Never Miss a Sunrise

by Mademoiselle Anime Amour

Organization XIII is shattered, each member dealing with the fallout of war, lies, and emotional scars. After so long in the dark, they will each have to carve out their own path toward dawn. For, with hearts come purpose. With light comes redemption. Rated T for language and sexual situations. Near-unapologetic KH3 AU. Heavy spoilers.

4. Chapter 3

A/N: Hi again, everyone! Today/tonight also happens to be my bday-just sort of how it panned out with the update. I've finally written the Part 2 to my alternate interpretation of Braig. I agonized over this one, but luckily, not as much compared to the previous chapter. This is prob. where my inspiration from "A Second Twilight" becomes more obvious, but I hope I've made this quite a bit different enough. This installment, there'll be some familiar faces and a few cameos sprinkled in! A bit more dialogue as well. And I'll post a couple links below to things related to the fic, as promised last time.

Warnings: More cursing, mentions of alcohol dependence

---

Breakdown on the shoreline

Can't move, it's an ebbtide

Morning, don't get here tonight

Searching for her silver light

-"Can't Get it Out of My Head", ELO

---

Chapter 3: Braig: After

When Braig came to, he did not recognize where (or when, for that matter) the Darkness had taken him. What he did see shook him to his core: a tiny pinprick star holding a world, so many lives, was extinguished. He remembered the morbid story from his childhood, as it had been told to all children at some time or another. Every world shone with its own distinct Light, which always had to be guarded. Kindness toward others, empathy, patience, and peacekeeping…Ideally, all of these virtues should be observed in order to keep the world's Light strong and radiant, so everyone had to do their part. If it should lose its glow even for a moment, Darkness would arrive with all its creatures and cloak the entire world in shadow. This was not so much a cuddly fireside bedtime story as much as it was a parable to children to never take the good for granted. One never knew just when they could lose it all.

That vanished star, Braig concluded with a shattered heart, had to have been Cirragia. But, he'd be damned if he was going to sit here and accept it. For some reason or another, the Darkness or Kingdom Hearts (perhaps both) had dropped him off at this place. Surely, he could find other familiar faces that had also been swept over here. He could not have been the only one.

So he spent the rest of the night searching for people he'd known in Silverhurst. As he wandered deeper and deeper into the nearby forest, he called their names, only to hear his own voice reverberate through the trees. Becoming ever more desperate, he called out for his parents, his siblings, his nieces and nephews, Lukas, Irene…

But, it was Valeria's name he screamed out the loudest and most often until he grew hoarse. He hoped that any minute, he would see her emerge behind the pines with perhaps a map in hand. As he adjusted more to the dark, he kept his eyes sharp for her soft, glinting gray eyes, her waves of reddish-brown hair, and the clever smirk that always seemed to dance about her lips.

He even imagined what she might say once they found each other. Maybe something like "What a relief it is to see you, darling! I've been stuck in this forest for a bloody hour."

However, there would be none of these words said, for he found no trace of her or the others. Kingdom Hearts would not have been so cruel. It could not have spit him out and abandoned him like this! Shivers ran up and down his spine, like cold, gnarled fingers tapping against him, as the first tendrils of grief came. His knees halfway buckled as he neared a stopping point. Once he did finally break down, he started beating his fists against the nearest tree out of unrelenting sorrow and rage. He cursed Kingdom Hearts, the Darkness, and even the Light for failing him in his hour of need. They could all go to hell for all he cared. His words were all he had to fight fate back with, even as he felt so useless, his throat rendered scratchy and raw from yelling like a madman.

Weary from this effort, he collapsed in heavy sobs on the ground.

---

Recovery had been slow, as was to be expected for a man who had lost everything in the blink of an eye. Braig was thankful, then, when the next day he stumbled across a town just off the edge of the forest he'd wandered. And in this Daybreak Town, he found friendly and welcoming people who asked no questions and took him in with such warmth. He took up residence in a boardinghouse, an appreciated hive of activity for his tired soul. Somehow, even as he remained polite yet distant toward his fellow boarders, he could not shake his need to be around other people. If he could see them go about their average lives and engage in banal chatter, he thought, he could seek some normalcy. He could almost forget that he hadn't always lived here, that he'd been so close to tasting a different kind of future…But, didn't those gray cobblestones look exactly like Silverhurst's streets? Couldn't he just as well hunt in the verdant forest reminiscent of his childhood woods?

However, these sights hardly brought Braig peace, and the first year was often a misery. Nightmares often troubled his sleep, when he would catch wispy glimpses of people he missed. Sometimes, he would wake up on the floor with the sheets twisted around him, half-convinced that he had reached out and touched those people. That he had saved them. Food crumbled to dust in his mouth. For the first six months of his new life, he refused to touch a hunting rifle, remembering how weapons had failed him that day. In his struggle to find himself again, he even forced himself to take up journal writing to record his pain. Yet, no solace could be found in his ramblings, and so many pages were tossed in the nearest fireplace. No matter how swiftly they burned away, he swore he could still see the desperate words emblazoned in blood-red letters when he closed his eyes. And one name. That one name over and over again, coming to him like a mantra. If he thought it enough, wrote it enough, would it transform into her silhouette?

Instead of dwelling on these haunting, unanswerable questions, he started to make the best of things. He became more acquainted with the people around town instead of being resigned to staying on the outer fringes. He resumed hunting every now and again. Often, he would venture out to other towns for further distraction but always returned to Daybreak Town, where he eventually found work as a bookkeeper. In trying to establish roots, Braig aimed for a quiet, peaceful life, the kind that so many took for granted. No matter what he tried, though, it was all a pale facsimile of the kind of life he used to lead so effortlessly. He sensed that, when interacting with anyone, there would be a forced, slight chill to his smile or a stare that lingered too long. When he spoke, he would still offer a wisecrack or an astute observation, but he kept them few and far between. And he'd outright refuse to frequent any taverns. For, if he drank for fun, would he ever stop? He knew he lived half a life, yet it was better than none at all.

However, over time, Braig dared himself to hope again when these young kids began showing up with intriguing key-shaped weapons. It wasn't so much the weapons in and of themselves that drew his interest (even if they looked rather odd), but what they could do. What power they could wield. Some of these teenagers would stop by at the boardinghouse for a quick bite to eat or a stop for the night. There, having this excuse to satisfy his curiosity, he would ask them his questions about these mysterious Keyblades, as they were called. And the teens—with maybe the occasional twelve-year-old—flattered by having a captive audience, would eagerly divulge. They were to contain the Heartless, the ones he'd known as "shades", with these weapons but also collect beams of light in order to maintain Kingdom Hearts' balance. For, more and more, it was careening toward Darkness, which could not be allowed to happen. All of these kids also had their Union leaders to take orders from and report back to. Braig could not help but find this idea more than a bit silly. If they all were working towards the same goal, shouldn't they all work together? Not be separated into these formal cliques?

One pink-haired youth he'd asked this of only hummed. "One might think. But, the Foretellers don't get along very well…It's difficult to explain, for I know they coincided perfectly fine before recently. Now, you'd be lucky if you can get any two of them in a room together."

"Hm, guess they didn't believe in staying together for the kids," Braig replied in true withering fashion. "I wonder what secrets they'd be hiding…Something to do with any special kinds of Keyblades, maybe? Any ones with special abilities?"

He hadn't meant to sound so direct, but he thrilled to the slightly avid smile on Lauriam's face. He'd taken the bait.

"I get it! It would be pretty neat to have one of those!" He coughed to compose himself, glancing down at his own rose-colored Keyblade. "Of course, I take no issue with mine. Yes…You're asking about the truly rare ones. I've heard it said you can travel through time with them."

Braig suppressed his own crooked grin. "Time travel, eh? How far back we talking? To, say, like a week ago? I know there was something at the market I wish I could have gotten."

A lie but a white one, in his humble opinion. Best not to let any Keyblade wielder in on what he had in mind. Personal business was just that.

"Feasibly, you could. But, if you're really curious about the stories…" Lauriam leaned closer, his blue-violet eyes gleaming. "They say you can go back decades with them, even hundreds of years!"

Bingo, finally got a game plan! He thought triumphantly.

Aloud, taking another sip of wine, he pondered, "Imagine the possibilities."

"I know! And yet, these Keyblades must stay rare, yes? Because if they fell into the wrong hands, their power would surely be abused." Lauriam frowned. "In fact, I doubt there would be anyone so pure of heart who wouldn't be tempted by one."

"Most people suck, you mean." Braig gave a sage nod. "I get that. In that case, we should hope they're being used for noble causes."

They'd left the conversation at that, but he finally had something to latch onto. Come hell or high water, he would get his hands on one of those Keyblades. And once he did, he would restore his world and then turn back time. Everyone would be safe and happy again, as it was before. He would be surrounded by his loved ones again. That was all he would need that Keyblade for, he figured. There could not be a much nobler cause than that. He understood Lauriam's apprehension regarding possible corruption, but he'd be different. Until then, he would still try to search for his lost loved ones, who he felt he'd neglected for far too long already.

And so, with this firm resolution, Braig set off the very next day. Uprooted once again, though he hoped this would be temporary. He wandered from town to town, region to region, and even world to world. No matter the endless treks through rocky paths or driving attacks from wind or rain, nothing could deter him from his goal. And along the way, he would continue meeting the Keyblade kids off on their traveling missions. Seeing what brave faces they wore and the warm camaraderie they showed each other, he felt the closest to moved he'd been for a long time.

However, the young people's lively chatter turned hostile the further away he was from Daybreak Town and as more time passed. They railed against those from other Unions, suspecting traitors amidst their ranks. Once in a while, he would even witness minor skirmishes break out, brief angry spats involving the clash of Keyblade against Keyblade. At this point, Braig was well-aware it was every man for himself, so it was best to keep his nose out of others' affairs.

Even so, as he focused on his own mission, he felt his mood sour again. He resented the Foretellers for playing dice with these children's fates, manipulating them into fighting adult wars. Sure, he'd never met them, but perhaps swift punches to faces would straighten them out. His faith in humanity had died down to a feebly burning ember. Darkness would keep overpowering everything, while people did not seem to care if they led to their worlds' ruin. Every night, when he lay under the stars, he could spot more of them vanishing. In the meantime, he had unknowingly stoked darkness of his own.

He was not surprised, then, when the Heartless confronted him again, as strong as he could remember them being. In the past, he'd known he wasn't alone. This time, with a triumphant smirk, he threw his rifle to the side and walked toward them with open arms. If darkness was to be his route to those he loved, he was ready to take that chance. Perhaps it was risky—even downright stupid—but there was no one there to stop him or call him on it. Braig considered that he could die for certain or wind up somewhere lonelier and more isolated than he could imagine. He'd seized an opportunity that presented itself, but lingering doubt made him wonder if he was making the right choice. After the Heartless wrapped themselves around him, blocking out his view of the sun, he felt himself sink into the ground. That was, if he could sink underground, for he could see no dirt or plant roots underneath. Nor could he see open sky or the trees. He was effectively suspended in air yet in a place too dark to see any part of his body.

