Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts, Square Enix, or Disney. They belong to their respective authors.
CH3: Enigma
''…And that's why you never agree to play cards with Yuffie, especially if there's a bet involved,'' Sora whispers to his companion, nudging him at the ribs, gravely pointing the path onward. He looks both ways, as if the girl will suddenly pop out of thin air. ''She cheats when no one's looking. So everyone thinks I'm lying, but I'm thinking of getting myself one of those mini-camera things that Cid has in his workshop and having it record one of her games. And then we'll see who's the sore loser!'' Sora guffaws too loudly, purposely trying to cast off the silence surrounding the two, but ending up sounding more stupid than before.
''Mm.'' Roxas replies, too downcast in his own worries to care much for fancy card tricks or a sneaky, self-proclaimed ninja, but instead, scuffs his shoes.
''What's wrong?'' the Somebody asks the Nobody. ''Are my amazing stories too much for you to handle?'' He puffs out his chest in pride.
''No,'' Roxas cracks a grin at the other's antics. ''I'm just wondering how you can stay so…calm and relaxed. We're facing an eternity in the darkness and you're gossiping about gambling mercenaries.''
Sora smiles back. ''Actually, I only know one, and she'd throw shurikens in your eyes from such blatant disrespect!''
''Look who's talking,'' the blonde mutters, deliberately shoving an arm to Sora's shoulder. But he takes an unsteady step and wobbles, exhaustion skewing his sense of equilibrium.
''You tired?''
Roxas dragged his eyesight back up to Sora after a shortened lull, finally deciding that staring directly at his shoelaces wasn't going to get him anywhere but nowhere. The sight that greeted him wasn't that great; the only gaze returned was that of a boy with dreams in his palms, heels dug in the ground, and a Disney-style frown painted on his mouth.
''No,'' the blond remarked, but felt the lie straight through his bones. Admitting he was exhausted would usher in the necessity for sleep. And Roxas didn't want to stop, in this halfway-place, where consciousness slipped and reality seemed to only be a rhetorical concept to catch even a second of rest.
''You are.'' Sora said bluntly, without batting a single eye, and they held a staring contest for five minutes straight. Neither said a word; scrutinizing was their only motive for doing so, giving each other the likenesses of figurines caught in an enchantment. Exasperation finally wound its hold around Roxas, and he blinked. The brunette pumped his fist in the victory of nothing, the moment punctuated by a loud yawn.
''Good thing I'm tired too.''
It takes, roughly, seven minutes for the average person to fall asleep, counting the lapses of hush where an individual's existence became, in essence, a potpourri of mush. Sora was out like a light in two. He slumbered in fetal position, breath dipping low in time with auburn spikes, but never losing that signature uplifted position. With puppy dog eyes closed, he looked utterly contented.
Roxas sat close by in jealous envy, knees raised up around his face, struggling to convince himself that lowering his guard was safe. In the free realm of thought, his mind gave itself the comfort of drifting off from plain boredom, and his eyelids flickered once twice before he gave up to sleep's tender embrace …
Slam.
A jarring sensation abruptly jolted the awareness back in a mixture of color and sound. Head spinning, Roxas wasn't sure what way was up until the dizziness cleared; the only certainty was the sound of raucous laughter echoing in distinct patterns through his head and the impression of fading footfalls. Angrily shooting up with fists raised in self-defense, he expected to see the brunette snicker, bent in half with giggles. But Sora, denying all logic, was still deeply asleep, drool beginning to drip out of the edges of his mouth. The hero wasn't that good of an actor.
The real perpetrator sat directly across from him.
The blonde's arms dropped to his sides, accusations and rage coalescing into some indescribable emotion. The shadow gestured to him, the likeness of Sora in all accounts, a replica with aureate irises and a shroud of pure black.
I think we should have a talk, don't you? Settle down, I don't mean any harm.
That was the farthest thing from the truth. Anti-Sora smiled comfortingly at Roxas, which sent a chill through his veins, as if his blood vessels pumped ice instead of liquid. And the strangest thing was that the creature didn't even need to open its jaw with a single word to get across the meaning to him. The thoughts were injected into his head en pointe. A battle of willpowers, and it only seems like the shadow's power grows, the more his own diminishes. The space seems to close in, compressing the two, Sora a bystander now. Something's seeping in him, emotions that aren't his, and light-headedness begins to fall like a curtain. He grits his teeth, nearly chomping down on his own tongue, mentally screaming at himself to get a hold of himself. He doesn't think it'll work, so when the pressure releases, wooziness begins to overtake his wits instead.
Roxas remained upright, making no comment at all, only staring and staring and staring at the creature with a darkened aura and glowing black keyblade. Instincts howled at him to run, but he kept his ground. There was something about the weapon itself, that didn't seem right. The way it was held, the way it looked…it didn't appear genuine to him. The tiny reassurance, however, didn't stop the perspiration, though, from beading up on his forehead. A buzzing sound began to ring in his ears in an angry hum, displaces his words, clouding his judgment.
The look-alike shadow wasn't unfazed in the least.
It's useless to run. Besides, you have to worry about our very precious hero.
