(A/N: Woo. Okay. Getting this out early because I won't have much time later in the week (busy at work) to get anything out, most likely. I'm also excited, because the ball's finally rolling. Same issues as last time; I'm still trying to work out pacing and make my writing elegant despite feeling rushed… I think I did a better job of it this time, but I have a lot of work to do.

Also, quickly jumping in here to say that I adore the band that I used as the lyrics this chapter, and it was really hard to pick just one song because I think the entire album I referenced fits a specific character very well (it'd be pretty obvious if you're even a super lazy reader). So I highly recommend listening to the whole thing as you read this. If not the whole thing, at least the songs "Feels Like a Lie," "In Clover," "Traveling at the Speed of Light," "Bad Dreams," and the one listed below. That's all. Enjoy!)

CHAPTER VII

WHITE

Last night I killed a ghost that was following me,
Its spooky fingers distributed 'round the murder scene,
And there was nothing beautiful inside the shell like it had seemed.
Everything was white, yeah, everything was white, everything was white.

Joywave, "Now"
How Do You Feel Now?

"Now," said Nissa, taking a small, wooden stick out of a blue box as they sat at the kitchen table. While it wasn't exactly pristine, the large cooking area looked quite usable—and it must have been, if she managed to brew them each coffee. She grabbed a cube of sugar from a tiny ceramic bowl sitting in the middle of the small, circular wooden table, and then another, and then another, and plopped them all individually into the steaming cup.

Stirring with the stick, she said, "What do I call you?"

The white-haired boy had an idea, but only shrugged. In his grand total of a single day of memory, he had collected various names from stray books, signs, and his own dreams, but none of them felt like his, and he was only half-sure they were all real, human names.

"Try the coffee," she insisted.

He lifted the cup to his lips. While it steamed, the liquid didn't sear him when he tipped the cup back.

The taste, however, was vile. It was bitter and oaky and somehow nutty, all at the same time. It was potentially the most disgusting thing he had ever tasted, though he wasn't sure what else he had ever tasted, save for the delicious dinner he had been given the night before. Still, he didn't want to offend Nissa. He still felt very obligated to her.

So he tipped the mug back and poured the coffee down his throat, gulp by bitter gulp.

Nissa laughed. "Wow," she said. "I need the caffeine, but I can't stomach the stuff without sugar." She paused. "My boyfriend used to take it with only cream. I think he was crazy."

Her friendly grin became distant, like a costume mask, and she continued to stir her coffee, in which the sugar could have dissolved four times by now. The boy's cup was empty by the time she finally lifted the turquoise mug to her mouth, and a flicker of a real smile returned.

"I could call you 'coffee,' but that seems insulting, somehow," said Nissa, letting her fingers intertwine and resting her head on her hands, propped up on the table by her elbows. "It's not the most attractive sounding name, either, and you're a rather attractive person."

The boy wasn't sure whether he could blush to begin with, but was sure he would, if he could. It was a rather sweet thing to say, especially coming from such a beautiful woman.

"What about 'Ghost?'" she finally said, letting her palms fall decisively to the face of the table. "It seems fitting, to me. You've got white hair, and your outfit is all white."

"Ghosts aren't white," he said, blinking through his confusion.

"No," she said, "but the ones in Halloween Town are!" She made circles out of the thumb and forefingers of her hands and put them over her eyes, laughing gently. The boy smiled, though he didn't know what was so funny. He wanted to be someone she could smile and laugh with, but they came from two different worlds: hers, the normal one, where you have a memory of who you are, who raised you, and where you grew up, and his: a vast emptiness where memories are like a leaking pipe beneath a sink from which you can't find the source, because everything is damp.

"Okay," he said. "Ghost."

"For now," she said. "Until we think of something better."

"Or my real name?" he asked.

Nissa frowned, taking another sip of her coffee, and putting it back down. "Ghost, I have a lot to tell you," she said. "But before I do, I could really use a favor from you."

Ghost's only clear, continuous memories were of Nissa caring for him, clothing him, feeding him, and giving him a place to rest. It only made sense to do honor by those memories by helping the woman in whatever way possible. "What do you need?"

"There is a woman out there," she said, "who I know very well. We used to be very close. Something took us separate ways." Nissa stopped for a moment to look over at the empty wall to her left, before returning her gaze to Ghost and saying, "I have reason to believe she was responsible for a great tragedy. She has to be stopped."

"By stopped, you mean…?"

Nissa squeezed her eyes shut. He could see small tears beading up at the outermost corners of her eyes. "She has to die."

