Author's Note: Previous chapters have been edited. Changes include alterations for period accuracy and new story content. A reread is suggested, but not necessary.
Thank you for your patience.
Chapter 7
Under the Moonlight
"We've waited too long."
Vexen peered over the top of his desk to look at Zexion, matching the boy's grave expression with one of his own. "Yes," he said quietly. "I quite agree. One disappearance was quite enough, but now..."
Zexion nodded slowly. "But now Xaldin is gone as well," he provided. "That makes two disappearances within the last month."
"Two too many," harrumphed Vexen. "And Xaldin was one of our most experienced. We've lost not only a friend, but a valuable asset to our institution. This has gone much too far."
"Are we in agreeance to set our plan in motion, then?" asked Zexion.
Vexen narrowed his eyes at the scattered pages on his desk and steepled his fingers. "I'm afraid we have little choice," he said. "Eraqus has already agreed to the procedure. The only hitch is—"
"Axel's consent," interjected Zexion, already knowing full well what his guardian would have said. "Naturally, Axel is far too passionate an individual to agree to measures so drastic, and the chances of us getting his consent to do what we must are slim at best." He tapped a thoughtful finger against his lips. "Unfortunately, that does not change the fact that these are measures that must be taken if our movement is to survive, and it does not change the fact that he is our only true hope."
"Then what are we to do in order to procure Axel's involvement?" asked Vexen.
"I propose—" began Zexion, but before he could finish his sentence, the door to Vexen's study burst open, and a wide-eyed Riku cleared the entrance so that the man following him could enter freely.
Axel crossed the threshold with an unconscious girl lying limp in his arms. The right sleeve of her coat fluttered with every step Axel took, as if unoccupied.
The chair Vexen had been sitting in screeched as it was pushed backward by his sudden climb to his feet.
"What on earth has happened?" demanded the man, rounding the corner of his desk.
Axel opened his mouth to answer, but before he got the chance to speak, Riku interrupted him.
"It's my fault," said the boy, urgency in his voice. "I shouldn't have— I said I'd race her to the edge of the clearing, but there was a tree root, and she...she tripped, and..." The boy trailed off. Nothing more needed to be said.
Vexen cradled the back of his damaged creation's head with one hand, the opposite hand reaching under her to support her back. "Lie her on the floor," he instructed Axel, and the two lowered themselves on the rug. Xion's head was the last to meet the floor, gently set there by Vexen's steady hands, hands that he then pulled away to unzip the girl's coat.
Once the coat had cleared her torso, the cause for concern was immediately revealed.
At Xion's shoulder, where an arm should have begun, was a flat, uneven edge, sharp in some places, too smooth in others: the broken remains of an intricate ice sculpture.
"This could have been much worse," said Vexen, one bony hand pushing Xion's tank top over what was left of her shoulder, the other tracing the shattered edges. "Much worse, and I'll trust you to keep that in mind for the future, Riku."
The boy nodded, his eyes downcast, too ashamed of himself to speak.
Axel, however, was not.
"It was an accident, you damn windbag—"
"Axel," said Riku, his voice soft, eyes still trained on the carpet fibers. "He's right. I should've been more careful."
"He's a kid," continued Axel, Riku's comment ignored. "He and Xion both are. Do you expect them to spend their whole lives tiptoeing around like they're made of china?"
"If they value their lives, yes," countered Vexen. "Now, if you would be so kind as to step back, I do need space. Not to mention quiet. This will not be a simple process."
Indeed, it wasn't. The next several hours were spent almost entirely in silence.
Riku sat in a wooden chair beside the bookshelf, his knee bouncing nervously, his eye stagnant on his injured sister creation.
Axel stood beside him, trying to provide a reassuring presence, though he did little but glare at the floor, his arms crossed over his chest.
Zexion had left the room temporarily to brew a pot of tea. When he returned, it was with a full tea set carefully balanced on a tray. He set the tray atop the walnut desk and offered a cup each to Axel and Riku.
"I can't believe this guy," grumbled the former as Zexion carefully tipped the contents of the teapot into the cup in his hands. His words were quiet, almost inaudible despite the rage behind them. Though he was angry, he knew better than to disturb the man working on his carpet. "It was an accident. As if Riku needed that...that guilt trip. He's beating himself up enough as it is."
Riku didn't answer, but Zexion did.
"He may not seem it," said the boy as he moved from Axel's cup to Riku's, "but Vexen is afraid." Loose tea leaves swirled in Riku's cup until Zexion tilted the teapot upright again. "Wait for that to cool," he advised gently before continuing.
