Chapter IV: The Night is Dark

"Just as people have hearts, so do worlds. The same can be said of stars in the night sky."
Ansem's Report 10, Kingdom Hearts

Royal Library, Royal Citadel
Radiant Garden (7 September 299 AC)

"... thank you again for permitting me access to the Archives - I am glad we can be of mutual assistance in this matter."

One would think that three teenagers on the cusp of adulthood would have more to do than simply hang about the Library, yet the three had found themselves there yet again that very night, and yet again eavesdropping on some batty woman from Asshai discussing intellectual matters with someone of the opposite gender.

"It is no trouble at all, my lady: your own collection you have loaned us has been very illuminating, if I may speak for myself." From beneath his long gray bang, Ienzo smiled brilliantly at the red woman.

"The maester was rather indignant when he found I'd absconded with them, but I'm sure he'll understand. The service these tomes can render unto King Stannis is incontrovertible."

"Ienzo." Kairi watched bemusedly as Riku stormed into the library and gave the former Nobody a dark look. "What's the meaning of this?"

A lone aqua eye assessed them, its right partner hidden by Ienzo's long, layered bangs. Smirking slightly, he answered, "I was simply discussing the fêted history of Radiant Garden with our honored guest from Asshai. In exchange, the Lady Melisandre was regaling me with tales of her world, and of her Faith as well. There is a high chance of synchronism between it and Lord Ansem's own research."

"What sort of history?" Now Sora appeared at Riku's side, arms folded. Though Riku, at face value, was the more dangerous of the two (and a Master besides), Sora's eye had taken on a dangerous glint.

"The history of the Royal household, mainly." Melisandre, opening the front cover to Radiant Garden's genealogical record, looked to them and said, "If I am to serve on this ambassadorial position, it would behoove me to acquaint myself with the customs of this world."

"And what did you bring in exchange…?" Riku trailed off, looking over the priestess' shoulder. Aside the dull brown tome of Kairi's ancestral predecessors, a brilliant vermillion tome had been placed. Golden lettering in some ancient script graced its cover.

"'The Heart of Fire', a compendium on the Faith of R'hllor. King Stannis is the Lord's Chosen: When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone. There are few weapons as terrible, and as effective in holding the Long Night at bay. Yet they cannot be awoken by mere whim: such power has a cost." She gave the genealogical record a lingering look. "A cost that is, typically, paid in blood. Royal blood."

In a flash, Kingdom Key and Way to Dawn materialized within their Wielder's hands, the two dropping into combat stances: Sora's hands both clenched around the hilt of Kingdom Key, while Riku brandished Way to Dawn in his right hand, adopted a high guard. Melisandre looked at them unimpressed, then returned her attention to Ienzo, who was now sputtering with outrage at the notion of weapons being drawn on an ambassador (and in the Library, no less!). "I believe I can take it from here, good ser. I thank you again for your assistance."

Ienzo shook his head. Arms folded, his right hand stroking his chin contemplatively, he frowned deeply and said, "I actually think I need to hear this, now. You... think to use a member of our Royal family in some blood rite, do you?"

Placating, she turned to the former Cloaked Schemer and replied, "I doubt it will come to that. There are a fair number of candidates on my own world, but... well, it never hurts to have a backup. Should any members of the Royal House remai-"

"There aren't," snarled Sora, "so stop looking. Or else."

Melisandre looked at them from the corner of her eye, barely taking her gaze from Ienzo. She quirked her brow at the younger Keyblade Wielder, tense with fury, and mulled, "You two seem rather... defensive, if I may say so. Tell me, of what interest is the Royal House of Radiant Garden to you?"

"Keyblade Wielders are supposed to preserve the balance between light and darkness," cut in Kairi from the doorway. Hands folded behind her back, she entered and demanded, "But this cost of yours... what assurance do you have that it would work? And even if it did, would it be worth it?"

The priestess' smile practically lit the room. Leaning towards her fellow ginger, she confided, "The red star has reinvigorated the old ways. The return of the Son of Fire has renewed those pledged to the Faith of R'hllor. As for the cost..." Pausing, Melisandre then gave a sly look and then prompted, "You tell me, my lady. Sacrifice one person to the flames to save millions from the Darkness... Does that sound acceptable to you?"

There Riku let his guard drop a bit - but only just. Lowering the tip of Road to Dawn, he asked, "What do you mean?"

She sighed, aggrieved. "Sacrifice is never easy - or else it is no sacrifice at all. You, you're all the heroic type, surely you understand the concept of self-sacrifice, at least: and what is Royalty, but those anointed to defend their people? Elect by God, by fate, if you will? I could say that such is their fundamental duty."

Sora took a threatening step forward. "What's so great about these dragons of yours, anyway? I mean, they can't be that important, can they?"

