Chapter 011
After enduring hours of the seemingly limitless nature of Demyx's exuberant energy, there wasn't anyone Roxas felt might be more his polar opposite than Elio. The man's demeanor was formal, subdued. And he only seemed to speak when formally acknowledged or first spoken to.
As the man led Roxas further upward, the true size of the building they were in began to fully settle for Roxas. Yeah, he'd gathered as much already from the museum level, but, beyond that, the place just kept going. They ascended four more flights of stairs before Roxas even saw his first window. Mercifully, none of them had been as steep as the first stairwell. Every rug lining each passageway and covering multiple stone stairways had an ugly, valuable look to it. They were also old, their intricate designs worn away, in places even frayed. The entire building had a lived-in richness to it. It felt like what Roxas envisioned of an English manor, kind of even reminded him of a particular television show Olette was constantly obsessing about.
That's right. With its antique feel and the man leading the way starkly reminiscent of an old-school butler, the behemoth of a building Axel apparently called home was giving Roxas the distinct impression that he'd been dropped straight onto the set of Downton Abbey.
As Elio had led the way up more flights of stairs than Roxas' sore muscles would likely care to remember in a few short hours, he found himself craving a reprieve from the silence, made eerier by the sights they passed that just didn't jibe with the old-world feel of the home as a whole. The chairs, for one, were lined with weathered wood that seemed standard for furniture here, except that their interiors held nothing — no cushions, not even plastic or more wood. The seats and chair backs were simply empty, just like the frame of the bed he'd been resting in earlier.
Unnerved, Roxas cleared his throat, trying to ease his discomfort more than actually trying to catch Elio's attention. Just the same, the man slowed, glancing over, just as calm as he'd been at their initial introduction. Seeing it as an opportunity, Roxas looked up, met the man's eyes, then launched into a question that'd been on his mind ever since Demyx had first mentioned the upcoming meet-and-greet.
"Who's going to be at this dinner?" Hopefully that at least would be alright to ask. Unless, much like Demyx, the guy didn't have appropriate 'clearance' to clue him in.
Maintaining a slow but consistent pace, Elio turned his head back in the direction they were walking. "The Sempitern is expected to be present. He shares this residence with the Walker children. You may be more familiar with their maternal lineage. She was a Lee."
Although Roxas didn't know what the hell the second word even meant, his mind oh-so-conveniently deciding this was the moment it wasn't going to automatically translate, and he still had no clue about the significance of what seemed to him a commonplace surname, he kept silent, waiting for Elio to continue.
"There are often guests beyond Annuate's residents. Masters Saïx, Luxord, and Marluxia have all been invited this evening, to my knowledge. There also very well may be others."
"Marluxia…" Roxas echoed. He'd been hoping for more of an explanation as to who these people were. Instead, Elio was dropping names and terms that meant virtually nothing to him. At least there was one familiar name in the mix, he supposed. Given who it was and the apprehensive feeling that followed its utterance, however, it wasn't a particularly comforting revelation.
Roxas lapsed into silence, following Elio down yet another passage. This one had large windows, the glass stained with abstract designs and colors that reflected onto the sparkling marble of the walls around them. They passed other people as they walked, Elio politely greeting each and every member of what looked to be a sizable household staff. Each person was dressed similarly to Elio, exuding various levels of the same calm demeanor. Although this was anything but a typical day for Roxas, that didn't seem to be the case for any of them.
"Forgive me my curiosity, young master." Elio's unanticipated words interrupted Roxas' thoughts. "I'm afraid I know very little about the finer details surrounding your arrival. What era are you from, if you don't mind the inquiry?"
What, no one had bothered to clue this guy in on the whole assault and battery and kidnapping bits? Finer details, in-fucking-deed, Roxas was tempted to blurt out.
"I, um…" Roxas found himself hesitating, not wanting to play a part in any more of this puerile bullshit than he had to.
Elio was so calm though, such a stark contrast to Demyx's seemingly boundless, nutball energy. He didn't exactly seem like someone who wasted his time with anything even remotely bordering on make-believe.
"Twenty-One Cen—er, the twenty-first century," Roxas said, quickly correcting himself. Had he really almost used that crazy-ass terminology that Demyx and Axel had been so flippantly throwing around? Christ. Maybe he was starting to develop Stockholm Syndrome. God, that'd be awful. Knowing his luck lately, it also wasn't entirely outside of the realm of possibility.
When Elio didn't immediately reply, Roxas found himself supplementing, unable to bear the thought of once again becoming a silent follower approaching the complete unknown. "I mean, I was technically born in the twentieth, back in nineteen ninety-three, so I think I probably qualify as a Millennial, but I'm not totally…sure."