All he heard was a voice saying, The worlds are not done with you yet, and he felt his muscles loosen.

When Braig woke up again, he found himself staring down at a paved road from a strange angle. For one brief, shining moment, he thought he was dead and had come back as a ghost to haunt whoever he wanted. Why else would he be seeing things from above? However, as he leaned out further, he lost his balance and fell with a dull thud.

"What the hell…?"

He glanced up and saw that he'd fallen from the underside of a bridge. And with a quick look around, he saw tall houses of an unfamiliar style and people dressed in oddly casual clothes. Not a ruffle or flounce to be seen. He wondered what else there was to discover and how far in the future he had come.

"Thanks for nothing, asshole!" he shouted at the sky and shook his head in frustration.

Just when he thought he'd finally found a way to his goal, Kingdom Hearts had pulled the rug out from under him again. He had no idea what he'd done to anger an omniscient life force, but it seemed like it had it out for him. No matter what he attempted, he felt like he had been reset, leaving him no choice but to lead a new life, new occupations, etc. Well, then, if it took the rest of his life (or many lives, at this rate) to get everything in Cirragia back, he'd do it. No matter what fate had to say about it.

"Fine, have it your way then," Braig muttered in defiance, brushed himself off, and set off in search of someone who could help.

When a passerby directed him to the tallest, most elegant building in town (he couldn't believe he was seeing an actual castle!), he threw himself at the mercy of its well-known resident. As it turned out, he was the town's wise leader, a king wearing a scholar's clothes, right down to the fine red sweater draped around his shoulders. He looked down at him with kind amber eyes as he genuinely asked how he could assist him. For one instant, under that keen gaze, Braig wavered. Perhaps he could spill his true life story, blood and guts and everything, and see what this man could make of it. If they worked together in some capacity, maybe they could pave his way home.

Instead, he spun a tale of half-truths, of how he had tragically lost his family in a Heartless raid and had no choice but to seek out this town as asylum. After all, he was just a common man who had only known a rustic life as a woodsman. All the knowledge he'd ever gained had been through books and nature. He now had nothing but his wits and the clothes on his back—that, at least, was the complete truth.

When Ansem appeared moved by this account, Braig felt the slightest pang of guilt, though it felt as insignificant as a pinch on the elbow. He knew why he had to lie. It would save everyone in Radiant Garden a lot of trouble. Would they really believe that he was a man out of time, someone hurtled so far into the future that he could no longer look over his shoulder and see his past? He would be run out of here as a lunatic, with the torches chasing him down.

No. It was best to establish himself as a man with limited means and a story people could sympathize with. It would be easier in the long run, so that he could plan out his next objectives in private. In his mind's eye, he visualized the faint gleam of a mysterious Keyblade and the sparkling waters of the Emerald River. Always looking toward home. This place…attractive enough, inviting enough, but not home.

And so Braig spent the next four years with Ansem and his other colleagues, studying the crisscrossing intricacies of the heart. From there, they hoped to determine what made the Heartless and how to stop them from terrorizing more innocent people. He found among these men (and one child genius) a pseudo-family of sorts. If he was less cynical, he'd venture to call them a brotherhood.

He joked with Dilan about the silly, almost useless purpose of their guard jobs. In contrast, he approached Aeleus in a quieter, mellower way and spoke on more philosophical matters about the work they were doing. Even taught him how to use lab tools precisely without causing another mini-explosion. And little Ienzo he could not help but indulge like he once did with his nephews. He would share ridiculous stories from his own boyhood and even play the occasional game of chess with him. He would often receive eye rolls for his trouble (especially if his jokes got too corny), but he would also get amused smiles that appeared like rare gems. The poor kid had lost his parents young, so it was no wonder his smiles always looked so fragile. In a way, they were almost unnerving, like looking into a mirror. He could identify that brokenness just as he could a familiar animal track in the woods.

When he wasn't interacting with his new friends, Braig would steal away into the library to find material on Cirragia. His old world had almost become a myth from where he stood, but he wanted to feel it in his grasp through the weathered leather covers. Once, when no one else was peering through the shelves, he swiped a book titled The Sky Pirates of Cirragia. Within the bindings, he flipped through page after page of notable pirates, many women among them. But, then, one woman always stood out to him. The portrait showed her in more formal attire: a sportier indigo dress with gold outer lacings and a dramatic, broad-brimmed captain's hat complete with purple feather. She seemed to stare at the reader with defiant eyes, yet a playful hint of a smile crossed her lips.

Under this reprint was a caption: Val Fleetwind.

He kept the book for himself, for it served as the one thing he had to remind him. Late at night, he would stare at that picture more than he cared to admit, tracing the curve of that smile. At least her face could reside in his mind even longer—he worried that it had started to fade. A small comfort, then, that she could be preserved in this book.

And then, he met Xehanort, a man with his own agenda as well as his own Keyblade. Upon looking into this weapon's eye, Braig understood that this was one of the legendary ones. He could hardly believe his luck, and Silverhurst now seemed to be within arm's reach.

Xehanort noted his hungry expression, saying nonchalantly, "It isn't easy to obtain a weapon of this caliber, my boy. But, I may be willing to show you how."

"Yeah." He gulped, almost speechless. "I'm aware what something like that can do. I just…"

"Require immense power, such as what this possesses." Xehanort's eyes gleamed in recognition of a kindred spirit yet a perfect pawn. "It's quite all right to admit it. Not everyone is comfortable admitting they crave power, when all of us are constantly searching for it. It's only natural. We all aim to rise above our stations, don't we?"

Braig narrowed his eyes. "You're pulling a fast one on me."

"On the contrary. I speak the truth…I see myself in you, the same ambition, the same cunning. Turn to me, and I will show you everything you will ever need to know or use. Turn to me, and if you prove yourself worthy…I will reward you greatly."

Xehanort idly switched his Keyblade to his other hand, and Braig followed that motion. The metal hilt glinted under the sunlight, with the tell-tale eye gazing at him. He thought he even saw it wink, but he could have been fooling himself. His hands shook. So close now…

He smirked, casually thrusting his hands into his pockets. "Say no more, old coot. What do you want me to do?"

This marked the beginning of a profitable yet contentious partnership between the two men. However, as Braig saw it, if you had to shake hands with the devil on the way to your destination, then what other option did you have? Especially if the devil threw in valuable bargaining chips to sweeten the pot. The extra money rattling around in his pockets didn't hurt either, even as he tried to ignore its filthy origins.

Of course, there were snags along the way. When he provoked Xehanort's new protégé Terra to battle as planned, he lost his eye (having been right-eye dominant, it was a pain in the ass, but at least he lived) and received a permanent scar for his trouble. Had the old coot seen that coming? He should have quit right then and there. Then, taking a moment to remember those Silverhurst market days, he decided to move forward with any and all future plots. No matter how low he was sinking.

He sold out his former colleagues time and time again without fail; eagerly volunteered part of his heart for Xehanort's twisted purposes; and moved people around like pieces on a chessboard to deflect suspicion from him. After the Keybearer Sora defeated him the first time, he had been faced with a monumental decision. Keep on going for another possible decade or cut his losses by letting go of Cirragia forever? Or, barring that, he could somehow gain more power. Hell with it, he'd thought, he'd gone this far, and so lived to deal another hand. People had said much about him over the years, but one thing they couldn't call him was a quitter. He would keep returning to the table until it all paid off, even if it meant a very long game.

But, there were consequences to playing the long game, ones he could not have foreseen. He disposed of his remaining conscience like waste, double-crossed what few friends he had, and encased his pesky, feeble emotions in ice. He stood for nothing and no one. There was no one he could turn to and ask, "Isn't this great?" every time he duped someone. In essence, he had cultivated a lonely existence for himself by proving he couldn't be trusted. He began to not trust himself when it all came down to it. Once proud of his scarred face with distinct eyepatch, he now cringed whenever he saw his reflection, in spite of his reverted brown eye and dull streaks of gray in place of the trademark Xehanort silver. Somewhere in the middle of all this, he had become a monster. The worst part? He'd known this and had been fine with it these eleven years. Indeed, he'd rejected his empathy and mental justifications so he no longer saw people, only obstacles.

If Valeria was to see him again…But, she wouldn't. She couldn't, for common sense told him she was long dead. And if, by some miracle, she was still alive, she wouldn't be able to look at him if she learned of his treacheries. He could imagine her disgusted grimace. Just as well if she stayed tied to the past.

All of this, the layers of grime to his sins, had hit him almost a month after the events of the Keyblade Graveyard. The various strategic maneuvers and roles he played had worn thin. He could only allow himself a bitterly ironic chuckle that he still had no damn Keyblade, not like it'd been a surprise. Regardless, one of Xehanort's past selves could have thrown him a reprieve or something. Then again, what did it matter? Braig had spent half of his life (the years he'd gotten to experience anyway) chasing after the unripe fruits of his ideal one. These days, he was forty-five years old, all but ignored by everyone he'd ever conned, and living in a cheap Radiant Garden hotel. Reduced to the life of a drifter once again, and perhaps that suited him well. It wasn't like he had much else…other than the crushing weight of overdue guilt and dreams.

Dreams or nightmares, Braig couldn't determine which. In many of these flickering images, he saw himself as a young man again with a certain woman he'd cherish forever. The more he fell into them, the more visceral they became and more acute than they had been well before the Xehanort business. He swore that he ran his fingers through the silken strands of her hair and felt her lithe body against his. Her soft, warm mouth would tease his open, and he'd drink her in. Every night, he would be short of making love to her before he'd open his eyes to see blankets he'd bunched up in his ecstasy. Thinking somehow they were actually her in his arms.

In the old days, he would have paced himself to sleep or even indulged in a few shed tears. Now, he felt emptiness, the sickening cold in his stomach that had felt that fleeting rush of heat. And that was worse. This had become his personal hell, experiencing this torture from a ghost. It only made sense that he relied more and more on the television to stave off sleep, yet he'd still receive these eerie, seductive visits. Kingdom Hearts had a sick sense of humor indeed.

