I've spent some time between updates fixing up the first three chapters of Kingdom Hearts 1 (plus a bit of the fourth) and I'm pretty happy with how they turned out. I wanted the introduction to this whole Epic to better reflect, in style and grammar, where it stands now, in 2018, rather than in 2008. So please go check it out!

And then, please, leave a review here (or everywhere?)—I hope you enjoy where this goes as much as I do.
~Mars

Chapter X: A Garden Party: Prima Pars
And this will be the night,
to make [our] mark upon the world-
never look back and
never
let
go.
~Sugar Song to Bitter Step

She was beautiful.

It had taken Zack awhile to speak, and even longer to stop bumping into everything—people, trees, Squall's back-on their march to the Bastion: she was just that worthy of admiration.

As it was, now ascending the long, curved stairs that led up to the nearly-glowing castle, Zack had cut himself back to a long glance every five minutes, as if a healthy reminder that Aerith was still there, still radiant, still glowing in some magic of Rinoa's that, rather than obscuring her, seemed to magnify her beauty—this was Aerith in all her glory.

It wasn't like it was even just the dress, he reminded himself. Aerith's usual style was a simple white or pink dress, and this was just like that: perhaps it was a bit longer than normal, as it swooshed around her ankles rather than her knees; or perhaps it wrapped just a bit tighter around her slight frame, or the colors were just so mixed that the contrast proved what a startling shade of mahogany her hair was, or how deep were the green of her eyes.

But maybe, instead, it was the excitement in her voice and the bright radiance of her face, as she pointed out and chirped over every floating balloon or shimmering window; or perhaps it was the constancy of her broad and welcoming smile at every guest who passed, even if they (criminally!) didn't see her—all magnified by the evening's brilliance.

Zack knew he'd have to do some more studying to be sure.

For his part, like Squall and Cloud, Zack had mustered up his formal military garb—black coats and slacks, brass buttons, shaded cuffs for designation, and golden epaulets for rank. He alone, though, had rejected a tie. When Rinoa had approached him, having placed herself in charge of the finishing touches, only Aerith's half-hearted defense (with rolled eyes) that he had faked choking at last year's military ceremonies, had stopped Rinoa's attempted mugging.

Zack would have taken issue, then, with the implication, that he hadn't been truly asphyxiating (he was!), but he'd take such a win against Rinoa where he could find it—even at cost to his credibility.

Speaking of her, she now strolled beside Squall, arm linked with his, looking like the very definition of confident in her simple, off-white, mid-thigh length dress.

"They just look so…" Zack started, turning Aerith's attention from a particularly wild-hatted lady to the couple strutting before them.

"…professional?" Aerith finished, smiling as her attention drifted back to the shower of lights coming down from the Bastion and the sounds of music drifting through its windows, "They're like the perfect blend of stoic and vivacious. Like…peanut butter and jelly!"

"You're really having a good time already, huh?" Zack smiled, glad at the sight.

"Of course!" Aerith responded, looking out of the corner of her eyes, arms laced behind her back, "Aren't you?"

Zack, taking a moment to simply be, observing her in all the illumination of the lights and the shadows of every passing figure, grinned, "Definitely."

Aerith, not in the least unaware of his attachments, narrowed her eyes with her own cheeky grin, "Why, thank you."

Then, with sisterly concern, she glanced backward to Cloud—dressed in the simple, undecorated sharp blue of his own rank (tie and all; he looked in every like he was working to surpass all regalia standards)—and Tifa, who was pulling up the back hem of a dark dress that drew out the amber shade of her eyes and tapered from just above the knee to floor length behind her, both marching along (like little dolls, Rinoa had said) behind them.

"Great! We're doing great!" Tifa responded to no question at all, clearly revealing that her excitement was evolving into nervousness as they approached the Bastion. For his part, Cloud seemed not to have heard Tifa, as his eyes continued to scan the ramparts and towers of the Castle, even as they became ever-more obscured by ascending into the darkness of the sky above.

In fact, it seemed, once one reached above the layer of party-lights and bright rooms, the Bastion's upmost parts were made distinguishable from that clear, black sky only by its lack of stars. But below that point, one could easily mistake the two, the sky and the castle,—for the Bastion was, indeed, covered in lights.

Knowing Cloud wasn't looking, Zack gave a little thumbs-up to Tifa who, stumbling a little, tried to return a smile, but as something which appeared more like an apprehensive grimace.

"We're gonna have to watch out for them, y'know." Zack whispered to the beauty beside him.

Aerith raised an eyebrow, "Wasn't that always the plan?"

"Invitations, sir!" pulled Zack's attention forward, to the two guards by the door, faces covered by their low-sitting helmets, as each beckoned for Squall's papers. In the scattered light, the swords at their hips shimmered. Pulling up close behind them, Zack offered his and Aerith's tickets to the guard opposite.

"And no weapons, sir?" the guard responded, glancing between the ornate invitations and their far more meager guests.

"Nothing other than these!" Zack grinned, punching his fists together. Aerith chided him with embarrassed eyes, though Zack was satisfied to hear a moderate cough from Squall beside him—a rousing success on the "scale-of-Squall's-humor".

The guard, quite unimpressed, waved them past as he took two more invitations from Tifa. "Right, sir."

And then the moment came, as the group passed the threshold together, and the music—strings and drums and some variety of bells—all swelled louder and more triumphant, and the lights became brighter and warmer. The multiple pitches of many excited conversations carried through the air and the smells of breads and wine and little cakes came tumbling along with them.

