I've really tried over the last two months to stay ahead of these chapters, so there won't be a future slowdown—but jeeze, between finishing graduate school and watching/reading through all of Kaguya-sama: Love is War…I just never quite did it. Man, let me just say, something in that series broke me deep inside—my cute and humor circuits were overwhelmed with delight and I just…I fell down a very deep manga hole. Got very distracted by too many wholesome and cute things. Very hard to focus on anything else, though I'm still trying to pull ahead on this. Please think of me, and wish me well.

With that said, let's begin Part II, of which I have six chapters ready to come out bi/tri-weekly, depending on how fast I keep pulling ahead. We'll see.
~Mars

ACT II: IL TRAMONTO

Chapter XV: The Afters
We spake of many a vanished scene,
Of what we once had thought and said,
Of what had been, and might have been,
And who was changed, and who was dead;
And all that fills the hearts of friends,
When first they feel, with secret pain,
Their lives thenceforth have separate ends,
And never can be one again.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Merlin's clock ticked in tandem with the rain upon the roof, as everyone sat in silence. Zack, leaning by the window, watched the thick rivulets run their way down the panes, distorting the gardens and houses outside.

Behind him, the slow puffs from Merlin and his pipe—which Aerith had recently ceased to criticize—were the underlying bass to the rain's treble. Cid lay with legs stretched straight to the floor, on the lounge across from the old wizard, his neck at an angle which Zack thought must be uncomfortable.

Rinoa sat on the hearth, staring deep into the fire, the most peculiar player to the uncharacteristic quiet. Cloud and Tifa sat perfectly equidistant from each other on the final lounge, hands clasped in their laps. Every now and then, Tifa would glance up between Zack, Cloud, and the door.

Aerith was upstairs, tending to Vincent, and pretending that she was unaffected by the news of her mother, diminished as it was in the wake of the attack. She checked on Vincent only every six hours now—otherwise, he still did not speak. In the past week, he had mumbled a few words.

Zack had tried to convince the others, Vincent included, that this all needed to be brought to the Commanders; that they could sort it out. Tifa had revolted immediately to the idea, repeating emphatically that she had found Vincent inside the Bastion.

Zack had argued that there were a lot of people there and equally as many explanations—but when Rinoa, and Squall with her, had sided with Tifa, Zack had known that was the end of it. Even he didn't fully believe what he was arguing—some part of him felt it necessary from allegiance alone. One glare from Vincent's half-swollen eye had been the final nail in the coffin.

Now, all Zack had was to stand around like an unaimed, even unthrown, dart. He had tried to check on Ven—he'd lost his damn father, after all—but no one had answered at the giant monastery door and he'd heard nothing from them.

Aerith, meanwhile, was slow to speak of her mother, expending all her energy on helping recovery efforts instead. Under her ministrations, Vincent had been recovering—but he still was horrifically ragged and scarred.

So what was he supposed to do now? They'd found Vincent beaten half to death in the Castle, for god's sake, Shinra knew something about Aerth's mother, and the whole damn world had just been broken by a few terrorists.

The whole Garden was darkened now—the pain was hardening, it seemed, into some massive longing for vengeance, and an oppressive spirit filled the air, near palpable—it was almost as if the evening's shadows, as they stretched to cover the streets and blanket the town, took on the form of that crushing, frothing, boiling hunger.

And Zack didn't know what to do about it. He felt it, himself, after all.

And so this was all they did. Every day. They would all come back here from work, from recovery, from everything, and sit. And wait.

At least two people remained at the house every day, for Vincent's sake, and they all slept here at night. People didn't go out at night in the Garden anymore; hell, they barely did during the day. They were all exhausted, all scared, all anxious.

Sleep came fitfully on Merlin's floor, for Zack, and he was pretty sure Cloud hadn't really slept at all in days—he sat by the window, all night, eyes as blank saucers. Zack's only comfort came in holding Aerith close and making sure she, at least, could drift peacefully to sleep.

And so they waited, unified in the unknown. The clock chimed out the hour.

With a suddenness that made Tifa jump, and made Cid try to hide that he, too, jumped, Merlin's great oaken door creaked open and the clomp of Squall's boots tracked in from the rain. Pushing back the soaked hair from his eyes, he stoically took in the whole room.