Oh good lord, he was rambling. First Axel, now with this Elio guy. He really didn't know when to shut the fuck up.
Unperturbed, Elio offered a nod of acknowledgement, his expression turning thoughtful as he continued walking, this time down a large stairwell that opened up into a foyer's entryway. "I know that time period quite well," he said. "In fact, Annuate Palace once played host to a remarkable young girl from Twenty Century who changed the course of this city's penultimate Platonic history."
Roxas faltered, nearly losing his footing on the carpeted steps. At least this staircase had a railing to grab onto. He hadn't been anticipating Elio's willingness to divulge information, even if he didn't understand everything that had been said or whether any of it was significant to his own predicament. For the first time, Roxas was actually finding himself getting somewhere with one of these people.
"It did?" he ventured, trying to keep his tone interested but otherwise not too overtly invested in receiving an answer.
"Oh yes. It was an honor to serve her," Elio replied, voice smooth, words recognizably repetitive. His expression, though still quite tranquil, held just the slightest hint of cheerfulness, like he was recalling a fond memory. "Although initially the circumstances surrounding her presence seemed nothing more than a grievous error of mistaken identity. The Lee family have a history of acting first, and worrying about consequences as more of an afterthought. It could very well be genetic."
If they hadn't been halfway down the stairs, Roxas might have stopped cold at Elio's words. Mistaken identity? That sounded …really familiar. He tried to imagine Axel abducting a girl in the same manner that had brought him here, but the holes in his memory left Roxas grappling, incapable of piecing together how that might even work. Was Elio really implying others had been kidnapped? Did that mean he wasn't the only prisoner here?
Elio continued downward, oblivious to Roxas' quickly lengthening list of questions. "I must admit I imagined someone older than you. The last guardians certainly were." He led Roxas along the patterned marbled floor from where the space stopped being a foyer and turned into an actual room full of carved empty frames that were probably more weird-ass chairs. As much as Roxas wanted to ask questions, he was more worried about breaking Elio out of the spell talking about guardians and kidnapped girls seemed to put him in. The last thing Roxas wanted was the guy going silent after deciding he'd said too much.
Glancing at Roxas once more, Elio offered a half-smile. "Forgive my ignorant assumptions. I am afraid I sometimes become prone to unnecessary exposition. I make no claim to understand Faber John's methods of keeping his polarities safe. The process must be unfathomably complex."
The man stopped midway through the room. He was giving Roxas a look that seemed to imply he was anticipating a response. Before Roxas could think of anything to say though, someone beat him to the punch.
"Elio! Oh, thank goodness. You're here."
As Elio turned, Roxas found himself cowering almost by default, hanging back just behind the man, not sure what to expect from yet another newcomer.
Elio bowed once again, and Roxas got his first look at the person approaching them. It was a woman in dark clothes, arms bare save for black gloves up to her elbows, her dark hair and skirt both fluttering behind her as she made her way over to them. A large dog lumbered behind her, its coat an unnaturally vivid shade of scarlet.
"Great Time," she huffed, eyes raised in apparent exasperation, "is Leon ever being a pain today. There's been a crisis in Agelong, so he's in a sour mood over it. Someone went and sent out the New Australian Grammar to Malaya nearly a century before it was invented." As she spoke, the dog trotted past her, skirting around Elio and making a beeline for Roxas. "And he's been all day sorting it ou—oh. Hello." She stopped speaking mid-sentence, eyes first on the dog, which then led her gaze to Roxas. Her voice turned subtly up at the last syllable of the greeting, eyes traveling between him and Elio with an unspoken question. They flickered in the natural light coming in from the room's windows, as though there was some sort of distortion in front of them. It was the same odd feature he'd noticed with Axel, Roxas realized, except his eyes were obviously green. This woman's, on the other hand, were darker, but definitely… red.
At this point, Roxas just accepted the observation, resigned to the fact that nothing in this place was going to be one hundred percent normal to him. By now, it was becoming commonplace to feel more suspicious about the familiar, rather than things he considered completely oddball. It was a mental safeguard, he acknowledged, perhaps to keep himself from doing the human equivalent of mental dominos in front of total strangers.
Elio straightened, expression respectful. "I can see to Sempitern Leonhart, my lady. I had planned to escort the guardian to the dining hall beforehand. If it is an emergency, however…"
The woman didn't respond at first. She looked past Elio, toward Roxas, brows furrowing. "He's arrived already? I didn't even realize Axel had returned."