Squall and Rinoa, professionals that they were, moved gracefully forward, while Zack and the rest stood breathlessly in the hall, as if forgetting they had already handed over their invitations for something so grand.

"I can't wait anymore!" Tifa announced finally, after what felt like ages but was only a few seconds, and, pushing between Aerith and Zack, ran after Squall and Rinoa, who were already beyond their sight.

Awoken by her enthusiasm, Zack felt the lightning in his veins and, taking Aerith by the wrist (and Cloud, as well, so as not to leave him behind), pulled everyone forward into the full light of the Entrance Hall—nearly bumping into Tifa, who had been brought to a stop again beside Rinoa, hand over her mouth, as the party came into view.

Fire magic lit the room in a vibrant and flashing glow, reflecting off the polished granite pillars that circled the hall and illuminating the equally shined floor—which was itself chilled by Blizzara magic, keeping the heat of the lights and many guests at bay. A cacophony of color, like a roiling ocean, shifted through the room—all nobles and courtesans and the upper-crust of the Garden, decorated in every elaborate color and shape—filling the hall, the balcony that circled its upper levels, and the additional halls that fed off to the sides.

Like little white and black fish amidst that colorful ocean, the servants of the Bastion expertly swum, some carrying platters of hors d'oeuvres, others wheeling larger carts of appetizers and desserts for the white linen tables that circled the edges of the room, picked at by the ever-moving circle of guests. Great purple banners hung from the balcony above, waving softly in a breeze that Zack guessed was the work of expert Aero spells that kept the air of the hall fresh and light; without humidity or odor.

Guards stood at the attention by the twin feet of the double staircase, decorated with the carven statues of ancient kings and famous knights, which wound around the fountain at the far side of the hall. The water bubbled peacefully, fed by a brief waterfall emerging from under the apex of the staircase. Between the fountain and the kaleidoscope crowd sat a small orchestra—violins, cellos, guitars, flutes, trumpets, and even a harp and piano. From these, cheery, yet quite high-brow, music filled every open space.

Zack gaped, only just able to reach out in time to snatch something—he didn't know what and it didn't matter—from an offered platter. Stuffing it in his mouth, he stared in awe—this was it! This was the most important place he had ever been—high-ranking generals, presidents of businesses, famous academics and magicians—the only thing missing was the Royal Family itself—which was precisely what he guessed the staircases were blocked off for.

"Let's mosey!" Zack announced to the other five, his mouth still half-filled.

"Where?" Squall and Aerith asked simultaneously, although the latter was far more infected by the moment's awe than the former—her eyes were wide saucers, as well. Tifa, beside her, still had her mouth covered and even Cloud seemed to examine the partygoers with a look of what might be intrigue.

"We gotta claim a spot, of course!" Zack answered, ready to lead the way. "Where will we set up shop?" his eyes roved the Hall, looking for people he recognized, "Aerith, where's Merlin at?"

"He's…not…here, silly." Aerith responded, eyes wandering the party. Maybe she was beginning to understand his point of view, "He's out working on his fireworks."

"I gotta say…" Tifa added, whispering through her fingers, "That table with the cheesecakes is looking like an awfully delicious base."

"Now that's thinking!" Zack agreed, wrapping his arm around Squall, "Let's say you and I go rustle up some drinks and we'll meet you all over there?"

Coolly, and somehow politely, Squall shifted out from Zack's grip, leaving him to stumble slightly, "I'll be staying with Rinoa."

"Alright…" Zack replied, finding Squall's firmness odd, "Then you can escort the ladies over there, Squall, and me n' Cloud-" he hooked his arm through his young apprentice's, causing him to startle, "-will find some drinks!"

Without waiting for a reply, he gave a bow of farewell to Aerith, "Don't let anyone hit on you, alright?"

Aerith hooked her own arm through Squall's open one, pulling Tifa with her, "Well, if Squall protects Rinoa, she'll protect me, and I'll protect Tifa, and Tifa will protect Squall from all the other ladies—" she smiled, as Squall grunted, "—then we'll all be safe!"

"Good plan!" Zack replied, pulling Cloud off into the crowd with him, only just hearing the start of Aerith's insistence that the younger ones could only have sparkling water, much to Tifa's immediate protests.

Zack smiled as the crowd closed in around and they became participants in its liveliness, "Don't mind Aerith, Cloud—a little won't hurt, eh?"

Cloud only nodded, ducking low to miss the extended arm of some overly-fanciful storyteller.

Dozens of billowing dresses and exaggerated top-hats passed by, before Zack caught sight of the great bowls of ice, glowing a slight Blizzara-blue, in which thin-necked bottles of something delicious lay cooling.

Finally letting go of Cloud as he slid his way to the table, Zack began to pour over the names, "Cloud, Cloud—" he waved, "Can you grab us, what—" he counted off briefly in his head, "Five cups-? Wait," he remembered himself, "Six. Six cups!"

Zack pulled out one out bottle to examine the label, "Pea-not no-ear…?" he murmured to himself, raising it as Cloud returned, carefully gripping six wine glasses between the fingers of his opens hands. "Peanot noear, eh? That's fancy, right?" Zack asked, with Cloud nodding in blind affirmation.

As Zack popped out the cork and began to pour, he caught Cloud's eyes slipping back through the crowd to where they came. "Sooo…are you gonna dance with Tifa?"

"Wh-what?" Cloud startled a little, causing the glasses in his hands to clink together and spill slightly.

"Woah, watch out!" Zack whispered—embarrassing attention was no good. Grabbing from a pile of napkins, he began to dab the sides of the cup and Cloud's hands, as he continued to pour with the others, "I mean, there's definitely going to be dancing tonight—and if I'm with Aerith, and Squall and Rinoa of course—you're not just gonna leave Tifa alone, right?"

