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Chapter XIV: Thus Fall the Stars
But the line dividing good and evil
cuts through the heart of every human being.
And who is willing to destroy
a piece
of
their
own
heart…?
~Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
Why could the world not hold itself together until they finished their work?
This was Xehanort's question, as he sat alone in the Bastion's Grand Library. The Plaza Attack, as it was already being called, had so far resulted in eighty-four confirmed deaths and another one-hundred and twenty-two wounded. Those were the latest numbers, a few hours old—and yet, even as the clock chimed out a midnight that was near a half-day since the first explosion rocked the Garden's foundations, recovery efforts were still underway and the count was still in flux.
All his brothers were elsewhere; each one taken up with their various duties. The PKF was on high-alert. The Lord Protector was in meeting after meeting with his senior officials, always flanked by his apprentices. Xehanort had determined himself needless in these meetings and excused himself to sit here, alone in the Library, absently leaning on a hand and looking out one of the great windows that gave view to the Garden's smoky night air—pondering again and again that question:
Why? Why must the world fall so quickly?
They could not keep up.
Xehanort felt as though he were one of the old postmen, racing his horse across the wide plains, carrying a letter that would stay the execution of a condemned man—knowing that every moment, he was falling ever behind the irretrievable advance of time.
How could he possibly make it? How could he find the answers and change the world before the world destroyed itself? Today's events were the noose draped around the collective neck of the Garden—and, therefore, the world. Soon, unless he acted, the floor would drop out and the whole creation would jerk about in an excruciating and futile demise.
There was simply no time to waste.
His eyes flitted to the bookcase, tucked back behind the others, with that specific combination of texts that would lead him back to the basement; to hope. The hope that Ansem insisted on tossing away. The hope of the world. His hope.
The end of sleepless nights, feverish visions, and crushing unknown anxieties, all hounding him as he wandered through the dark.
With a deep breath and practiced compartmentalization, Xehanort took stock of the other events of the day. Vincent Valentine was still missing, though Dilan would soon find the thieves—those who stole from the very future!—and another decision would have to be made. Such an intractable problem, spread among so very many stubborn, troublesome people. An irregular solution must be reached there; one that would not leave suspicious trails for Aeleus to follow.
Yes, indeed, it seemed to Xehanort that Braig's special method had worked for the last time that day. Hojo's lost scientist had passed, though Braig had drawn too much attention in the work.
But fate had handed them a hidden boon in the midst of tragedy, by the demise of Eraqus. His children would be left sufficiently in shock and confusion—giving he and the others enough time to decide how best to deal with them. Some sleight of hand; some change of attention. Perhaps Shinra could take the fall for all of it. It required more thought.
But in the face of such tragedy, Xehanort could only return again to that oppressive hopelessness and desperate longing. All the answers, for him and the world, were tied up inside him, and yet here stood Ansem, sabotaging his world and his son, over some antiquated code of thoughtless and baseless self-stupefaction!
That was another reason he had separated himself—he could no longer tolerate to be in the presence of Ansem's unbearably self-righteous insipidity. All this death, death upon death, and all for what? Nothing at all. Ansem had the true answer right in his reach, in Xehanort, and dismissed it.
In some way, though he wept for the tragedy, Ansem was truly to blame for his short-sighted stupidity.
Xehanort tried slowing himself, as he realized his breathing had become erratic and his fists clenched. But his blood only pumped harder and his emotions rose—but were they really doing any better than Ansem?
All their work, all their sacrifices, all that they were willing to give up—their resources, their positions, their beliefs, everything; just for that small sliver of hope they trusted to the experiments. And yet, they have returned so little and nothing that would have stopped the Plaza Attack. Was no sacrifice enough? Was fate taunting them? Was he a cursed man?
Rising, Xehanort marched across the hall and ripped out the necessary books. Stepping into the gravira elevator, as the hidden door shut behind him, he frowned, noticing again the clenching and unclenching of his fists.
He sighed. They couldn't keep this secret forever.
Unless something broke, unless some advancement occurred, it would all end eventually. Vincent or Hojo or Shinra would reveal it; Aeleus or Ansem would catch on; the damned world would collapse into chaos first—or he himself would simply, and finally, lose his mind to derangement.
For Xehanort, after this terrible day, one of the latter two seemed most likely—and he wasn't convinced he knew which was worse.
The elevator slid slowly open, and Xehanort stepped out into their sterile, white lab. He had to distract himself with something. He had to adjust something, read something, study something. Something had to be accomplished now. He had to just—
Freezing, Xehanort's eyes widened to see one of the creatures, short and hunched, oozing darkness and jerking along with those ever-twitching antennae, standing still in the center of the main hall.
Free.
But it didn't move to attack him. It didn't fade into its two-dimensional shadow form. Its beady yellow eyes, almost-gold, stared emptily past (through? into?) Xehanort—and Xehanort only stared back, the quiet of the laboratory ominous—or, perhaps, pregnant with breakthrough.