Why did Nissa cry? Ghost couldn't tell. He assumed there were probably a lot of emotions swirling around in her right now, but he couldn't really conceptualize them. He figured it would be difficult to get away with killing a person, and didn't know what kind of emotions it would bring up in him, but if it had to be done, it had to be done.

"How do I kill her?" Ghost asked.

Nissa cleared her throat. "Ghost, I need you to hold out your dominant hand."

He knew what that was without having to think about it, and held out his left hand. Nissa instructed him to summon something to it—she told him he had a weapon when she found him unconscious in the middle of Radiant Garden, and it disappeared when he awoke. She was sure it would come back to him if he summoned it.

So, silently, he asked for his weapon. He wanted it. He expected it in his hand.

It came. What appeared in his hand didn't look like a weapon at all, but an oversized key. The pointed, golden hilt fit well in his hand, and was warm against his palm, as though he'd been holding it the whole time. The entire golden length seemed so familiar to him, after his eyes and his clothing, and was interrupted only by black, spiked guards, and three rings—two smaller and one larger—which seemed to orbit around it. At the very end, four black spikes protruded out of what looked like a compass rose. A small keychain with a tiny star dangled just below his hand.

"That is a Keyblade," Nissa told him. "It's a very powerful weapon. She won't be able to stand a chance against it."

Somehow, Ghost knew she was right. It was a short Keyblade, but it was heavy, and sharp. If nothing else, it was a good bludgeoning device. This would do the job.

"Where is she?" he asked. "What's her name?"

"I've been told she was last seen en route to a place called Disney Castle," said Nissa. "Her name is Araceli Capello."

xxx

Despite her fretting the night before, Queen Minnie joined Araceli, Dylan, and Silas down in the grand dining room the following morning for breakfast. Her servants had laid out quite the feast, containing everything from toast to fried chicken and waffles. Silas knew he should be polite in the presence of royalty, but hadn't realized how hungry he was until the delicious smells wafted through the room and his mouth began to water.

When was the last time he ate? He skipped dinner the night of the thunderstorm. Was it really a day and a half ago?

"Don't be shy," Minnie said to the group.

That was all Silas needed to hear. He snatched his empty, white china plate from in front of him and began piling at least three of everything in the serving plates between them atop it. There wasn't an inch of negative space left by the time he was done, and he was fairly sure his meal weighed more than a six month-old baby.

He started with the fried chicken, tearing at the meat between his teeth and savoring the salty, warm comfort food of his hometown. "I don't think he's eaten in a while," Araceli said by way of apology as she put a couple of small waffles on her own plate.

"Sh'ry," was all he could say before moving onto the first of three over-easy eggs.

"Don't be," Minnie said. "With Donald and Goofy gone, this is more food than Daisy, Mickey, and I can eat on our own."

"Your Highness—" Araceli began.

"Minnie," Queen Minnie corrected her, the same way her husband did, immediately following.

"Minnie," she corrected herself, "your husband and we actually made a deal before sealing the keyhole that he would help us find someone very important if we helped him save Disney Castle from the Heartless."

"Did he?" she asked, not with suspicion, but with curiosity. Was this queen ever malicious, or was it only Silas in this world who truly had a dark side?

Araceli explained how she and Dylan were told that a Keyblade wielder was wandering around Traverse Town, but they came upon Silas rather than the "Nico" that Yen Sid told them to look for. She told her how, confused, they returned to Yen Sid to find out what happened to Nico, but he was gone, and left behind a single letter than read "Sheridan."

The girl didn't leave out her theory about how she believed Yen Sid managed to escape out. She finally asked, "We needed his help finding someone named Sheridan. We don't have anything to work off of other than his name."

"And Nico," Silas said, managing to wait until he swallowed his food this time.

"And Nico," Araceli repeated. "The boy who we were supposed to find. He's Silas's best friend. They lost their world together."

"We know he's probably still… asleep," Dylan said, who hadn't touched his own eggs since they sat down, and rather just managed to poke at them with his fork, "but is there anyway you can leave a message for King Mickey to help us find them, as soon as he heals?"

"I've been married to Mickey for a long time," said Minnie, placing her silverware back down to either side of her plate, and staring at them all with that same, unwavering smile. Silas put his own cutlery down, feeling like what she had to say was probably more important than his bagel and cream cheese. "It's a common misconception that all Daisy and I do are tend to the castle. My husband taught me quite a lot of what he learned from Yen Sid, including how to locate hearts."

Araceli was smiling, which was an accomplishment in and of itself. "No way!" Dylan half-shouted.

Minnie giggled. "Way. I may not be as powerful as Yen Sid, but I'm fully confident that my magical abilities match Mickey's." She scowled for a moment. "It may be harder to find Sheridan, seeing as you only know his name. But Nico should be much easier, since you were close and could tell me about him."