Roxas straightened his posture at the mention of Axel's name but remained silent, unsure of how to respond. By his side, the dog reared back, balancing on its hind legs as it pressed its front paws into Roxas' thighs.
"Rhea, sit." Although the woman's tone was stern, her open, curious expression remained. Roxas also realized that the command word she'd just used was not the same that Demyx had uttered earlier, despite the meaning being identical. Obediently, the dog fell back onto its haunches without so much as a protesting whine.
"It was Master Demyx who brought him to us." Elio answered, making no comment about the dog as he inclined his head toward the boy by his side. "He calls himself Roxas."
Quirking her head, the woman smoothed one of her gloves, an idle movement that complemented her worried look and slightly frazzled demeanor. "I didn't realize they had names. Or ages," she continued, looking past Elio back toward Roxas. "Isn't he a little …young?"
Biting his lip, Roxas looked down. It felt like they were speaking about him like he wasn't present — or even a human, for that matter.
Apparently picking up on her verbal misstep, the woman cleared her throat and had the good sense to sound contrite. "Oh my. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend." Roxas looked up. He saw an apologetic expression pass over her face, complementing the sincerity of the words she'd just murmured. Still, he remained silent. Unsure.
"Welcome to the Annuate, Roxas. I'm Tifa Lee Walker. We're so glad to have you."
Lee. There was that name again, Roxas thought as he quickly put together the pieces. Demyx was related to Axel who had a sister with a dog named…right, okay. Roxas thought he got it.
The woman took a step forward, hand outstretched, smile seemingly genuine. When Roxas didn't make an immediate move to return the gesture, Tifa's expression faltered. She looked over to Elio, uncertain. "Handshakes are still a customary greeting in Twenty-One Century, correct? I'm afraid it's not really my period of expertise."
Elio nodded. "They are, indeed." He glanced at Roxas, who was torn between feeling satisfied that he had held his ground and like an utter dick for not just reciprocating. "I suspect it has simply been a long day for Master Roxas. As I understand it, he only just arrived."
"Of course." The words carried an empathetic undertone, Tifa's expression turning thoughtful once more. "I forget how tiring that sort of journey can be…it's been so long since I've left the city." She nodded to herself, an action of self-assurance, then clasped her hands together in front of her as if she'd just settled on something definitive. "I can take you the rest of the way to the dining hall," she told Roxas. "A few of the others have already arrived."
She looked to Elio as the man inclined his head. "And I will see to the Sempitern and ensure he makes it to dinner." Much like Demyx, Elio was gone before Roxas could think to protest. Quite suddenly, he'd been passed off to yet another person, and for the first time today, it was a woman.
"Come," Tifa said, and Roxas couldn't be sure whether she was talking to him or her dog. He also couldn't be sure if it really mattered at all, because both he and Rhea automatically began to follow.
Roxas had prepared himself for another long journey. In reality, they passed through only one additional room before reaching their destination. The dining room was a round, vaulted room that reminded Roxas of a metro station — if any of Manhattan's underground stops had ever been shined to resplendent perfection. Three people were already present in the room, their black-coated backs facing the entrance as they all stood around a flickering fire in a stone fireplace at the far end of the room, an odd choice considering the indian summer pretty much all of city proper was still suffering through. In between the newcomers and the other guests lay a considerably large table, completely white like marble, with subtle off-white patterns mimicking the lines of a tablecloth. Just like he'd seen in other rooms on his way here, Roxas noted a handful of carved and polished empty-frame chairs and eight place settings.
The guests turned as they entered, and Roxas recognized pink-haired Marluxia immediately. The other two were unfamiliar, although their coats were identical to what Demyx had been traipsing around in earlier. Three pairs of eyes all turned toward Roxas, who once again felt discomfort not only in the realization that he was being scrutinized by strangers but also as a result of his own unconventional attire.
Not that their clothing wasn't bizarre. He just felt his was weirder. But at least one of them had him beat when it came to crazy-ass hair. As Roxas' gaze passed by a blue-haired man with a vicious looking scar criss-crossing the bridge of his nose and a yellowish glint to his eyes, he realized it wasn't exclusively Marluxia who that observation applied to. At least the other guy, with his white-blond hair and neatly-trimmed beard, looked closer to Roxas' version of what he considered normal.
"I just ran into Elio on my way here," Tifa said, "and it appears Axel was successful in locating one of the guardians." Stepping to the side, around a quietly panting Rhea and then slightly behind Roxas to give the men a better view, Tifa laid a gentle, gloved hand on one of his shoulders. "This," she said, "is Roxas."