"A new list is out." He said, handing a slightly damp piece of paper to Zack as he walked by to stand by both Rinoa and the fire, "They keep revising it."

Zack nodded, flipping open the multiple pages and scanning the rows of names upon names. He knew the first few sheets by heart by now, which sickened him. Josef Ricard, 24. Leila Scott, 19. Cecil and Rydia Ingus, 26/24. Rosa Palom, 46. Adelbert Steiner, 31. Brina Calca, 77. Leonora Calca, 6.

And on and on it went, scribbled names and ages.

His eyes fell to the dozen or so new lines, just as awful as the scores before them. More bodies finally identified, or news ones succumbed to old injuries. Zack allowed the pain of each, individual and unique, to strike him, to nestle within—ended in dreadful punctuation by one awful, final name:

Lucretia Crescent, 22.

"More?" Aerith spoke, a mix of question and announcement, as she noiselessly emerged from upstairs.

Zack nodded, with a pained frown, as he passed the papers down to Cid, "Yeah. And one of them is Lucretia."

Aerith's eyes widened, as she quickly shut the door behind her, "Not so loud!"

"How can one person take anymore!?" Tifa cried, voice breaking as she fell back.

Zack appreciated her care—Vincent had always been on their outskirts, really only known to Zack, but Tifa had developed an attachment to him over the last week; in fact, everyone had. Zack was glad, at least, to not carry his friend alone.

"Someone important to Vincent?" Rinoa murmured, eyes only briefly leaving the fire to look to Aerith for confirmation, before returning, "Hm, so she happened to be there, too…"

"Goddamn," Cid muttered, as he finished looking over the list and tossed it lightly to Merlin, "This is all so f*cked."

Sighing, Zack ran a hand through his hair, "So what can we do? How can we fix this?"

"The better question is: can we fix this?" Merlin asked over the paper and his wide glasses, with an almost unnoticeable glance at Aerith.

"Constraints:" Squall said, arms crossed, "First, we cannot speak with anyone at the Castle about this. Second, Shinra knows Cloud and Tifa took him. This situation is untenable."

"They'll come looking here, eventually." Rinoa affirmed.

"It's only because of the Attack that it has taken them this long." Squall added.

Zack blew out a breath, "I still don't get what we're saying—who knows what? Who's coming? Are we saying the Commanders took Vincent? The Royal Family? Shinra? Is everyone in on it?"

"We're saying we don't know." Rinoa replied. "Whoever it is—whoever is sick enough to do something like this—is among the elite and connected to Shinra. That's what we know for sure."

"I'd wager that young psychopath Shinra brought poor Vincent with him—" Merlin took another puff of his pipe, "I would be hard-pressed to think any of the Royalty would do such a thing!"

"Possible." Squall replied, "But until we know for sure, we can't take any risks."

Zack rubbed his eyes, "So you're still just saying we can't do anything—so tell me, how're we ever going to get more info if we don't do anything? Knowing means doing—"

"I am going to kill Shinra."

The room immediately silenced as all shocked eyes turned to see Vincent Valentine's tall form fill the doorway to the stairs, like a hovering ghost. A black jumpsuit covered his emaciated body, wrapped over with one of Merlin's sweeping red cloaks. His face was still bruised and scarred, with tattered black hair falling aimlessly—but his dark red eyes shone out between the strands like two blazing beacons.

Aerith immediately jumped to her feet—having only finally just sat down, "Vincent! What are you doing?! You shouldn't—you can't be up!"

Vincent, for his part, stayed utterly still as Aerith checked him over again, pressing and testing and taking his temperature. Zack was shocked at the impossibility standing before him—how could he recover this much so quickly? Yet, he also felt some relief, even hope, to see him finally standing on his own two feet.

Immediately, he moved to greet him, barely having registered what he had said, "Vincent! You're—"

"Will you come with me, Aerith?" Vincent continued, sharp eyes falling down upon her; the whole shadow of his form eclipsing her small frame.

Immediately, she froze—as did Zack. Wait. Wait, wait, wait wait—

"We can find your mother." Vincent finished. "They've taken something from both of us."

-wait, wait, wait—was he talking about Lucretia? How could he have heard that—

"You…you could hear me…? I thought you were—" Aerith trembled, "I'm s-sorry, I must have talked your ears off—"

"No." Vincent spoke firmly, his bony fingers grasping her by the shoulders. "You are right to wonder. And you will never stop wondering unless you go."