"Vexen lashed out because it was his first instinct. Normally, he is a very rational man, but fear can spark the most primitive responses from even the most dignified of men." He took a small pitcher from the tray and tipped its contents into Riku's cup. The milk lightened the color of the tea and cooled the temperature, making it safer for the boy of ice to drink. "This time, it seems it caused Vexen to place blame on the most readily available target." Zexion reached for a third cup on the tray and turned it upright. "In this case, that target was Riku, who indirectly and unintentionally put Xion at risk." He brought the third cup, now filled with tea, to his lips and took a small sip before facing his companions once more. "Of course, Riku is hardly responsible and should know better than to take Vexen's remark personally." He gave the boy in question a pointed look over the lip of his teacup. "Those words were nothing more than the misdirected pain of a concerned father." Something knowing flashed across Zexion's expression. "You will understand, Axel, when the time comes for you to meet someone whose life matters to you more than even your own."
Axel leered at Vexen through the corner of his eye. "Is that just your prediction?" he drawled. "Or is that something you read in one of your little storybooks?"
"You know it would be irresponsible for me to suggest one way or the other." Again, Zexion sipped from his cup. "At any rate, the point I'm trying to make is simply that you, Riku, should not take what Vexen says to heart. He is a very proud man, and thus I doubt that he will apologize, at least in words. I would, however, be surprised if he didn't show you his regret in some way. As I said, fear can control a person." A minute smile tugged at the corners of Zexion's lips, barely visible except to those who knew him best. "However, fear can also be useful, particularly in a case such as Vexen's. I believe he is repairing Xion much faster than he would have been able to without that emotion to rely on." The boy frowned. "Speaking of emotions, I would appreciate it if you could find it in yourself to calm down, Axel. That teacup was meant to hold hot liquids, yes, but bringing your tea to a boil inside of the cup itself might be a bit much for it."
In time, Vexen stood and took a step back to admire his work. From the shoulder down, Xion bore a new arm, shimmering and sparkling in the sparse sunlight that still flooded in from the window.
"Zexion, if you would, please..."
"Of course." The boy crossed the short distance to the unconscious girl's side and kneeled to take her by the hand. A pale, fleshy color flooded from the point where their hands met to the end of the crystalline replacement, and to the naked eye, Xion was once again a normal girl. Nothing less and nothing more.
She began to stir, her gentle features twisting into a wince as she roused from her sleep.
Riku was by her side in a flash, and he took the hand opposite of the one Zexion already held.
"What...happened to me?" questioned Xion, her voice raspy with weariness.
"You took a nasty spill," explained Vexen from where he stood not a meter away. He may have sounded just as stern and indifferent as usual, but anyone who knew him as well as Zexion did could see the relief that barely shone through his features. "The change in your form was too great and your consciousness slipped out of reach as a result. There is nothing to worry about now. Your strength will return within the day.
"It was my fault," said Riku, glowering at their joined hands. "If I was more careful, this wouldn't have happened. I'm sorry."
Xion only shook her head, a smile on her lips. "Does this mean you win the race by default?" she asked. "Or did you get disqualified?"
Riku's eyes widened, and his surprised expression gradually transformed into a tired smile, the first smile he'd worn since that morning. "Tch. You wish."
Roxas walked down the stairway slowly, barely counting his steps. It had been a week since the last time he'd seen Axel, when he and Xion had both escorted him back into the basement, and Roxas had been forced to grudgingly lock Axel's manacles, trapping him once more.
"It's all right," Axel had insisted with a smile on his face that Roxas had been able to immediately recognize as forced. "You're busting us out of here, right? What's a little longer in the irons?"
The way Axel had said it only made clear that he didn't believe that Roxas would be able to save him at all. And Roxas could understand that. Of course he could. Axel had been kept underground for so long that Roxas was sure that loss of escape was inevitable. Still, it had been disheartening for Roxas to realize that Axel had no faith in him whatsoever.
Each day Roxas had spent since that one had all been focused on trying to understand the relationship with the light that Axel had been so sure he had. He tried to make things in his room glow, to bend the beams of light that flooded in through his window, to heal the wounds on his hands...anything. But any result thoroughly evaded him. If there was any truth to Axel's insistence that he could control the light, then Axel knew that it was imperative that he learn to understand that relationship as soon as he could. If they were going to plan an escape attempt, they needed every angle possible.