"I…" Cloud started, clearly having not considered the possibility.

"Aw, c'mon, Cloud. I believe in you." Zack smiled, rustling his hair between re-corking the bottle and taking his share of the glasses, "Besides…I know you want to!"

"But I…I just…Tifa…" Cloud began to respond, his eyes drifting back over the crowd.

"What do you keep-" Zack began to ask, confused by Cloud's gaze, before catching sight himself of a circle of conversants at the end of the drinks table, "Hey! That's Commander Aeleus! C'mon, Cloud—let's take a little detour!"

Doing his best to look professional like Squall (with Cloud obediently behind him), Zack approached the small semi-circle and inserted himself as close to the action, as naturally as he could. One particular noble, dressed in a garish red and fidgeting with his glasses, was speaking.

"—as I always say, whatever is necessary for the survival of country and economy, eh? Can't have one without the other, doncha know?"

Aeleus, fiery ginger hair pushed back and jaw square, nodded slightly before speaking, "Yet, the sheep can survive without sheering."

The nobleman's brow furrowed, as his glanced over the gathered group, "I'm not…I am not sure I comprehend you, Commander?"

"He means people can survive without being used up…" Zack broke in, entirely unprepared, only pausing briefly to remind himself to be genteel; Aerith would be proud, "…by your—your…however it is you make your money!"

Aeleus' single raised eyebrow and slight twitch of his mouth was enough to keep Zack going for weeks, especially as the first noble remained confused, "I'm still not sure I—and who are you-?"

"I believe they're mocking you, old boy!" Another noble interrupted with a laugh, "Perhaps 'the economy' isn't as you imagine it?"

The first nobleman, pride clearly wounded by Zack's gain, continued to frown, "I'd still like to know who this—"

"Zachary Fair is one of our most…promising new Investigators." Aeleus introduced, "And he is correct, there is more to our greatness than economic engine."

As responses were murmured, Zack couldn't contain his grin—he was fitting in! And so quickly! This was perfect!

But the clink of glasses in his hand reminded him of his mission, and he quickly shuffled all but one to Cloud—who had been as entranced as he, asking in an earnest whisper: "Cloud, I'm just gonna be a minute over here—could you bring these back to everyone?"

Cloud nodded, shifting to balance the glasses among his fingers again.

"Just tell them—" Zack glanced back the conversation, careful not to miss anything, "I'll just be a minute, alright?"

With the solemn acceptance of one happy to be given something to do, Cloud melted back into the ocean of lights, colors, and music of the Princess' seventh birthday party and Zack, satisfied, fully rejoined the ongoing, and excessively important, conversation.

"All of them for me!?" little Kairi exclaimed, peeking through curtains that divided them from the party in the Hall below.

"Indeed!" Ansem responded, snatching her up before she could dash through the curtains in excitement, "They all want to wish you a very happy birthday!"

As Ansem carried the not-so-little-one, who made inquiry after inquiry regarding the cake and ice cream, back to where her parents were readying, Xehanort moved to the curtain and pulled it aside, getting a view of the crowd for himself. Unfortunately, he knew that nary a one were interested in such an altruistic cause as the Princess had just been told.

Clingers-on and fame-seekers, all of them. Already bloated gluttons, filled by the riches and power of the Garden, yet still hungry for more; a rabid mix of insecurity and greed, seeking to install themselves ever closer to the seats of true power—to those who stood behind him: his brothers, Ansem, and the Royal Family itself.

And while Xehanort could, in some small way, sympathize with their hunger, such was outweighed entirely by their pathetic and desperate methodology. No, these fools did not love the Princess—they loved themselves. Only Aeleus, already among the crowd due to his intense dislike of the spotlight, did Xehanort believe had any love for the Princess down there.

It was trivialities like these that Xehanort hated, though well he could play the role—tonight would be particularly excruciating, however, as his disappointment still ached from the earlier failure and his whole body burned from his ever-increasing sleepless nights.

Suddenly, an energy shifted in the hall below as Eraqus and his three apprentices entered the hall; their plain-cloaked garb causing them to stand out externally as much as Xehanort knew they did internally. They, at least, were earnest—both in their disdain and in their dedication to their naïve spiritual mores.

Their master, most irrational for he was most closed, stood at their head, examining the hall with unimpressed eyes. Beside him, his daughter stood with almost equal self-righteousness, while the younger brother was betrayed by his wide-eyed fascination with the entire charade. The elder, a head taller than the rest, stood behind them, unreadable with a security so practiced that Xehanort knew from experience it could only be cover for a profound desolation.

For that reason, that one was the most interesting of them all.

"Hey, boss…" Braig mumbled, as he sauntered up to examine the crowd with him, "Hey, I didn't know the white knights were coming—did the guards take their fancy swords, y'think?"

"They can't." Xehanort replied, closing the curtain on the whole sorry scene, "They manifest them from some pocket dimension. They can't be separated from them."

"As if!" Braig shook his head, taking a long swig from the bottle of wine that Xehanort noticed for the first time-of course Braig had snatched some already, "It's playing with fire to invite them here with those."

"Indeed." Xehanort responded simply, eyes falling on Ansem, who was still explaining to the Princess, for the umpteenth time, all the wonderful things in store. Unfortunately, it would've been too suspicious to suggest not inviting a group as prominent as Eraqus'.

"Well, no worries." Braig smirked, "The new package is put away, all neat and tidy."