It angled the tip of the blade right at Sora's neck, mocking him with crazed glee, and Roxas squeezed his eyes shut, willing the keyblade to come to him, his hands itching with the request, expecting to feel the heavy weight of the weapon in their grasp. When nothing materialized, he shifted his focus to magic in futile, a desire for a multitude of the elements to come raining down. He opened his eyes, and yet, not a single spell was cast.
Nothing. It was just like always in the blasted place, because Sora had forgotten ... _.
It's already begun. You don't have any more time before the draining effect kicks in.
The boy's voice, reduced to a mute whisper, in outright contradiction of his livid glare. His throat felt dry. He asked the million dollar question. ''Why?''
I need your help, of course. He trusts you so implicitly, and you're the only one who could do it. Chosen to the end; lucky boy, aren't you?
Anti-Sora intently observed the sleeping form awkwardly, malice and contempt rolling off it in waves, but exercising constraint in ferocity. Roxas sees him twitch, like he'd enjoy having nothing better to do than to rip Sora to shreds. He doesn't doubt for a second that, if the circumstances were different, the creature would do it without any reaction toward the consequences. The suppression of sound, the only discordance is the sway of the brunette's breaths, innocently unaware of the situation he influenced and inherently caused. It isn't the hero's fault. And yet, it all was. Everything was, and everything progressed downward from there.
I would have done it myself, if I wasn't restrained by-
And then the blonde launches at the monster, his fingers wrapped around the figure in a choke hold, poised to strangle, but it isn't there. The image simply freezes, and then melts to become one with the floor, and soon, smoky air is all that's left.
I trust you'll make the right decision. You always do.
And with that, the static stops, the rush of adrenaline fades into the background. The shadow disappears, as soon as it came, though vestiges of its hate linger in certain spots. Staring into space, Roxas cursed. If he only waited long enough for the shadow to explain itself fully, instead of acting rashly, like the easily swayed idiot he was. Maybe then logic would kick in, and he would agree. In his present state, however, thinking clearly was impossible. Walking in circles did nothing to soothe the steady emergence of indignation. What was Anti-Sora trying to convince him of doing? He had bluffed it all, but maybe he should have been more honest. He might've gotten a direct answer at that time. Without it, his guesses and doubts were only that; without proof or evidence, they only remained a very likely hypothesis, with only the miniscule of chances to become a horrifying revelation.
In the end, the adolescent settled back into his spot, on edge, highly frayed nerves denying him the release to dreams that he sought. It was only a matter of time, and the odds were looking up for him any bit more than when he started.
Sora yawned, stretching his arms and legs to their full height. Somewhere in the back of his thoughts, he registered someone saying a faint grunt in response. Rubbing at his eyes to somehow spur himself into full combustion, he examined the red marks along his arm, suggesting crimson indentations on his cheeks as well. Popping his knuckles, he glanced up to greet the incoming … darkness. The scenery was the same. An identical hanging vapor, similar patches of black; nothing had changed.
A tug on his shirt directed his view to his left side, where an outstretched hand politely waited for him to take it. The brunette grinned, pulling on the hand as leverage to stand up, before his eyes widened considerably. The bags under his dulled eyes only served an understatement. A gaunt face, paled complexion, saddened features.
Sora wasn't sure what to say. ''Uh, rough night?''
Roxas managed one short shake of the head, pushing past him and continuing the trek.
''I guess I'll take that as a yes.'' Sora scrambled to catch up, swinging his arms and maintained his happy demeanor, though it wore off as the hours progressed. Roxas became worse and worse, not being able to manage a single word of reassurance. The teenager hated to think it, but the blonde was beginning to show the mannerisms and personality of a corpse. This, of course, affected Sora's outlook. He had been relatively calm when Roxas continued basic communication, but now, it was like he wasn't even there. All he did was mutter under his breath, scraps of sentences that all started and ended the same: Remember, remember, and remember. A quiet mantra that reached Sora's ears without contest, annoying him with no bounds; he was determined to get to the bottom of it. So, like any sane person would do to find out secrets, he started out with trivia. To break the ice, though he isn't sure where he's going with it.
''Hey, Roxas. Does a duck's quack echo?''
''…'' No answer. The brown-haired boy shrugged it off, and tried another approach, desperation on the surface, clear as day in the world of dark.
''Can a dog really chocolate and live? Do mice like cheese, or is it all a myth?How ab -''
''Sora,'' The blonde yanked sharply on his arm, trouble clearly written on his face. The grip was firm, on the point of pinching. He can no longer contain the skepticism filling his thoughts. ''You honestly don't remember…-?'' He cuts off mid-sentence, afraid of the reply.
''Remember what? Tell me, please. You're not making any sense!'' Sora, perturbed beyond belief, made a half-hearted effort at disentangling the vise that clung stubbornly to his wrist. He stumbled forward when Roxas suddenly let go, and toppled into a heap on the floor.
The boy is confused. He doesn't understand anything. Did he do something wrong? What was it?
Roxas raked a hand through his straw yellow hair and finally assumed a poker face. His words came out softer than he intended, more disturbed in their inflections.