With that imperceptible slide of their twisted, clawed feet, the creature turned away from Xehanort and shuffled toward the entrance of their cage. There it stood, shifting back and forth in front of it, all twitches and spasms.
Moving forward cautiously, though admittedly somewhat entranced, Xehanort—before he even fully considered what he was doing—entered the proper code into the desk computer beside the door. With a whoosh, it slid open and the creature shuffled inside to join its fellows.
Xehanort, breathless, slowly walked up after it.
Normally, their prison was, as it ever was, a tumult of shadows, shifting and shambling over each other; each following their antennae and eyes after some unknown and distant hunger.
But now, there was no movement; no confusion. Each of the dozen or so creatures stood quite still, apart from their slight vacillations; each with their blank, golden eyes trained on Xehanort. In between them, a path had opened, leading to the opposite wall: no longer the lab's white metal, but now a dark oaken door with a golden knob.
In any other circumstance, Xehanort would have immediately presumed he was hallucinating; that some of Braig and Even's stash had found its way into his tea. But today was not a normal day, and these were not ordinary circumstances.
Xehanort was captured—his most intense of dreams now stood before him, clothed in reality. The Heartless watched him. Things were different. This…this was a breakthrough. Something had changed. Something would change.
Stepping forward, Xehanort moved between the parted sea of yellow eyes, following him as his arm reached out for the knob. It was warm to the touch.
Without hesitancy and without second thought; with the weight of a lifetime of questions and hunger behind him, there was an echoing click as Xehanort turned the knob,
opened the door,
and changed the world.
Zack muffled a groan as he lifted another large chunk of rock and tossed it on the ever-growing pile. Hours and hours—they were working by Fira light now—and they still had not excavated all of the damage.
He had gone through all the cycles, a dozen times over. Exhaustion faded from shock, which turned to anger, which gave way to grief and sorrow, which cemented into dedication, which, given enough time moving rocks and silencing his fellow workers who grumbled and cursed Wutai, fell back again to exhaustion.
And Zack had learned enough from Aerith to know that he hadn't even begun to process all the horror of the last twelve hours. The horror of mangled bodies and burnt-out homes; the terror of mothers begging for their children, husbands looking for their wives, and children staring into the empty air with blank eyes.
No. No one had even begun to deal with this.
Just about when the fellow next to him, tossing aside some kind of crossbeam, decided to pipe up again, with some variation of "Look, all I'm saying is that the Wutain's enjoy this kinda stuff—", the exhaustion didn't cycle to anger, and Zack simply dropped his rock.
"Just shut the f*ck up."
And he turned, walking back from the edge of the plaza to the large tent that had been set up in the center to serve as a temporary medical shelter for those who couldn't yet be taken to any of the overwhelmed infirmaries. The moon was half-full above, and the sky full of stars—it had to be, Zack guessed, 11 or 12 by now, but he had lost track of time back when it was still light.
As he approached, Zack had to pass through them—the field of wrapped bodies that were still waiting to be identified. He finally had to close his eyes, unable to tear himself away from them. Still, though, the air smelt of burnt everything and the terrible moans of those inside filled his ears, rising above even the sound of their excavations.
Outside of the tent, several stations were set up, with chairs and tables for those resting. At this hour, however, only one chair was currently occupied: Aerith sat, eyes closed and head tilted back, in a seat that looked out over the gruesome field.
Coming close, Zack just stood and looked at her. Her hair was tied up sloppily in a bun, every straying tuft evidence of another attempt to hastily retie it. Her small face was dirtied and smudged from repeated smearing. She wore a white coat over her dress, but both were covered in blood and grime and other things Zack didn't guess at. Even her dark brown boots, always looking so funny on her tiny legs, were splashed with blood and slightly burnt.
His heart broke for her! hHw exhausted she had to be from the Cure magic, which—as practitioners slowly became helpless in their magicked mental exhaustion—tended to give way to the art of traditional medicine, which Aerith, unfortunately for her, also excelled at. She looked…she was just so…emptied.
Not like Zack looked or felt any better himself, he knew, but Aerith…Aerith wasn't supposed to suffer this way. To feel this. She was an angel who should fly free—but over the last two days, had been laid low to the earth by the burdens hefted upon her.
"Do you really think I can sleep at a time like this?" she suddenly said, a gentle rebuke in her voice.
Zack snorted and came to crouch beside her, "I had kinda hoped you could."
"I wish we all could." Aerith said, one eye looking out over the field of bodies.
"How are you holding up?" Zack asked, moving his arms to massage her shoulders. It was good to use them for something else other than moving rocks.
"As good as I look, I imagine." Aerith replied, sighing slightly from his work, "and you?"