Xehanort nodded, his eyes still on Ansem. There was such…joy on his face. He was so earnestly pleased over such a simple and transitory thing as this. Good for him-but it had been years since Xehanort had last been captured by such a simple feeling as that.

"Oh! That's right—" Braig snapped his fingers, "I noticed that yesterday's, ah, 'leftovers' were gone, so I guess the…" he paused, his eyes drifting to the bottle, "the, uh, leftover-eaters finally got hungry."

Xehanort sighed, "Well, that is interesting. I'm certain that if you tell Even, he'll spend the evening torturing over it."

Braig laughed a little too loudly, and slapped Xehanort on the back, "Damn right he will, if he can't go see it himself." a malicious smirk was his goodbye, "Right-o, bro."

With that, Braig vanished after Even—likely waiting in the library, performing last-minute checks on the power system for the Grand Hall, as far away from everyone else as possible.

Xehanort, though, found himself just watching Ansem play with the Princess.

Now, he was holding her, with one arm outstretched, pretending to teach her some kind of waltz they would perform later when the dancing started up. Something further in him, deeper than exhaustion, ached.

As Ansem laughed and Kairi giggled, Xehanort wondered: if the old man wasn't as rational as he had supposed, then perhaps when approached in his emotion—perhaps then this "father" would agree to what he needed.

Tifa had been right—the cheesecake was delicious, Aerith thought as she cut off another sliver with her fork, making a point to be as "dainty" as possible. Meanwhile, beside her, Tifa and Rinoa were each on their covert second pieces and Squall…well, for some reason, he appeared to be on lookout.

"So is it everything you ever dreamed?" Rinoa asked, swallowing another bite.

Tifa nodded, with emphasis, "Everything."

"The Bastion can cook up some good food!" Rinoa confirmed with a laugh, "Remember the morning after her birthday last year?"

"I'm surprised that you do." Aerith replied, covering her own laugh.

"Wait, I remember hearing something about this—" Tifa giggled.

"Last year was the first one of these we went to, you see," Rinoa began, nearly snorting her cheesecake out by her own laughter, "And I had a bit too much to eat—"

"And drink." Squall added, without ceasing to scan the crowd.

"And drink…" Rinoa repeated with a sigh, "The next few days weren't my best."

"It took all of my expertise to make sure she could make it back to work!" Aerith finally guffawed.

"But Squall sat by me the whole time—" Rinoa cooed, rubbing his arm, "Rubbing by back, holding my bucket, giving me baths…"

"Too much information!" Tifa exclaimed with a blush, taking another bite of her cake.

Aerith sighed, "I think it's sweet."

"Definitely sweet." Squall muttered, his chiseled-chin twitching ever-so-slightly.

"I just can't get over how beautiful it all is!" Tifa changed subjects, "Not just the food, I mean, everything! I kind of thought it might've been all…stuffy. Like how Squall and Cloud are dressed."

"Ouch." Squall intoned, as Rinoa nearly choked on her cake.

"But it's actually all light and airy and just like a dream!" Tifa breathily sighed.

Aerith had to agree—it was a stunning party that they had stumbled their way into. Everything seemed designed to enchant: music, smells, tastes, even temperature. It was almost like they had entered a fairy land, filled with beautiful shapes and sounds; with an air that almost tasted of magic.

Taking another bite of her cheesecake, Aerith shifted slightly away from the other three to allow a few other guests to reach the table behind them. Even amidst the beauty, though, some small, quiet, unshakeable feeling said that something was missing.

There was something down below, in the flowers and celebrations of the townsfolk on her street, that was missing in grand hall—and it wasn't just the lack of flowers, that she was only just noticing now. It all seemed covered over, somehow. The party was truly magnificent, but was there something—anything-underneath it? It was airy, but was their firm footing to be found?

As Aerith considered this, she began to overhear the conversation of those who were passing by.

"Look, this terror is really quite simple, I say." A tall man with a short goatee pronounced, as he took up his cheesecake.

"Here's what I say—and I've never shied from saying it—but it's a real Wutain problem. They've always been like this." A tall woman in in a dark auburn dress proclaimed a little-too-loudly. "Always pushing their way in."

The man at her side nodded, "I know, dear, very true."

The third member of the party, dressed in a brassy orange, looked covertly about her before speaking in a low voice, "It's in their culture, you know. Naturally more aggressive; more animalistic."

There is was, Aerith soured. Or, at least, a part of it—these far away people had no idea what they were talking about.

The man shook his head in clear disgust, "No wonder they'd turn to such horrendous terrors. They're like snakes, then, eh?"

The first woman nodded all the more furiously, as Aerith found herself gripping her fork ever tighter, "Snakes? I do say they're more like parasites—sucking all the life out of our beautiful Garden just to prop up their ugly little chin—"

"Excuse me," Aerith suddenly interrupted, stepping in their way and trying not to brandish her fork, "Do you know anyone from Wutai?"

"Pardon me?" the first woman startled, her fork clinking slightly on her plate.

"Do you know anyone from Wutai?" Aerith repeated, planting herself firmly before the three-neglecting, she realized too late, that she, also, didn't really know any Wutains. She just didn't like this language; something in her revolted against it—these people, up in these towers, talking about everyone else-

"Who are you?" the second woman peered down at her through thin lenses. "I certainly haven't seen you at any other events…"

Aerith shook her head, waving her fork just a bit too much, "I just don't know how you can talk about people like that without knowing them; like you're so much better."

"The impertinence!" the man cried out, grabbing Aerith's wrist, causing her to drop her fork, "Who do you think you are?"