"Okay," said Araceli. "Thank you. Could we start with Sheridan?"

So she did. The Queen sat with her eyes closed for so long that Silas thought she might have fallen asleep at the table. However, a blue and green aura seemed to float around her head, haloing her like an angel. She squeezed her eyes tighter, and the aura seemed to thicken and darken, but not much else changed. Minnie sighed, opening her eyes, and shaking her head.

"I'm not sensing a Sheridan anywhere," she said with a frown. "Either he has hidden himself very well, or he's very far away."

"Go figure," Dylan mumbled, crossing his arms. "But if you couldn't find him, Mickey couldn't, either?"

Minnie shook her head. "I could have him try when he wakes up, but I don't think so. He will also be weak, then."

"Okay," Araceli said. "We'll have to start our search cold. Thank you, anyway."

"What about Nico?" Silas blurted. All heads snapped in his direction, and he realized he was half-standing. Like a person who applauded too early at an orchestral concert, he slowly sat back down and felt blood fill his cheeks.

"Of course," she said. "Tell me about him."

"Well," Silas mused, bouncing his right knee up and down. "His full name is Nicodemus Argyris. He's wicked smart. He knows, like, literally everything. I could ask him any question and he'll have the answer in, like, no time flat. He's, uh, he's kind of short and thin. Curly, dark brown hair, and gray eyes. Silverish, almost. He's really pale. Nico, uh, he uses a lot of really big words—like you, Araceli!—and listens to a lot of jazz music. He can be sort of all-over-the-place emotionally, but he's really logical. And," he laughed, "I don't think I've ever heard him say 'goodbye.' I'm just realizing this now. He always says 'see you later,' even to the checkout lady at the grocery store that he'll, like, never see again. Oh, and he's seventeen, but he'll be eighteen in a few months."

How long had he been talking? Silas's throat felt dry.

Minnie was grinning at him with a smile he hadn't seen before; normally, her smiles were friendly and gentle, but this one almost seemed to be holding back laughter, and not that malicious laughter like kids do after someone trips and falls in the hallway, but something joyous. "Nico sounds wonderful," she said.

Silas nodded. He was. "He's my best friend."

"Of course." Minnie looked at the other two, both of whom were looking down at their plates, before closing her eyes. The mist appeared around her head in less than a second this time around, and it wasn't five seconds before she opened her eyes, and laughed.

"He's right in this room," Minnie said. "I must be crazy… or tired. How can that be?"

But Silas was beaming like an idiot, and put his hand to his heart. He knew it. Nico's heart was safe inside his body. All he had to do now was find a way to restore him. His friend was safe; he wasn't a Heartless.

xxx

There they were. Araceli Capello, and the companion she was traveling with. He hadn't expected to see a third head there, but they brought someone else along for the journey.

Nissa wrapped his face up in white bandages, leaving only Ghost's eyes and the bottom of his nose so he could breathe properly. She'd told him he'd risk a lot by letting them see his face, both because then they would be able to recognize him anywhere, and for a reason she wasn't ready yet to divulge to him, but promised she would, later.

They exited the castle, chattering to themselves. Ghost was still in disbelief; he was told he was on the way to another world, and all he had to do was walk through this odd corridor, which he summoned without even having to try, upon Nissa's instruction. In less than a minute, he left Villain's Vale and was standing in a bright, spacious, green opening at the base of an impossibly large, white castle, peppered with animals made of grass and square bushes.

What an odd world, this was.

When they approached, Ghost summoned his Keyblade again. It was as easy as blinking. Why was it so easy?

Nissa insisted he name his Keyblade before he set out on his journey. She said that weapons with names are often treated more carefully, because people begin to humanize them. He wasn't sure he had humanized it yet, or ever could, but decided to call it Tramontane. It meant "Northern Wind." He didn't know how he knew that.

"Who are you?" came a voice. It was the boy with the auburn hair. Their faces were still too far away to see, but Ghost knew one of the boys had to be Dylan—and the woman could be no one other than Araceli. She was exactly how Nissa described her.

Her brown hair was only a shade darker than her skin, against which small, bluish-hazel eyes stood out brightly. Araceli was a tall woman, and around the same age as Nissa (perhaps in her late teens or early twenties), with somewhat muscular arms. Despite the somewhat masculine way she held herself, she wore a lovely, feminine gray dress with long sleeves and tall boots.

Ghost pointed his Keyblade at Araceli.