"The same." Zack responded shortly. Words didn't need to be spoken. Experience said most everything.
But, of course, Zack always had to say something.
"I can't help but wonder, y'know…" he said quietly, as Aerith rubbed the back of his hands, "if this…had anything to do with my investigation…"
Aerith turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, eyes showing that mix of pity, love and admonition that only Aerith could accomplish, "Oh Zack…you aren't always the center."
"Yeah, I guess…" Zack shook his head, "—maybe."
The ghost of a smirk danced on Aerith's lips and she looked about to respond, before her eyes caught something above, far up and beyond him.
"Is…is that what I think it is?"
Zack, frowning, turned to look over his shoulder. High above the Garden, streaks of brilliant white had begun to light across the sky.
The smoke from the fire blew with the wind and into Aqua's face, forcing the tears that had been threatening all evening to finally escape down her cheeks. Little sparks of light lit off from the pyre and disappeared into the night air like miniature, quiet fireworks—the final celebration of the life of her Father, who now burned in the traditional way atop a pile of wood and brush.
"So you're Master now." Ven whispered beside her, his own face streaked with tears.
Aqua's eyes remained glued to the burning pyre, bright against the night sky. There was not a second of this she would forget.
"No. Just Aqua."
Quiet fell again, except for the crackling hunger of the fire in which their Father burned, as the three stood lonely and watched; one final respect for their teacher, guardian, and parent.
"Maybe…maybe if I had been there—If I—" Terra suddenly spoke, a low murmur that, had it been any louder, clearly would've broken. Aqua hushed him by reaching out and taking his hand, which was stiff against his side.
Though his stony-face wouldn't have betrayed it, Aqua could tell he winced by the twitch of his eye, as his shoulder moved to accommodate. Lucretia's body was still inside, surrounded by ice magic until they decided what to do. Without Father, every decision now felt like tottering over an abyss.
Each one blamed themselves, she knew—Terra for not being there and for Lucretia's loss, Ven for being the cause of Father's distraction from Weiss (may that one be cursed), and Aqua, last of all, for not being enough—and each one knew the other blamed themselves.
In this, they all stood in silent, yet knowing, solidarity. Each one feeling the condemnation of the flames that consumed the man who had brought them all together.
With such attention, none noticed until Eraqus was but ash and coals that the very sky had begun weeping for their father.
Everything hurt and everything was wrong. Vincent tried to open his eyes, but couldn't seem to get them to respond. His limbs wouldn't move without an exquisite pain that burned from within, and something…something was wrong inside him. They had…done something to him. Added something to him. They had put something inside him. This…this wasn't right. Nothing was right.
"Lu…Lucretia…" he whispered, more breath than voice, through chapped lips.
"Oh my, you're awake!" a warm, whisker-y voice answered, coming closer, "Is there anything I can get you?"
"Lucret…tia…" Vincent murmured again, "Where is…Lucretia…"
"I'm sorry, young man, but I don't know anything about a Lucretia," he coughed, "I, I should say, I'm Merlin. You are in my house. I've been watching you since Tifa brought you here."
Vincent fell silent—that was right. In the midst of his delusions and nightmares, within that blend of reality and hallucination; in that endless in-between state, he remembered being carried, moved—then explosions and more moving—but then the gentle hand, a healing touch; Lucretia?
"Aerith did everything she could for you on such short notice—I must say, it's quite miraculous that you are still with us." Merlin said, as Vincent heard a pipe lit up, "My healing magics are not quite as perfected as hers, but I assure you, I am giving them all my old and exhausted body has left after a day such as the horror behind us."
Vincent didn't respond. He lived in a world all his own now. No sight, no smell, barely able to touch or hear—it was just he, himself, and whatever this…other that was inside him. Something moved through him, coursing and twisting. Something unnatural. Something that made him feel deeply wrong, at odds, with himself. Something that made the isolated dark of his inner experience only more deep and lonely. They…those…they had made him a monster, monstrous even to himself. Something was so very wrong…
Beyond the wizard, Vincent's dark and unfocused vision caught streaks of light passing by in the distance, through the window; a collapse mirroring his own soul.
"Where is Xehanort? He can't just vanish at a time like this!" Even whispered ferociously, hunched over with Braig, as Aeleus remained speaking with a few officials.
Ienzo leaned back against the wall across from them, looking out through the window with characteristic disinterest.
"Dude's gone and lost it." Braig shook his head solemnly, "He's all loopy—just takes one bad day, y'know—and today was a damn-f*cking-doozy."
"We need to plan. You may have taken care of one problem, but there's still one roaming free," Even nearly growled, "And after today, everything will be—"
"A meteor shower." Ienzo murmured, suddenly; a pique of curiosity evident.
"What?! Preposterous!" Even cried, "The Draconids aren't for another month, at least!"