Marluxia took a step forward. He acknowledged Tifa with a slight nod before turning his attention on Roxas. "A pleasure, although we've technically already met." He shot Roxas a wry smile that wasn't altogether different than some of the looks Axel had offered him over the past few days.
Pointing first to the blond man, then the one with more distinguishing features, Marluxia finished the introductions. "And these are my colleagues, Luxord and Saïx."
Saying nothing, Roxas simply looked between the two men he'd just been introduced to, before Marluxia continued speaking, drawing his attention back to his own angular features and pink, feathered hair.
"How are you feeling?"
Roxas stared at him for a long moment. Despite his presence earlier, Marluxia had never addressed him before, let alone with such a deluge of words. The question had been posed neutrally, without any inflection or indication that the man was actually concerned. Eyes darting between the black-clad duo next to him, then over to Tifa before returning to the original speaker, Roxas swallowed and felt the tension in the muscles of his throat. "I'm fine," he said. Then, unable to help himself, he added, "under the circumstances."
Maybe sensing the potential for awkwardness in their current situation, Tifa swept her arm toward the table. "Leon shouldn't be too long in arriving. Why don't we sit?"
The three men complied without a word, taking their places at the opposite side of the table from Tifa and Roxas. Noticing Roxas' wary scrutiny of the empty-frame chair he'd pulled out to sit in, she shot him an encouraging smile. "Don't worry. They're quite stable."
And so they were, although Roxas couldn't help but feel odd sitting on what felt like a thick sheet of glass that looked like absolutely nothing. This was mid-century modern taken to the extreme and, if he were being completely honest, it was about as chic as a faux fox fur coat from a flea market in Jamaica-Queens.
As Rhea settled on the floor at his feet beneath the table, side doors Roxas hadn't noticed before opened, and servers appeared, arms full of sparkling crystal tumblers filled with water and wine. Unconsciously, Roxas' stomach roiled at the remembrance of the brine he'd unwittingly ingested a few hours earlier. If the water was that terrible, he didn't hold out much hope that the wine would be much better.
The main entrance doors opened inward, revealing a briskly walking Elio, a cylindrical container secured under one arm. He made his way over toward Roxas' end of the table, before placing the receptacle within an arm's reach.
"I took the liberty of diluting this water to Twenty-One Century standards. If you have any dietary restrictions, please do let me know."
Roxas noted eyes on him from across the table. Everyone seemed keenly interested in his reactions, making his every movement feel as though it were under the scrutiny of a high-powered microscope. He glanced at Elio, but then shook his head minutely. "Thanks. I don't." He reached for the offered container and poured himself some of the water, noting that the moment he'd made his own move, the others at the table came to life, reaching for tumblers to pour drinks for themselves.
"Would you like some wine?" Tifa asked, her smile bright albeit a little forced in Roxas' view. The woman seemed hellbent on cutting the tension in the room but her cheery demeanor was only shining a spotlight on how awkward this entire thing was for everyone involved. He shook his head. The last thing he needed was to let down his guard in front of these people who, with their matching black coats and serious expressions, were increasingly giving off the impression that they were all members of a creepy-as-hell cult.
Failing to get Roxas to speak, Tifa's gaze traveled the room, the flickering in front of her eyes intensifying as she focused on Marluxia. "Is my brother planning to grace us with his inimitable presence tonight or has he decided to skip out?"
The man glanced between his two companions, receiving a slight nod from Saïx, before responding. "I expect he'll be here shortly. Xemnas wanted to have a word upon his return."
"Uh oh," Tifa murmured, gaze shifting to Roxas for a brief moment. As she spoke, she slid the gloves off her hands, placing them carefully on her lap before smoothing them flat. "That bad? What'd he do this time?"
Eyes down but listening closely, Roxas couldn't help but feel disappointed when any answer Marluxia might have offered was cut off before it even got started by the sound of the main doors opening once again, this time announcing the presence of two men, their outer layers of their clothing billowing behind them as they entered.
Roxas stared, wide-eyed, taking in the intricate details of one man's red and gold-accented cloak, and the fur-lined collar and bare-armed look of the other. The latter sported a facial scar that halved his face diagonally from above his left eyebrow, across the bridge of his nose and stopping off at a jagged point nearly at his right cheekbone. Elio trailed along behind him as he moved across the table toward Marluxia. The newcomer in the red cloak took a seat to Tifa's right, his scrutinizing gaze passing over Roxas without comment. At this point, Roxas was finding it difficult to keep the near-constant stream of mental Game of Thrones comparisons at bay. The new arrival across from him looked positively agonized, like the simple act of existing at all was an exercise on par with reciting Ayn Rand's "Atlas Shrugged" word by painfully anti-socialist word.