Aerith, somewhat surprised herself, froze, eyes wide, as Tifa indignantly shouted something behind her. What was she doing? How had the party suddenly turned to this? Or was this how it always, secretly, was?

Suddenly, the man's sneer turned to a cry of pain as a sharp hand cut against his wrist, knocking it free before locking out his whole shoulder with a turn and twist. The two women gasped, nearly dropping their platters.

"Who do you think you are?" Cloud murmured, quite emotionless, though his strikingly bright eyes seemed to burn holes through the thick features of the older man. "Back off."

"I…I…" the man stuttered, before Cloud released him with a flick and he stumbled back. "I should have you-"

"I think we should all forget this happened, don't you think?" Rinoa interrupted, stepping forward with a sweet smile and another bite of cake, "Fighting with the PKF won't get very far with the guards, I'd say."

Gathering himself up with sneer and shake of the head, the older man took the arm of the first lady—who gave Aerith what she imagined to be the dirtiest look she was capable of—and disappeared back into the throng.

"Well, there we go—everyone protected!" Rinoa sighed, turning back with a smile.

Aerith nodded, a little shaken, and received the cup of wine Tifa offered—evidently what Cloud had returned with. The young man himself was staring firmly back into the crowd where the three had disappeared, as Tifa turned to offer back his own cup.

"I'm sorry, I—" Aerith began, not sure what to say, but was interrupted by a sudden deep-voice booming across the hall's rounded walls.

"Attention, my friends, attention: the royal family!"

Unintentionally, Aqua frowned as she examined the party from behind her Father's shoulder. At this point in her life, while nice, these were hardly novel. She still remembered her first ball, when she was only just slightly older than the Princess was now, just before Father had found Terra.

Even then, she remembered being embarrassed at how she stood out in her robes, beside all the elite of the Garden in their finery. It had only been in watching her Father, wearing the same with dignity and confidence, that she had learned to take not only comfort, but pride, in what she represented.

It had only become pure joy, though, when he had scooped her up at the end of the evening for her first dance.

"What do you see?" Father asked quietly, scanning the room with his sharp, dark eyes.

At once, Aqua, Terra, Ven: "A show.", "An opportunity.", "A good time!"

Arched eyebrows from Terra and Aqua to Ven were easily overcome and brought to brief smiles by his infectious excitement.

"None wrong." Father noted, perhaps himself showing a brief smile that Aqua only just caught. "But don't allow the latter to obscure the form…"

"Master?" Terra stepped forward as Eraqus had fallen silent, his gaze focused on something moving through the crowd.

"That boy…that young man." Father's voice turned solemn. "What do you see?"

Aqua frowned, trying to follow his eyes—young man? The party was full of people, bustling and cheery, without anything particular to distinguish one from another. Was it something beneath the surface?

With a breath, Aqua focused deeper, listening, feeling, touching the energies pumped by incorporeal hearts—and there it was-

"That one." Terra nodded, having felt the same thing.

Weaving uncertainly through the ever-exchanging circles of conversation was a young man in military dress, balancing at least six full cups between his fingers. His broad-spiked blonde hair was, Aqua had to admit, even more impressively gravity-defying than Ven's.

But what really mattered was the darkness that shifted and convulsed within him, sloshing about with less grace than those cups he balanced.

There was darkness in everyone here—more than average, in fact, Aqua wagered—but in most, the darkness ran in familiar treads. Controlled, or hidden, or restrained by some accidentally learned artifice. All those were harder to feel. But in this boy…

"I did not expect to discover anything so quickly…" Father frowned, in slight aversion, "You must all keep an eye on him. His darkness—not only is it great, it is dangerously uncontrolled."

"I feel like I recognize him…" Ven spoke slowly, wracking his brain. "Like, I've seen him before…"

"Master, how can his darkness be so…loose?" Terra questioned, glancing back over the crowd from his great height, keeping an eye on those blonde spikes that had vanished from Aqua's line of sight.

Father shook his head, "I don't know. That's what makes it so concerning. He reeks."

Terra nodded, stepping forward without waiting for affirmation, "I'll keep an eye on him; make sure nothing goes wrong."

Father nodded, "Be discreet. That darkness…it's unstable. Don't allow it to be set off."

As Terra entered into the throng, Father's quiet voice caught Aqua's attention—it was clear to her that Ven was lost in thought, "And I want you to watch both of them, daughter. The darkness is darkness…whether familiar or free. But…" he paused, voice softening, "Make certain you enjoy yourself, too."

"Yes, Father." Aqua nodded; appreciative but aching at the equivalence he made of her brother.

"I mean it, Aqua."

"Yes, Father. I will."

"That's it! I remember!" Ven suddenly announced, smacking his fist to his hand, "He's a friend of Zack—his apprentice, I think. Uh….hmmm…." another pause, matched with an adorably earnest, twisted-up face, "Cloud! That's it!"

"Well, Ventus, use the connections you have." Father nodded, "An apprentice is never far from his master. Seek out answers about this…anomalous young man."

"Yes, sir!" Ven saluted and dashed off along the wall (a little too obviously, Aqua thought),his eager eyes pouring over the mass of faces.

"Father…" Aqua started carefully, "I know that Terra has his struggles. I won't pretend that I don't see the darkness, too." Her voice was quickly taking on its own forthrightness, "But it's a burden that weighs him down, as well. We can help him bear it; the ancient works say—"

"Aqua." Father interrupted, pained eyes still turned to the crowd, filled with its laughter and lights, "I love Terra, too. It is because I love him, because we love him, that he must be watched."