"On the contrary. Every single page of our torrid past has felt the hot fury of dragonfire. You have heard much talk of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros; but Westeros is but one continent on our world. Four hundred years ago, in Essos, there thrived an ancient civilization that had humbled empires and peoples, by fire and blood. Allow me to regale you with the tale of Old Valyria." She turned away from the record and explained, "In the distant past, a minor civilization of people, bearing silver-gold hair and violet eyes, stumbled upon a ring of peaks called the Fourteen Flames. There, the primordial Valyrians discovered dragons nesting amongst the embers. Their rise to power was then inevitable. For dragons are fire made flesh; and fire is power. Yet for all their might, the Valyrian Freehold had neither kings nor emperors: all free landowners had a say in its governance, but true power lay with the forty families of high nobility, they who could raise and train dragons in the art of war, and use them to terrible effect.

"That is not to say that the dragonlords went uncontested. Other Powers existed in Essos, older by millennia. None could withstand the dragons' fire, however. The mighty Ghiscari slavelords they ground into the desert sands; and the princes of the Rhoynar, they scattered to the far corners of the earth. The fields of these conquered civilizations were sown with salt and smoke, so that none would dare rise against them ever again. Valyria set about establishing its own empire west of the Bones, founding colonies and the Free Cities on the coast.

"In their avarice, however, the Valyrians offered praise to hundreds of gods, each more petty than the last. For every conquered land, every lost soul, they gained another idol for their hollow pantheon. Balerion, Meraxes, Vhagar, Syrax..." Like a toxic venom she spat out the names of long-dead gods, saying, "They were naught but thralls of the Great Other, the god of cold and darkness. By spurning the Lord, they embraced the Other. At the height of their pride, it pleased the Lord to devour those who so abused His gifts." Her gaze became haunted, and she stared into the flickering light distantly. "Thus came the Doom. In a single night of fire and storm, the earth split, devouring cities, palaces, temples, even the dragons, in Light. Red clouds rained the black blood of demons, boiling lakes became as acid, molten rock and ash filled the skies, blotting out the sun, that greatest of the Lord's gifts to men." Melisandre turned a critical eye their way. "You are a type of Valyria: you, and Radiant Garden, you all bask in the Lord's warmth, yet you offer Him neither offering nor supplication."

"'χ'... A most ancient letter."

Something about the names of two of the Valyrian gods awoke a queer sense of déjà-vu within Kairi, but she shrugged it off. Frowning, she replied, "I don't see why we should. So you can open portals through light, big deal. That doesn't necessarily prove your fire god's existence - nor why it even needs sacrifices. If it's so powerful, why can't it defeat the darkness itself?"

With the learned patience of any missionary, the priestess replied, "The Realm of Light itself is proof enough, child. The heavens declare the glory of R'hllor, and the worlds His work. There is a price for all things, however. For such is the nature of fire: it provides warmth and light, yes, but it must be fed. Only death may pay for life, and a great gift requires a great sacrifice."

The utter devotion Melisandre placed with her deity was a tad disconcerting, yet her preaching made some sort of sense. "Stars are technically fires in the Darkness of space, I guess…? And you're saying that the hearts of stars are protected by our devotion to R'hllor?" At the answering (and overly enthusiastic) nod from the priestess, Kairi folded her arms and decided to change the subject: "So... the Valyrians are gone?"

"There were some that did escape. There were the Free Cities, self-governing colonies, beyond Valyria itself." Melisandre's face soured. "You could say that I am... well acquainted with the Free Cities. While the ancient lords of Old Volantis still cling to their dead pantheon within their Black Walls, the Red Faith of R'hllor serves as the hope of the multitudes held in their thrall."

Ah, that explains quite a bit, actually – the slaves of an oppressed society would undoubtedly find the blood of the elite potent stuff indeed.

"Of Valyria itself, however, none survived... save one of the ruling Houses, which had forseen the Doom; the Targaryens. Though they were the least of the dragonlords, they were all that remained, and from their stronghold on the isle of Dragonstone in the Narrow Sea, they set about conquering Seven Kingdoms with fire and blood, as their greater sires had centuries before them.

"Do you see, now, the grief and glory of Old Valyria? Had they followed a righteous king, and the one true God, they could have reigned until the end of time. Instead, they suffered a harsher fate than all those that came before. That is the power I seek within the blood of Kings. The power to knock tyrants from their thrones. The power to waken dragons from stone. The power to send the Great Other to flight."

Ienzo had begun rubbing his chin furiously in thought. "You postulate a… curious moral dilemma, my lady. However… I fear you must search elsewhere." Practically gliding over to the table on which the tome had been placed, he closed the cover with the fast flurry of aged parchment, followed deafening thud. Pushing it away from the red priestess, he explained quite morosely, "All of our nobility was lost to us with this world's destruction a decade ago."