Rinoa marched with dedicated fervor through the disturbingly quiet, shut-up streets, "Do you think it's suspicious that none of our quintillion meetings have been with the Commanders?"
"A bit." Squall replied, his eyes examining every shadow.
"And how about the fact that, of all the Colonels, only Trepe went to every meeting—" she began outpace Squall, who allowed it—easier to keep an eye on any possible threats that way, "—and not a single Lieutenant or Major from the sixth—"
"Deling was there." Squall interrupted absently.
Rinoa just gave him a look, "Alright, fine—still suspicious if you ask me."
"You're one to talk." Squall said; the momentary escape of an uncontrolled emotion.
Rinoa slowed down, "Excuse me?"
"Earlier. That was too close. Again." Squall spoke slowly, but deliberately. How could he make her understand? "You weren't holding back."
"You're hard one to satisfy, Mr. Leonhart." Rinoa said firmly, her face steely, "What do you want me to do? Whether I hold back or help, neither seems to placate you."
Squall had no counterargument to that, so he only frowned. It was a rock and hard place. He'd die before risking any of his friend's lives—but he'd also die before risking any of Rinoa.
And her stubborn insistence to not kill was quickly reaching a head. Once he thought it only foolish, but it was quickly becoming dangerous…to her and everyone else.
He needed her more balanced—but she always went too far: either nearly revealing what should be kept secret, or holding back too much, and avoid hurting even those who deserved it.
"Look, I know." She sighed, her face softening, "We—I—have to be careful. I'm the one making this choice. But we can't—I refuse to just, to—to—" she paused, "What's even the goal here, Squall?"
"Protecting you." He replied, matter-of-factly. Why did he have to remind her so often!
Rinoa shook her head, "Oh, Squall—I'm just one person. No more and no less than anyone else."
"Not to me."
They had stopped walking by now, and Rinoa had reached up to cup his face. The whole boulevard was hauntingly empty, except for them, all illuminated by the flicker of Fira lanterns.
Her eyes were warm, even under a furrowed brow, and her smile bittersweet, "I know."
She stepped back and lifted her arms to the sky, her blue coat draping around her like a rippling wave, "But the world is so much bigger, Squall."
Following her arms up, Squall was almost impressed to see the opening salvos of a meteor shower cross the sky, as if Rinoa had summoned it to punctuate her point. He shook his head, the most mirth he could've managed in this whole, awful, terrible day: this girl.
Cid murmured to himself as he wandered about outside the gates of the city. It was all too damn claustrophobic in their today. Everyone closed up and wrapped up together; all hiding and fear and bent inward. Not that he could blame anyone—it was a damn f*cking awful day and everyone had earned the right to do whatever they damn well pleased.
And he pleased to just get out, under the open sky, away from all the traps. He needed to breathe again.
'course, the gates had been locked up tight almost immediately after them asshole terrorists decided to f*ck everyone. Luckily, he knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy. An old military favor there, trading a bottle of some good vintage here, and bada-f*cking-boom, he was wandering the grassy plateaus that stretched out for miles around, until dropping off into the canyons to the West.
Lighting another cigarette, Cid hiked up his pants and decided he had come far enough away from the city. He'd get a good view here. Taking a deep, preparatory breath, Cid closed his eyes and raised his head and, puffing out his smoke slowly, opened his eyes—
And there she was: true beauty. Not some fake-ass sexy floozy, but real, knock-your-socks-off-stun-you-stupid profound-ass f*cking beauty.
Away from the light and the din, away from the confusion and noise, away from the destruction and loss—there were the stars, steady as always, glowing in their perfect, inviting, haunting constancy. Nothing but stars filled his whole vision—and that was just the way he liked it.
In that moment, the damned ghosts of Shinra vanished; the new haunts of f*cking crazy terrorists were put on pause—it was just him and the endless dark up there, filled with those speckling lights and—oh, sh*t! If he wasn't the luckiest mother*cker alive: a meteor shower!
Flaming, brilliant lights scattered across the air, like tumbling dice tossed from a cup, leaving sparkling, fading trails in their wakes. They fell even lower than usual, it seemed, each one—rather than burning up—vanishing out of his vision on all sides. It was like a f*cking dance, and those stars were inviting him up to join them.
Cid took another long draught, a smile broad across his face that he wouldn't be caught dead with elsewhere. Now the stars were just a'spoiling him! He came out here—when there certainly ain't supposed to be no meteor showers—and they decided to give him one anyway. Goddamn. On today of all days.
Luckiest. Motherf*cker. Alive.
Cid watched, quite content—mesmerized, even—as he drank in the healing sight. One, in particular, caught his eye—especially bright, probably closer, with an unique red-tinge to it. Was probably burning hot on entry.
That made it all the more beautiful—sure, it'd burn up sooner; it'd get all eaten up by the asshole pressures around it—but for those few moments, god, for those few moments it shone. He felt this one.