Aqua paused again, hesitantly torn between her Father and a more full-winded defense of Terra.

"Yes, Father. I know."

"Terra skirts a dangerous edge. He is greatly gifted; brunt and direct. But the darkness entreats him." Eraqus sighed, "He longs for things that I cannot provide."

Aqua considered suggesting that they could; that perhaps her Father could find another way; see Terra in a different light. But before she could answer, all attention in the room was drawn to the calm, but loud, voice projected from the balcony above the gurgling fountain.

As the guards at the foot of the double staircase stood to attention and the party fell quieter, Ansem the Wise—dressed in his finest red robes—smiled out to all, as if intensely familiar with each one. His full blonde hair was pushed back behind his head, trimmed neatly to match his moustache and beard. Standing behind him in the shadows of the hall's pillars, were his apprentices, all in a row: Braig, Even, Dilan, Ienzo and Xehanort; all but Dilan (who was in his official commander regalia) were dressed in the sharp white coats of their rank. Evidently, she noted, Aeleus was elsewhere.

Raising his arms, a glass in one hand, Ansem spoke out over the crowd:

"Attention, my friends, attention: the royal family!"

From behind him, through an opulent curtain, emerged the Royal trio to join the Lord Protector. Queen Gwendolyne, only daughter of the High King Taran and Queen Eilonwy, had inherited the dark-red hair of her father, paired with the face of her mother; but shared equally in that boisterous and free-wandering spirit of Taran's that had led them to the defeat of the Horned King and the establishment of the Hartwell Dynasty in Hollow Bastion, many long years before Father had even arrived on the world.

As the Queen curtsied and dipped before the crowd, her husband joined her in a gracious bow. King Aeron, thin but striking with his violet eyes and confident bearing, had been the Castle's young librarian, hired and trained in his youth by the previous bookkeeper. There, under old Taran's auspices and Eilonwy's encouragements, the King and Queen had met and made friendship over hundreds of books and thousands of evenings.

When the time had finally come for the royal wedding, perhaps one of Aqua's earliest memories of the Garden, there had been no controversy, for of course, King Taran himself had come from no noble stock, and Gwendolyn's passion was clear; a romance known and beloved over Radiant Garden.

As the two stood back to their height, Aeron found himself needing to push back his long, chestnut hair as it fell over his face, eliciting a hearty laugh from both his wife, the crowd, and their little child—the center of this whole affair—who giggled and twisted in his arms: little Princess Kairi, now seven years of age, a mess of white dress, striking auburn hair, and everlasting smiles. She attempted her own little half-shy wave out over the crowd, who all cooed—even Aqua found herself involuntarily sighing at her little Majesty.

"T-thank you!" the little Princess flattered the crowd, only just recovering from her appearance, with another adorable jolt that echoed, a bit loudly, about the rotunda.

As he was so good at, King Aeron expanded upon the moment of laughter and care, twisting his well-groomed mustache, "May we not forget—the Queen Mother, of course!"

Aqua was proud to join the final applause, as Queen Mother Eilonwy herself—come a long way from her storied teenage youth, when she was but a princess herself and Taran a young orphan—hobbled forward upon her cane, all her wild hair piled up in a grey bun atop her head. She lifted her purple shawl to wave her appreciative greetings to the gathered onlookers below.

In King Aeron's arms, Kairi scuffled to be let go and, placing her on the ground with a smile, she ran to join hands with her grandmother.

"May the light be shared peaceably among you all!" the Queen Mother smiled in her wizened way.

"May it ever be so." Aqua heard Father whisper, smiling his thin smile; a sentiment echoed by a dwindling few among the crowd who cared enough to repeat the old chant.

"And now, may the party officially begin!" Ansem cried, his own happiness evident, "Maestro?"

Below him, the tall reed of a man conducting the various instruments nodded and, with a sweep, began another eloquent round of music—simplicitate purissimum in b major, if Aqua knew her classics (which she did)—while, simultaneously, numerous doors about the hall flew open, allowing endless servants to flow through with even more numerous carts and dishes filled with even more endless assortments of fine eating. The crowd cheered, the music swelled, and Aqua was momentarily transported back to those childhood moments of awe at such events.

"Aqua, I am going to speak to Lord Ansem," Father said, as she responded with a satisfied nod, "We must—"

Suddenly, near the entrance as they were, both Eraqus and Aqua sensed the change in movement behind them. Turning, they saw the final arrivals, fashionably late, as the crowd, whispering and watching, split to allow he and his entourage entrance.

Into the Hall, with contented smile and arrogant gaze, glided Rufus Shinra, in his purest of white coats, flanked by the smooth darkness that were his Turks. He had only four with him tonight, Aqua noted, re-filing their identities: Tseng (the serious one), Elena (the moderately-serious one), Rude (the other serious one), and Reno (the stupid one).

"Ah, the pieces all fit together now." Eraqus said softly, as he stepped back into the crowd, "Watch Shinra, Aqua—" his last words, "but make sure to enjoy yourself."

Nodding, Aqua herself stepped back into the crowd, and allowed the President and his entourage to pass into the center of the hall. She barely contained her disgust as the party continued to shift around her—the utter self-importance, the complete absorption of this man was evident even in his darkness: so perfectly contoured, she could tell, so known and familiar; it was almost as if he woke up every morning to groom it like a bonzai tree.

This Rufus Shinra, grandson of his name, was total owner of himself—unfortunately, his possessions were wicked and greedy. But her mission was her mission, and Aqua melted back further into the crowd to watch; acutely aware of how obvious her cloak made her and her brothers. It wasn't long until the first noblelady was inquiring about them.