"Dear child-"

"These inquiries were permitted on good faith," interrupted the former Cloaked Schemer, his exposed eye narrowing at the woman suspiciously, jaw clenching. "Now, knowing the true motives behind them, they do not reflect well on you: nor, for that matter, on your king."

"Speaking of which, you don't seem to have much trouble opening Corridors of Light here, though," interjected Sora darkly. "I thought your magic required blood to work?"

Tilting her head in acknowledgement, Melisandre admitted, "Radiant Garden is more stationed within the Realm of Light. R'hllor can more easily respond to my prayers here - and I have done the proper rites beforehand. On Westeros, however... there, we are closer to the Realm of Darkness. There, the song of ice and fire rules."

Kairi frowned. Turning to her companions, she asked, "What do you think about all this?"

Riku shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, I guess she's got the Realm of Darkness straight – it was nearly impossible to use Light magic when I was there." Blinking, he dismissed Road to Dawn and, straightening out of his battle stance, he brought his sword arm up to his hip, musing, "Come to think of it, I had some difficulties with Light magic the Realm of Sleep, too-"

"You have ventured into the Realm of Sleep as well?" Clutching the table so tightly that her knuckles turned white, Melisandre began to appear perturbed, if possible. "Sleep... It is a little death, and dreams are but whisperings of the Great Other, who would drag all into eternal night."

Glancing quickly at Sora, Kairi muttered, "You two were nearly trapped there..." Tearing her gaze from her friends, Kairi peered closely at the red woman - it almost seemed as if she were shaking.

"It is easy to sink into the depths of slumber. Slumber is darkness within darkness. And where you have tread, unwillingly or no, it is tempting to return. You three, I implore you, again: repent! By the holy name of R'hllor, I have been given the power to cleanse you of these impurities, and others." The great ruby at her throat flashed in the dim light, and she ceased quaking: now, Melisandre of Asshai drew herself up to her full height, eyes glinting red and proclaiming, "In the Light of the Lord, sleep shall itself become a dream."

Riku snorted. "Come on. Are you saying you never sleep?"

She did not answer. Melisandre had, it seemed, caught sight of something within the meager light of her oil lamp. Apparently, her eyes were not easily strained; those long nights preaching before the nightfires had accustomed her to staring directly into an open flame. Jarringly, she bolted from her seat, nearly upending a nearby stack of books perched precariously on top of one another and, fleeing from the room, declared, "His Grace has need of me."

Postern, Ruins of Tarbeck Hall
The Westerlands, Westeros
Land of Ice and Fire, 7 September 299 AC

The Bay was burning. Good. Desperation is good.

The Sept was burning. Even better.

And then their entire plot went to pot. Not good.

This was not supposed to happen. Tywin Lannister was in the Westerlands. Mace Tyrell was barred down in the Reach. King's Landing should have fallen. The King in the Narrow Sea would now be rendered idle. And idleness was one thing they could not afford. Not at this early stage.

"Moon-bathing again, I see. Tell me, what can you divine from its Light?"

Saïx scowled up at the heavenly sphere as a black-cloaked individual appeared behind him at the entrance to the ruined gatehouse: he did not recognize the articulate newcomer's voice from the original Organization XIII, and for reasons unknown, Master Xehanort certainly wasn't being too forthcoming about his identity with his earlier vessels, either. The Luna Diviner could discern that it was an older male, however, though not quite approaching senescence: probably between Xigbar and the Master's ages. His favored weapon was a tall spear, fashioned after the style of the Rhoynar in the south of Westeros (fitting, given his element), so probably wasn't one for close combat, and perhaps valued his personal space by extension. The most vital thing Saïx knew, however, was that the covert vessel seriously grated on his nerves. "This world's moon is a reflection of Kingdom Hearts. I had hoped to gauge some meaning into the events now in moti-"

The dark cloaked figure snorted derisively. "It's foolishness, is what it is. The moon cannot foretell the future, any more than the sun or stars." Noting the Nobody's rising ire, he chuckled. "Be mindful of your anger, child. Rage, if tempered, is a powerful tool; but do not let it consume you. Else you'll grow sloppy."

"Nobodies do not feel rage." Saïx grunted in pseudo-irritation, shaking his azure locks distractedly. "I suppose you're here to reassure me, then?"

"An unforeseen variable has arisen. Never fear, though, Master Xehanort already has a contingency plan in effe-"

The moon was full; so was his patience. Turning towards the newcomer, he ground out, "The Master's contingency plans have contingency plans! That's not the problem. My issue is, why does he not share them with the rest of us?!"