That wasn't to mention the other nightmares he'd experienced of every one of his former comrades in science confronting him. These men who had accepted him when he'd been at one of his lowest points and let him find some sliver of peace…They would be there shouting him down, their faces red and livid while their eyes revealed melancholic disappointment. He couldn't face them, any of them, as the searing pain tore through his heart. What could he say? That it was never meant to be personal toward them, that he'd only meant to go home again? Then, why'd he feel so unclean, as if he'd committed a crime? Yet, that was exactly what he'd done. If he had known the fallout of his actions would be like this, he would have told Xehanort exactly where to shove that Keyblade years ago. If only he'd been a nobler man…And if he had to be honest with himself, he didn't think he knew how any more.

To drive away all these images, Braig would wander the outskirts of town and survey the craggy cliffs and deep valleys. Maybe once he got up the motivation, he'd leave soon. He felt like a restless dog confined in its cage, with all his pacing and simmering anger toward so many people and his own situation. Staying here only dug up unwanted memories and needless second-guessing, the latter of which he hadn't been burdened with for a long time.

Another place he sought to forget his troubles was a quiet little bar called Seventh Heaven. From what he understood, the proprietor once owned an establishment with the same name, but it had been ravaged by Heartless among other things. Tifa Lockhart had intended this new and improved Seventh Heaven to be a fresh start, for both her and other lost souls who had been torn away from their homes. Braig envied the woman's tenacity to move on from this personal trauma and thrive. After all, she had the privilege to push on ahead with her life by virtue of still being young. Whereas he had clearly gotten to and past the point that he could experience a real life again.

The taste of beer sufficed.

He found himself there one afternoon, when he knew he would be the only one. Initially, when he'd started frequenting the bar, he would get terrified glances from other patrons. All of Organization XIII had been notorious, but as the one-eyed assassin, he'd been among the most feared. He'd conceal his face with his hood, as per custom, but word traveled fast of his deeds. What a drastic change from his more sociable days in crowded, joyfully loud taverns. However, if he had to choose, he preferred the way things were now in this environment, where Tifa could leave him to his drinking. She'd been the one person here to accept him, granted after a reluctant fashion. As she'd put it, she had dealt with "rougher customers" in the past. Of course, if he put one toe out of line, she could (and would) throw him out. Braig respected that level of candor as well as the seriousness of that threat. The woman had the biceps of a well-experienced bouncer.

When he slid into a stool, she glanced up from cleaning a glass. "Huh. You're early today."

He snorted. "Good. That's way more convenient for me."

"So I've noticed," Tifa deadpanned, turning toward him with her hands on her hips. "Just be careful. You're turning more and more anti-social by the day."

Braig rolled up the long sleeves of his black shirt. "Hey, you're not gonna catch me crying over it. Let's just say the last time I had a social life, you probably weren't even born yet."

"Don't play the age card," she scoffed, though with a twinkle in her dark eyes. "So, what'll it be?"

He thought about ordering his usual lager, but that sounded boring today. Squinting slightly, he looked over the bottles on display. Did they even stock what he had in mind?

"Got any amber ale?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Tifa furrowed her brows with a light "hm" in response before running her finger across the labels. Why did that look so familiar to him? In a second, he knew the answer to that as he felt his stomach twist itself into knots. No wonder. The same reason he requested amber ale. He continued to watch her rummage through the selection until she pulled out a stout bottle with swirling rich brown liquid.

"This is one of those we get shipped in. Not too many people ask for this one…I guess you're looking to expand your tastes, huh?"

"Nah, I've had this stuff before." Braig waved off her remark before laying down a small money pouch. "I want the whole bottle."

She let out a huffy sigh but placed the bottle in front of him anyway. "That's quite a bit more than your usual, wouldn't you say?"

"As if! I know how to hold my liquor, I don't need a designated, and I'll get home fine. You don't have to worry about me getting rowdy. 'Sides, you're the bartender here, not me."

Tifa bit the inside of her cheek but maintained her stern gaze. "Just as long as one bottle doesn't turn into four or five…You know, I've seen your type before."

"My type, eh?" Braig raised an arch brow.

"Yeah. Older tired person who goes to the bar to cope. Friendly enough, chatty, but obviously has a lot going on in their life. Maybe some regrets."

Opening the bottle of ale, he let out a raspy chuckle. "I didn't come here for a free therapy session but thanks. So, you say I fall into this 'type'. Why? Is everyone who falls under that umbrella that obvious?"

"No." She shook her head with a slight smile, moving over toward the tables to wipe them down. "It's just something that comes with practice. You learn to read people pretty well with a job like this."

Braig grunted, raising the ale to his lips. Oh, he knew a thing or two about reading people, only he didn't have to be a bartender. Just a survivor and then a glorified cult member.

Who am I kidding? He thought. Members get suckered in. I practically co-founded the cult.

But enough of the guilt trip. He'd come here to do one thing and one thing only. With a resigned sigh, he tilted his head back and drank long and deep from the bottle of amber ale. If he just closed his eyes, he would be back on that ship, tasting the breath of his beloved sky pirate…

The sound of a sliding stool next to him interrupted his reverie, along with a familiar sonorous voice.

"So this is what a life of existence has reduced you to."

With a sideways look, Braig sized up the speaker and almost had to restrain himself from yelling out his surprise.

It can't be…

For it was Xemnas sitting there with his even gaze and the faintest hint of a dry smile. He looked exactly the same since the last time he'd seen him. His silver hair was as shiny as ever, and his amber eyes still had that lantern-like glow to them—only no longer tinged with the yellow of possession. The one thing markedly different about him was the tan leather jacket that he wore. And that he'd just made his version of a joke. Braig forced himself to do a double-take, as his paranoid thoughts raced at near-frantic speed.

No way. He should have died. The others are probably back to being who they were before, living their happy, normie lives, but he never really existed to begin with. The old coot said so himself! So, what gives? And why is he here anyway? How'd he find me? This has got to be a set-up.

All right, he had to play it cool. Xemnas being here didn't necessarily spell his death sentence. After all, he had become adept at keeping all his bases covered, avoiding any suspicious eyes. He'd have to flex his old acting muscles, but he'd manage. With another swig of ale, he calmed himself and delayed his response a little longer. He had this in the bag.

"Long time, no see, boss man!" he finally greeted with a bright smile, jaws straining from the effort.

Xemnas lightly snorted. "You seem as unflappable as ever, Number T—Braig. I would have assumed you would be more shocked at my presence."

"Why would I be? We've all been known to fade in and out at some point or another. Think of everything else we've seen! No, the really shocking thing would have been if you were gone for real."

"Hm, perhaps, you're right."

Braig winked. "It's the business I'm in."

"And not…" Xemnas gestured toward the ale bottle. "Burgeoning dependence on alcohol?"

"Hey, I know how this looks. You think because I'm in here alone with a bottle, it means I've become some sad, desperate drunk. Hardly. Everyone has their hobby—this so happens to be mine. Really, Xemnas, do you have such a low opinion of me that you think I'd let myself get to that point?"

"It was always hard telling with you," Xemnas replied with somewhat of a sneer. "On many levels. You were always the man of mystery."

At that point, Tifa stepped over toward them, casting cautious eyes at the former Superior but nonetheless remained polite. "Anything you'd like to drink, sir?"

"A glass of the darkest red wine you have, please."

"K, I'll get that for you in a jiff…Oh, hey!"

She then walked briskly over to a man sitting in the far corner of the room, where she proceeded to strike up some conversation. From what Braig could judge from her swift hand gestures and breezy tone of voice, she knew him quite well. And apparently, so did Xemnas, judging by his cursory glance back at him. This newcomer had stretched back in his chair, nodding every so often at whatever Tifa said, yet this laid-back pose was deceiving. For, he kept his arms crossed and assessed the other two men with intense, storm blue-gray eyes. And a rather sizeable weapon was strapped to his back, or at least something of which Braig could see the hilt.

"Who's the tough guy over there?" he murmured.

Xemnas lifted his hand toward the intimidating man, as if to indicate all was well, before answering, "Leon. He leads the local restoration committee, if you recall that, although I would say that their work is nearly finished. There are still some smaller projects to be done here and there, of which they've had my assistance."

"You, helping anyone not yourself?" Braig laughed. "That's a first!"

"Are you not familiar with the phrase concerning glass houses, Braig?" Xemnas rolled his eyes. "I will confess that I wouldn't have envisioned this path for myself, rebuilding houses and the like…But, I have found that altruism has proven to be quite fulfilling. I serve more purpose in that capacity than I ever did as Xehanort's puppet. However, Leon has lingering distrust of me, for which I cannot blame him. He insisted on accompanying me here, should I consider falling back to my former ways with you."

Smirking, Braig drawled, "Thinks I'm a bad influence, does he? Your new buddy's a smart man. I like that. So, why'd you decide to be a goody two-shoes? Did you lose a bet with someone in the void?"

"Hm, you are not inaccurate in your guess. I will simply say that it was either reform or stay in a sort of limbo for all eternity. No life yet no death either, only a bodiless awareness of darkness and isolation."

"That sounds shitty. I almost feel sorry for you."

Before Xemnas could respond, Tifa served him his glass of wine before heading to the back, leaving Braig to stew over all this information. It was quite a lot to take in. It was one thing for the man to be alive and his own person but doubly odd that he now fell into acts of "altruism". Being considerate toward other people? Helping to restore the town infrastructure? This was such a drastic change from the cold, calculating man who flippantly spoke of executions and wielded an imposing pair of laser blades.

What's next? Is he going to go around town singing songs? Braig shook his head, gulping down more of his ale.

Aloud, he said, "So, I guess you're not thinking about getting the old gang back together? Probably for the best. I don't even know what we'd do any more."

"No, that's not why I'm here," Xemnas confirmed, taking a sip of wine. "Actually…I came here on behalf of our colleagues. They know you're still in Radiant Garden, and it is blatant you have no plans to leave any time soon. You've never been one for establishing roots, so this is indeed unusual behavior from you."

"And how you found me?" Braig found himself gripping the neck of his bottle more tightly.

"Not overly complicated, as you've been seen visiting here more often. I suppose you've given up your old habit of covering your tracks."

He gave Xemnas a hawkish stare. "Didn't think anyone was chasing me. And you were never that great about getting to the point. Mind telling me what you all want from me?"

Appearing to bide his time, Xemnas indulged in longer sips. He idly tapped his fingers on the counter with another backwards glance at Leon. Braig steeled himself by keeping his eye fixed on the liquor shelves—anything to counteract the steady thumping of his heart and twisted insides at the mere mention of the other former apprentices. Xemnas probably came as messenger to warn him of some elaborate revenge scheme they'd cooked up. And who was he to stop it?

Just as the silence started to prove unendurable, he spoke. "I think the others have long held a private pain over your fate, all things considered. And we always wondered about your origins, ever since Ansem told us—well, mainly them—of how you suddenly appeared one day. Recently, Ienzo noticed a book was missing in the library, right off the shelf of titles relating to an ancient world called Cirragia. Then, we simply pored over every book on the subject until we came upon your name."