So she made small talk. She entertained and told stories. She fenced with fools presenting their ideas, acknowledged the interesting, and shut-down the ever-present bigots who made their small-minded arguments about those outside of the Garden—totally unaware of the entire universe that lay outside this small world!

Aqua dealt with them all in the same grace and control that her Father had taught her—but she never took her true attention from the roving movements of Shinra, as he charmed the nobles around him and gathered a large circle of sycophants. Time passed, she counted, but neither her Father nor her brothers returned, and Shinra made no obvious malice.

It wasn't, then, terribly long before Ansem's deep and charming voice called out over the crowd again, "Now that we have all settled in, I do believe we owe a song to our dear Princess!"

The crowd's response was multiple, though unified: "Indeed!", "Yes!", "Let's!", "Of course!"

"And I am told—" Ansem's eyes flickered down, warm and inviting, "That we shall have a special musical guest to provide the arrangement-"

Suddenly, her Father materialized from the crowd and at her side.

"—Master Eraqus' foremost apprentice, Aqua Fidelium, is apparently quite capable with the violin!"

Aqua's eyes widened and she froze, as all eyes turned to her. The little noise that Father released made clear to her that he was the force behind this—and now she could feel a slight redness coming to her face. The crowd before her, realizing where she was, parted all the way to the symphony, before the bubbling fountain.

"Go on," Eraqus whispered, "I shall watch him. I told you to enjoy yourself."

Swallowing, Aqua didn't quite move yet. She hated attention. She hated being called "foremost". She hated that her brothers heard that, and that now she would be made to show off for everyone. She loved and hated how her Father showed his appreciation; she loved his love of her, but hated his honor of her. She loved his delight, but hated his pride.

"Go on," he repeated, encouraging, "You've been able to play 'Happy Birthday' since you were four."

Nodding, and swallowing over the sudden attack of nerves, Aqua strode forward through the parted crowd and, approaching the symphony, received a beautifully ornate violin from a short, round man, who bowed in appreciation. Returning the gesture, Aqua took up the piece in her hands, and turned to face the crowd—all smiling with anticipation, breaths held to begin the song.

Looking up, her eyes met the eager bright eyes of the Princess—a blue so dark and lively they appeared nearly as violet as her father's—who's head peaked through the railings of the balcony. She smiled, and Aqua—swallowing again, and allowing herself to flow into the moment, rather than fight it—smiled, too, and touched the bow to the first string.

Zack hummed happily to himself, well-contented, as he moved his way through the crowd while all their attention was turned to the announcement of the Royals. His conversation had ended well—neither too long nor too short—and he believed he had made an impact.

And with that accomplished, while he loved the royals as much as anyone, he loved being able to move easily through the crowd even more. Time to find Aerith and the others!

Listening idly to their announcements, Zack scanned the heads of the more-or-less still crowd, and redirected himself toward where he thought he could see the top scrap of Squall's scrappy brown hair poking above the rest. He was a tall guy, after all—he'd stick out.

To his surprise, Squall didn't seem to be alone—or even just with the others. A small circle had gathered around near the wall where they had set up, and—if he wasn't wrong—they seemed to be gathered around Aerith, with Rinoa swaggering beside her, adding emphasis to whatever her best friend was saying.

"What's going on?" Zack asked with a curious smile, coming to stand beside Squall, "I thought you said you'd take care of her."

"Unsurprisingly, she's more popular than you." Squall smirked down at him.

"I can see that!" Zack exclaimed, taking a sip of his wine, "What happened?"

"She was a badass, that's what!" Tifa replied, from the other side of Squall, "Aerith called out a bunch of assholes saying stuff about Wutai—" Tifa paused, taking a drink herself, "—thanks for this, by way—"

"And now she and Rinoa are busy educating the interested on peace and love." Squall finished.

Zack felt the urge to step forward and push his way into the center of another crowd, to make it about him, too, as Aerith's partner. But as he watched her speak—he couldn't even hear her words, yet—with such a graceful smile and peaceful eyes, he just wanted nothing else than to let her be.

Though he knew it was furthest from the truth, it was almost like she belonged there. But that was the thing about Aerith—she seemed to almost belong everywhere, because she was herself, everywhere.

Zack loved that about her.

He needed so much, wanted so much-but Aerith didn't need him. She was whole; complete. Aerith Gainsborough was the most satisfied person he knew.

And he loved that.

There were a lot of important people here, Zack knew—and he was smart enough to know there were even more who only thought they were important. But, in his mind, Aerith was truly the most important person here; the most genuine, the most real.

So he just stood back and smiled, as he watched her speak excitedly about how to best "really see another person" and "small acts of kindness", whatever beautiful thing she was saying, as Rinoa hung around her shoulders, punctuating Aerith's peace with explosive commentary about winning some battle by mere conversation.

Zack didn't know how long he watched them, watched her, simply sipping his drink. But it was Squall who nudged him, quietly pointing to the entrance with his chin.

Broken from his warm, fuzzy revelry, Zack followed his gaze to see none-other than Shinra and his guards enter the hall with a flourish.

"Is Vincent here?" Tifa asked, seeing the same.

Squall counted, then recounted, "I only count four. No Vincent."

"Maybe he finally asked Lucretia out." Zack smiled, providing an explanation for something that strangely tugged at him, "Good for him, whatever it is. He doesn't need to work on a night like this."

Just as Zack turned back to continue his admiring, he vaguely heard the Lord Protector proclaim it time for the Princess' song. As everyone turned to face forward, Aerith finally caught sight of him and she smiled; a smile just for him. And he loved it.