More chuckling. There were two possibilities the Luna Diviner had thought of regarding his companion's personality: either he didn't laugh very much, so was now very much enjoying Saïx's consternation just to get it out of his system… or he was simply off his bloody rocker. Neither option lessened the Nobody's irritation any, of course: his counterpart's neck was now starting to look very tender at the moment. "Oh, to save time, I expect. He does not strike me as the lecturing type – at least where the obstinate are concerned. Besides, once you get into the habit of performing monologues it can rather hard to break. He might let something slip. Can't have that, can we?"

Sighing, the Nobody turned his attention back to the moon. He mused in irritation, "Why this world? There aren't even any Princesses of Light to be found on this miserable little seedling."

"No, Westeros has a great deficiency in that respect. On the contrary, I think you'll find this place brings out the very worst in people." The elder vessel paused. "As I recall, though, you have business in the Vale. You should feel right at home, there."

Growling, Saïx twitched and disappeared into a Corridor of Darkness. As he did so, however, he heard the other remark off the cuff, "No. We are far from the Realm of Light. This world does, however, hold host to certain... primordial truths." Spreading his arms wide, the newest member of Organization XIII twirled towards the postern of the dead and inquired, mockingly, "Is that not so, my friends?!"

The ruins gave no answer. He laughed.

"Begun by blood… by blood undone."

"...So long as we have the Prince's blood in this."

Royal Library, Royal Citadel
Radiant Garden (7 October 299 AC)

Dash. Whirl. Block. Parry. Stab. Miss.

"C'mon, Kairi, try to keep up!"

It wasn't said out of spite, she knew, but it was still a slight to her psyche, at least. Since Melisandre's impromptu departure two months prior, and with few, if any, Westerosi still on-world, the Keyblade Wielders had devoted themselves to training their newest members, both in Radiant Garden itself and on other worlds. Lea, like the other former members of Organization XIII, had somehow retained his attribution powers over the element of Fire - and he was loving every minute of it, if the pseudo-nuclear combustions in the Royal Insectarium were any indication. The only downside he was having was in wielding a bladed weapon, having depended on chakrams his whole career. Kairi, having absolutely no weapon training, was doing her best to catch up - and predictably, she found magic easier to grasp. "Fire!"

"Wind!" The searing flames she had conjured at Sora whirled away in a vortex of air, dissipating in the humid morning air. Grinning brightly, he praised, "Good, but you won't always have energy for that. Attack!"

For whatever reason, the four of them (that is, Sora, Riku, Lea, and herself) had heard nothing about the movements of Xehanort or his... eleven other vessels. A quick run-by on the worlds inhabited by her fellow Princesses had proven similarly fruitless. One world, in particular, had caught their attention, though: a marshy place, inhabited by a sorcerer who had an adept understanding of blood magic. Throughout all of their travels, both Sora and Riku had confessed that they had heard little of such abilities (the Port Royal incident notwithstanding). Recalling their conversation with the red woman, and noting a surprising correlation between blood magic and obscure deities, the trio had gone to the greatest source of magical knowledge at hand. When asked about the possibilities of blood magic, however, Merlin had just gotten flustered and begun tugging furiously at his beard, and had then proceeded to shut them all outside of his house, muttering darkly beneath his breath all the while.

Something else had been occupying here mind as well, lately: there was that stroll of theirs through the Flower District of Castle Town a while back. There had been something that Sora had been about to do before Lord Alester and Lady Melisandre had interrupted them….

Broken from her reverie, she saw Sora begin to tense up, no doubt readying himself for another attack. Quickly, she twirled Destiny's Embrace and cast another spell: "SLEEP." Instantly, Sora's eyelids began to droop, right alongside his arms. The tip of his Keyblade clanged against the ground and, swaying on his feet, his head fell dramatically, loud snoring escaping his now gaping mouth. In spite of herself, Kairi had to admit he looked positively adorable.

With a much undignified snort, Riku burst out laughing. "Ah, always the bum, huh?"

Despite her over-reliance on magic once again rearing its ugly, battered head, Kairi couldn't help but join in her friend's mirth, chortling right alongside the Keyblade Master. "Oh, he can't help it. Must be in his genes, what do you think?"

"I guess, he's always been like that if I can remember right." Walking toward the drowsy Sora, Riku placed his left hand on Kairi's shoulder and said, "Good work. Hey, do you think you can whip that out on that red lady if she shows up again?"

The mental image of the serene, ever-composed Melisandre of Asshai simply dropping into a magical sleep was so ludicrous that Kairi found herself releasing a most undignified snort herself. "It would be my greatest pleasure. No wonder she's so batty; if I miss even a few hours, there's usually hell to pay."

"Can't argue with ya there." Dodging a half-hearted fist aimed at his tricep, Riku playfully quirked an eyebrow at its irate owner and asked, "So, going back to Melisandre: any progress on that… other front?"