Removing his hand from the bottle so as not to break it, Braig made a fist under the counter.

Damn it…

Xemnas continued, "You were a notable name in your day…several hundred years ago, it would seem. A philanthropist, one of the most popular, well-known mayors in your town's history…Even your engagement was cause for renown, to a sky pirate named Val—"

On impulse, Braig shot out his hand and clamped it down on Xemnas' arm. "I wouldn't finish that sentence, if I were you."

With only the slightest concentration, he summoned one of his Arrowguns, which materialized in his other hand. He kept it hidden under the counter, waiting for the right moment.

"Braig, we only want to help."

He growled out, "Yeah? You could have 'helped' more if you'd just stayed out of my business. That shit's personal. 'Sides, you shouldn't have even bothered. That world's ancient history, everyone I've ever known's probably been turned to dust by now…How about we don't revisit it?"

Xemnas' expression was blank, but his eyes burned with determination. "Stop your self-piteous moaning. And if you have no desire to remember, then what are you doing consulting a bottle of ale? Why did you make off with that particular book? I know very well to put two and two together. You have a sentimental longing for tha—"

Braig only strengthened his grip on the other man's arm, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Shut up. You had no right. I got one of my guns on me, and guess what, I haven't gotten rusty. Wanna see?"

He lifted the Arrowgun then, narrowing his one eye as he aimed right at Xemnas' head. The former Superior returned his stare with his usually calm amber eyes. Ever so slightly, he could feel his gun hand shake, but he tried to ignore it as best as he could. This man in front of him was just a clone, as certain a thing as the scar on his face. And he'd been so overconfident back in the Organization days, flaunting his laser swords and subtly boasting of his connection to Xehanort. This cocksure fake should have been obliterated ages ago. With a snarl, he withdrew his other hand from Xemnas' arm to hold onto the gun's grip.

Yet, in the back of his mind, he wondered what killing again would truly accomplish.

From the back corner, Leon had straightened up considerably, one hand going to his weapon. However, with a barely perceptible shake of his head, Xemnas dismissed him.

"It's all right, Leon. I know this man. And if I know him well enough, his threats will ring hollow."

Braig gave him an obscene gesture in response but dismissed his Arrowgun nonetheless. The moment of truth slipping from his fingers, he sensed his shoulders slump from overwhelming tiredness. If there was an off-chance that Cirragia existed again, he almost didn't want to know. He felt the burden of living through many lifetimes, dealing with that constant teasing glimmer of hope, only to lose it again. There was no way he could muster any more now; it was a waste of energy. Staring down at the polished wood stain counter, he felt that heated surge of rage evaporate, leaving him drained.

In a not unkind tone, Xemnas assured, "I would not broach this subject unless there were some developments. We searched for it on our virtual map of the worlds. It shows up. It has been restored. If you come with me, I can promise you will find out more."

Cirragia had come back, then? Had everyone else returned with it, or was that wishful thinking on his part?

A sizeable lump formed in Braig's throat as he felt the slightest tremor in his hands. Overcome with emotion, he rubbed at his eye as well as the bridge of his nose and settled his head right in the palm of his hand. It was as though he'd been thrust through several dark portals in the last five minutes. None of this felt real.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, voice thick. "None of you owe me a damn thing. Not after what I've pulled."

"As if we were any better, allowing our studies to consume us and render us greedy and contentious. I do not know if I can speak for myself, necessarily, but the others got to know you quite well back then. They know you have a great deal of good in you. And they haven't given up hope on you, not entirely. If there's a way they can give you peace, they will. We will."

Braig shook his head at these words, restraining to hiss in pain like a wounded animal. "Stop. I screwed all of you over, and I didn't even feel guilty about it. Just did it so I could go home. I don't deserve this forgiveness crap!"

"Keep persisting with your relentless self-flagellation, and I will throw you back to your home world myself," Xemnas replied with a touch of dark, wry humor.

Still in half-disbelief, Braig choked out a weak chuckle. "Good point. This isn't my style. I just couldn't have called any of this. I was going to leave everything behind. But…I s'pose it was bound to catch up with me. Always does."

"Indeed," Xemnas agreed. "We all must own up to our moral failings. Burying them does little good. Does this mean you are coming with me?"

With a sigh and a heavenward glance, Braig drank the last of his ale. "Sure, why not? Not like I have much going on these days. I'll tell you one thing, though: if things start going south, I'm out of there."

The other man hummed in response, finishing his wine. "I cannot say there won't be some stern words. Be that as it may, this will be a long overdue conversation. Even you have to admit that."

"Yeah, yeah, just as long as I'm not maimed or killed, I'm cool with it."

"If you do, I'm sure it would be your own fault," Xemnas wryly commented as they both got up to leave.

Braig merely snorted in response.

Noticing they were finished, Tifa came back up front to clear the counter, wipe it down, and see them off. "Take care, you two. Don't get into too much trouble, especially you, Braig. I'm going to pretend just this once that that little stunt didn't happen."

She gave them a friendly enough smile, yet judging by her hard flint eyes, he knew she meant serious business. Internally, he cringed at how close he'd come to flying off the handle. For once, it was not a good feeling, rebellious renegade as he had been.

He let slip a disarming crooked grin. "Won't happen again, Teef. I know better than to get thrown out at your place."

"Good, you should."

Just as they were about to push through the doors, Leon stood up and turned toward Xemnas. "So, he's going quietly, then?"

"Yes. I thank you for accompanying me. I sensed he would prove difficult, and I did not want to be lacking in caution."

Leon nodded, giving Braig a sidelong glance. "Yeah, sure thing. Least we didn't have to knock him unconscious."

"It would have been a waste of our energies, I quite agree. I will see you later."

Once they stepped outside, Braig remarked flippantly, "Seems to me that Tall, Dark, and Surly gets along with you pretty well."

"Ah, that…I suppose we do. You are correct on that note. I said he still distrusted me, but it is not the case anymore. A minor fib meant to allay your suspicions. I would have thought you'd be well-acquainted with that technique. Perhaps you're not as savvy as you once were." Xemnas again revealed a light sneer upon making this observation before walking ahead.

Braig shook his head, with a roll of his eye. "Now I remember why I don't like you."

Xemnas' lips twitched into an unusually amused smile. "You ought to tell the others that and see how they react to such bluntness."

"As if. You've always been a smartass. Just keep rubbing it in, why don't you?"

And they walked on together, sharing a strangely renewed sense of camaraderie. Or, at any rate, Braig no longer felt the urge to blast him to oblivion.

---

He would have liked to think this was all going smoothly, making this little trip to seek forgiveness. However, the moment he glimpsed the castle's spires, Braig felt his courage flag as he turned to go back to the bar. Not to be deterred, Xemnas proceeded to grab his arm and frog-march him the rest of the way ("I did not choose to play the diplomat, only for you to flee like a craven fool"). They met Dilan and Aeleus at the doors, where the two guards gave him appraising yet unsurprised glances. There was a slight chill in their eyes as well that almost made him flinch. He couldn't be too disturbed at that—after all, with everything he'd done, this kind of reception was to be expected.

In contrast, when he looked upon his old mentor for the first time in ages, Braig was too tempted to look away. It was true that the arduous, uncertain years had taken their toll on all of them, but Ansem had clearly taken them the hardest. The lines on his face looked deeper and more furrowed, as though engraved. His blond hair looked paler, like the color of corn silk, with some whiter strands starting to poke through. And his orange eyes held a myriad of emotions so complex that Braig wasn't sure what this man thought of him now.

If Ansem still resented him, he didn't betray that as he spoke warmly, "It's good to see you again, Braig. They're waiting for you down in the lab."

Before he could think to tell him that the cordiality was unnecessary, Xemnas nudged his elbow, guiding him inside and on down familiar hallways. The guards followed suit. His memory jogged, he thought back to the times where he would stand in corners or even on the ceiling just to eavesdrop. After that, he would report some of these conversations back to Xehanort. He knew he'd shared chummier moments with his colleagues, walking down these halls, but he blanked on what they'd talk about. When hadn't he been plotting something?

And as they passed through Ansem's study, so much more organized now, Braig considered what a disheveled state they'd left it in the last time he saw it. Another memory floated back to him, of how he once sat with his feet up on their mentor's desk. He would shout out ideas while Xemnas waxed poetic on this new Organization they would create. How they'd shoved Ansem into a portal…He'd kicked him right in the back.

Man, have I always been a bastard? He wondered, almost embarrassed at how little he'd considered that question.

When they walked down the short passageway to the lab, it felt like an eternity to him. He didn't know he was holding his breath until they rounded the corner. There, stationed in front of the gigantic computer screen, sat Even and Ienzo. Dilan and Aeleus took up their posts, on either side of the open doors, and almost making a point in displaying their weapons. Xemnas murmured a polite hello to the other two men, while Braig only stood, frozen. No turning back. If they wanted to kill him, this would be the perfect time to do it. He was surrounded by his peers, all reunited. Only this time, he was not launching into a spiel that could make everyone laugh, as in the old days. Everyone's eyes narrowed out of wariness and residual anger…except Ienzo's, he noticed. The youngest apprentice remained seated, glancing at him occasionally, while he pursued his nervous habit of flipping back his hair.

In contrast, Even stood up tall and rigid, as though looking for a fight. His green eyes blazed.

With a clearing of his throat, he spoke stiffly, "Braig."

Braig inclined his head. "Even. It's been a while."

The air crackled with tension until both men broke it, with Even commenting, "I see you still have one eye," at the same time Braig quipped, "You're not on fire anymore."

Once he registered the passive-aggressive tone, Even fired back, "Well, I never! I would suggest you be set on fire before going around making jokes!"

"And what? You thought my eye could just grow back? Or maybe I'll just go to the eye store! I'm sure they have my color, you pompous—!" Braig paused and then waved his hand away in frustration. "Who am I kidding? You haven't changed one bit. You were always difficult to argue with."

Even adjusted his ascot. "Touché. This is just asinine immaturity, and we have much to discuss. First order of business…"

He nodded toward Aeleus, who stepped forward with a cracking of his knuckles. With each firm step, he drew closer to Braig, who quickly put two and two together.

"Oh, fu—oof!"

He doubled over from the impact of the much larger man's fist against his abdomen, right in the solar plexus.

Trying not to wince, he grunted, "OK, OK, I deserved that. Point taken, big guy," before proceeding to tell Xemnas, "I'm out of here."

With a bored look, he lifted a hand and pushed against Braig's shoulder. "Do not be so quick to leave when you've only just arrived. This meeting was inevitable. The others have much to say. I'd advise you to listen."

"Fine, fine. Do you all have that out of your systems now? Anyone else want to take a turn?" He glanced around at everyone in turn, his eye sharpened.

