In case it's unclear, this chapter is a continuation of the burial scene from chapter one.

Chapter Ten: The Last Farewell, Phase 02

The Land of Departure, on the eve of March…

Xehanort grunted as he returned to his feet. He picked up the shovel as he arose and looked one last time at the massive grave before walking away, mounds of earth on either side and his work only halfway complete. This hole still needs something to occupy it and then be reburied. "And you needn't worry about your students. I'll take good care of them."

Hardly a quarter-mile into the old man's trek from the grassy precipice under the savage tempest that racked him, a rising ache in his heart exploded into a sharp pang of purest agony, spasmodically forcing him to lurch over and fall to his knees and prompting a pained, stifled cry. He dropped the shovel and clutched at his failing heart, suddenly abandoning all thought of returning to his departed friend's castle. All that possessed him then was the will to suppress the fatal affliction and stay alive.

I will not die here! There is still…so much to do!

But the mounting anguish claiming the old man's life was adamant, and though he attempted to reclaim his footing and stabilize his breathing, the torment resurged and twisted him off his feet and left him writhing on the drenched grass. Every fractured breath became a battle in itself, each threatening to be the last the aged Master ever drew. Were he still in the empty grave, the deluge of rain might've drowned him.

He sniffled and tried to make peace with the sudden prospect of dying right then and there, his work far from complete. A bitter half-smile graced his ancient features.

How fitting. Even in death, you vex me. It may not be long…before we meet again.

Armies of thunder and lightning clashed in the black heavens above, intermittently brightening the land with its violent flares. Pelted by unyielding rain, the Master's eyes closed halfway, resigned to his fate.

I swore I would survive…and be there to see what awaited beyond the Keyblade War. But I was wrong. From Darkness I came…and to Darkness I return.

His tired eyes finally closed, yet in those dimming moments of vision, a part of him swore he saw a figure on horseback far-off in the heavy rain, racing frantically to reach him.

Then, a phantasmagoria of frantic images: the anxious face of a man screaming at him and desperately attempting to revive him, distorted by intermittent shrouds of murk and explosions of heavenly fire.

The screaming man—

The black—

The fire—

Far away, in his mind's withering eye, he saw Eraqus—

—on his deathbed—

Heaven's fire—

The black…

A stable adjoined to Eraqus' castle, a short time later…

"Wake up, you old bastard!" Braig pummeled his fist into the old man's weakened heart one last time in his brutish attempt at CPR, and Xehanort finally woke and gasped for air, eyes wide apart and shocked to still be alive. He wheezed uncontrollably, a natural reaction for returning from the grave. When the anxiety settled somewhat, Xehanort propped himself up on his elbows and noticed the drastic change in scenery; where he was last conscious in a grassy field a short distance from the grave-dug precipice, he now rested on the earthen ground of a large, hay- and horse-scented stable. But most notably, this wooden shelter was dry and the storm raged some short distance outside. Braig was crouched beside him.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" his mercenary charged furiously. "I had to revive you twice!" he wheezed to catch his breath. "An old-timer in your condition shouldn't be out digging holes in a &#*%ing rainstorm!"

The old man only continued to survey the area, bewildered by his survival, then let his eyes rest on Braig again, both of them just as drenched from exposure to the storm. The mercenary spoke again, this time more composed, "After all that's happened, the last thing we need is another grave to dig. And without you, who'd sign my paycheck?"

The lightest of smiles graced Xehanort's aged features. He sat upright—albeit with some struggle, given his broken ribs as a result of his lackey's primitive attempts at revivification—with one arm resting on a knee. "Have we become so desperate that one old man's life is worth braving such a foreboding tempest?"

"Hey, we're still a fragile movement here, gramps. And with the Heartless so close to our borders, this ain't exactly a good time to lose the guy who made this all possible." Braig stared sidelong into the outside rain with his two brown eyes, a flash of lightning tearing across the darkness. "You may be hankerin' for a good retirement, but our job—the real storm—is only beginning."

He heard Xehanort grunting, then turned back and found him using a stable-door to guide his return to his feet. Braig scoffed a short laugh. "To be honest, I'm surprised you can stand, especially after…" He didn't feel the need to revisit the incident. There wasn't any way Xehanort could forget.

With his limbs trembling, the old Master stood once again, leaning heavily on the stall's door. He cracked a crooked smile, "Oh, you'll find there still remains some fighting spirit in these old bones. I'm not ready to join my friend in the afterlife," a strain in his balance and the smile faded, "but I cannot delay the inevitable forever."

Braig's visage soured. "How much longer you think you got?"

Xehanort shrugged. "Weeks, maybe months. A year would be grand." He sighed. "But I will not live to see what magnificent transformation the Light will bring to the worlds when Darkness finally recedes. But such is nature. Out with the old and brittle vessels and in with the younger, stronger, new ones."

The mercenary's thoughtful expression was unreadable. "Speakin' a' which, you're runnin' a little short on heirs these days. That boy, Vanitas, seems to be all you got, an' he's not exactly leader material." He scoffed in dry amusement. "Neither's me or anyone else you got under contract. Who's gonna keep things runnin' when you're gone?"

Xehanort's gaze, though decrepit and of a man facing the precipice of eternity, was somehow peaceful. "We needn't worry about that. I'll soon acquire three more disciples to my cause. And though my time with them will be brief, I've no doubt they will be molded to pursue the path I'll set before them. Through them, my dream of a universe reborn will be realized."

Thunder pealed and lightning exploded across the fields, and the flare the forces of nature emitted flooded the horse barn, their burst of light enveloping the old man and his mercenary.