"Hey," said the blond boy immediately, summoning a Keyblade of his own. That was unexpected; his looked like a storm in the shape of key, wrapped in a ribbon and the deep gray of a cloud pregnant with rain. A weathervane adorned the top of the weapon, spinning in the gentle breeze of Disney Castle.

The other two swiftly summoned their own weapons out of thin air. Ghost didn't realize other weapons worked this way. Araceli carried a tall staff, silvery-white in color, which seemed to create more of a breeze around it, causing the blond boy's weathervane Keyblade to spin more rapidly. It ended in a crescent moon shape with a raw, clear geode in the center, glued into place with a silvery metal.

In a less elegant performance, the auburn-haired boy summoned a gun in a light blue color, wrecked with green scratch marks. It was a dangerous-looking thing, with a single large barrel in the center, and two smaller barrels on either side. The gun seemed somehow much larger than it had to be.

Nissa didn't tell him he would be against people who were heavily armed, but he trusted her that his Keyblade—that Tramontane—could do the job.

"Are you Araceli Capello?" he asked.

"Who's asking?"

So it was her. Ghost would make this quick; he owed Nissa, and decided he didn't like the feeling of owing anybody. He rushed up to the group, surprising himself at how quickly he could run.

Araceli was fast, too. She side-stepped out of Tramontane's attack, and something red and hot—fire—shot out of the tip of her staff. With haste, he held up his Keyblade in front of his face, which managed to both deflect the burst of flame and stop it from burning off the bandages wrapped around his face.

Those bandages served a purpose Ghost hadn't expected; he felt anonymous. He felt safe. He felt he could do more, be more, than he could be as the nameless boy with the white hair, lying uselessly in the center of a town courtyard.

"Who are you?" asked the blond boy.

Ghost looked over at him. His stomach flipped over about a thousand times in one second. He knew this boy. He didn't know how, but he knew him. He knew his name, he knew his eyes, he knew his favorite food was hot dogs and he was afraid of thunderstorms. The boy's name was Silas.

A memory? A real memory? Was he sure?

That meant the remaining boy, of whom he had no memory, was Dylan. Nissa hadn't been expecting this Silas person to be with Araceli. What was going on?

He didn't want to dwell, and didn't have time to. Araceli shot another fireball at him, which he, again, deflected with Tramontane.

"Oh, hell no," said Dylan, pointing his gun at Ghost. He barely had enough time to react before a swarm of successive glowing bullets hit him faster than a machine gun and knocked him back hundreds of feet. He landed back-first in the topiary castle in the middle of the courtyard.

"Sheridan?" called Silas, the blond boy.

Sheridan. Something about that name sounded right. It sounded perfectly fitting. He liked it—he liked it much better than Ghost.

No doubt he was not the Sheridan they were looking for, but what harm could it do for him, "Yes," he said. "My name is Sheridan."

"No fucking way," Dylan said, breathily letting his gun fall to his side.

Araceli's left hand curled into a fist. Her knuckles were white where her skin stretched as she squeezed with all her might the length of her staff. "You bastard! Where is Yen Sid?" she shouted, rushing at him.

This was his chance. She was blinded by rage. Nissa said that could happen. Keyblade forward, he tried to imitate what she had done—he summoned fire.

It worked. The burst of flame smacked Araceli square in the chest, and, mid-run, she fell to the ground. Her companion, Dylan, stayed back, as if dumbfounded that Araceli could be knocked down in the first place. Silas, however, approached.

In one swift motion, he held his Keyblade up to Ghost's—no, Sheridan's—neck. The point prodded at the space just below his Adam's apple.

"Sheridan," he said, in a low voice. "Where is Yen Sid?"

Who was this Yen Sid person they kept mentioning? That didn't seem like a real name. He wondered why he couldn't think of anything else at such a perilous time; wasn't he supposed to be afraid? Shouldn't he have been panicking and trying to defend himself from this boy who clearly had him in a compromising position?

"There's something wrong with me," he whispered and, for the first time, the weight of those words began to truly press down on him.

"What?" asked Silas, but he ignored him.

Sheridan back out, out of reach of the Keyblade's teeth, and glanced back at Araceli. She'd pushed herself back to her feet, and was joined by Dylan, both of them pointing their weapons threateningly at Ghost—Sheridan, he corrected himself. Perhaps he could take them all individually, but not together like this.

Willing another portal, another Corridor of Darkness, to appear behind him, he back away another pace and hoped Nissa would forgive him for this. "I'll see you later," he mumbled, backing into the portal, and meant it.

He could see Araceli rushing for the opening of the Corridor as her two companions stood, open-mouthed, and her hand disappearing behind the closing entrance just before she could squeeze the tip of her finger through.