The man took a seat across the table from Roxas, then turned to Marluxia without bothering to greet anyone. "Have you filed your latest report with Chronologue yet?"
Nodding, Marluxia reached for his glass of wine. "I have, although I'm afraid there isn't much noteworthy in it." He turned toward the other two men on his side of the table. "We will be going over it more thoroughly tonight to determine any causal reasons for the uptime lag."
Beside Roxas, Tifa thrummed her fingers lightly against the tabletop and shot the newcomer across from her a pointed look.
Ignoring her, the man kept his attention on the men on his side of the table but didn't seem satisfied with the response, his jaw tightening perceptibly as his gaze traveled down the table. "Luxord? You're supposed to be the expert on temporal shifts, are you not?"
"Leon." Tifa cleared her throat before the blond man could answer, inciting an already-existing glare to redirect itself across the table. His eyes met Roxas' and time seemed to freeze as the pair took one another in, Roxas finding himself first gawking at the man's fur-lined collar, then rising up to the raised, pink skin of his facial scar.
"Roxas, this is Squall Leonhart, Sempitern of Time City. That's like a president from your time. Or maybe more like a mayor. I'm not exactly sure. Most of us just call him Leon." Tifa turned slightly toward the other man who had taken a seat to her right. "And this is Sir Auron. He's a guardian in his own right."
As she spoke, servers appeared, setting down food and small dishes in front of each diner.
"Welcome," Sir Auron said, leaning forward slightly so Roxas could see him better.
"I assumed you'd be taller," the Sempitern followed up with, voice deadpan, making it impossible for Roxas to know whether he was making a joke or offering up criticism. "Anyway," Leon said, tone impatient as he reached for a piece of food before turning back toward to the men on his side of the table, clearly uninterested in following up the introduction with further questions. "You were saying, Luxord?"
"There are a number of possibilities why a lag could occur," the man replied, voice smooth as though they hadn't just gotten interrupted. "We simply need to narrow it down to the most likely cause. It's just interesting that the era is so close to going critical via a lag rather than a more backtime process. At this rate, Higgs-Boson won't be discovered for another decade, and it'll ripple from there, hopefully weakening until it peters out entirely a few centuries later, if we're lucky." The man took a sip of his water. "At any rate, Marluxia's report was more than detailed. I'm sure we'll be able to pinpoint the problem and rectify it."
Roxas listened without really understanding most of what was being said. Still, he was transfixed, trying to parse underlying meanings, to make sense of virtually anything. He also eyed the food in front of him. Everything was bite-sized but unrecognizable. All around him, the others reached for food, dipping it in the small dishes containing multi-colored sauces laid out in front of them before popping the food into their mouths. Unlike Pluto at lunch, Rhea remained silent beneath the table, not whining for food the moment it was made available.
So, Roxas thought. They were in a palace, being served by numerous members of a large household staff, all dressed like a nineteenth century fiction writer's opiate-induced vision of futuristic royalty, and their dinner amounted to nothing more sophisticated than finger foods and glasses of salty water? That seemed legit.
By his side, Tifa had been speaking in soft tones with the man who'd taken a seat next to her, Roxas only vaguely noting the absence of weight at his feet a moment after Rhea abandoned him in favor of inching closer toward Auron on all fours.
A gentle nudge to his shoulder brought him back to the people beside him. Roxas looked at Tifa, words like sociotemporal curves, paradigms of agon types, and cultural manipulation of ideology passing in one ear and out the other, ticker tape-style and utterly meaningless, gleaned from the conversation across the table.
"Don't worry about them," Tifa said before finishing off a small piece of food she'd just dipped in green sauce. "They never know when to leave work at their desks and just enjoy food and company."
Huh, Roxas thought. That sounded like his father. Glancing up at the people eating all around him, then back down at the random selection on his plate, he finally picked one up with a slight shrug and gave it a try. Its taste was not completely unlike fried chicken. Roxas had eaten better. Thinking of Olette's failed attempts at cooking, he also silently admitted to having eaten much worse. Next piece, maybe he'd try the dipping sauce.
Leon stopped mid-sentence and fixed Tifa with a severe glare. "I'm sorry our concerns over keeping the whole of history somewhat stable are boring you. As a Lee, I'd have thought you'd take more interest, personally."
Tifa merely rolled her eyes. "Oh, come off it, Leon. You know I care. The Organization will work with Time Patrol and Chronologue to keep things under control like they always do."