Xemnas shook his head with a small smile; Even did the same with a sigh; and Ienzo murmured, "I'd rather not," with a squeamish look, still adverse to violence. Dilan muttered, "Tempted," though Aeleus clapped a hand on his shoulder, whispering, "I intended to get the message across once, Dilan." With a shrug, the dark-haired man stepped back, put his lance back upright, and assumed a more stoic expression.

Once satisfied, Braig said, "Good. And I'll keep the wisecracks to a minimum. It's only fair, right?"

"But, you understand our feelings, I hope?" Even now looked at him almost sadly, which felt somehow worse than his temper. "You hurt us, Braig, irrevocably. In ways we're still processing and coming to terms with. It wasn't simply the fact that you helped start the Organization but that you knew everything in advance. Everything! And yet, you kept those secrets from us so we could stay your pawns."

"Yours and Xehanort's," Aeleus added. "You'd struck some kind of deal with him, and whatever that may have entailed, it involved you selling us out. Not just once either. Multiple times. It felt as though we'd meant nothing to you, as though we'd always been the means to an end."

Braig started to protest, "I—" but found his throat too parched to speak. Instead, he glared at the wall in a pitiful attempt to block out these words, these facts that he'd been wrestling with for the past month. And they still weren't done—indeed, they'd barely scratched the surface.

"All that for a Keyblade?" Dilan scoffed. "Surely not. You're far too clever to fall prey to power lust. And yet, what else were we to think? You just kept on playing your twisted mind games while all our hearts were decimated. Sure hope your fancy piece of metal was worth that."

"Listen," he tried shooting back, "this was all going to be personal business. None of you were supposed to be involved! None of—"

The sound of a loud, forced cough interrupted him, forcing him to look over in Ienzo's direction. As for the others, who had prepared to start talking all at once, they fell silent and stared at the young man with bewildered, concerned faces. Even these years later, they shared that common instinct to shield him from any undue harm or suffering. Braig only felt his stomach churn.

With a steady gaze at him, his eyes welling with hurt, Ienzo whispered, "You lied to us. You'd said that if we could locate the darkness in people's hearts, we could expel the Heartless for good. But, in reality…it was the exact opposite, wasn't it? We were serving Xehanort the whole time. You told the others that Master Ansem had gone mad and needed to be dealt with. And they went along with it! That was how you operated. I-It was just lie on top of lie, turning friend against friend—experimenting on children, Braig! Children like I was…We trusted you! You fool…" His voice broke as he wringed his hands. "Why? You didn't want us to f-find out who you were and where you came from. Is that it? Why didn't you just tell us everything in the first place?! You wouldn't have had to turn to Xehanort or act on his plans. You wouldn't have had to become…"

A monster. His mind filled in the blank.

Struggling with saying anything further, Ienzo turned away and hid his face with a trembling hand. His shoulders shook and, as much as he tried to suppress it, audible sniffling could be heard. The sight nearly broke something in Braig. He could try to yell over the points the others had made, deflecting them over and over. But, there was no arguing with Ienzo, whose emotional testimony was pinpoint accurate. What he'd done to them—what he'd done to innocent children—was indefensible. Their cries still echoed in his sleep on top of everything else.

Suddenly exhausted, Braig placed his head in his hand, remaining silent for some moments. Whether he liked it or not, he had dragged these men with him on this self-destructive path.

Then, he lifted his head to address all of them.

"I'm not great at making speeches," he spoke somewhat haltingly, unconsciously echoing another pivotal moment from years and years ago.

Dilan raised a skeptical brow. "That's bizarre. I thought you loved to hear yourself talk."

"That's different," Braig clapped back. "I mean I'm not great at the long, drawn-out emotional shit…but I suppose that's how I got myself into this mess."—he flinched at Even's stern glare—"And, well, you guys, too."

Pacing about the perimeter, he elaborated, "It's actually a pretty long story, but I'll give you the short version. I guess you could call me a time traveler…except I don't think time travelers are forced into any random point in the future at will. That happened to me. When my home world was initially destroyed, I wound up near Daybreak Town. That's how I found out about Keyblades and Keyblade wielders and all that. And I figured if I could find someone with a rare one or, well, get one of my own…I could restore my old world and all the people I'd ever cared about. It wasn't about how much power or influence I held—at least, not at first."

Even hummed, scratching his chin. "Daybreak Town…But, that would have placed you approximately ten years from when Cirragia was destroyed!"

Braig sighed. "See, I never knew that for sure. I can't say that surprises me, though. So, I wandered for a while. Thought I'd find some people that way, in case the whole key thing didn't work out. I even walked into a group of Heartless, cuz I thought that would actually lead me somewhere"—here, he let out a bitter bark of laughter—"Nope! Good ole Kingdom Hearts said, 'Surprise, Braig, I'm taking you several hundred years more into the future!' and spat me out here. The Keyblade plan was back on. I thought that I'd been thrown so far that I had no choice but to go back in time. Otherwise, for all I knew, everyone back home was definitely dead by now. That is, if the Heartless hadn't taken them out first…That's what I'll never understand, how I got spared, and they might not have…"

"So, then, you met us," Aeleus stated, his blue eyes flashing pain.

"Yeah, and all of you were great." Braig smiled wryly yet knew he was nearing the heaviest part. "I felt at home with you guys—closest thing I had to a real home and family for as long as I could remember. Yeah, yeah, I know it's hard to believe that me, king of lies, wasn't playing you entirely…But, I really wasn't." He choked back what might have been a strangled sob. "Not before Xehanort anyway. But, I couldn't tell you about my past or who I really was. Because how were you going to swallow the fact I didn't come from the same time as you? That I'd had things going for me back hundreds of years ago? Good job, family, fiancée…Besides, I still thought that this would all be temporary. The only way was forward. And…And it was too painful to think about the past. It'd be like digging up old bones, right? What good was that gonna do? I didn't think any of you would believe me, let alone help me…"

Even said quietly, "We would have done everything in our power if you had told us the truth."

He winced, stopping his aimless pacing, as he crossed his arms. "I know that now. I guess I'd been so used to covering up everything up to that point that I didn't think it'd hurt to keep on doing it. I'm not saying that was right. I'm saying it was the only way I knew how to live. That someday, I'd go back to my real home, though nothing said I couldn't have had two." He rubbed at his temples with another weary sigh. "You know the rest, all the times I betrayed you, all the other times we betrayed each other, those twists and turns. Look, I'm…I apo—damn it! I'm sorry, fine, yes! Ugh, not used to that. I know two measly words aren't near enough to heal the damage I did."

"That's a bloody understatement," Dilan deadpanned but still showed the barest hint of a smile. "At least you've finally come to that point. And saying those words is that hard for you, isn't it?"

"Hell yes," Braig chuckled weakly. "Probably haven't said them in years, didn't think I would again. So, the fact that you guys actually found my world and want me back there…Huh. I don't know if I would have been as forgiving. That's kind of beyond words. I don't deserve it."

He wore contrition like an ill-fitting suit, yet he felt strangely at peace with his confession. Relief washed over him. If he'd told them sooner, when they'd first met, who knew how things would have panned out? Perhaps he could have saved all of them and the other worlds eleven years of misery. Now, after unveiling his hidden history and seeing the understanding in their eyes, he thought this was enough. Even with Cirragia back, it wouldn't be the same.

Just as he was turning his back to leave, he heard Even reprimand, "Oh no, you don't! We've spent all this time researching you and your world, ensuring it has returned, and I will not have you simply go like that, Braig. I will not! You need to hear this instead of wallowing."

Xemnas gave him a grateful look. "I have been fruitlessly attempting to emphasize this to him. However, I am not in the habit of yelling and flailing about, as it goes against my very nature. That was how this point needed to be delivered. Thank you."

"Erm…" Even reddened and scratched the back of his neck. "I'm not sure whether or not to take that as a compliment, but you're welcome, Xemnas. And you better be grateful as well!" He pointed at Braig. "Do not let our efforts be for naught!"

In response, he could only hold back his head and laugh, partly out of disbelief and partly out of genuine amusement. He was probably going to confuse them, but he didn't care. When he'd started to calm down, he felt another spasm of laughter coming on. He continued until the tears sprang to his eye and after Even stopped looking affronted in favor of worry.

"I know, that was weird," he acknowledged, wiping at his eye. "It's just…I never realized how much I'd missed you guys. I'd forgotten how fun our interactions could be. Never thought I'd say that either."

Their mix of eclectic personalities and the resulting clashes had grated on his nerves in the past. Then again, that was what being part of a family was like sometimes. He had been too arrogant and short-sighted to grasp that sooner. Or to appreciate how precious having that support system was. Judging by the tired yet relieved smiles on everyone's faces, they could sympathize.

Aeleus said, "We missed you as well, at least the version of you we came to know before everything went wrong. We had feared the worst, that it would be as much of a façade as the lies you'd told us. Yet, I feel I speak for everyone in this room that this isn't the case. You seem…rejuvenated."

"Maybe it's the alcohol." He shrugged in response.

As he turned around in his chair, Ienzo seemed to perk up too, in spite of the bloodshot appearance of his eyes. "And it isn't a question of deserving. We all shoulder much of the blame for our errors in judgment. It only puts everything you did into much greater context, even if it isn't all excusable. But, who's to say what any one of us would have done if we'd been in your place? You've been homesick, Braig. Wouldn't you like to see what we discovered, at least?"

Braig gave a rather apprehensive glance at the computer screen, where the enlarged map of the worlds was on full display. One green dot labeled "Cirragia" blinked, as steady as the rhythm of his pulse. Once they dove into the compiled research, it was either going to give him overwhelming joy or crushing despair. He was ready.

True to form, he made light of the moment. "All right. Lay it on me, nerds!"

"Happy to oblige," Even said before clicking on the dot.

He hadn't expected to see such a wealth of information presented to him. As Even scrolled down and then clicked to other pages, he saw so many photographs of a world he'd once thought was lost to the sands of time. He had to keep asking the others if these pictures were indeed recent and not from a bygone era. Their reassuring nods and smiles confirmed they were. Otherwise, Braig kept calm throughout this presentation, even as he wanted to exclaim out loud once or twice. There were the big blue skies that he used to admire; the snow-capped mountain range he'd seen from a distance; and the sprawling grassy fields intact. It was as though none of this had been touched by perpetual darkness or the dread creatures that had risen from it. But, one question still nagged at him: had any of this world been lived in since?

He got his answer when Ienzo commented, "Now, I suppose you're wondering about your town, if it's been restored to capacity. If you consider how many other worlds have been unlocked and restored to normal, some peripheral ones would…"

"Jeez, kiddo, don't keep me in suspense! Show me!" Braig could barely suppress his impatience as he exposed an eager, manic grin.