But then, it didn't burn up.
It just kept falling—and falling closer and closer. He could now almost see it, with his bare-ass eyes: the glowing heat that surrounded the rock itself. How the f*ck could it get so close?
An ounce of fear shocked itself through Cid's deadened nerves and he finally tore his gaze from above to follow this bizarre outlier—closer, closer, closer and then—
A small explosion nearly tripped Cid's PTSD as the meteor hit earth no more than two kilometers away.
Two. F*cking. Kilometers.
Goddamn, Cid marveled, lighting another cigarette and breaking off at a run he knew he'd come to regret later. Damn body wasn't getting younger.
Still, though,
Luckiest. Motherf*cker. Alive.
Genesis stretched his wing, feeling it again and again as he watched Rosso approach Nero for the third time since they had lit upon this tiny cavern to rest.
"He's gone, Nero." Rosso said sternly, standing over the darkened man who lay clutching the limp body of his brother; who had passed even before they escaped the Garden.
"Hush, Weiss, hush…they don't…they don't understand. But I-I…I do-I hear you…"
"Pathetic." Rosso murmured, turning back to the rest of them, hunched around the small fire they had lit to keep the chill away. Azul laughed, for some reason—finding Rosso's heartless condescension amusing, apparently. Or perhaps he had simply recalled their success and found some perverse mirth. Genesis did not pretend to understand it.
They did not share this mission because of likeness in person, after all, but likeness in purpose. Likeness in history. Likeness in suffering.
But didn't that mean, perhaps, that there was, indeed, a likeness in person? What else was life than these?
"Weiss will not have died in vain," Genesis decided to speak, "We shall complete the mission."
"Do you lead now, Rhapsodos?" Azul murmured, his glowing eyes turning to him.
"Perhaps." Genesis replied, eyes trained forward, "I offer thee this silent sacrifice."
"Weiss! Weiss!" Nero suddenly cried, "You send us a sign!"
Altogether, the three looked up to follow Nero's cries—outside the cave, a meteor shower had begun, leaving fading trails of light to rip across the oppressive night sky.
"The goddess descends from the sky…" Genesis said thoughtfully, as Nero looked at him with surety that proved he believed Weiss had personally appointed Genesis to complete their mission.
And that burden, Genesis accepted with grace. Though the 'morrow be barren of promises, though perhaps they should all become silent sacrifices to the cause, there would yet still be redemption.
As the midnight hour was pushed, and the final meetings were closed and Aeleus and the others were left to wrap up relevant final concerns, Ansem finally allowed himself to be excused to his personal study.
Not to rest—no, there would be no rest tonight. How could any leader rest after such a day of loss? The next few hours at least would be filled with writing the speech with which he would inform and encourage the people in the morning.
Bidding his sons good night and urging them to rest themselves, Ansem couldn't help but note Xehanort's absence—in fact, Xehanort had been absent most of the evening. Such was so unlike him.
Ah well, allow the young man to process in whatever way he saw fit—at least, for today.
Ansem sighed as he climbed up the long halls of the Bastion—the poor boy; to be burdened by all this when his own weight was already so great. But he would have to learn to bear it, just as Ansem himself had. He would have to learn to put his own concerns aside for the good of the whole. He would lead the Bastion, and the Bastion led the Garden, and the Garden led the whole world toward a future of civilization and glory and peace.
Oh, but these were difficult lessons! Xehanort's questioning at the party proved as much. But he would learn to survive. He would come to cope. After a day of suffering like this, surely, he would see the way to putting aside his own needs. They were necessary lessons—and ones he must learn if he was to lead these people.
Oh, and these people! They would want someone to blame—he had heard as much from multiple officials, already. The people's anger and fear would be manipulated. Ansem knew he needed to quell those instincts—nothing good could come of them. As he had told the boys uncountable times: they needed to remove themselves from those emotional temptations. The Garden must set the shining example for the world, even under immense pressure: its last, best hope—as ever it had always been.
Testing lines in his head, Ansem pulled open the door to his office. Inside, among his books and writings, one of the nursemaids lay stretched out on a couch, her face still stained and streaked by tears (there had been many in that Castle that day). But if she were here, then that would mean—
Reaching his main desk, Ansem turned his great red chair gently about to see little Kairi curled up on its seat, like a cat in its bed.
Sighing at this one spark of light at the end of a dark day, Ansem gently lifted her fragile form, laying her against his chest as he sat. She shifted slightly and, half-awake, mumbled what little she had overhead that day,
"Poppy Ansem…are the…are the bad guys gone?"
Ansem batter her back, a tear escaping his eye. What a world to pass on to one such as this.
"There is nothing you need fear, my child."