Kairi simply rolled her eyes in exasperation. Of all the people to interrupt a potentially romantic evening, the likes of Alester Florent and Melisandre had been very low on her list. The density of Sora's skull afterward didn't really help her prospects any, either. Glaring half-heartedly at their friend's spikey hair (which, along with the Keyblade Wielder himself, was still standing upright), she muttered, "Clueless. Absolutely hopeless. But you knew that, already. Don't you think you could nudge him a little?"

"Hm." Riku orbited the drowsing subject of their conversation, stroking his chin thoughtfully. He shook his pale head and sighed, and folding his arms, he said in a desolate tone, "I'd offer him a few tips, but I'm not much better where ladies are concerned, if I'm to be honest. For the longest time, Darkness was my sole mistress, an-"

"Riku. I love you, so I'm only going to tell you this one more time, as your friend: Shut. Up."

The Keyblade Master sighed, dropping his chin down to his chest. "Way to kill the monologue. Practiced in front of the mirror for it, too." Looking back up, his eyes narrowed and glared at Kairi threateningly. "Why do I have to do all the nudging? If he hears it from me, the knucklehead's just gonna take it as some sort of challenge to do something objectively stupid. You've been waiting for him… how many years, was it? You're going to have to take some initiative as well, at this rate." Riku shrugged. "Don't even have to use words, really. Just march up an-"

"You know, as… interesting as I find the routes that your trains of thought follow sometimes, I think I'll just wait for opportune moment. Maybe pick up a hobby or something, and try not to go all loopy in the meantime."

"Who will be going loopy, now?"

From the crown of the staircase came a slightly accented - and deeply amused - inquiry. Blinking, Kairi looked upward, and the first thing she noted were bright, electric blue eyes. Clad in a pristine white guard uniform, the ensemble was dominated by the Curled Heart of Radiant Garden, colored both black and red. The jacket thereof possessed disparate shapes of buttons: two rows of ruby and obsidian spades, clovers, and diamonds. The man himself possessed very short platinum-blond hair and a meticulously trimmed goatee of the same color. On each of his ears, two silver rings pierced the upper helix, and from his left earlobe hung a piercing shaped like the Curled Heart. In her mind's eye, the man above them held a passing resemblance to the former Sage-King of the Garden: granted, his face was unlined and less sharp, his sky-blue eyes practically on the opposite side of the color wheel, and his blond hair was cut (deliberately?) shorter; yet otherwise, he appeared to be a dead ringer for the missing Ansem the Wise.

Sora just sighed; apparently he had shook himself awake. "Another one? Really?" He frowned. "Well, what's your name, then?"

"Yes, I never did introduce myself to you lot, did I? How remiss of me. Funny, how losing one's heart also leaves one so bereft of manners." Absently drawing a card from the deck he was shuffling, he flipped it over to show the trio: a red 10 of clubs. "Once, I was Luxord, the tenth member of the ill-fated Organization XIII, the Gambler of Fate. Now, I am once again Rudol of the House of Knowledge and… regrettably, Prince-Regent of Radiant Garden. Brother to the last bloke in charge." He glanced around at the still-recovering city, clucking his tongue in censure. "And to think I was the irresponsible one in the family."

The complexities of Radiant Garden's political system had been explained to her in the interim weeks. Originally, the two offices of King and Sage had been separate: the King would rule, and the Sage would advise, having gained mastery over both Black and White magic. Gradually, the two roles became one, as did their selection processes. Technically, Radiant Garden was an electoral monarchy, though candidates were only chosen from one of several noble families – and, to be eligible, had to have undergone intense study and training for the varied duties and events that presented themselves to the executive of any state. It was, in a sense, a test of both academic, arcane, and practical prowess. Once elected, the Sage King/Queen reigned for life, encouraging the intellectual prosperity of their potential successors. After the destruction of Radiant Garden, however, most of the local princes had fallen with it, drastically culling the pool of prospective monarchs – and, with Ansem the Wise lost in the World that Never Was, governance was temporarily overseen by the Restoration Committee. It therefore stood to reason, then, that she and Ansem (as well as this new bloke) were not related at all – though she supposed anything was possible if one went back far enough. "Well then, Prince Rudol - if you are a prince - I can't help but notice you waited until Melisandre's departure to approach." Kairi tilted her head. "I suppose you heard her craving for royal blood?"

"Very astute, my dear." He smiled proudly. "Yes, all that talk of sacrifice was interesting: but in terms of suitable donors, this Stannis would not dare harm you: an innocent girl, for all intents and purposes - if, of course, that Hand of his being honest about his character. I guessed that Melisandre holds her king in high enough esteem - she did stay here, after all, despite her reluctance to be parted from him during battle." Rudol frowned. "I, on the other hand, am guilty of various misdeeds and naughty escapades. I fell into darkness, and my crimes are... well, numberable in my opinion, but I feel that lot would disagree. I've witnessed the power of Blood Magic before, if you'll recall," he trailed off, glancing at Sora. He spread his hands helplessly. "Thus, for the good of this world's still nascent administration, I decided to hold off from formally welcoming their delegation myself."