Ienzo shook his head with a self-deprecating smile. "They never want to hear the full explanation."

With a few keystrokes, he soon pulled up new images that Braig nonetheless knew like the back of his hand.

"The old clock tower! Wow," he whispered in awe, recognizing that town mainstay in an instant.

More slideshow pictures revealed the now completed solar farm on the outskirts, panels gleaming with a reflective sheen. The Emerald River shone as beautifully as ever, with gulls and ducks flying overhead. Houses and shops stood tall and proud, and front yards were full to bursting with rose bushes. And in several of these pictures, he saw people, his people. Many of them looked a bit older now, but he could identify certain shopkeepers and council members nonetheless. There was no arguing that Silverhurst had become an industrious, prosperous town once again, particularly when he found himself staring long at the square.

Vending stands had been set up, providing the usual wares from produce to jewelry to knitted hats. Prospective customers holding objects in their hands, either determining their value or to fawn over them. People standing around and talking animatedly. Children laughing and running about. The sights that he'd almost taken for granted as a resident, as these market days had felt so routine. After experiencing relentless chaos, after walking through the flames, he'd ached for these ordinary pleasures. To be able to go through the day and only consider the errands to run or what his friends had to share by way of news. How he could stop and take part in these conversations, idling away the hours.

"Ah." Even gently nudged Ienzo's arm. "Let me take over for a moment. Perhaps he'd like to see who the new Silverhurst mayor is. There's a decent chance he might know him."

Another click, and there was a relaxed, smiling man with a graying blond beard that hadn't been there before. He stood with arms crossed, surrounded by the bookshelves in his former study.

"Good for you, Lukas," Braig murmured, feeling a stinging in his eye.

So many years lost. He supposed it might not be too late to make up some of that time.

He squinted, still amazed that this was his old friend. "But, how…? Shouldn't everyone be dead by now?"

Even stood up from the computer to briefly touch his shoulder. "We formulated a theory. If we had to hazard a guess, we'd say that time works differently in the darkness realm. It's almost at a complete standstill, not to say that people stop aging there. They merely age much more slowly. At any rate, it certainly explains why you can recognize several of these people here. Once their world was restored, they in essence were, too. I could show you the formula—"

Holding up a hand, Braig responded, "Nah, that's OK. It's enough to see them. Besides, you science guys always went in deep with that stuff, kinda gave me a headache."

"Hmph, suit yourself," Even snorted but smiled. "I hope this helped you."

"It did." He swallowed. "Thank you."

No more complicated treks or hastily thought-out ideas of where to go or what to do next. His way was clear, free from all obstacles. Finally.

---

After thanking his friends for all the hard work they'd done on his behalf, Braig was making his way out of the castle alone. Visions of Silverhurst now took on more tangible shape in his mind, of who he would speak with once he got there. Of course, he'd have to rest up first before making the gummi ship trip the next morning.

"Braig, a word?"

Interrupted in his train of thought, he turned to see Ienzo striding after him and panting from the effort. He waved a small, flat rectangular contraption at him.

"Almost forgot," he said, looking at him with a nervous grin. "I meant to give you this gummiphone. I thought we could keep in touch, should you need us, and we will certainly get into contact with you from time to time."

Braig took the phone, gazing at it with some bemusement. "This looks real nice, kid. But, you forget I'm old. Technically, hundreds of years old. I might not be able to work these gadgets that well."

"Oh, it's quite user-friendly, I can assure you! If Sora can figure it out…"

He laughed. "The key brat has one, huh? Figures. Gets the best of everything, doesn't he? Well…thanks, Ienzo."

About to continue on his way, he found himself stopping again, with a glance over his shoulder. "Say, kid…I gotta say I'm surprised you'd go out of your way like this. I wrecked a lot of lives, but you got the brunt of it. It's all right to hate my guts, you know."

Ienzo let out a somewhat embarrassed laugh, twitching back his bangs. "All water under the bridge. Honestly. The best we can do now is secure better lives for ourselves, outside of light and darkness, but accept both of them in equal measure."

Braig chuckled back. "See what I mean, though? You're Exhibit A. You ought to go outside, hang out with friends—hell, eat some ice cream. Not be stuck in a lab all day coming up with philosophical junk. You're too young for that."

"I'm fine, Braig. Well, most days, but don't worry about me."

After a pause, he added, "One thing that struck me when we examined your past. The others might not have given it much thought, but it's amazing to me. You're still in love with her, aren't you? After all this time, everything you've been through, that's never faded."

Shocked, Braig felt the color drain from his face. He wished that he wouldn't look so startled every time someone brought her up, as though he'd forgotten her otherwise. Far from it. He would never stop thinking about her, but those memories had felt so private. He never thought to tell anyone about her.

Composing himself, he forced a laugh that sounded hollow, even to him. "You're right, but you really need to get out more. Oh, and a word of advice, kid: don't fall in love. Find the right person, and you'll never be able to get enough of them. Then, you start doing things you think are because of them, but instead, it's just you screwing up. It all winds up being one big mess."

"But, do you regret meeting her?" Ienzo probed.

The feeble smile slid off his face. "Never. She's one of the best people I know."

"You'll find her. I know it."

Braig ruffled his hair, a tendency from their experiment days. "That's quite the optimistic outlook, sunshine. I think I'll just wait and see. Take care of yourself."

With a casual parting salute, he resumed his stroll down the hall. He considered the notion that he ought not to treat Ienzo like the very quiet yet inquisitive child he'd been. After all, he was an adult, no point in sugarcoating the facts.

Regardless, he still did not have the heart to tell him what he had found out in that sky pirate book those years ago, information that had devastated him. The last two sentences in Valeria's entry still plagued him, so much so that he could recite them from memory:

Her crew's last known whereabouts were on the Montressor docks, prior to departure. None were ever heard from again.

---

Gummi ships were tricky vessels, Braig concluded upon examining the various buttons and gizmos inside. If the option remained available to him, he would have been fine with traveling via dark portal again. But, what was life without taking some risks and trying out new ventures he wouldn't have thought of before? As long as he could shift this baby into gear…

All it took was a simple pull of the lever. Next, he turned the thrusters on with a press of the button closest to the steering panel. He felt jarred when he shifted the ship two more gears to take off from the launch pad. The sudden movement pressed him further back in his seat.

"Now I know why people don't like driving stick shift," he muttered to himself but allowed himself a smirk. "Just get me home, baby. That's all I care about."

At first, he didn't know what to think when he had to put the ship into warp speed. As he departed from Radiant Garden and the atmosphere, he started feeling light-headed. At one point, he worried that he would throw up. He was one more old guy who had to get with the times and be resistant every step of the way. Perhaps new-fangled flying machines would drive him insane.

However, he changed his mind completely once he got up close with the stars. The same ones he would stay up late and watch with Valeria, who'd looked at them with great longing. Up here, where he would have never expected to be, he now understood where her hunger had come from. His own ship (that he decided to dub "Fleetwind" on the spur of the moment) may have been smaller and much more mechanized than hers, but it was no less of a thrill ride. He rushed past other worlds and ships while peering with his eye at the navigation screen that mapped out his trajectory. Knowing that his peripheral vision was greatly limited, he hadn't realized how much effort this was going to take. Too many variables to keep in mind.

"Maybe they shouldn't have let me drive this thing," he mused.

By far, this was so much harder than aiming a gun. At least he'd usually have one target.

Rallying over the course of the trip, Braig grew somewhat used to being a multi-tasking driver and even enjoyed it. Soon, Cirragia was in his sights, according to his handy virtual tool. And soon, Silverhurst, where he planned to land on the outskirts.

Landing, however, would prove to be a challenge.

"Brake, damn it! Brake!" he yelled, racking his brains on what that Cid guy had told him back at the garage. Something about deploying a parachute? No, only during emergency evacuations…

"Ah." He pressed a big blue button that he recalled. "Braig, you idiot, don't die now."

The gummi ship pointed downward in a fluid motion as its speed slowed to a crawl. With his firm grip on the steering controls, he braced himself for impact, knowing that there was only so much he could do with a vessel without wheels. As he anticipated, it was not the smoothest landing. He felt quite a few jolts rock his body as the ship touched ground then slid for some feet. So much grass and dirt were disturbed in its wake.

When he got out, he released a shaky breath that turned into a rough chuckle and looked over the upturned ground. He knelt down to grab some of the dirt, the first thing from Cirragia he'd touched in almost twenty years. Sifting it through his fingers, he caught its clean, fresh rain-dampened smell. It must have done that yesterday or the day before, if he had to guess.

He'd finally made it.

Braig blinked back some tears he hadn't realized were there. And he'd be damned if he met Mayor Frost as a crying mess. He wiped at his eye with his arm, allowing this to ground him as he went about his next objective. He walked out a few yards but almost in a daze. The birds chirped as cheerfully as they'd ever done, and the radiant sun shone high in the early afternoon sky. Everything about his once peaceful existence came flooding back, though he knew there'd always be one thing missing. No use denying that, but he could dwell on that later.

As he approached a low hillside, he met someone who'd vaulted atop it at the same time. Could it actually be…?

But, no, that had been part of a recurring dream, too. He still was unsure when he'd wake up. His breath caught in his throat, while his heart performed a stutter-stop. No one else he'd known had that color hair, dark yet burnished with flame. That body was the exact shape as the one he'd held in his embrace countless times. And those gray eyes that caught the sunlight…

"Val?" he called out, hoping against hope that this woman was who he thought she was.

The woman's face went ashen as she blinked several times. Braig wondered if she would recognize him, given his deformities. Covering up his scar with one hand, he let slip his crooked grin.

Please don't freak out…

"Braig?" he saw her mouth, and then he heard that wonderful, crisp voice again. "Braig! Oh my gods, I—!"

He strode toward her at a quickened pace, as Valeria moved to do the same. She clearly wound up dismissing that idea in favor of running toward him. And she was fast! Before he registered what happened, she leapt into his arms, sobbing. The tears streamed unrelentingly down his face in kind as he buried his face in her hair.

"Hey, beautiful," he softly greeted.

"Oh, my darling!" she exclaimed, raining down kisses upon his ruined cheek. "Gone for so long, I'd no bloody idea where those dratted things had taken you…And now you've made it back here. You clever blighter! Y-You've come back to me."

"I tried my best," he murmured, rubbing circles in her back. "I did just about everything. Including some really questionable stuff along the way. Didn't mean to take this long. I'm sorry."

"Oh, come off it," she chided gently. "If we're to play that game, then I'm sorry, too. I ought to have found you sooner."

Braig looked down at her with some incredulity. "You were—? Hey, that should be my line! I was scouring the worlds for you."