Kairi seemed to accept this and shifted to face away from the light of the small candle Ansem had lit to write by. Taking up his quill, Ansem had poised himself to write that all-important first-line, when Kairi shifted again and murmured,
"Poppy the…the stars are falling…"
And as Ansem turned to glance out the far window, sure enough, they certainly were.
Dilan gruffly received the stack of reports from the saluting aide, who exited without a word.
With a great sigh, he lit another candle, and began to flip through these newest returns; a growl passing his lips every time "wounded" became "dead." This travesty against the Garden could not go unanswered. Wutai had gone too far, this time—at best, they were guilty of negligence, which had now become criminal with such mass slaughter.
At worst, these disgusting terrorists were Wutain themselves. Either way, justice would fall upon them like a hammer.
Reaching the end of the first list, Dilan reached for his inkwell and quill. With careful and practiced precision, he added another name to the end of the fatalities: Lucretia Crescent.
Sighing, he placed the paper down to dry. It was for the best; a single sacrifice for the whole. The lesser for the greater. The work must continue and those who discover it without perceiving its value were those who sided with the terrorists.
Speaking of which—Dilan reached for the next stack of papers, the top of which bore the report he had requested regarding their wayward soldier who had lost his way in the Castle and taken their precious handiwork.
Flipping open the file, Dilan met a serious and solemn face, surprisingly young with startlingly bright eyes and blonde spikes of hair, the chaos of which profoundly bothered Dilan. A private—Cloud Strife.
"Couldn't stay there anymore?" Tifa asked, contenting herself, after all this, with the slight surprise she caused him.
Cloud looked over his shoulder as Tifa pulled herself up and over the lip of the wall, to come and sit on the opposite side with him, both propped up on their hands.
Soon after arriving in the Garden, when they were still living on the streets, before Aerith and everyone had found them, they had found this section of the wall—an old, cordoned-off guard tower that took only a little push and creativity to climb.
With that little investment, they got a fantastic view as they let their legs dangle over the outer edge of the wall, with all the light of the city and Bastion behind them and all the open fields and canyons stretching out before them—and beyond that, the hills and mountains of the outer provinces.
"Yeah." Cloud responded, turning back to look out as Tifa came to sit beside him, "Too dark."
"Yeah." Tifa affirmed. They didn't really have words to capture what had gone on the last two days. She'd cried out her last tears hours ago. She was nowhere near being able to sleep.
Horror upon terror—and, now that Vincent was safely with everyone else, Tifa could only fear that this was only the beginning.
Cloud's eyes flittered back and forth across the landscape, occasionally turning to check up and down the wall.
"Do you see something?"
"No." Cloud answered, "But it was there earlier. Watching everything. That's how I knew."
"Knew what?" Tifa asked, a chill rushing down her spine. Her instincts suddenly urged her to pull her feet out of the shadows over the wall.
"I saw it. In broad daylight." Cloud spoke with an icy monotone, his eyes now riveted out over the landscape. "It was looking at me. And it smiled."
"So you grabbed Vincent and then—" Tifa began, unable to finish. Cloud only nodded, and silence descended on them again.
Suddenly, lights began to dot the distant midnight darkness. Long trails of brilliant meteors fell through the air, the reverse of Merlin's magical work at the party. So bright were they, that Tifa could see Cloud's face lit up in their passing; filling the sky with their entrancing majesty.
"Tifa…I'm sorry you never saw the end of the fireworks."
"It's alright—just…just promise me I'll get a dance sometime."
"…I promise."
Tifa, with as much broken boldness as she could muster, reached over a few inches to place her hand over his.
And he didn't retreat—so together, they watched the sky fall.
Terminus: Part I of III
As we wrap of this first part and enter a brief break, I thought I'd share some thoughts on KH3. I'd love to hear your thoughts—both about the chapter and the game!
~Mars
KH3 SPOILERS
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To Improve KH3 (while letting Nomura keep his story and FFvXIII/TWEWY/Ux-intentions)
-Keep Gameplay as is—very nice. Very satisfying. Keep nice world set-up and secrets. Maybe ratchet up difficulty. Make a Coliseum in Zeus' court to round off the whole thing as a triad. Have Yoko Shimomura write the soundtrack for real life, plz. Keep the lovely humor. Keep Sora's excellent arc. Keep most worlds as-is. Cut back on the ridiculous amount of minigames that like 5% of people will be invested in and use those resources to make other improvements (like these?).
-Rewrite Arendelle and Corona to be unique stories-or, at least, only loosely based on the movies, while actually including important plot points. Have Pixar do it, because they kicked butt with their worlds. Include more Disney-bosses and either get rid of 100-Hundred Acre Wood, or do something with it (insert into the mid-climax suggested below, perhaps?).
-Don't give Larxene and Marluxia magic cutscene powers like sleep and time-stopping they won't use elsewhere. Don't let the others, like Ansem SoD in TT or Luxord in Caribbean, became decayed and cheesy versions of their prior threat. Get rid of, or explain WAY better, why there are six new Princesses+Kairi. Explain "the Power of Waking" just a bit better.