"I see, very noble of you." Her sarcasm was so palpable that, if she were so inclined, Kairi could probably whack him upside the head with it. "So, why are you here? Talk about old times?"

"Actually, dear child, we were hoping you three could explain this." Rudol turned to Dilan and, taking something from the former Apprentice, the Prince-Regent presented a thin-shafted Keyblade colored a dull, metallic blue, prompting the trio to gasp in astonishment. Kairi stepped forward and looked more closely; Rudol, holding it by the shaft with both hands, extended it towards her mutely. In the base and near the tip of the Keyblade's shaft were two teardrop-shaped gaps. Its head resembled a diamond cut in half, with another small, white diamond on the inner edge of the remaining right corner. Four blue spikes lined the head, and Keyblade's handle was smooth and black. A white angular guard just failed to connect with the blade itself, and from the hilt hung a keychain composed of water droplets.

Unprompted, a name arose within Kairi's mind: Rainfell...

"This - and a suit of armor - were found in the possession of a young man a fair number of years ago. This man had no memories, save a single name: Xehanort." Rudol smiled when the three showed absolutely no signs of surprise. "I take it you're familiar with the tale, then?"

"More or less." Kairi eyed the Keyblade suspiciously. "Where did you find this?"

"A Chamber." Dilan spoke up urgently. "Commissioned by Xehanort during his reign over Radiant Garden, and built by us, his fellow Apprentices. I placed it there myself, years and years ago. As Xemnas, he spent many hours within, alone - with the armor and that Keyblade." Dilan glanced at the door and said, "Ienzo said that Xigbar discussed it with him once - how the Superior was attempting to regain his memories."

Rudol frowned. "He came alone, you told me. And he was unconscious... How do you suppose he arrived at Radiant Garden, then? I doubt he was cognizant enough to arrive on his own. A Corridor, perhaps?"

Riku frowned. "That'd explain it, then. The Realm of Darkness."

"And that, I fear, is where the owner of this (well-crafted, if I may say so) Keyblade resides. The one who brought us young Xehanort is lost to the Darkness. One of seven." Rudol looked at them gravely. "I suppose I now have the dubious honor of assigning you your first official mission as a trio, then: enter the Realm of Darkness, find the Bearer of this Keyblade, and return them to us. With Xehanort on the move again, we'll need all the help we can get." Mutely, he shoved the blue Keyblade towards Kairi, ordering her shortly, "Take this with you as well. I'm sure whomever it belongs to would be exceedingly grateful to you."

Hesitantly, Kairi extended her left hand towards the dark handle of the lost Keyblade. Summoning a good deal of nerve, she gritted her teeth and closed her grip on the handle, instantly feeling a sense of energy and... fond familiarity rush through her. "I... I think I've seen this Keyblade before." She frowned. "I don't know who it belonged to, but... they were very kind, I think... At least, I'm not picking up any bad emotions..." Helplessly, she turned to Sora and asked, "Do you understand what I'm getting at? Because I don't."

He just shrugged and folded his arms behind his head, grinning boyishly at her (the sun was setting, there absolutely no reason for it be getting this warm out). "That's your heart talking; it'll never lead you wrong. Unless it's your gut talking, in which case, we're probably late for food…?"

"And what about you?" Riku approached Rudol. Folding his arms, he asked, "What about Melisandre? What if she comes back, only to find you her only available blood donor?"

"Ah, yes. Never doubt the dogged determination of the devout." Rudol frowned, then flicked his tongue out rapidly, probably annoyed at his accidental alliteration. "Well, I'll manage. I'm very good at divesting myself in more... seedy locales."

Kairi blinked rapidly. "We... does Radiant Garden even have those?"

"What? Of course it does! What do you think we are, savages? Oh, but I wouldn't expect you to understand, pure heart and all that..." Rudol eyed the former Whirlwind Lancer at his side carefully. "Now, as for transportation... I believe that young Xehanort was discovered at Central Square, yes?" At Dilan's confirming nod, Rudol mimicked the motion and said, turning back to the three Keywielders, "Well, I suppose we'll leave you three to prepare for the journey ahead. I still have... research to catch up on." The prince appeared visibly pained at having to utter that word. "I swear, if I ever get the chance to throttle Ansem again..."

"Riku." Kairi turned the only Master among them and asked, "Can you still open a Corridor of Darkness?"

He nodded. "Yes. Once you open the door, it can always reopen."