"Then we were both looking for each other," Valeria sighed with a wry smile, tears still streaming down. "It doesn't matter now, who was looking for whom. At least I've found you in one piece—oh, shit, sorry!" She covered her mouth with her hand, her alarmed eyes widened.

He only gave a hoarse chuckle in response as he sensed another sob in his chest. "It's fine. I sometimes forget I have one eye, too."

She withdrew her hand, shook her head at his joke (like old times already), and burst out laughing. Unable to help himself, Braig joined in. They carried on that way for a minute, laughing and crying, expelling their pent-up emotions. Once some of this subsided, he drew her close again. "You are real, right?"

"Yes, only if you are. It would be awful if you were another dream. I've sure had enough of them," Valeria replied, leaning her head against his chest.

"Me too. It always was the worst feeling to have you there, only to wake up. Well, I came here flying a gummi ship. That real enough?"

"So, that strange vessel was yours!" She managed a raspy laugh. "No…No, I don't think I could have dreamt that. I would have imagined you in a hot air balloon, but I suppose that's just as outlandish. You'll be a pirate yet."

"Don't you think I already am?" He quirked a humorous brow at her.

Her responding mock pout was as Val-like an expression as he'd seen. "Please be serious for once."

More than willing to accommodate her, Braig cradled her face in his hands to get a good, long look at her. Through his still watery, blurred vision, he could determine that she'd aged as he had, though nowhere near as dramatically. And perhaps not as many years had eluded her, for one reason or another. A few more freckles had dotted across the bridge of her nose, and crinkles pulled at the corners of her eyes. Apart from the typical faint forehead wrinkles and more pronounced laugh lines around her mouth, she otherwise looked much the same, not that he cared much. No matter what she looked like, the fact that he could touch her again, hold her again, meant everything.

And what left him nearly breathless was the unwavering love and adoration shining in her eyes. No trace of disgust at how distorted his own features had become or how poorly he thought he'd aged compared to how generous time had been with her. She appeared as besotted with him as she had all those years ago, with her soft pink lips forming into a dreamy smile. Leaning in slightly, Braig felt so tempted to kiss her again but knew it was more prudent to wait. He then drew back a fraction of an inch. When he would relate all the details of his con man life to her, he'd know then if she still wanted him. His heart was sure to be fractured again. But, he would not be dishonest and presume he could reclaim her yet. If she rejected him after that, he wouldn't change her mind.

For now, he whispered, "I was beginning to think I'd never see you again."

"That had crossed my mind as well. I mean, logically, we should both be dead. This is actually quite ludicrous once you think about it." Valeria let out another little laugh as she started stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. "Hm, no matter. I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Particularly after being stuck in that horrid dark realm for twelve years."

Braig started, his shoulders tensing. "Wait, what? Twelve years?! I knew you'd disappeared but that's…How did that happen?"

"I'm afraid much of it was my fault, for being so obstinate. I dragged Lyn and Em on a wild goose chase off and on for two years looking for you. They say they don't resent me for what occurred and that they would have followed me anywhere. But, I felt responsible for tying their fates with mine, even if I wasn't rational." She looked up at him with sorrow. "I was racked with guilt when I'd lost you. I-I kept thinking there was more I could have done to buy us time. Or if I hadn't been so clumsy, or if I'd been stronger in getting you onboard. And the nightmares I'd have were positively dreadful. I-I k-kept watching you fall again and again and…"

"Shhh." Braig pressed his lips to her forehead. "You couldn't have helped that any more than I could. It was all the Heartless."

"That's what those damn things were called? How apt."

He chuckled. "I wouldn't be that angry at them, really. They were people once, too."

"That's even worse." Valeria shuddered and, once she seemed more settled, she continued, "At any rate, we ran into a bit of bad luck. We had just shot out of Montressor's atmosphere, when a whole swarm of those things attacked us. In their ships, if you can believe it. Then, we were sucked into a black hole and wound up stranded in the dark realm, as I said. We discovered these abandoned towns—or perhaps mirror images of ones in the light realm—so there was plenty to live off of. Still discouraging. No other people that we saw, no starlight…Just vast stretches of dark, empty space. One day, something major must have happened elsewhere to disturb the boundaries, because we easily fought our way out. And am I glad of it!" She gave him another wry smile. "Don't care how long it's been this side of the worlds, as long as I'm living here now. And I have you again. That's more than enough."

He glanced around them. "So, I take it your house isn't far from here?"

"Practically a stone's throw!" Brightening considerably, Valeria hooked her arm through his. "Come with me. You could probably use the walk."

"Oh, definitely! My legs are killing me."

As they walked together, with Valeria moving in eager, longer strides, Braig took in his surroundings every so often. The grasses bent under the slight breeze, causing the tops of the wildflowers to bob up and down on their stems. Sturdy green-leafed trees stood far off, like they always had. This was surreal. As long as he stayed here, he would no longer have to mull over the day-to-day plots with all their pain-staking steps. He wouldn't have to think about who to watch out for or who to sway to his side. With his world returned to its former near-utopian glory, he could live a more authentic life. The warmth of Valeria's hand kept him further tethered to this place. Not a dream this time.

Somewhat absentminded, he lagged behind, catching her attention.

Her initial concerned look turned into a beaming grin. "You still can't believe this is real, can you?"

"No, not really. This is almost too perfect." He let out a dry laugh. "I'm halfway expecting you to vanish into thin air at any minute."

With a sly wink, she reached behind and pinched his arm. "Last I checked, ghosts can't do that."

"Oh, ha, ha, Val."

"Believe me, love, this is real. And I think seeing the house will convince you. Ah, so here it is!"

They approached a little white house, which was less a house and more of a cottage. Braig felt his breath hitch in his throat upon the realization that he couldn't make this up. Any lingering skepticism he'd had melted away. Valeria soon excitedly launched into an explanation on how she came to find this abandoned cottage in a wretched state of disrepair some months ago, how Lynessa and Emmalia helped her fix it up, and how she'd grown fond of it.

"I thought it was a perfect location!" she gushed as they got closer to the house. "As much as I love Silverhurst, I didn't want to live in town. I need to be out in the open, appreciate the wind in my hair, decent view…All that. I guess part of me is always going to value my freedom. Of course, I'm not far from town, and I still like to socialize. But, I love it best out here. It's not lonely at all for me."

"You mean Em and Lyn don't live with you?" Braig asked.

"No, but they're close by," she replied, walking a bit faster. "They like to come over for dinner every now and again. After all we'd been through together, we'd decided to pursue our own lives, see how that'd work out. Consider us semi-retired! Em actually got married a while back. Lyn won't get married, says men are huge pains not worth dealing with."

"She's right, you know," he pointed out. "We can get up to some dumb, bull-headed things that we shouldn't do. We grunt instead of communicate like real human beings. Yeah, I get where she's coming from."

"I do too, but I'm not sure I entirely do at the same time. Some of you lot have redeeming qualities." Valeria stared at him with a meaningful look and a soft smile.

I'm not so sure about that, sweetheart, he thought with a tinge of sadness.

Rounding a corner of the cottage, he spotted a flower bed that was in full bloom with yellow, lavender, and royal blue irises. A floppy sun hat lay nearby, almost like it'd been thrown down in a hurry.

"Your ship interrupted my weeding," she said, amused, behind him, gesturing toward the dirt smudges on her dark pants for emphasis. "I simply had to go investigate! Quite relaxing, gardening, probably my favorite new-found hobby. I'd like to think I have the knack for it, too."

He agreed, "You do. Those blue ones there look really good."

Valeria beamed at the compliment. "Thank you. I'm glad you like those ones, they're my favorites, too! But, I can't take all the credit for that. The florist just happened to gift me those seeds. Apparently, it's a rare breed and—" Abruptly cutting herself off, she waved away her oncoming rant. "Well, my gardens aren't the main attraction. I've kept something else that's rather special."

Before she led him right to it, Braig had a feeling he knew what it was. He'd sworn he'd glimpsed a mast protruding from behind the cottage.

Sure enough, the Celestial Comet was "moored" only a few yards away, gleaming like a newly minted coin. Time too had proven quite kind toward her, although perhaps that was thanks to her captain. She was lashed to stakes on the ground, but the gangplank was down, as if ready to welcome travelers aboard.

Valeria rested her hand on the hull, which she couldn't resist fondly stroking. "I don't think I could ever give her up. We've been through too much together. I even swab the deck when I get nostalgic!"

He nodded appreciatively. "So this puts the 'semi' in semi-retirement."

"Very much so. I'd take off now if I felt like it. For now, I think we ought to climb aboard and appreciate the weather. Like old times." She patted the ship.

"Suits me."

Once he walked up the gangplank, Braig headed straight for the railing to admire the scenery. Even if they wouldn't send themselves into the sky, he nonetheless felt like he stood on top of the world, a sensation he thought he'd never experience again. He breathed in the fresh, wood-scented air.

As Valeria joined him by his side, he turned and quietly asked her, "Do you still like to sleep out here?"

"Hm, you remember everything," she remarked, smiling. "Yes, from time to time. I have to keep my back into consideration these days, though. These hard wooden floors don't feel the best. So, I bring out the mattress."

He gave her a fond look, laying his hand on top of hers. "You haven't changed much."

"Why? Was I supposed to?" she joked before sobering. "I feel like I have changed a great deal, actually. In subtle ways, perhaps...but only because the things I've been through tend to change people. I'm more grateful now. I try to appreciate what I have and not focus so much on what I lack. That's not to say regaining you hasn't been a joy."

At this, she reached up to caress the scarred half of his face, as if truly studying him like he had with her. Part of him waited for her nose to turn up or her lips to twitch into a repulsed sneer. He knew he should know better and trust her not to spurn him so blatantly. But, a chill coursed through him at her touch, one of dread of the moment she would view him differently. Instead, he saw her gaze at him in a way that suggested empathy, not pity, with what she imagined he'd been through.

She pursed her lips in a small frown. "If I may ask, how did you come by that scar? Or lose your eye, for that matter? Did it hurt?"

Braig held her hand against his face. "Nah, not much. The scar was just a scratch that never healed, that's all. And my face looks the way it does because…Because I fought my way through a thousand Heartless trying to save this town I passed."

His recent, easily pricked conscience tugged at him for the fib, but he attempted to brush it off.

Hey, better than what actually happened, he thought. I can't tell her I got this face because I'd royally pissed off this kid.

"I see." Valeria nodded, yet he noticed her leery squinting. "Well, it sounds like you have quite the story to tell."

"Oh yeah, that wasn't even half of it. So, do you want the abridged version or the long version? Gotta warn you, though, the long version could take the whole afternoon."

