Chapter 2

Empty Space

After exploring the four rooms available to him in the west wing, Roxas decided on the smallest one. The smallest it may have been, but that hardly meant that it was tiny. Though it was difficult to tell, as full of furniture as it was, Roxas felt sure that it must have still been bigger than his room in Sublustris.

Xemnas visited the room not long after Roxas had chosen it. He hadn't stayed long, only long enough to give Roxas permission to use whatever he found in the wardrobe. Having been given permission, Roxas languidly opened the beech wood doors and looked inside.

The clothing he found there was just as munificent as the clothing Xemnas had been wearing, all fine silk and cotton. Unlike the clothing Roxas had seen on Xemnas, however, this clothing wasn't really...Xemnas-sized. In fact, it was barely bigger than Roxas himself. Roxas wondered, for just a moment, who the clothing could have belonged to before deciding that it was hardly his business.

Xemnas was nice enough to let me stay here, thought Roxas, frowning to himself as he chose a long, loose shirt from the selection. I shouldn't ask too many questions.

He sat on the edge of the bed-which was softer than he ever thought beds could be-and slid his shoes off. It wasn't until they clattered to the clean floor that Roxas realized exactly how filthy they were. He winced, realizing that he must have been tracking dirt through the house from the moment he walked in. He would have to clean up after himself the following morning.

Having shed his shoes and trousers, Roxas reached for the shirt he'd laid out on top of the bed. He managed to pull it on over his head after a great deal of struggle and, cringing, pushed his injured arm through the right sleeve. Once it had gone through, he sighed in relief, the pain having passed as immediately as it came.

It was miraculous, really, how little Roxas' wound hurt him. It had gone from an insufferable burning to a dull throb in only a few hours' time. Xemnas' administrations had worked wonders. Perhaps he was a doctor before he decided to isolate himself in the woods; that might explain his acquisition the manor if it turned out he wasn't noble. Or perhaps he'd learned to treat a wound in preparation of a possible injury to himself. It wasn't as though he would be able to call for a doctor in the middle of the woods, after all.

Roxas peeled back the warm, heavy quilt and felt the linens underneath. As expected, the sheets on the bed were as soft and fine as every other strip of cloth Roxas had seen since breaking into the manor. He climbed beneath the blankets, his bare feet nestling between the sheets, and he laid back onto the pillow. He closed his eyes, eager to sleep off the dull ache of his wounds.

It was a few hours later that Roxas grudgingly admitted that that wasn't going to happen.

Frustrated, he sat upright in his new bed, glaring at his quilt top. He didn't understand. He wasn't too hot or too cold. Despite the way his stomach had been growling in the forest, he wasn't hungry anymore. He wasn't even shaking or experiencing that odd queasiness that came from going too long without eating. He wasn't thirsty. Heaven knew he was comfortable, and he was exhausted to boot, but for whatever reason, sleep still evaded him.

Roxas turned and dropped his feet to the wooden floor. If sleep wouldn't come to him, he would have to find it on his own, and Roxas knew exactly how he could.

He grabbed a pair of breeches from the wardrobe and slipped them on. After taking a look at the boots resting at the bottom and deciding that they were too small, Roxas decided to go without. Better to be barefoot than to track yet more dirt through the manor.

As Roxas had noticed when he explored the west wing, the hallway outside of his door was barren. As it had been with the den, no paintings adorned the high-reaching walls. There were no shelves, no flowers, no mirrors, not even a window to light his path. At least Roxas could walk through without fear of bumping into anything.

He made his way to the grand staircase without incident and tried the first pair of double doors that he came across.

Locked.

Roxas knew that he could have opened them with minimal effort, but out of respect for Xemnas' privacy, he left them closed.

Continuing in the same direction would have led Roxas to the east wing, which was no doubt where Xemnas slept, so Roxas opted to instead descend the staircase. Upon reaching the plush, red carpet on the ground floor, he turned around. The circumference of the round room yielded a series of identical doors. One, he knew, led to the den, while another led to the study he'd been forbidden from exploring. The rest, however, were all just waiting for him-providing, of course, that they weren't locked as well.

The first room Roxas inspected was a dining hall that looked as though it hadn't been touched in years. Dust covered most surfaces, which Roxas supposed made enough sense; it wasn't likely for someone like Xemnas to spend much time entertaining guests.

Another room led to a lounge. This room was much less dusty, but like with the den and the corridor, its naked walls left Roxas feeling uneasy.