Roxas reached the final stair and lowered himself onto the floor with a last, careful step. "Axel?" he called out quietly, lowering his hood.
A small flame bloomed to life against the far wall, illuminating the room. Axel sat on the floor in the corner, one leg flush against the cool stone floor, the other raised with his forearm resting atop the knee, palm turned up to cradle the flame in his hand. "Thought you were Xemnas," he admitted, his voice unexpectedly quiet. "'Sbeen a while. I was starting to wonder if you forgot about me."
"No way," said Roxas, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "I wanted to come sooner, but Xion told me to wait a while to make sure Xemnas didn't suspect me."
"Huh." Axel allowed his head to tilt back and bump into the wall behind him. "Well, don't be a stranger. Got it memorized?"
Roxas eyed the finger that tapped Axel's temple. "Uh, sure."
A moment of loud silence followed until Axel seemed to grow annoyed enough by it and gestured to the floor in front of him. "You gonna take a seat or what?"
"Oh. Yeah." Roxas walked until he was less than a foot away from Axel and took a seat. There, he worried his lip for a time as he tried to decide how to say what he wanted to say. Trying things on his own hadn't yielded any results. He knew that he needed to ask Axel for help. It was just a matter of figuring out how to ask.
He didn't even get the chance to open his mouth before Axel spoke instead.
"Hey, Roxas..."
"Yeah?"
"What's the happiest memory you can think of?"
Roxas' eyes widened. Where in the world had that come from? "What?"
"What do you mean 'what?'" asked Axel, eyebrow cocked. "I'm just asking. It's not like I'm holding a gun to your head or something." Again, he shrugged. "Just thought I'd get to know you better is all."
Roxas nodded in understanding and focused his eyes on the floor as he considered the question. "Well, I guess..." When he lifted his head, he was frowning. "I guess that would be my brother."
"That's not really a memory," noted Axel. "Can't you think of anything more specific?"
"I don't know," said Roxas. "Why does it matter?"
"Older or younger?" asked Axel.
"Older," said Roxas. "Barely."
"He ever take the blame for you when your parents were mad?"
Roxas thought about it. Sora had done that for him more than once, actually. He'd never been the best liar in the world, and their mother usually saw right through it, but that never stopped Sora from trying. Like the time Roxas had broken a plate while they were washing dishes together and Sora had immediately jumped to his rescue. Or the time when that owl had gotten into the house, and Sora insisted that he'd been the one to leave the window open.
"Sure," said Roxas finally, his voice soft, almost reverent. "Loads of times. How did you know that?"
Axel turned his face away, shrugging off the accusation. "Lucky guess," he claimed.
Roxas doubted it. "You have a brother, don't you?"
For several seconds, Axel refused to answer, and Roxas was worried that he'd somehow come across as offensive."
"Had," said Axel when he finally spoke. "A long, long time ago. He'd be long dead by now."
"What— Oh..." Roxas looked down at his lap, rubbing the back of his neck. He'd actually managed to forget. The fire had been around for centuries, and that meant, somehow, so had Axel. "You've...been in here for a really long time, haven't you?"
Axel regarded Roxas for less than a second before averting his gaze again. "You have no idea."
"I think I do, though," insisted Roxas, his hands curling into fists on his knees. "I think...maybe...you've been in here for about three-hundred years." Monster or not, those flames did have to come from somewhere.
That caught Axel's attention. He sat up a little straighter and turned his body a few degrees further in Roxas' direction. "Now how do you know that?"
"I bet you try to get out sometimes," said Roxas, his gaze hardening. "I bet you make it all the way outside before Xemnas notices you're gone, and when he catches up, you have to defend yourself, so...you try to fight back by making these huge fires, right?"
"Ah." A minute smirk stretched Axel's lips. "You've actually seen them."
"It's...kind of hard not to," admitted Roxas with a sheepish half-smile.
"Huh." Axel leaned against the wall behind him again. "You'd think someone would have investigated them by now."
"Well..." Roxas averted his eyes. Should he really tell Axel? Would it upset him? "Everyone's too scared," he confessed quietly, his gaze flicking back up to meet Axel's. "It's sort of an unwritten rule. Nobody goes too deep into the woods because everyone thinks that whatever's making the fire appear has to be dangerous." He shook his head. If only the villagers who chased him away from home knew that their so-called wrathful god was just a hostage trying to escape his captor. "Half of the stories parents tell their kids are about the fire. 'The Armored Rider', 'The Lost Prince', 'The Music Man's Folly,' 'The Gambler of Fate'... No one in Sublustris grows up without hearing them at least once. Nobody wants to risk being the next fairy tale."