She stepped up to perch on the rail in response, patting the spot next to her as she gave him flirtatious eyes. "I believe we have more than enough time to do things the long way now. I'd love to hear it."

"OK, don't say I didn't warn you," he said with a wink, situating himself on the rail and masking his doubts about this in the process.

He'd expected her to inquire into his deeds (and misdeeds) a week from now, not the very day of his homecoming. Then again, he should have known better to underestimate her insatiable curiosity. With that in mind along with his reservations, Braig started telling his story in full, beginning with his desperate nocturnal search for her. Tears already filled her eyes at that part, to the extent that she had to dab them away. Probably the last time she could realistically feel sorry for him, he assumed.

From there, he alluded to his time in Daybreak Town, where he learned of the great key-shaped weapon that could undo so much more than locks. He talked of Kingdom Hearts' indifferent nature when it came to him, how it had transported him through time, and how he'd been gifted (or cursed) with the ability to bend gravity to his will. As his story turned darker, he powered through relating those difficult last eleven years and how he'd committed so many subversive, traitorous acts against his friends. How he had sensed Xehanort was likely a pathological liar, but he'd allied himself with him anyway and freely surrendered parts of his heart. As far as he'd seen it, what else did he have to lose? Apparently, much more than he'd bargained for, but if it meant finally getting her and his world back, he hadn't cared about consequences. But, after a while, he hadn't cared much about anything at all.

"Truth is, I lost sight of what I was trying to accomplish." He cringed, running a hand through his ponytail self-consciously. "But, I still thought I was in control. That's not the easiest thing for me to reconcile, believe me. Or don't. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't."

Valeria had proven to be an attentive listener throughout, maintaining a neutral face and not speaking up once. Now that he was finished, he saw the worried crease between her eyebrows. She still seemed to be absorbing all this information.

When she did speak again, she commented, "That's…dedication, I must say. You put yourself through all that for me? Can't say I'd know too many people who would do that. And yet, so much of what you did…"

"It's not something I should be proud of, I know," Braig sighed, preparing himself for the worst. "Listen, nothing says you have to stay with me. We'll always have memories of the good times, so at least those won't be tainted much."

With a jump off the rail, she stretched her arms before pacing about the deck. He tried to read her face but could not decipher much. The sharp plummet of his stomach indicated to him her negative reaction would be a foregone conclusion. He'd been stabbed, shot at, beat up, disintegrated, and had felt a jagged piece of an evil old coot's soul embed itself within him. All of these life-or-death scenarios paled in comparison to the keen anxiety he currently felt watching her cover the deck with her pacing, deep in thought. She had no idea how much his emotional fate rested in her hands.

Finally, she walked back toward him, her eyes intense, yet a smile threatened at her lips. "You should know it's going to take a lot more than that to scare me off, Braig. I can't say I condone everything you did, least of which fighting children."

"Hey, they wielded some high-quality weapons with abilities that were something to see! They were great warriors."

"Still children," she retorted, sounding bored even as her smile became more prominent. "In any case, you seem properly apologetic for what you did. That's important, as long as you don't do anything of that nature again, of course. It makes me wonder how I would have acted if all that happened to me." Her face fell then. "If I'd lost you but then was forced forward in time. I barely knew how to cope when we were stranded. If I didn't have Lyn or Em…I probably would have done just as much harm, if not worse. I'd have gone mad."

Braig shook his head with a faint smile. "I'm not so sure you would have. You were always a stronger person than me."

"If we measure that in pure stubbornness, perhaps," she sighed ruefully before reaching for his hands. "I think I understand why you did what you did. You didn't make the best decisions, but who would in that situation? You were merely attempting to solve this larger problem while pushing your grief aside. And turning to the one person you thought could help, even if that person was a worthless, devious scoundrel. Although…I'm sorry, but didn't you tell me earlier you'd lost your eye slaying all those Heartless?"

Realizing that he indeed had opened an inconsistency when he'd mentioned his confrontation with Terra, he laughed weakly. "Sorry, that was kind of reflexive. The real reason was just really embarrassing."

"Indeed, it was your own doing." Valeria looked as though she was about to laugh. "That other reason did make for a better story, didn't it? But, I had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't true. Weren't you a skilled manipulator at one time? Where did that go?"

"Out with the trash, hopefully." He shrugged. "Besides, I was never that much of a liar around you. Never had an excuse, and, well, you see through everything."

"Years of piracy will do that," she said airily with an affectionate squeeze of his hands. "You should never have to lie to me about anything. You don't have to cover up or dupe anyone into believing whatever it is you want any more. You've found forgiveness with your friends. You're home. Those things matter above all else."

Once again, much of the wind was knocked out of Braig upon hearing those words. He had to look her more fully in the eyes, for he wondered how sincere she was. After all, how could she be so warm and receptive toward him? With a track record like his and what he'd exposed, she could leave him. Maybe she should. However, with her gray eyes brimming with so much tenderness, he almost had reason to believe their love could survive this. He found himself glancing away, feeling like it was too good to be true.

"I'm…," he faltered, at an initial, rare loss for words. "I don't know why you'd waste your time on me. I'm not the same man I was. You deserve better."

Valeria stroked his face again, drawing his attention back to her. "I'll be the judge of that. And I already told you how I've changed. Our experiences would mark anyone. I searched two years for you when it was within my power, and that might not seem the longest period of time…But, to me, two years without you felt like a decade. That pain was intense, not the sort you can recover from quickly either. Now that you're here with me, I have no intention in giving you up. So, don't try to talk me out of being with you, Braig." She leaned closer with her beautiful smile. "I've already waited too long."

Before he knew it, he found himself returning that smile while releasing a shuddering breath. His emotions practically drowned him. Contentment, some surprise, and, conquering everything else, overwhelming relief. He hadn't expected this sentiment from her, but he'd longed to hear it all the same.

"Can't argue with that logic," he rasped, holding her face in his hands. "I love you, Val."

She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, "Love you back."

Thus, with his few remaining walls completely down, Braig captured her lips with his at last.

He made no attempt to temper his passions as he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him. Every curve pressed against his body, like he'd remembered. Equally as strong, she clung to him with her arms around his shoulders. And when she let her hands explore further down his back, he lifted her slightly off the deck. All the while, they continued kissing, nearly bruising each other's lips with their shared enthusiasm. The years of companionship that they'd missed, that they'd each pined for, converged here. But, once he sensed the liquid warmth of her tears, hot against his skin, he eased up on his intensity. He set her down with a lingering kiss to her brow.

Valeria laughed breathlessly through her tears. "I'm all right, if you're wondering. It's only the fact that I…I yearned for this. You have no idea for how long."

"Oh, I think I have an idea," Braig drawled, kissing her lips again more languidly.

She wound her fingers through his hair. "I thought it'd just stay a fantasy. Or worse, we'd be here like this, and I'd go numb as if we'd never been together."

"I don't think we have to worry about that. I feel like I've fallen back into the groove with you."

"I do, too. It feels exactly the way it felt back then. Such a relief."

He smiled, pleased to hear this. "I couldn't agree more."

"You know we have much to catch up on," she murmured, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

No denying that Valeria was as witty and charming as ever. Their spark wasn't rekindled so much as it was reignited to a powerful blaze. He thumbed away traces of her tears while considering the double meaning of what she'd said.

And as he did, he smirked playfully. "I already got some suggestions."

Even though nobody else witnessed their reunion, Braig whispered just all that he wanted to do with Valeria, as though they were buried secrets. When, in actuality, he suggested quite intimate acts.

She raised an eyebrow, suppressing a few giggles. "My, my, haven't you become the hardened cowboy. If I was still a noble, I would chastise you for such language."

"Oh, really? How?" he asked, arms crossed, on the verge of laughter himself.

"Well, for one thing, you were being provocative. Beastly, even. That might require some punishment."

"What? Are you gonna tie me up?" He widened his eye for dramatic effect.

As she bit her lip to keep from laughing outright, she nodded. "To start. And I would be very, very thorough."

"I believe it. I'd be more than happy to...," Braig trailed off as soon as he'd glanced down.

A glint of a shiny object had bounced off the sunlight, momentarily dazzling him. The source was a ring on a particular finger of Valeria's left hand. Earlier, he hadn't paid much attention when they'd hugged and kissed, solely focusing on her. He hadn't thought to notice the metallic coolness of what sat on her finger. Sapphires on silver.

"You kept it," he breathed, taking her hand in his to examine her ring up close. "After all these years…You didn't even know if I was alive then."

With a soft laugh, she admired the ring again before glancing up at him. "I guess you could say my heart still believed you were out there somewhere. Or some mush like that. No matter the outcome, I've seen myself as good as married to you. There was never going to be anybody else."

"Val…"

He kissed her ring finger, her hand, and then her mouth once again. Preferring to take his time, he was less hasty and eager than he'd been. He only wanted to enjoy her, and now, he had the rest of his life to do that.

When he drew back, brushing strands of hair back from her face, he had one more question. "So this"—he pointed to his roughened face—"doesn't bother you?"

Valeria shook her head. "Not even remotely. If I was with you based on appearance alone, I wouldn't have stuck around like I did. And anyway, you always were brutally handsome. Sure, there might be a bit more brutality…" She stroked his face with the back of her hand. "But no less handsome."

Braig felt a genuine grin light up his face as he blinked back more stinging. "Trying to make me cry today?"

"Oh, we've already done that to each other, darling. Might as well squeeze out a few more tears," she joked but leaned her head against his shoulder. "Now, the only thing we have to worry about is watching this sunset. There's time enough for other pleasures."

He kept his arm firmly around her waist. "One of the best things I've heard all day."

They spent the rest of the afternoon doing just that, appreciating one more Cirragia sunset. However, this would not mark the occasion of an ending but a renewal. One he would not let slip away.

---

A/N: I'll admit, I will miss writing a predominantly Braig POV. It was a challenge I thought would be intimidating, but I wound up having a lot of fun writing him! I also enjoyed coming up with the interactions among him and the other apprentice characters. I still find it really weird that all these games have come out, yet we've seen so little of their interactions together, either during the experiments OR after them. These were also things I'd wished some of these characters got to say to "Braig" in canon but obviously probably never will now-again, in canon. And I'm not as personally uneasy with throwing in an underlying love story...Writing those parts honestly made me quite emotional!

So, not much in the way of post-chapter "notes", but here are links to my little creative side-projects for this fic, if anyone's curious. I know FF doesn't hyperlink, but I'll go ahead and throw these in anyway.

Pinterest: maascorpfire92/never-miss-a-sunrise/

Spotfiy: playlist/3AOpjgtReGR67sDRsW3Nzf

So, it's Dilan next time! And don't worry, guys, he's obviously going to get more dialogue in my fic than he did in all of KH3, which was a whopping none. :P