"What exactly are we talking about?" Squall interrupted, voice low and eyes squinted.

"Yeah, uh, what he said!" Zack added, unsure now of his friend.

"I'm going to kill Rufus Shinra." Vincent repeated, "And I am inviting you to come with me."

"Damn, Vincent! Hehehe—" Cid began to guffaw, deep belly laughs that nearly keeled him over, "hell, I'll go with you to get those cheating bastard who f*cked me over. What do you have in mind?"

Vincent looked down once more at Aerith with what Zack was shocked to believe was full-on compassion, before the ghoul of a man stepped past her and into view of everyone. Zack quickly moved to Aerith, who had silently stepped out from his way, and now was looking off in the opposite distance.

"Staying here accomplishes nothing. The Turks will arrive and kill us all." Vincent spoke without emotion, "Shinra did this and they know you know. It's a simple calculus."

"It's a fool's errand, is what it is." Squall responded, frowning even deeper than normal, "There's no way anyone survives that. Going on the offense half-cocked is about the stupidest thing you could do."

"What do you suppose I've spent my time considering?" Vincent responded.

"Not much, it seems, if this is all you have." Squall's eyes narrowed.

"I mean, maybe we should at least hear him out—?" Tifa began, gesturing for Vincent to continue.

"I'll go." Aerith suddenly announced, and Zack's heart turned cold, "Whatever you have planned—if it can get us into Shinra's labs, I'm in."

Vincent looked over his shoulder and acknowledged her acceptance with a quiet nod. A moment of silence followed, before Zack, Merlin, and Squall all began to talk at once:

"Are you insane?" Squall.

"Aerith—please, think about this—" Merlin.

"No, no, wait, wait, wait—Aerith, talk to me—" Zack.

But Aerith's face firmed, even as she touched Zack gently with an unspoken understanding. "I know this seems crazy, but I—I can't keep going like this. I need to know. And we can't just stay here, either." Aerith turned to look directly at Zack, her eyes already clearly decided, but seeking also some sort of understanding from him, "Something is going to break—and we should be the ones in control when it does." she paused again, before speaking those words that Zack heard before they even left her beautiful, earnest lips, "No fear, right?"

Zack didn't respond, he simply searched her eyes as the words worked themselves up inside him.

"Aerith…" Merlin's voice shook, "Your mother wouldn't want you to risk yourself like this."

Aerith looked over Zack's shoulder to her father and spoke with words born from a sort of severity not often seen in Aerith: "I wouldn't know."

Merlin immediately fell silent and didn't speak again.

But all Zack could see was the life, the ferocity, returning to her eyes. She saw something satisfying and whole, again—and he wanted to see it, too.

Finally—something to do.

"I…I can't believe I'm saying this, but—" Zack swallowed and shrugged, "Count me in. Let's take the fight to them."

"Of course you're in. I'm surprised you didn't come up with it." Squall muttered, turning to Rinoa for some kind of support—but as soon as he did, he began to shake his head, "No, don't do this—"

Rinoa sighed, poking at the fire's trembling light, "Aerith needs answers. We all need answers. Shinra has them. Any chance of staying out of this ended a week ago. We're in too deep, now."

Squall breathed in, and the air hissed out through his nose. "Am I the only one who hasn't lost their mind?"

Cloud suddenly raised his arm, eyes flickering to Zack and Aerith—but he offered no defense for taking Squall's side. As everyone waited for him to, he simply stood up and with one, final lingering glance, especially upon Aerith, whispered "be careful" and vanished up to his room.

Squall shook his head again, turning back to Rinoa, "I won't go with you. You can't go."

"Aerith needs me." Rinoa said quietly without looking up, "How can you ask me not to go?"

Squall, with another deep, regulated breath and survey of the room, nodded briefly and walked back out into the rain. In the echoes of the slammed door, no one spoke. Rinoa finally broke the silence with a weak smile, "He'll be alright. When we get back."

Unable to hold it back anymore, Cid started chuckling again, "F*ck yeah, are we really talking about breaking into Shinra?"

"Yes." Came a chorused response from Aerith, Vincent, Zack, and Rinoa. Merlin was quiet, and Tifa looked worried.

