Three months passed and he'd gotten faster, stronger and smarter.

Vanitas stared at his bare stomach in the vanity after getting out of the bath. Wiping away some fog showed more muscle than he remembered having. It'd taken awhile to stop seeing a skeletal frame on his skin, and build up real muscle mass. Dilan trained in a loose, sleeveless blouse and pants. Vanitas could see the clear bulk of his arms and he wondered if his would get that big. As his arms were now, they were nowhere close.

He trailed his fingers over the ridges of his stomach. They were hard. Some part of him felt a swell of pride.

He was certainly getting the strong body part down.

During training Xehanort made occasional, always silent appearance. Dilan's superior skill outclassed him by leagues, but when he was hit, he retaliated back.


Dilan was a merciless when attacking. His grip on the sword was shaky enough, and he switched to a hanging guard that seemed to come naturally. This only seemed to encourage the man and he struck faster. But if his grin was to go by, Vanitas was doing something right.

Xehanort clapped his hands slowly and they stopped. Braig was behind him, and wordlessly took his vest and scarf. Vanitas stepped back and watched as he picked a wood sword closer to his liking and stood in a casual stance.

For the first time, Vanitas saw an emotion other than aggression or scowling on his features. For a single moment, Dilan looked uncertain.

"Are you sure, Master Xehanort?"

Vanitas realized that this was what he'd been waiting for, and he must have been improving after all.

"Quite. Now come, don't hold back. I'll be able to tell."

Dilan took a short, deep breath from his nose and charged. Vanitas was sure if he stood any closer a gust of wind may have knocked him over. Xehanort's eyes displayed no fear or anxiety. The first strike was effortlessly blocked. It was as though he knew where the man would strike. Vanitas focused entirely on Xehanort as he side stepped, parried, or held his stance. He wasn't moving fast, which confused Vanitas even more.

They separated, Dilan circling slowly, and Xehanort seemingly challenging him with just his eyes. His body did not turn, only his head.

Vanitas then noticed he was only using one hand.

The moment Dilan rushed forward again from behind, Xehanort turned and disarmed Dilan, sending the sword flying against a wall. It landed with a clunk and Dilan raised his hands in surrender as Xehanort's was at his throat.

Their spar was over.

It was unreal. Vanitas recognized that he was getting stronger, but just how strong was he?

He scanned the eldest man's body, trying to find any physical sign of his strength, but only saw an old man rolling his shoulders and placing a wood sword back in its place. When Braig offered him his vest, he shook his head and looked down to Vanitas.

"Remember what I told you."

Dilan regained his composure after Xehanort left and slowed his heavy breathing.

The show of power earned Vanitas more than a few whacks when reciting greetings. His instructor seemed especially peeved at his lack of concentration, but it was hard to not replay the match in his head.

WHACK

Vanitas grimaced as the ruler slapped right across the back of his neck. The frown on his instructor's face was possibly deeper than his own.

Right, he couldn't let his mind wonder.


Fall crept closer and closer and Vanitas sat beside the main kitchen stove in the servant's quarters, focusing on his book and using the boil of water in the hanging black pot as background noise. The manor did have a sitting room with a fireplace, plus his own room. It did not have much noise, which irked him.

Vanitas liked the quiet, but absolute silence in itself was a distraction. A music box wouldn't do, and it was much too chilly that evening to open a window.

Void snuggled against his thigh on the bench to table seating and he idly scratched under his chin with one hand, eyes not leaving the page. The story wasn't anything particularly noteworthy, yet still interesting enough to hold his attention.

Across from him, Olette had been taking some sort of spice to grind in a wood bowl. Vanitas could tell that she was looking at him every now and then, but he ignored her. The sound of the grinding, and servants doing last minute chores were pleasant to come back to when his focus waned as he turned a page.

The servants talked in hushed tones around him. Though unseen by his eyes, they made gestures and tilted their heads in his direction. Olette would look to Vanitas, shrug, and gave her best apologies with her entire face. One of the servants rolled their eyes.

Yawning, Vanitas took note of the time from the lack of light in the room and placed a bookmark between the pages. Without so much of a farewell, he scooped Void under one arm and the book in the other.

Olette breathed out a loud sigh of relief when hearing the back door shut.

"Really, he cannot keep coming here!" a maid insisted. She was still dressed in her full uniform, as was Olette. Neither were comfortable taking off their aprons or dresses as their master's son made himself cozy in what was supposed to be their home.

"That boy. He needs some discipline and fast." An older man dabbed away a bit of sweat and unfastened his cook's apron from his back. "Master Xehanort is a good man. But damned if I wouldn't look for a new lord if that was our master."

"Is it safe to have a bit of late dinner?" a younger male servant strode in, comfortably dressed in night clothes.

"Were you hiding?" Olette asked.

"You expect me to not? He's got you marked; I'm not sticking around as a second target. Not to mention-" he sniffed. "You know I can't stand cats."

Looking from the back exit and to her fellow employees, Olette huffed. She didn't necessarily have to like him, but she still had to serve him. Maybe, though she didn't get her hopes up, he would realize what he was doing was very ungentlemanly.

The sniffling servant sneezed loudly.

"I'll scrub the seats down." She grumbled.