She was having a good time, even up here, among all the muckety-mucks—he sighed and tipped his glass to her: well done, Aerith.

At that moment, a single violin began the tune. Zack couldn't see who playing—but he was pretty sure they were somehow playing a prelude to "Happy Birthday" and, even more surprising, it was glorious—even to a tone-deaf guy like him. It was soft enough to communicate that it was only preparatory, but strong enough to ring out through the hall. Energized enough for a party, but with just a hint of…soulful beauty?

Zack shook his head. Soulful beauty? When had he become a poet? These were things that Squall was supposed to notice and say in a solemn and distant voice that would make Rinoa swoon.

As the music peaked, the crowd caught, and the song began—which Zack, despite his notably poor singing voice, joined in with full-throat:

"Happy birthday to you; Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday, dear Kairi, happy birthday to you!"

And the crowd clapped, and Zack clapped, and everyone cheered and shifted, leaving him to find himself standing somewhat apart from the others as the several cakes throughout the room began to be cut.

As Zack turned to find Aerith and gather her for cake, he found himself, instead, faced with Ven, dressed to the nines in his admittedly weird monk clothes.

"Hey Ven, you're looking awfully…monastic tonight?" Zack smiled with the ribbing.

"And you, too!" Ven replied, "Militaristic, I mean. Sloppy-militaristic."

"Gotta live a little, amiright?"

"I mean…" Ven eyed him again, Zack proud as he noticed every sub-standard cufflink and loosened fold, "You definitely look 'lived'".

"Perfect!" Zack exclaimed, glad to have his work recognized, "So do you want to share some cake with us, or-?"

"Maybe later," Ven responded, "I actually just needed to ask you about something—"

Zack raised an eyebrow, "What's that?"

"Your apprentice, Cloud—" Ven seemed to pause, almost nervous, "Y'know, what's his story?"

Zack frowned, "What do you mean? He's a good kid who joined the PKF and I was lucky enough to have him assigned to me. Why?"

Ven's eyes flitted away, "No reason. I just…never asked before, I guess. And I thought he looked interesting."

"Interesting, eh?" Zack replied, taking another sip, "You came to find me at a party just to ask about Cloud?"

"I just got a…a weird sense from him, is all." Ven's voice quieted; now clearly looking for a way out of the conversation. Zack, for his part, was just confused—sure, Ven was a forward-kinda guy who might make weird comments like this, but it was almost like he was being…

Eh, no reason to beat around the bush.

"Are you interrogating me right now, Ven?" Zack asked.

"N-no!" Ven responded, "I was just curious." He sighed, "You know, Zack, that our Keyblades let us…feel certain things. And there's something going on inside Cloud."

"What? Like what?"

"I don't…I don't know how to describe it." Ven struggled, "It's…I can tell he's carrying a burden."

Zack nodded, "Well, maybe that's true, but don't you think it's better for the people who know him to help him?" he lowered his voice, "Even I think you're being a little freaky right now, Ven—imagine if he could hear you?"

Ven nodded slowly, his face turning red, "Yeah…yeah, I guess you're right. Sorry, Zack."

Ven began to turn away, but Zack—suddenly remembering Eraqus' rebuff from the other day, reached out and grabbed Ven's arm, "Did your dad put you up to this? To come over and investigate me and mine?"

Ven pulled his arm free, shaking his head, and allowed himself to be swallowed up by the crowd, "I'm sorry, Zack. Just be careful, alright?"

Xehanort stood gathered with his brothers near the foot of the staircases, as present after present was brought to the balcony by the hungry crowd below—like ritual sacrifices presented on an altar. The poor Princess didn't know any better, of course—this was just a party to her, and she was as earnestly grateful for the gifts as he would ever expect a child raised from birth by Ansem the Wise and her sentimental parents to be.

If only they had all had such opportunities.

"I think Professor Hojo is studying you, Xehanort." Ienzo's quiet voice suddenly came over his shoulder.

Looking up, then down, Xehanort found himself staring into the decidedly unpleasant, beady-eyed face of Shinra's top scientist, standing at the bottom of the staircase below. Somehow, even in preparing for a party such as this, the man appeared oily and unshaven—utterly distasteful in every way.

"Did you receive my personal gift, Xehanort?" Hojo asked, eyes turning over the presents as they passed from hand to hand.

"Indeed." Xehanort responded shortly.

"Tell me—what will do you with it, if things go as you hope?" Hojo further questioned, forcing Xehanort to glance briefly over his shoulder to see if their conversation had caught any unwanted attention. Did this fool think they were having a private conversation? Here?

Of course such a weaselly man would think the world revolved around him. Xehanort had no intention, nor need, of indulging him.

"Are you enjoying the party, Professor Hojo?" he asked, feigning as polite a smile as he, foremost apprentice of the Lord Protector, needed when addressing a top official of Shinra Corp.

Hojo frowned, though in a way that seemed mixed with a sort of sickening smile of condescension. Xehanort hated it.

But it worked, and Hojo turned away. His gaze locked onto some party across the room, homing in with that same selfish sense of unaware obsession with which he had just approached him.

"Indeed…and ever only more so as the evening wears on."

Xehanort watched him mingle into the crowd, rightly repelling those he walked thoughtlessly too close to. Soon enough, he was swallowed up and Xehanort was left watching the swirling mass beneath him: too superficial, too false, too wasteful—something in him was revolted. He turned quickly away, wiping at his brow, before nearly bumping into Braig as he stumbled down the staircase, waving his drink and crying aloud:

"Let's party, y'all!"