"So tell us your plan, Vincent." Aerith insisting, pulling Zack to sit beside her, next to Cid.

Vincent nodded, "There is only one step missing—I know where to go, but not yet how. I supposed—" his eyes slid over the Cid, who slapped his knee and belted out another round of laughter.

"Hell yes! I could break through their security seven ways from Sunday—I knew my sh*t then, and I still do now." He flicked his nose with a grin, "Piece of cake."

"Perfect." Vincent nodded, eyes gleaming, as he presented, terse and efficient, how they were to break into Shinra, find Aerith's mother and, with her, criminal evidence to bring before the Bastion.

"Are you alright, Ienzo?" Aeleus asked, as he signed yet another requisition for yet another Shinra arms deal, sending a servant scurrying away with a finalized stack of papers.

Ienzo watched him flee and another arrive, mulling over what his answer should be. The people and nobles were demanding more and more protection in the wake of the Attack, requiring a more active presence of the PKF in the streets and on the walls. The people needed to be made to feel safe again.

Ienzo knew all that—but, at this point, he couldn't help but feel like they were playing around with symptoms. The people lived in a world they did not understand, subject to forces beyond their control—that was the true source of their fear and what they truly needed protection from. No amount of requisitions could change that—only the experiments could.

But how could he explain that to Aeleus? It was impossible. He still lived in the old world.

And so Ienzo did what he had become so used to—he lied; he lied to dear, caring Aeleus, who simply sought only the wellbeing of his youngest brother.

Ienzo still remembered the first he had to do so—lying to Aeleus about having been studying, when he had actually been at Xehanort's side in the basement. That moment had left a scar which hadn't healed, and, somehow, it was just as hard now as it was then to look Aeleus in his troubled eyes and tell his falsehoods.

"I worry, brother, is all. I don't want to labor under an illusion of security created falsely from all these orders—if, indeed, we are no safer than we were yesterday."

Aeleus nodded, "True—but the image is half of the fight. If the public feels safer, they will be safer." Aeleus turned to another pile of papers, as Ienzo watched over his shoulder, "Less fear becomes less crime, less anxiety, and more regularity. Meanwhile, we work."

Ienzo nodded absently. At one point, that might have been the opening of a lively discussion shared between them about pragmatism versus idealism, and what truly made a good society. Yes, once upon a time, their discussions of political science had been a joy for Ienzo, nay, they had been formative for his very being.

It seemed so long, now, since when Aeleus had been Ienzo's idol of a brother. Braig was annoying and troublesome, Dilan had always been emotionally distant, and Even had always been a rival—but Aeleus had always been a true brother.

It had been Aeleus who taught Ienzo how to spell, it had been Aeleus who read with him after Ansem's classes when all his brothers, too old for him, had run off to engage in other teenaged shenanigans without him. Aeleus had walked him about the Garden, explaining how it functioned in all his effective brevity, Aeleus had proofread his first papers, and Aeleus had been the one to sit with him after Braig had broken the news to him, in thoughtless jest, that they weren't all really family and that Ienzo had been an orphan.

But that time had somehow receded far into the past. Over the unnoticed illusions of time, Ienzo had found himself grown further and further away from Aeleus and ever-more into the shadow of Xehanort's seemingly endless and infectiously mysterious quest—even back to that first night, only a child, when Xehanort had appeared from the snow and ushered in a whole new way of being to the Bastion.

And worst of all, most painful to Ienzo, was the fact that Aeleus—kind, thoughtful Aeleus—didn't seem to realize it. And so, both for the sake of the mission as well as his heart, Ienzo lied. Even were the basement laboratory not to have ever existed, Ienzo knew he would've kept up this illusion. He couldn't bear to see Aeleus wounded by the truth of what had truly changed.

Reminding himself that he needed to appear attentive, lest Aeleus inquire again to his wellbeing, Ienzo turned his attention to leafing through another pile of reports—only to nearly drop them when a ghost seemed to float past the doorway, outside the study, and pass down the hall.

"Was that…was that Xehanort?" Aeleus asked, himself paying no more attention to the tasks in front of him.

"Yes, yes, I do believe it was." Ienzo replied, starting to move around the broad table.