The kitchen, which Roxas found behind another door, looked just as untouched as the dining room. The suggestion that Xemnas didn't eat paled Roxas for half a moment before he realized how possible, even likely, it was that Xemnas cooked over the fireplace. After all, that was what Roxas and Sora did. Of course, that was because they didn't have a big, fancy kitchen, but what was the point in a big, fancy kitchen when there was no one to cook for? Roxas smiled with satisfaction at his own answer as he stepped through the door back into the foyer. "Guess he likes to keep things simple," he mused. He could respect that.

Halfway to the last available room, Roxas halted. His toes curled into the carpet fibers. Goosebumps crawled up his arms. A familiar sense of dread filled his chest. It was a feeling he knew well. Usually, it preceded Sora jumping out from behind something to startle him, but Sora wasn't here, and Xemnas didn't strike Roxas as the type to pull pranks.

Whoever was watching him was someone unknown.

Roxas whipped around, searching the top of the stairs.

Someone in a long, black cloak looked back down at him.

Their hands tightened around the railing, just for a second, before they released it to bolt down the west wing.

"H-Hey!" shouted Roxas. He stormed up the stairs with heavy footsteps, his worries about waking his landlord long since forgotten. His shirt billowed around him as he rounded the corner into the hallway, chasing the stranger down the moonlit corridor. The black silhouette charged at the window, Roxas hot on its heels, but before the boy could get anywhere near close enough to grab the coat's flapping him, the figure vanished. They dropped to the floor with a thud.

Roxas narrowed his eyes in confusion. Did they trip? He walked to where the place where he'd last seen the figure before it disappeared, but it wasn't there.

It hadn't tripped. It had hidden itself in the shadows. Whoever that person was, they weren't in the hallway anymore.

"They've gotta be in one of these rooms," mused Roxas, peering around at the four ajar doors that surrounded him. "Hey!" he tried calling...but to no avail. He knew it wouldn't be that easy, but he still had to try.

Pursing his lips, Roxas walked to the closest door, the one on his left. This room was the biggest of the four. If he had to hide in one of the rooms, that one was the one he was most likely to choose. "Hey!" he called again. Still, no answer. He walked to the wardrobe and pulled the doors open. Nothing there. Just some old coats. Really big coats, too. Way too big for Xemnas. How many people used to live here? Just how long had they been gone?

"You know…" Roxas closed the doors and walked to the bed. "If you're in here, you can come out." He kneeled on the floor and lifted the bed skirt. No one was there, either. At least, no one he could see by squinting into the darkness. "I'm not going to hurt you or anything." Roxas tried to push himself up off the floor, momentarily forgetting about his injury. The stabbing pain in his shoulder was quick to remind him. He gripped it, hissing. Stupid thing.

"I don't think I could hurt you even if I tried." Roxas lowered his hand. No blood. At least the bandage was doing its job. "And I don't want to, anyway. Even if you're a thief or something. I'm not mad. I don't even own anything worth stealing. And the guy who does own this place, he's really nice. If you did steal something, all you'd have to do is give it back. I'm sure it'd be fine if you explained everything. He might even try to help you. I mean, I broke in, and he helped me." Roxas walked to the drapes and pulled them back. No one hidden in the folds. "I'd try to help you, too. I'm not a bad guy. Or at least, I don't try to be. I think I'm pretty nice." Roxas walked to the trunk at the foot of the bed. No one there, either. No one in the room at all.

Disheartened, but not defeated, Roxas repeated the same pattern for the remaining three rooms. He announced his presence, tried to make himself seem harmless, and searched any possible hiding places. After finishing up with his own room, the last of the rooms in that hallway, Roxas sighed and flopped backward onto his bed, his arms spread out on either side of himself. Whoever had been watching him was long gone. They must have escaped from one room while he was looking through another.

Groaning in resigned disappointment, Roxas rolled onto his side, only for a sharp sound to yank him immediately back to his feet. His gaze darted around the room, searching for the mysterious cloaked figure...but he didn't find anyone. Honestly, Roxas hadn't expected to. That sound was less of a "someone walked in" sound and more of a "something fell off the bed" sound.

Frowning, Roxas dropped himself to the floor and began to pat it with his hands until they came across something smooth. Smoother than the floor, anyway. Roxas curled his fingers around the strange object and lifted it up to the window, squinting at the silhouette.

"Is this...a seashell?"