Leon turned his attention to Roxas without responding to her. "And you," he continued, "I'm surprised you don't have any input. Are any of these fantastical claims about Faber John and his polarities even true, for one?" He fixed Roxas with a look that implied he was preemptively doubtful.
Roxas froze with a dumpling he'd just dipped into a thick yellow sauce halfway between the plate and his mouth. A drop of sauce trickled down to the edge of the morsel and held on for the briefest of moments, before dripping directly onto the table. It left a speckled stain on the white surface, which Roxas glanced at with a guilty expression. To his surprise, the surface of the table seemed to absorb the stain, the off-white patterns swirling a little as the sauce quickly faded; it continued to shrink until it wasn't visible at all. If Leon hadn't just put him on the spot, Roxas might have even taken the time to realize he was seriously impressed by the trick.
"The guardian seems to have had his memory compromised," Marluxia cut in before Roxas could be left to grapple for an answer to a question he hadn't even fully understood. "It's another issue we'll be addressing shortly."
Personally, Roxas would have just been grateful if he was able to regain a firmer grasp on the events of this morning; he wasn't really holding out any hope that they'd have luck digging up memories of the person they were mistakenly believing to be him. Without comment, Roxas reached for another piece of finger food, content to listen to others chat without being a more active participant himself.
Leon's expression darkened and it looked as though he were about to say something in response. The entranceway doors opened again though, effectively cutting him off. Elio had just enough time to move to one side before flame-red hair passed him and Axel entered the room, hands in the pockets of another black trench coat, his eyes narrowed to slits a visual harmonization of mood matching the thin line of both furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips.
Startled by the presence of the new arrival as much as his identity, Roxas found himself fumbling the food he'd just retrieved. It landed with a muted sound at the edge of his plate.
What was it with his inability to hold onto food in this guy's presence? Or his tongue, for that matter? It had to be a new, embarrassing low, especially if your onetime crush happened to also end up turning into your eventual abductor.
Leon took a sip of his wine, eyes following Axel's path across the room. "Nice of you to join us. Maybe now we can get some answers."
Axel said nothing, just slid into the seat next to Roxas, one shoulder brushing against his arm in a way that made Roxas scoot closer to Tifa, face involuntarily heating up at their proximity to one another. Axel glanced at him, expression neutral, but didn't comment as he allowed himself to be served food and reached for a tumbler of water.
"So, then. The start of Twenty-One Century." Roxas followed Axel's line of sight over to Leon as green eyes rose at the sound of the sharp tone. "What's to report? What year has this lag managed to get to?"
Axel seemed to consider his answer, his gaze moving momentarily one person over to Marluxia as if looking for confirmation. "2012, although Marluxia could have already told you the same thing," he said finally, the slightest hint of a grimace souring his otherwise dispassionate expression.
As Leon's eyes widened, Roxas bit his tongue to keep from asking something stupid.
"And now that the disturbance has been removed," Marluxia spoke up, eyes traveling meaningfully to Roxas, "I expect 2012 is where it will remain until it naturally realigns itself. Fixed events always circle back to their inception, absent additional interferences."
"I certainly hope so." Leon's voice was gruff. "It seems as though history's almost collapsed in around itself at this point."
By his side, Axel reached for a piece of food, apparently unbothered by the fatalist implication of the assertion.
Roxas turned to Tifa, hoping the one person who had thus far been friendly to him might be able to answer the myriad questions circling the drain of the fast-clogging sink that currently constituted the majority of his headspace. "Can I ask a question?"
Axel sucked in a quiet breath, eyes rising skyward. "I personally wouldn—"
"Of course," Tifa said, effectively cutting off her brother mid-sentence and receiving a glowering look in return over Roxas' head, which she seemed content to ignore. "I'm afraid I'm not the person who'd have the answers though." She spoke quietly, but Roxas was quick to notice that the table had gone silent, as Auron and all four individuals across from him turned their attention his way.
...which was exactly what he hadn't wanted happening.
When Roxas didn't immediately speak, Marluxia offered his own form of encouragement. "Ask anything. I can't guarantee we'll have an answer, but we can certainly try to clear some things up for you."
Next to him, Luxord nodded. "It's also possible that a fresh mind from an Unstable Era will be useful in sorting some of these discrepancies out."
Roxas seriously doubted that.
"I was just wondering," he started, acutely aware of how quiet his voice sounded in this colossus of a room, "why everyone seems so caught up on that year specifically."
Marluxia leaned forward, appeared prepared to respond. "Easy," Axel replied before he could get a word out, his voice smoothly taking reign of the conversation and sending a subtle shiver up Roxas' spine. "The original timeline dictates a set of events taking place much earlier, in 2001." Sliding one of Roxas' saucers closer to him, Axel dipped a long thin strip of food that reminded Roxas of vegetable tempura into brown sauce.