''Where's Donald and Goofy, Sora?''
It's such an easy question, an elementary answer. Mickey's castle, obviously; he knew it from memory. Like what was the color of the sky? It was no black or white, or even any shades of monochrome gray. Just the tempered color of blue, the washed-out kind that shows up in picture books with scratch-and sniff scents and artificial clouds in puffs of white.
The brunette turns around, smiling but not quite, not quite. It looks more unnatural, like a dentist tampered with his teeth and made them too flawless. He gets it now.
''Who are they?''
Sitting on the edge of the water, the look-alike could swear that he saw his reflection staring back at him. It judged him with a see-through conscience, undoubtedly, mimicked his movements with minute precision. The sea was glossed in sapphire and emerald, blown into shimmering circles of pulsating illumination. Farther down, coral reefs spun a delicate catacomb, fish darting in and out in patterns of shivering spins. It might have caught the attention of some in enrapt gazes, but the boy wasn't even paying attention. Uninterested, he swung one foot through the disconcerting picture, sending ripples to interrupt the balance.
The rush of fleeting steps interrupted the disgusting Hallmark-style image of the tropics at its finest, and a silver-haired teenager joins him. Annoyed, the brunette forces his line of vision to the right, where palm trees whose leaves only wilt in the absence of light line the embankment, rainbow flowers and white-hot sand facing opposing sides in mock-battles.
''Hey,'' The lilt is casual and open, hiding no secrets.
''Mmph? What is it, Riku?'' The almost-Sora shades his eyes to look up, and sees the very individual who gave himself up to the darkness to save his friends. How romantic. The person is, in all respects, normal, but yet, there's a trace of opaque in the expression that refuses to leave, even in paradise.
''So … you're dating Kairi now?''
The boy rubs his head sheepishly. ''How'd you figure ou-''
Riku looks slightly offended, furrowing his brow at him. ''She told me. We're still friends, regardless of her love life.''
''O-oh, right. And you're okay with it?''
A flick to Sora's forehead and the brunette yelps loudly. ''Why wouldn't I be?''
''I mean, we had all those matches, and how you mentioned that paopu fruit before, and … and everything, really. We never had the time to resolve it.''
''All I want is her to be happy, same as you.'' Riku says sincerely, no suggestion of a lie readily apparent.
But, nevertheless, the look-alike understands. All the unsaid things that ricochet between the two of them, things that they'd never say out loud to each other, in order to maintain their friendship. The person who is Sora, yet isn't, and vaguely wonders what it's like to have a heart. It probably isn't even worth it, considering the unreasonable things it makes people do. Still, against all logic, the reflection wants it too. To feel, to experience emotions, besides the emptiness of hate that consumes him, threatening to destroy him from the inside out, just like before. The cinnamon-haired boy hesitates, searching for something meaningful to say, but instead splashes the water with the tips of his toes.
''There's something off about you, lately,'' the silver-haired teenager began, all joking tones gone.
''What? There's nothing wrong with me,'' The look-alike whines, not budging an inch. He finally noticed that for the whole duration, Riku didn't address him as Sora. Not even once. He wonders if the allusion to Kairi was just to get his guard down, and gauge his reaction accordingly. Slight tremors run through the tips of his hands. Is it really that obvious? What was he doing wrong?
And then he's down on the ground, still staring up, but seeing nothing of the endless sky. He smells that rich, earthy scent of sand, everywhere, everywhere. Riku has him pinned to the sand with Way to the Dawn, eyes like daggers, daring him to say something, anything to prove him otherwise. Ironic; he did that to Sora just hours before. The imposter finds that he still can't summon the keyblade to defend himself in his current physical body, though it's still possible to fake it as a shadow. It was all because Sora had forgotten … _. And without it, Sora was only a little kid playing the gallant part of a hero. Fragile and easily broken, wielding swords of drift wood instead of weapons of twinkling silver and gold.
And the shadow just doesn't know what to say.
So Riku says something for him.
''Your reflexes are more out of synch than usual. Have you been training lately, Sora?''
The shadow contorts Sora's face into a grimace. ''Augh, I didn't think you would notice.''
Riku lifts his hand, and the keyblade disappears in a shimmer of light. ''You never know when the heartless may reappear. Be on your guard,'' He spins around and starts off for the mainland at a leisurely pace. ''Anyway, your mom sent me to call you. You should hurry. She sounded angry, something about having you 'lick the floor clean' or something like that.'' He smirks.
The cinnamon-haired boy deadpans, remembering that he didn't clean up Sora's pigsty of a bedroom. And his mother had all the magnifying fury of a tornado. He runs past the silver-haired teenager. ''Thanks, Riku! I'll catch up with you later, then!''
Riku waits until the brunette is out of sight before slamming one of his fists into a palm tree. All of his fears had been confirmed beyond any excuse otherwise. ''The King was right. Sora really is…'' he trails off, unable to admit the authenticity of the second letter, shoved into the deep recesses of his left pocket, the same one that he'd kept hidden from the others, as instructed by Mickey. It weighed heavily on his mind, the secret he'd been entrusted with keeping.