Over the course of his travels, Vexen had seen countless skirmishes. He saw brawls outside of taverns, muggings, even duels, but out of all the times he turned his face away from such quarrels, there was a single instance when he dropped absolutely everything to defend someone.

Anyone watching might have suspected that the reason he stopped was because the victim was a child this time, or perhaps because he himself had been bullied at a young age and wanted to save future generations from suffering the same fate, however, though those two reasons might have had something to do with it, the main reason had little to do with the child himself, but rather what the child was doing.

He didn't fight back. He didn't even try to defend himself from incoming blows. No, instead, the child used his body to shield something else.

How strange it was that the child was being attacked, and all he seemed to care about was the heavy, golden book he clutched in his tiny arms.

And there was something about that that Vexen simply could not overlook.

So he stopped. He turned. He stepped into the shadows…and he threw a snowball.

The child he'd hit turned around, startled. Of course, who wouldn't be? Snow, in the middle of summer, in a country with such a warm climate?

He looked up at Vexen just in time to watch a new snowball coalesce in the center of his palm.

From there, it was just a matter of enduring a few screams before the children were no longer Vexen's problem; they'd all fled before Vexen's snowball was even fully formed.

Shaking his head and their predictable cowardice, Vexen allowed the snow in his hand to fall to the ground, abandoned to melt on the hot cobblestone. Cautiously, he approached the boy who still clutched his book, shaking. He was covered in scratches and red welts that would most likely bruise, but still, his book was more important to him. Vexen admired that.

Cautiously, the man kneeled beside the boy he'd rescued and rested a hand on his shoulder.

The boy's head snapped up, blue eyes wide. Or, at least one of them was. The other Vexen could only assume had widened considering the fact that it was completely veiled by oily locks of slate-colored hair.

"Are you all right?" asked Vexen.

The boy stared.

"Of course," mumbled Vexen. "The language barrier… Sunt tibi bene?"

The boy still stared.

"No? Me comprends-tu cette fois?"

And still, he stared.

Vexen sighed, disappointed. He'd run out of languages. Slowly, he climbed to his feet and offered a hand.

The boy clutched his book closer to his chest, shaking his head.

"Oh, gracious," mumbled Vexen, mostly to himself, knowing that the boy would not be able to understand him. "I wasn't trying to take that from you." He gestured peaceably with both palms open, shook his head, and stepped back.

The child looked up at Vexen, hesitation in his eyes, and then, faster than Vexen could react, he ran.

After spending all morning looking through every room in the manor, Roxas finally managed to find what he was searching for.

"Xemnas?"

"One moment."

He fidgeted by the library door. After having spent all night tossing and turning, his thoughts consumed by worry, Roxas knew he had to say something. It could have been a thief, and if it was, Xemnas certainly deserved to know.

The library Roxas had found his landlord in was gorgeous, and he found himself staring. The ceiling was high, at least three stories, and books covered almost every inch of the walls all the way up. The only spaces on the walls that weren't occupied by books were otherwise occupied by the fireplace and two tall windows that reached for the ceiling. The library was gorgeous, yes, but its size only served to make Roxas all the more nervous about the news he was about to deliver.

Xemnas had been kind, but that didn't make him any less intimidating. What would he think? That Roxas had actually stolen something and was only trying to cover his tracks? Would he throw Roxas out as quickly as he'd taken him in?

Just as Roxas began to wonder how wise it really was to divulge this information, Xemnas finished the page he was on and looked up from his book.

"You wanted to tell me something?" asked the man, his fingers drumming against the pages.

"I..." Roxas inhaled sharply to steel himself. "I saw someone. Last night. Inside."

"Inside the manor?" quizzed Xemnas. Whether he was calm or calculating, Roxas couldn't decide.

"It might have been a thief," he continued. "I don't know. I didn't get a good look. I mean, it was dark, and they ran away really fast."

Xemnas leaned back in his chair. "Was the intruder wearing a black coat?"

Roxas' eyes widened. "Uh, yeah. How'd you know?"

"I believe," said Xemnas, "that you may have come across my little ghost."

"Ghost?" wondered Roxas. There was no such thing, was there?

"Not a literal ghost," said Xemnas. "I apologize. I should have been upfront with you yesterday. Truth be told, I doubted I would need to explain her existence for several weeks. Even I rarely encounter her, and so her presence does little to sate my loneliness."

"Who is she?" asked Roxas.