Marluxia nodded. "Hence the mention of an uptime lag."
Before Roxas had time to do more than mull the date discrepancy and try to make sense of what events they were even referencing, another voice joined the fray.
"Both neighboring centuries are notoriously unstable. What's to say this isn't just one deviation away from the standard norm?" Auron's voice carried a deep timbre, despite the quiet tone he had spoken with. Beneath the table Roxas heard a quiet, rhythmic thumping, a telltale sign that Rhea's tale had started wagging in response to his voice.
"Because it's already affecting the beginning of the Stable Era ahead of it."
All eyes turned toward the sound of Saïx's voice, his tone grating like bare skin scraped over uneven asphalt. Even Axel's jaw stopped working over the food he'd been chewing. Throughout this entire conversation, Roxas had noted how little Saïx's expression had changed; it didn't so much as waver now either, and his words were spoken in a near monotone.
By his side, Axel finished chewing, then swallowed audibly. "Since fucking when?" Roxas heard Tifa make a quiet, disapproving noise, maybe due to his swearing, but she didn't otherwise speak.
Saïx directed his attention toward Axel, expression still flat. "Lexaeus' report came in immediately prior to dinner."
Scoffing, Axel reached for his glass of water. "Impossible. Marluxia and I got back hours ago."
"Might I remind you, Axel, that Zexion's claim as to this boy's involvement was only conjecture." At Saïx's words, Roxas froze and found himself holding his breath, aware that the others were turning his way once again. He could specifically feel Axel's eyes boring into him. "And," Saïx continued, forcing Axel's gaze back across the table, "Marluxia has already informed me of his presence at the Manhattan Towers. If the claim is viable, removing a polarity from its assigned century is an effective way to turn the entire era critical."
As Axel shifted in his chair, Roxas felt his body go cold at the reference to the towers, although he couldn't immediately place why. The word felt like it was chipping away at a concrete wall in his soul though, gaining headway with each passing moment. "Well, that's awkward," Axel said, "considering he didn't bring anything with him that could've possibly been one of those things…unless it was disguised as a wallet or smartphone."
Axel's voice floated to him as though he were speaking through a tunnel, Roxas vaguely noting the sarcasm but otherwise not reacting to the referenced items he still had in his possession. If Saïx or anyone else responded, Roxas didn't hear it. His gaze dropped to the small dishes of dipping sauce, homing in on the spicy red one in front of him without really processing what he was seeing. He was too focused on trying to work through why those specific words were causing him to feel that familiar, unwanted twinge of nausea deep in the pit of his stomach.
Towers. Manhattan. The sky lighting up orange, preceded by a blinding ball of fire.
His eyes darted toward one of the glittering tumblers filled with salty water. Roxas imagined he was seeing crystalline rain, falling over and over again within its confines. He was momentarily transfixed by the illusion of flickering firelight reflecting fractal shards off the tumbler's exterior, and wondered why the image made him want to curl into himself until he disappeared entirely.
"Perhaps I should have interceded earlier." Marluxia's voice just barely registered with Roxas through the heavy silt of his muddled thoughts. "Or, at least, I might have stayed with him until the time band was fully activated."
"Nonsense," Leon's voice responded. "It's not an Observer's job to get himself killed."
Killed.
Hayner.
The room went eery silent after Leon's assertion, Roxas noting the tension that seemed the fill the room where conversation had been prior without much vested interest. Words were easier for him to block out, as long as Axel wasn't the one speaking. This fresh silence felt stifling though, the absence of sound reminding him that in the hazy recesses of his memory his injured ear had been the catalyst for unwanted silence earlier this morning instead of the external stimulus inducing it now. Unconsciously, Roxas moved his hand up to the left side of his head and felt mild bewilderment when it didn't return to its place on the table moments later sporting a thin trail of blood.
He could've almost sworn…
Pence.
Before anyone could resume speaking, the dining hall's doors opened yet again. Elio entered on his own this time, Roxas realizing he hadn't even noticed that the man had left after Axel's arrival.
"Please excuse the interruption, Sempitern," he said, offering a small bow. "The Annuate has a visitor asking for you by name."
"And who would that be?" Brows rising marginally, the jagged scar ascending along with them in quick succession, Leon's voice seemed to break the tension that had held the room in a steely grip just seconds earlier. Roxas noted Axel's shoulders relaxing back into a more natural position. A moment later, the man was reaching for his glass again, expression restored to impassive.
