Of all the nobles, Roxas liked Zexion the most. As official keeper of the library, he had full authority over Roxas. He was under no obligation to treat Roxas as anything more than a tool, a slave to his every whim. But instead, Zexion was a quiet, thoughtful presence in the otherwise lonely hall, content to browse through endless pages, scribbling notes in languages Roxas didn't understand. All he asked was that the books be kept in order.
Sometimes, Zexion even talked to him. Watching his reactions closely, asking strange questions of the world outside… only to smile sadly when he received no answer. Once, Roxas had asked why he talked of life beyond the castle walls. It was the first time he had sought Zexion out for conversation, and his eyes shone as he pulled back a long, embroidered sleeve.
His wrists were pale, but the scars of his own Servitude Chains were still visible. Thin, white lines raised on ivory skin. Zexion had once been like him, and Roxas found some comfort in that. Slowly, through the whispers numbing his will, a burning determination to be free of his own chains grew.
Although he was granted the same freedom of every other Noble in The Castle, Zexion spent much of his time in the library, lost in thought, or deep in conversation with Roxas. And somehow, when Zexion was there, Roxas felt more at peace. His face held a dream like sense of familiarity, so fragile he sometimes convinced himself it wasn't real at all… but his chains glowed brighter when he talked to his superior, and Roxas clung to the flashes of memories long lost to him, but still buried beneath the surface, twisting under his skin. The blazing metal was proof of his life before, the truth behind his tangled memories.
Most of those who visited the library never met his eyes. They pretended not to see him, his wide, questioning eyes. At first, Roxas had thought the chains around his wrists were laced with illusions of invisibility. It would have made sense… the perfect servant, always working, never seen.
But slowly, Roxas came to realise this was not the case. When the cold eyes of the nobles passed over him, they flickered with something close to panic. As time passed, they grew bolder, watching him when they thought he couldn't see, gaze filled with a distant kind of reverence that Roxas couldn't comprehend.
Zexion said they were afraid of him. Of what he was before he came to the library and was bound in silver enchantments. He said not everyone was chained. It was powerful magic, expensive, dangerous, and difficult to maintain. Only those with something to burry were granted chains. Only those too dangerous to allow a mind of their own.
Roxas didn't feel dangerous. Perhaps there had been a mistake. He asked why Zexion had been chained, and watched his own glow as he discovered Zexion had been the leading tactician of a rebel organisation. The Thirteenth Battalion. A name that meant everything and nothing to him at the same time.
Roxas rubbed at his chains distractedly, frowning as sounds and flashes of colour drained from his reach, like water flowing through his fingers. Frustration made his stomach clench, and he levelled Zexion with a fierce glare, eyes flashing with blue lightning.
"How did you break your chains?"
His voice was sharp, demanding. More of an order than a question… A far cry from the mindless shell all bound servants were expected to be.
Zexion smiled, and inclined his head, a subtle gesture of respect that Roxas found himself mirroring before his silver charms flared. Turning away, Zexion plucked a worn leather bound book from the shelf beside him, and replied that he was a strategist, and as such, he would always find a way to work situations to his advantage.
It was then that Roxas realised all of Zexion's notes were based around the castle's magic.
As night fell, Axel pulled his blanket tight around his shoulders, and ran a scarred hand over the runes that kept him in the castle. Trapped, and frustrated. Bound to the same four walls day in and day out. He hadn't believed it at first. That someone like him could be reduced to servitude by the thin bands of copper set in the cold stone floor. Now, he slept with a steak knife tucked in his belt, and scratched out a different charm every night.
The time would come. And he would be ready.
As his eyes grew heavy, his thoughts drifted, inevitably, to Roxas.
He hadn't seen his best friend in 6 long years.
Before Roxas, The Thirteenth was nothing more than a mismatched group of renegades, loyal only to the memories of families and friends stolen by the castle's Nobles. Thoughts of war singing through their veins, and vengeance running through their fingertips. They were all young, powerful, and feared. Already making a vicious reputation for themselves, when Roxas strolled into their camp, and shook Axel's world with all the force of a raging hurricane.
The night was cold, and it had been a long, boring shift. The hairs on the back of Axel's neck prickled, and he turned from his post towards the camp's main fire. He hadn't heard a thing, no broken twigs, no hint of change on the winds, but there he was… an angel with soft blue eyes and pale blonde hair, watching him from the other side of the crackling flames.
He stood there calmly, face thrown into drastic shadows by the light of the campfire, and asked to join them. It barely sounded like a request. Closer to a formality, a statement. Axel felt the warning signals. His fingers itched for his weapons, nerves on edge. This boy was unafraid.
He advanced, drawing his chakrams and spinning them comfortably in his hands. The stranger's eyes tracked his movements.
"This isn't a game, kid. You don't belong with us. Get out of here."
Roxas frowned and drew his twin swords, one almost invisible in the darkness , the other shining silver in the firelight.
"I'll fight you."
Axel almost laughed, but something in the boy's voice was hard as steel.
"You have to be joking." He cocked his head, a predatory grin breaking free. "You've heard about us, right?"
"Yes."
"So you know who we are… what we're capable of?"
"Yes."
"And you want to fight me?"
"When I win, let me join, or I'll go through your ranks one by one until you take me seriously." With a wicked smile, he reversed the hold on his swords, and took up a defensive stance, blades following the line of his arms.
He'd thought the kid was crazy, but 10 seconds later, face in the dirt, Axel realised that Roxas was everything he claimed to be, and more.
Just 17, and already a terrifying force of nature. Blades as sharp as lightning, with a grin to match. Fearless, volatile, and without a doubt, the most dangerous creature Axel had ever known.
He'd given The Thirteenth a purpose, a direction… and when they took Zexion, it was Roxas that lead the charge. The siege on The Castle was fast and brutal, just like him. They broke through the primary defences in minutes, and were through to the inner walls before the alarm could even sound. Roxas shot through his enemies, body twisting effortlessly around arrows and spears, soaked in the blood of those who's lives he'd taken. Chains of silver and gold were desperately flung towards him by soldiers of the kingdom, a last ditch effort to cage the beast decimating their ranks. In a flash, they were slashed apart to nothing, worthless links of glittering metal that fell to the ground in a rain of broken magic. The Kingdom's men fled, and The Thirteenth Battalion followed. Their captain wiped away the blood trickling into his eyes, and shook droplets from his golden hair. He was terrifying, unrelenting and deadly. A beautiful demon, leaving death in his wake.