"My ward," explained Xemnas. "She is ill. Not with a sickness of the body, but with a sickness of the mind. Thus, her parents abandoned her when she was young, and I saw to it to take the girl under my wing."

Roxas furrowed his brow. "What's wrong with her?"

Xemnas steepled his fingers. "She has a great fear of people. I allow her to wander through this house as she pleases, and yet she rarely makes her presence known. More often than the girl herself, I see broken remains of seashells. I believe she collects them. Were she not to leave the shattered remains for me to dispose of, I would think that I lived with no one at all."

"Seashells?"

"Yes?" said Xemnas, intenerating his brow.

Roxas reached into a pouch at his belt and drew the treasure he'd claimed the night prior. "I found it on my bed," he explained, offering it to Xemnas, palm-up. "It's not broken, though."

"Hmm..." Xemnas eyed the trinket, but made no move to touch it. "Perhaps she developed a fondness for you. More likely than not, the shell was a gift."

"A gift..." Roxas frowned at the shell and curled his fingers into his palm. "What's her name?" he asked, his gaze moving toward Xemnas once more.

"Xion," said the man absently, his attention having already returned to his book. "Much like my study, she is not to be disturbed."

"Right..." Roxas dropped the seashell back into his pocket and turned to leave.

'Don't disturb her'? Did that mean the same thing as 'Don't talk to her'? The way Xemnas said it, that's what it seemed like, but if the shell really was a gift, then was Xion trying to be his friend? And if that was the case, was talking to her really disturbing her? If she was trying to overcome her fear of people, wouldn't Roxas be doing more help than harm by trying to talk to her?

Maybe, if Roxas could help her, that could be his way of repaying Xemnas for everything he'd done. If nothing else, it was as good a place to start as any.

Roxas opened the door to his bedroom with a bright smile. "You know what? Why not?"

She had always loved winter.

Beautiful, unique snowflakes drifting down from the heavens to the earth below, ice-covered trees winking in the sparse sunlight, hail hammering its melody against the strong rooftops, and best of all, she could go outside without worrying about her health. The only thing that she didn't like about winter was when they took their month-long sabbaticals, but that just made winter that much better when they were home.

At the sound of the creaking hinges on the study door, she jumped to her feet, eager to welcome them home, but only one of them walked through.

"Zexion!" She smiled all the same, jovial to see even one of them.

"Xion," greeted the boy, returning her smile with a closed-mouthed one of his own. He held a stack of heavy-looking tomes in his arms. Xion hastened forward to lessen his load.

"Where's...?"

"He's in the library," said Zexion, who knew exactly where her mind was at. "Doing some last-minute research before we effect a new project."

"What project?" asked Xion as she watched Zexion sort the lexicons into their new homes on the bookshelf.

Zexion smirked and shuffled the last few books in silence before reaching into his coat pocket.

Xion gasped. "Is that a—?!"

"Then you recognize it." Zexion's smile was small, but smug. "I thought you might." He offered the small glass phial to Xion with a gentle hand.

The girl took it into her own hands reverently, cradling it like a candle, her features bathed in the glow of its contents. "How did you get one? You didn't—"

"Of course not," admonished Zexion. "Really, do you have such little faith in us? We simply happened to be in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong place, if you'd prefer."

"Are you two going to make...you know...another one?" asked Xion, carefully handing the glass container back to its owner.

"That is the plan," said Zexion. "Of course, it will be somewhat different this time. We know who it belongs to, after all."

Xion looked up, a smile spreading across her face.

"Then you're comfortable with the idea?"

"I can't wait," said Xion.

"In that case," Zexion offered the girl his hand, "perhaps you'd like to be there to watch the culmination of our efforts."

"I get to watch?"

"You get to watch."

Though Roxas had resolved to find Xion, the task was not as easy as he originally thought. Xemnas had been right to call her a ghost. It was as though Xion was not in the house at all. Days passed, and Roxas could find not hide nor hair of the mysterious girl. If Xemnas himself had not confirmed her existence, Roxas would have thought he was going mad.

In truth, Roxas still thought he may have been going mad. Day after day passed, and Roxas found that he never became hungry. The need for water evaded him. Sleep never came to him. He had come to the conclusion that this strange absence of need was most likely to have been caused by stress. After all, he had run away from home, and without even having a chance to say a final farewell to his brother, no less.