Elio straightened. "Cloud Strife, sir. An odd name, in my view, but that's what he called himself."
Leon's face transformed, his agonized expression dissolving into something that looked more akin to incredulity. A moment later, his jaw tightened again as though remembering itself. He shot a glance toward Roxas, who had the sense to feel unsettled before realizing it was Tifa he was actually looking at. Before Roxas could try to interpret any meaning behind the expression, Leon pushed back his chair and stood, scanning the table.
"Let's continue this discussion tomorrow." He turned toward Saïx. "Unless it's inadvisable to wait that long."
Saïx inclined his head. "There's no harm in it, at this stage."
Thoughts circling back inward, Roxas felt like he was slowly breaking from the inside out.
Olette.
"Good. If you'll excuse me, then…" With a set expression, Leon began making strides toward the door, sparing a final glance over his shoulder before disappearing out the entryway.
"Is everything alright, custos?"
As if he was listening from a considerable distance, Roxas noted the inquiry was one that had probably been directed at him. Tifa's voice echoed in his head, her words becoming increasingly meaningless with each subsequent iteration. Chest aching, face numb, limbs prickling with uncomfortable energy, he didn't so much as blink.
They'd been there that morning, at the 107th floor kiosk, and he'd been late. He remembered that much now, although the details of what transpired immediately after still rang hollow, felt surreal, as if they'd happened to someone else.
Dead? They couldn't be. There was too much life in each of them. Dead meant he'd never see them again. Not ever.
For a moment, Axel simply regarded him, an unreadable expression passing over his face. When he finally responded, his voice was quiet, reflective.
"Roxas?" Tifa's voice held a noticeable edge of concern.
"Ever? But that's such a remarkably long span of time…"
The words Axel had uttered only one night prior mocked him, made him want to...
"Roxas."
He blinked at the sound, an acknowledgement of a voice that had the ability to make him feel simultaneously fearful and inspired. It was followed by an involuntary shudder, a reaction that traveled the length of his spine, that filled him with sensation from the bottom up, a tumbler of wine poured into a glass, staining the interior a stark crimson red.
Roxas turned, regarded Axel, body alight, mind still slower to cede the blissful numb it'd gotten accustomed to over the course of the day. The man returned his eye contact, the flicker in front of his face subtly ebbing the longer they took one another in as though somehow acclimating to the sight of him.
Neither said anything for a long moment, the guests around them melting away into nothing more than indistinct colors at Roxas' peripherals. They didn't exist; their problems didn't matter, were as unreal as the plight of the starving third world to someone with a high-rise view of the Manhattan skyline in light of the recollections from morning.
He wanted to cry, maybe scream. In some way, Roxas wanted to purge the tsunami-sized wave of feeling cresting over him, to turn it on its face and let it drown someone else.
First his father, then mother. Now Hayner, Pence, and Olette.
Everyone always fucking left.
He waited for the lull between two painful apexes of feeling, then responded to Axel, his voice deceivingly calm as he spoke over an undertow of tortured realization.
"My friends are dead, and I'm tired."
The silence lengthened again. Without really caring, Roxas pondered the possibility of it becoming as drawn out as it had after Leon had spoken just before his departure. The scraping of a chair behind him broke the somber atmosphere before it had a chance to as fully settle. He heard a rustling behind him, noted Tifa as she moved more into his direct line of sight. A flash of gaudy scarlet indicated Rhea had also risen to follow her owner.
"Let's get you settled into your room for the night," Tifa said. Her voice was quiet, maybe sympathetic. As she spoke, she slid her arms back into her black gloves, flexing her fingers as she moved to tap Axel on the shoulder. "Then you and I can have a little chat to get me caught up on all of this."
"Right." With a sigh, Axel rose out of his chair.
Under different circumstances, Roxas might have spent time analyzing their words, trying to determine how they might relate to him. This day had pistol-whipped him one too many times though, and now all he could manage to acknowledge was the after-effects of feeling post-traumatically stunned into silence. As Tifa beckoned him to follow her toward the exit, Roxas didn't even think to turn back to the remaining dinner guests or address them in any way. Trailing behind Tifa and her redheaded enigma of a brother, Roxas walked without thinking, without speaking. It was a shell of a human being that left the dining hall that evening in Roxas' place.
After all, a part of his mind still capable of autonomous thought reasoned, friends and family weren't necessary to be alive, only to live something that resembled truly fulfilling. The longer he remained captive in this place, and the more he remembered about what little he truly had left waiting for him should he ever escape, the less the distinction between either seemed like it would even end up mattering to him at all.