The former Nobody laughed. "Ah, you sound just like him! But then, I suppose if you spend so much time with a shut-in like Ansem you will inevitably begin to parrot their cryptic nonsense."

Riku scowled. "You don't give your brother enough credit."

"On the contrary, I give him just the amount he deserves. He is known as 'the Wise' for his many studies and breakthroughs, but personally, I think he truly earned that title when he figured out it was time to stop studying. The worlds are so much more than facts and figures, you see." The Prince-Regent sneered. "And who knows? Perhaps if he had gotten it in his head to become wiser a tad bit earlier, we never would have fallen to the Darkness."

Ansem's Study, Royal Citadel
Radiant Garden (7 October 299 AC)

"So, did you find what you sought in the Chamber of Repose?"

Rudol snorted. "You know I didn't. Even if their mission is a success, these Light-bearers are still short a member, and your little playpen only raised more questions than answers." He glanced about his brother's study with a skeptical eye: the long, circular desk was now strewn with papers containing research on the heart, the product of their snooping around the long-abandoned room. The gigantic portrait of Terra-Xehanort had, it seemed, been defaced by a ridiculously elaborate moustache paired with a gleaming monocle; the former Gambler of Fate suspected it to be Lea's handiwork (the scorched mark at the bottom right of the canvas could only be his signature, after all). Even had, to his credit, long since restored the disparate tomes of their former mentor back to their proper places on the shelves lining the aged walls. Certainly makes looking through all this horrific jargon easier…

Dilan restacked the papers he had been perusing and, lining up the edges, responded, "I've told you everything I know: Xehanort was found alone, with no memories, but with the armor. There was no one else with him. Even believes the Superior had us build the Chamber to help restore his memory-"

"Which, apparently, didn't work." Rudol frowned, and regarded the graphitized painting for a long moment. Dismissing the 'improved' depiction of the future Seeker of Darkness, he marched through the doorway leading to Ansem's computer, complaining, "Why go to all that trouble, though? If he has other versions of himself willing to pop up from Light-knows whenever and inform him about his past, wouldn't they have done so?"

The close walls of the secret passage applied an audible echo to the former Gambler's grouching. As Rudol entered his brother's covert chamber and took a seat before the complex hardware, Dilan stalked in behind him, shrugging. "Perhaps Master Xehanort does not care to divulge everything to his vessels. Perhaps time travel has an effect on memory." Dilan looked at the former Gambler of Fate. "Do you think those three will have any luck? In the Realm of Darkness?"

"No doubt. Two of them have already been there. As for Kairi... well, there is a load of potential in that one. Hmm." The Prince-Regent smiled grimly. "Perhaps we might be able to enlist the aid of this fire god after all. Can't go stumbling about in the dark. But I get ahead of myself." He turned in the rotating chair and folded his arms, fixing Dilan with a quirked brow. "Now, about that password Sora thought up: really? Not even a single special character? What is wrong with that boy?"

"He thinks the best of people. And apparently does not care to keep a list of passwords with him." Dilan smiled faintly. "Go ahead and change it if you wish, Your Lordship."

The royal mode of address reduced the former Gambler of Fate into a state of horrified shuddering. "Ugh. No. Don't do that again." Glaring at his former superior, Rudol twirled back towards the keyboard and began typing furiously, while declaring, "Besides, you know how the system works. The Sage Kings are selected on their academic merit, and I'll be damned before I make myself eligible for that unenvious position. I don't care how awesome their hats look."

A cheerful voice cut through Rudol's dour ruminations: "Greetings, Users! May I be of any assistance today?"

Rudol leaned back, satisfied to achieve some sort of progress within his brother's area of expertise. "Tron, is it...? I'll daresay you can. Pull up all files pertaining to Castle Oblivion, and the Chamber of Waking too, while you're at it."

Great Sept of Baelor, King's Landing
The Crownlands, Westeros
Land of Ice and Fire, 7 October 299 AC

"Children of the Seven! We are all born of the Father, and He has judged us justly for our iniquities."

Perched high atop Visenya's Hill, the Great Sept of Baelor had nevertheless been gravely impacted by the Battle of Blackwater Bay. Of the Followers of R'hllor amongst Stannis' forces, a good number broke formation at Fishmonger's Square and stormed the Street of Steel, piercing through its minimal resistance. The Great Sept itself was barred to them, however, so they set about defiling the courtyard. Even the towering statue of the Septon-King, Baelor the Blessed, been defaced: a burning heart had been painted in lamb's blood on its breast, and its crown of flowers was blacked with soot. The crystal Spire of the Stranger – one of six others – had collapsed in the later bombardments of the city, a great shard piercing the High Septon of the Faith from on high. The ruined tower now resembled a gaping maw, jagged edges violently tearing into the sky; an evil omen if ever there was one. The street leading to the Great Sept was a pathway of devastation: the apostates had taken great relish in burning the homes of those Most Devout that dwelt in the Light of the Seven's considerable shadow. It was rumored that the pretender Stannis had even deigned to storm the walls in person. Whereas the forces of the Westerlands had failed to even arrive at the outskirts of the city, the horrific siege had at last been lifted by the delayed sortie of the valiant and chivalrous knights sworn to Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach, Warden of the South, and – as of today – the Savior of the City, and the Hand of the King.

