick nervous reflexes and the finely honed sense that kept them alive. They would become boat builders and fishermen and light house operators. They would get married and have children who took small canoes out across the narrow straight to the kid's island, a place they had long outgrown.
Sometimes, on the hard days, he looked forward to the peace that would come after. Looked forward to the comparatively low expectations and limited responsibility. But in the end he always knew it would be more of a loss than a gain, an existance he had feared even before this entire convoluted adventure had begun. He would remember his mother looking at him across the table and telling him she was going to arrange an apprenticeship for him with Cliff. He would learn to make sloops and skiffs and schooners. She was pleased with herself, he had always been good with his hands and shown a fondness for sailing, it would be the perfect occupation. Thinking about it made him miss her and thank god that he had escaped when he did.
He didn't mind responsibility, didn't balk at hard work or a difficult challenge, but he hated monotony and feared imprisonment in a life he didn't want, a life of the everyday ordinary. He would have done anything to get away. He had done everything to get away.
Now he's standing on the roof of a brightly colored building, mid evening, dressed like a comic book super hero, best friend next to him and one misstep away from death. He can hear Kairi behind him, magic on her voice, and feel the scrapes across his face close, the heaviness in his chest lift. He jumps, energy of some sort carrying him half way across the plaza before he drops onto his feet, blade in hand, poised to attack. The magic on his skin hisses like static when the heartless swings toward him, thick pointed claws racing for his chest. He parries, counters, staggers back a step, wonders if he will lose this strength when he finally goes home. Wonders if he will still be able to fly.
Sora comes down at the monster from behind while it's focused on the white haired teen. His keyblade slices through the thick black neck and it falls, the lives it has stolen breaking free, shaking off, going home.
Eventually it will all be over, and Riku wonders if death might not be the better end.