"I haven't seen him in a week—" Aeleus said, shaking his head, "I hadn't even thought of it—there's been so much work…"

Ienzo nodded, brain at a rush underneath his confused brow, "None of us have really seen him, either. You keep working here—I'll go see what he has been up to."

Aeleus thought for a moment before nodding, and turned back to the paperwork ahead of him. Ienzo, for his part, tried not to rush too hurriedly from the room—but as soon as he was out of Aeleus' sight, he nearly stumbling in dashing down to catch up with the wandering form of Xehanort.

Quite literally, no one had seen him all week and while Ansem in his business hadn't noticed quite yet, the rest of them were starting to become frantic over his absence.

"Xehanort—Xehanort!" Ienzo hid a shout within a whisper, as he reached to grab his brother's arm, "Where have you been?"

Stopping, Xehanort allowed himself to be turned, surprising Ienzo with what little effort it took. Xehanort himself seemed to be in a daze, his eyes unfocused, his gait having been little more than a wander, now that Ienzo thought about it. Had Xehanort just been wandering about this whole time?

"Ah, ah…Ienzo…" Xehanort murmured, eyes training on him, "I…I have had the most magnificent breakthrough. It worked. I found…I found my way in—and it was beautiful."

A slight chill swept through Ienzo at the preternatural moment. Xehanort had always been somewhat eccentric, at times found wandering the darkened halls of the castle, half-asleep, during the night. He himself had observed Xehanort staring at one point, one book, one page, for hours at a time—only to reawaken to the world with a marvelous insight. But this seemed different—Xehanort seemed almost….intoxicated?

"Xehanort, have you…" Ienzo frowned, noticing for the first time, in the cloudy afternoon light that shown into the hall, his brother's bloodshot eyes and rumpled clothing, "Xehanort, have you slept?"

Xehanort blinked, "No, no, I don't believe so."

Ienzo began to wonder if perhaps the stress of the Attack, coupled with the experiments, had finally gotten to him. But suddenly, clarity fell upon Xehanort's eyes and he grasped Ienzo's shoulders with the full charisma and confidence of the brother who had supplanted him as Ansem's favored successor: "Oh, Ienzo—you have to see it. It may only yet be a sliver, but it is indescribable, incalculable—"

"What are you talking about—" Ienzo whispered, glancing over his shoulder to ensure Aeleus hadn't wandered out after him.

But Xehanort gently grasped Ienzo by the head and brought his gaze back to meet his own, and there resided the same fierceness and focus that had infected Ienzo years ago—"I'm talking about the Heart of the World. I'm talking about the Answer."

"Oi!" Dilan's brusk voice suddenly resounded in both their ears, "Ienzo, where did you find this absentee son?"

"I have been attending to the more important things, Dilan." Xehanort responded, standing straight and righting his rumpled white coat, answering for Ienzo who remained in shocking, processing, silence.

"Come now. You both need to see what I have discovered." Xehanort continued, brushing past and expecting them to follow. Ienzo did so unthinkingly, trying to understand what Xehanort had just revealed to him. Dilan, however, had to speak as they tracked down the halls of the Bastion.

"I've been trying to find you, Xehanort. We need to speak about our two…" he paused, "thieves."

Xehanort didn't respond, but a gesture of the hand indicated that he was listening.

"The boy's name is Cloud Strife. The girl must be a friend of his. He's a low-level recruit for the PKF, just returned from the frontiers. We are working to locate him or his partner now, but in the meantime, we need to decide what to do with him—"

"We can't eliminate him." Xehanort murmured back. "We can't afford any more attention now. Not anymore."

"Why draw the line here?" Dilan pushed back, as they passed finally through the last few doors before the Great Library, "It seems rather arbitrary, don't you think?"

Xehanort finally turned and, with a slight smirk, pushed through the great doors into the library, "But we have never been at such a delicate stage before. We shall do something, but it cannot be as it has been before."

Dilan was about to respond, when Even's nasally voice intervened.

"Xehanort? I had hoped you might be dead." He frowned, standing up from the table where he had been reading. "I would apologize for not looking for you, but I wouldn't mean it."

"Oh, Even…" Xehanort took him by the shoulders and directed him toward the secret gravira elevator, "Your pettiness shall be embarrassingly pointless, soon."

"Where—where are we going?" Even cried out, nearly dropping his book as Xehanort shuffled him along. No one bothered to answer him.