Now, at the feet of Beloved Baelor, stood the new Voice of the Seven on Earth, as 'decreed' by the Most Devout, a grouping the highest-ranking septons of the Realm (whom, they would later contend, certainly had not made their decision under any compulsion from the furious citizens of King's Landing). He was a small man, and his thin build suggested a low-born origin and lifestyle. Jutting from beneath the septon's floor-length white wool-cloth tunic were heavily-calloused feet: black, knarled, and hard as tree roots. Though his sun-tanned face was lined with age and stress, his eyes were piercing, reading the measure of his audience. Once-brown hair was now being inundated by streaks of gray, and their ragged locks revealed that the layman had duties more pressing than personal hygiene. No name was given to him, nor to any of his predecessors.

He had not thought to come so soon, but the continued desecration of the Faith could no longer be ignored. "Through the might of Highgarden, victory has been achieved. Not for naught were the old Septs based in Oldtown: it is the Reach where the Faith still rings true, amongst high-and-lowborn alike. Its like cannot be found without the lands of House Tyrell; certainly not here, where incestuous and polygamous potentates first carved out their empire of fire and blood! The charred remnants of Our earthly abode is the final proof of this. It is with these facts in mind that We hereby withdraw Our presence to the Starry Sept of Oldtown.

"In addition," he continued over the fervent shouts of the Most Devout, and the plaintive pleas of the desperate masses, "They who contributed to Baelor's desecration are hereby, and in full view of the people and the Gods, anathemized." At his side, an attendant septon produced an exceptionally-wrinkled length of parchment, and unrolling it, handed it to his superior. His High Holiness paused (dramatic effect being one of the Faith's more subtle weapons), and declared, "This Session adds: to Stannis Baratheon, the apostate, anathema! To Alester Florent, the apostate, anathema! And! With these We define that there shall be expelled from the Light of the Seven and anathematized, Joffrey Baratheon who-"the cries of the citizens reached a fever pitch, "who is King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, who in his consistent rejection of mercy, of piety, and of duty, has failed to Protect the Sept of Baelor, and the Realm at large, from the flames of the impious!

"To Joffrey, the Unfaithful, I say again: anathema!"

His judgement finalized, the Father of the Faithful snapped the parchment and rolled it up with great relish, to the fanfare of the people. Parting his way through the throng, he dismissed offers of a carriage here, a mule there, even outlandish propositions of a flock of doves. It was a long and arduous road back to Oldtown, and the High Sparrow, in proper form, was determined to walk every last step of the way.

First "Kingdom Hearts 3", then "The Winds of Winter": our wait is truly eternal. Now, I've subconsciously begun to follow those two giants in making fans wait. The thing is, I've sort of challenged myself to write more with each chapter, so I apologize for making you lot my guinea pigs. And yes, my writing this giant Author's note is just a cheap attempt at increasing its length. I should probably get a beta reader, or someone just to keep me from getting distra-SQUIRREL

On Ienzo: though an orphan, he never really lacked for any father figures, what with Ansem & co. keeping an eye on him. I don't, however, think he ever had any sort of maternal/spiritual presence - that, and his scholarly curiosity, could be the reason why he's giving Melisandre such free reign. (Even, of course, will not approve.)

The plot bunnies are multiplying, now. I've been thinking about Dr. Facilier in "The Princess and the Frog" - obviously a (somewhat) skilled practitioner of blood and shadow magic. It is his talisman, given to him by his "Friends", which allows Prince Naveen's porter, Lawrence, to adopt his master's appearance. The talisman, however, is powered by the blood of Prince Naveen - the blood of kings (which is why Facilier never tried it before the film, since New Orleans isn't exactly bursting with actual royalty as far as I know. Personal headcanon, the end).

Lord Tywin's excursion into the Westerlands has rendered the capital a Tyrell city, for the moment. Also, for some reason, I decided bring in the High Sparrow a year early… just to throw him back out again. I'm just spit-balling at this point, honestly. Anyways, in Orthodox Christianity, the term "anathema" is used for a harsher form of excommunication, and can be interpreted as "something dedicated to evil and thus accursed". Only complete repentance may lift the status of anathema.

Just watch me suddenly find a jillion typos the instant I publish this chapter. Next time, in the far future: Action! Honest! No, I promise, it'll barely have any exposition, come back!