Sora... What must he have thought of Roxas, just disappearing like that? Had the rumors reached his ears yet? Did even Sora, with all of his open mind and heart, think the worst of Roxas? It was enough for any man to lose his appetite.

During his first week at the manor, Roxas had been taught how to tend to his own wounds, and it had become routine to do so every evening before going to bed. He would remove his bandages, stare disdainfully at the reflection of his wound in the looking glass, and wrap fresh strips of linen over his shoulder in the way that Xemnas had taught him.

It had been during this process one night, just over a week after his arrival, that Roxas had been finishing his dressing when he happened to glance over his reflection's shoulder. There, from the door he'd left a jar, watched a curious, blue eye. It stayed for only a moment before widening, then vanishing into the darkness.

"W-Wait!" Roxas hurriedly whipped around, wincing as the twist of his torso tugged on his tight shoulder. Ignoring the twinge, he gave chase, barely able to so much as make it through his doorway after stumbling over the corner of his bedcovers with a strained, "Aaa-aah!"

This time, when Roxas ran, he could clearly see the figure ahead of him, or at least her back. Xion's hood was down, and the pale moonlight from the sole window behind them caught her short hair, which seemed to be black, though it was difficult to tell in the dark corridor. It matched her clothing: A black, hooded coat that reached her ankles. Roxas noticed the girl's gloves when he drew close enough to reach her hand. They were made of leather, cool and unexpectedly soft to the touch.

"It's Xion, right?" asked Roxas, his hand firmly gripping the girl's to keep her from slipping away. She refused to face him, instead keeping her back turned. Acknowledging her fear, Roxas was quick to comfort her. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said, his voice gentle and patient. "I just want to talk. I found a shell in my room the other night. Did it come from you?"

There was a long, excruciating moment of silence, a moment that gave Roxas the impression that Xion would not answer at all, but then the girl proved him wrong.

"Yes," said Xion, her voice quiet and shy, just above a whisper.

Roxas smiled. A word. Just one, but it was a start. "Did you leave it there on purpose?"

"Yes," said Xion once more, this time promptly.

"Why?" asked Roxas.

"You said you were nice."

Roxas chuckled gently and released Xion's hand, allowing her to run if she so chose, though he sincerely hoped she wouldn't. "I am," he said. "I wish I had something to give you, too. You know, for the seashell."

"That's okay," replied Xion, her voice still soft, her face still turned away.

"I still want to give you something, though," said Roxas. "It's just... I left everything behind when I came here, so I guess friendship is all I have. I mean, if you want it."

Again, there was a long pause. Xion slowly turned in place. Her head rose cautiously, tentatively, meeting Roxas' gaze with blue eyes hidden in part by raven fringes. "You...really want to be my friend?" she asked, hesitation layered in her tones.

"Yeah, of course," said Roxas. "I'd love to." Unthinking, he dipped his head a few centimeters, trying to read the girl's expression. "Have...you ever had a friend before?"

"Once," admitted Xion. "We don't...really get to talk much anymore."

"Why not?" asked Roxas.

This time, Xion really didn't answer.

"Guess that's too personal, huh?" Roxas' smile dampened into something more understanding, but clung to his features nonetheless. "How about your friend's name? Can you tell me that?"

Roxas could see the hesitation in Xion's eyes as she pondered whether or not to answer, but then... "His name's Axel."

"Axel..." Roxas' smile widened just a fraction, if just out of happiness that Xion was talking to him. "That's a pretty cool name. What's he like?"

"He's nice," said Xion, a small smile of her own gracing her pretty face. "Like you.

Roxas couldn't help but like this girl. She held a sincerely sweet nature about her. Being with her, for the first time since Roxas left home, he actually felt content. Maybe even happy. "Do you want to tell me more about him? We could go into my room, and—"

"No." Xion took a step back. Her smile was long gone. "I can't."

Roxas' smile disappeared a well. "Why can't you?"

"I just..." For the third time, a deafening silence appeared between the two. "I just can't." Without a further word of explanation, the girl turned and walked away, leaving Roxas feeling very confused, perhaps even a little hurt. But then, halfway to the grand staircase, Xion paused and turned around, sending Roxas one last, hesitant smile.

"Maybe..." Her eyes seemed to brighten in the darkness, though it could have been Roxas' imagination. "Maybe we can talk again sometime, though!" she called, a half-hearted smile capturing her features for a split second before vanishing again, the smile's owner disappearing along with it, consumed by the darkness of the east wing.