"What about Braig?" Dilan asked.

"We'll tell him later." Ienzo answered, unwilling to wait anymore.

With an agreeable nod, Xehanort activated the elevator and they all slipped in and began the descent. All was quiet and still, except the whir of the machinery and the hum of the magical field. With a slight bump, it all came to a stop.

As the doors slid open, at first, Ienzo saw nothing out of place—the sterile white walls, the bolted down tables, the stacks of reports, all was in its proper place. But, Xehanort seemed almost to float forward, so lightly yet firmly did he move, until his hands were pressed up against the glass of the Heartless' cage.

Dilan scoffed as he stepped out second, followed by Ienzo and Even, "Xehanort, if the pressure has finally gotten to you—"

"Is that a door?" Even murmured, his whole form frozen, as his eyes flicked to his younger brother for confirmation—a shocking first for Ienzo, worth noting more if he was not already frozen himself, wide-eyed, turned stiff by the chill than ran down his spine.

There was a door. Inside the enclosure.

Rounded and gold-trimmed, there stood, quite simply, a seemingly wooden door, against the far wall.

"Impossible…" Dilan's mouth worked up and down, but no further sound emerged.

Breaking from his shock, heart now racing, Ienzo stumbled forward and nearly fell against the glass beside Xehanort, who didn't seem to move at all—except for the ever-so-slight caress of his fingers against the glass.

Inside, the Heartless stood organized, for the first time, all crowded in a semi-circle around the door. Their antennae still twitched and their bodies swayed arrhythmically, but their beady yellow eyes remained unfailingly fixed upon the door. Ienzo immediately began to categorize, his jumbled thoughts coming frustratingly slow. A shift in reality? A change in their behavior? This was utterly unprecedented.

"Was there an antecedent cause of any kind?" Even spoke breathily from behind them, fumbling with a pen and clipboard.

"No…" Xehanort nearly whispered, "It was just there and I…entered."

"You went in there?! With them?!" Dilan exclaimed, coming to stand beside the glass, too, "how the hell are you still alive?"

"No, no…" Xehanort shook his head slowly, "I suppose, yes, I did—but it was…in there…"

Ienzo froze again as he followed back Xehanort's misty gaze.

"Xehanort…" Ienzo found himself whispering, "Are you saying you went inside that door?"

"Of course, Ienzo."

"That's preposterous!" Even shouted in a whisper, though his voice shook as evidence of his ill-confidence, "Not only did you not get devoured, but you entered through a locked door—Xehanort, I worry you are becoming unreliab—"

"Locked…?" Xehanort murmured, a question.

Ienzo frowned and looked back through the enclosure, over the awful twitching heads of those dark beasts, and sure enough—noted by that infuriating eye of Even, ever always upon each detail—a pure-black keyhole was cut in the off-right center of the door, approximately four inches tall and one and half wide at its base.

"Did the door come with a key?" Even pressed, said in such a way that his earnest attempt at more information came across, in typical Even fashion, as a mockery.

"No…no, I was just…let in…" Xehanort murmured, his fingers having ceased their caresses upon the glass.

"And what was inside?" Ienzo asked, still in a whisper, "Xehanort, what was inside?"

"I—I…" Xehanort's firmness suddenly crumbled and it was as if he took possession of himself again. Standing straight, he brushed at his coat, "I don't recall, unfortunately, but it was something of immense significance."

Dilan sighed, eyes still flickering with suspicion toward the door, "Marvelous—another answer forgotten before we even knew it."

"Well, what're we to do now?" Even asked, still scribbling with a fury.

Ienzo's eyes fell back to that still door, so entrancing to those mindlessly stirring creatures below—mesmerized, it seemed; gathered around it as if in some cultic Wutain ritual he had heard of.

"It's obvious, don't think you, Even?" Xehanort responded, blinking slowly, "We need a Key."

A/N: Throughout the entirety of Part II of this tale (perhaps another 15 chapters?), each chapter will be titled after, in honor of, a favorite, truly superlative, Kingdom Hearts fanfiction here on the site. Slight strands, perhaps only in my own imagination, connect them. But these works were very meaningful to me, and I wanted to honor them somehow. You should read them—they can be found under my favorites list.

Don't forget to leave a review, favorite, or alert—there and here!