-Give us scenes between every world with more meaningful stuff re:Kairi and Riku. We haven't really seen them in awhile, so we need to be reacquainted. Have Riku actually do stuff—rather than constantly fail until Sora literally falls from the sky. Expand on Repliku return? Or a Maleficent angle? Have Kairi do more stuff, with more scenes expanding on her (like that lovely scene where she talks about Namine!), rather than just how Axel sees her as Xion. Have character and a sense of gravity behind Riku's blade being broken. Play up the themes of agency and personhood on Sora's side, so as to better foil the themes of possession and control on Xehanort's.
-Insert a mid-climax between Corona and Monstropolis, with a return to Radiant Garden. Seriously needed to unbloat the climax and evenly distribute the story. Include:
1. Meeting the FF peeps and concluding their plot with RG's redemption (Leon: "you can call me Squall"). Give. Us. Sephiroth version 3.0. and resolution to that thread.
2. Seeing Ienzo and setting up the replica/sea-salt trio better (Roxas' body/who & how Xion/further Axel redemption), even though it's probably the best thread currently, behind SDG.
3. Having some seriously needed interaction with the Destiny Trio—(A) as individuals (sorely needed for Riku and Kairi-have her interact with her forgotten home!), (B) as a united friendship (Kairi/Riku, plz!) and (C) to set up the SoKai stuff better. Like, for real, we need to be able to take selfies with them—seriously, how could we have the phone and NEVER have a chance to selfie with our OG friends?!)
4. Have Riku save Aqua here—not Sora. It advances his character arc better, as he turns with his Mastery to save other people from darkness (and then don't make Aqua passively suck suddenly with OOC decisions). Then save Ven with Sora and cement their return and relationships to everyone else (so as to stop rushing the finale and let their moment have its own power—just say they need to "rest" till the climax). Let us see real, personal effects of being trapped in RoD and asleep for almost ten years.
5. Tell us wtf is happening with Demyx. Set up Vexen/Ansem stuff better. Nomura, you could even tease Subject X girl more. C'mon. Have a tease-fight with the Org, rather than saving it all for the end.
6. Probably too much to ask to have Kairi and/or Riku accompany Sora the rest of the way through the game, though it would be dearly needed. So have them do something interesting and important with their time post-mid-climax. Make RG/HB a hub world, returning to it for various stuff. Play up Repliku, Namine, and Roxas/Xion in their hearts so we feel more invested in their persons and, thus, more catharsis when they are retrieved. Have Kairi looking for a way to save Namine. Maybe her and Riku ae traveling together?
-Expand on the lovely "calm before the storm" moments for our heroes—especially the Destiny Trio. Have the paopu moment, but don't rush it so much. Have Riku, Sora, and Kairi doing something together. Have Axel engaging with someone about Xion/Roxas—along with the good Isa stuff. Show us what Mickey, Donald, and Goofy are doing -together-.
-At Keyblade Graveyard opening, don't make everyone suddenly suck. Why is Aqua not reacting -at all- to Terranort killing Ven? What was the point of Kairi's "infinite time training" if she just stands there so Sora can, also, not draw his Keyblade? Why are Riku and Mickey just twiddling their thumbs? Have everyone be badass, but still get beaten—then do all the interesting Final World stuff, with Riku's words encouraging Sora in death while SHOWING Kairi, as a PoH, still in the Realm of Light, somewhere in the tornado, ACTIVELY WORKING to keep Sora's hanging on in the FW, rather than including her passively after. Maybe…playable?! Just show some damn agency and the profound bonds of the Destiny Trio. Make the Namine scene here mandatory—I can't fathom why they'd let that crucial plot point pass as optional.
-Keep sick final-boss rush, but don't make everyone take a heel-turn redemption (and give us some team-up limits with everyone! Riku/Sora limit! Sora/Kairi limit! Sora/Roxas limit! SoRiKai Limit!). Marluxia and Xemnas needed to be more ambiguous in death. Luxord, Larxene, Xion, Vanitas, YX, Terranort, Xigbar, and Repliku were all great—even perfect. Saix needed to prove himself more, and there's NO WAY Ansem SoD can suddenly be sympathetic like that. Slow it down—and give us some thematic build-up through the rush. Make it feel like a real, empowering, meaningful victory because of character growth (or the opposite: make it feel like one, drawn-out, hopeless loss to underscore how Xehanort is winning).
-Give the Xion-return moment to Kairi—not Sora. It's perfect for her and her connections to Xion nad gives Kairi agency. Keep giving other characters agency in these moments other than Sora—let Aqua and Ven play centerstage in returning Terra, rather than Sora's magic (and get the Lingering Will resolved into that—da f did he go?). Don't make Sora the savior of every story—it feels cheap and demeans the character journeys we've been invested in for so long when they don't play an active and significant role in their resolution. The whole foil of Sora's side is that he respects, loves, and nurtures the agency of everyone else—contradicting Xehanort's possessive control of all his members. Taking agency away from characters to give it all to Sora not only undermines the characters, including Sora, it undermines the very THEMATIC HEART of Kingdom Hearts itself. Have Sora's agency be to make OTHER people agents of their redemption.
-Don't let Kairi just be kidnapped again after 30-seconds of scripted fighting, after promising to -finally- invest in her immensely untapped potential. Have Saix (+Xemnas?) versus Sora, Xion, Roxas, Kairi, and Axel (also, explain how Axel got his keyblade -back-). Lea, even though he couldn't face Xemnas, still has -powerful- character moments—at least give Kairi the same respect. Make that the last scripted battle, so that Kairi accompanies Sora to meet Mickey and Riku.
-Either have Kairi use her infinite-training to join the fight with Xemnas, Ansem, and YX (to resonate that the whole Destiny Trio is together at the end, evolved, but together) or have her doing something else important (maybe with, I dunno, PoH POWERS?!). Have her ACTIVELY sacrifice herself for Sora, mirroring what he did for her in KH1, rather than MX passively killing her for no good goddamn reason while snarking at the camera that Kairi exists literally only for Sora's motivation—even though Sora was already charging MX. Also show Riku have some damn emotion about his other best-friend being killed. Sorry, I'm reaallly salty about this. It's total BS.
-Don't have MX give up so easily, and get his motivation to jive better with what came before in all these years. Don't swap it out to something else in literally the last 30 minutes of the game. Don't let the story treat his causing all this pain and suffering so flippantly, as he is given a divine "thumbs-up" by turning into a kid with his best bud, giggling, and floating away into the light of Kingdom Hearts. What was that? Xehanort deserves better than that. Have him struggle to the end, and have our heroes really counter him—thematically, emotionally, and physically. Have Eraqus usher him away—stubborn to the end. If you want to redeem him, Nomura, you gotta be setting that stuff up WAAAAAY earlier.
-Have anyone, anyone, other than Sora also care that Kairi is now missing. Have Riku and Sora go together to find her—because, you know, they're BFFs and have the power to. Preferably explain and make it playable how they do that. Then have the lovely ending with Namine returning and with everyone together (except redeem Isa better). Keep everyone's great new clothes, and have the whole party on the beach—end happily, with everyone (seemingly) together again in satisfied bliss. Wrap up the saga on a cathartic high note, for goodness' sake. Then, and only then, Nomura gets to keep his ending—but in its proper place, separate in our minds from the ending-ending, in which we can feel full satisfaction for 16 years of investment.
-In the Epilogue, before going to the Foretellers, show Sora, Kairi, and Riku leaving the Island. Riku and Kairi are on ahead, everything seems happy and complete (maybe they're joking about Sora finally getting his mom's dinner, eh?), when suddenly Sora hears the echo of YX telling him that "there's a cost for it all" and that "it's too late for him"—suddenly, Sora fades away. Show Riku/Kairi reactions -together-. Fade his fading into the dust of the Keyblade Graveyard. Do all the Epilogue. Do the Secret Ending. Whatever nonsense Nomura wants—but for us, the audience, all of us, we FINALLY GET SOLID, CATHARTIC CLOSURE FOR EVERYONE IN THIS SAGA AFTER 16 YEARS—WITHOUT IT ALL BEING TEASER BAIT FOR SOME UNION CROSS/TWEWY CROSSOVER COMBINED WITH NOMURA's DISTURBING AND OBSESSIVE BITTERNESS OVER FFv13! Sorry, also salty about that.
-Secret Ending is Riku AND Kairi going together to find Sora in Shibuya. Boom.
-Also, for all our sakes, get rid of the concept of worldlines and minimize the time travel/dreaming stuff here, plz. That's the quickest way to undermine the stakes of your story (and why, for as much work as it took, I don't think the "Sleeping Worlds" theory is accurate. It's tempting to try to make meta-sense out of a disappointing story, but…I just think fans are smarter than Kingdom Hearts is. Nomura's writing is, almost inherently, shoddy, sadly).
Tl;dr: Give us more of the characters and their agency, don't have them act OOC for bad plotting, give us a mid-climax to slow down the rushed 3-hour ending, let us appreciate what's happening with more characterization, explain some things better, don't fridge Kairi (and everyone, really), give us a real, cathartic ending for 16 years of investment—then tease us in the epilogue/secret.
Thoughts? Too much to ask? Too little? I tried only to fix stuff to keep it in line with what it presently is, to some universally shared criticisms among fans. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this and what you liked/didn't like! Drop a review or PM!