Axel regarded Roxas with a dubious look. "So why are you here?" he asked.
Roxas glanced down at his knees. "I guess you could say it wasn't a total lie when I told you I was a thief."
"So, what, you got chased out by an angry mob?"
Roxas' only answer was a sheepish smile and a shrug.
Axel laughed and shook his head at the ceiling. "Kid, you are full of surprises."
It was a humid summer night, just after the first rain in weeks. Puddles still littered the cobblestone streets, reflecting firelight from the streetlamps. Those roaming the city were few and far between, not caring to risk getting wet should the foul weather return. The only ones who dared to wander outside were those who had important business and those who had no business at all.
Of the latter, two young men strolled the streets, conversing loudly and, on the part of the bulkier individual, boisterously.
"I'm just sayin' she needs to calm down once in a while, y'know?" The taller of the two men swung his arms as he walked. "She's always complainin' about somethin', and never anything more than one word at a time, just shoutin', y'know? 'STINKS.' 'HOT.' 'BITTER.' I mean, she's great, but if you ask me, she seriously needs to get l—"
The shorter of the two, blond and very angry-looking, thrust an arm out to stop his friend in his tracks.
"What?" asked the bulky man.
"Do you see that?" asked the angry one.
The former looked ahead of their path and saw a cart attached to two mares, each swishing its tail to swat flies away.
"Sure," said the man. "Looks like the apothecary's carriage, y'know?"
"Yeah," said the latter, a slow smile creeping over his face. "Wasn't that her husband in the prize fight a couple of weeks ago?"
"The one that kicked your butt?" asked the bulky man. The angry one nodded slowly. "I think that was the guy, y'know?"
"I do know," said his friend. "Find some rocks," he ordered. "Big ones."
The taller man ventured into the nearby forest and returned shortly with an armful of stones. He handed the first to his companion, who lobbed it as hard as he could at the side of the wagon. The horses whinnied in protest, and were they not tied to a post outside of the pub, they would have surely run off. More stones followed the first, leaving dents, breaking spokes, and startling the mares. A particularly loud snap echoed across the street when a heavy stone snapped the rear axle in two, causing the wagon to sink backward.
The snap and the irritated whinnies that followed didn't go unheard. A boy roaming the streets alone noticed the vandalism and rushed in just as the blond drew an arm back to throw another stone. The child stretched his arms out wide to block the stone, to keep it from reaching its target, but, luckily for him, the assailant took pity and dropped his arm, the stone still held firmly in his grip.
"Out of the way, Punk," said the man with a firm jerk of the head toward the alleyway whence the boy came.
"No," said the boy, his turquoise eyes, though partly obscured by raven hair, stone with fierce determination. They reflected the fire in his soul as easily as they did the street lights. "This is wrong. This cart belongs to someone." Despite his small stature, the child spoke with words as firm and strong as that of any full-grown man. "Leave it alone."
"I'm warning you one last time, Kid," growled the angry man. "Move, or we'll make you move."
"Try it," dared the boy.
The two men exchanged glances. Neither had ever seen such a small boy with such a mammoth presence.
The shorter of the two allowed his stone to fall to the ground and shoved his thumbs into his belt with a huff. He grumbled and turned on his heel, his shoulders hunched.
"Seifer?" questioned the larger man."
"C'mon, Rai," was his friend's only retreating response.
The man dropped the few remaining stones in his arms, not seeming to notice when one fell on his feet, and he quickly chased after his friend.
The child sighed in relief and lowered his arms. When he turned around, however, the righteous fury in his features was quick to return. It axle wasn't simply fractured; it had been completely crushed, splintering at the center. There would be no way for him to repair it.
Clenching his hands into tiny fists, the boy turned and took off into the forest. Though this forest had provided the very things that had damaged the cart, perhaps it could also provide the means to restore it.
The child returned momentarily with a branch roughly the same width and length as the axle. Though perhaps not nearly as smooth, it would serve as a temporary fix. The boy bit his lip hard as he stared at the rear of the cart, wondering how he might be able to lift it for long enough to make the repairs he needed to make.
His eyes on the cart, he was blissfully unaware of the eyes that were on him, and he could continue to be unaware until he felt a hand on his shoulder.
The boy jumped, dropping the makeshift axle and quickly whipping around to see what must have been the strangest man he'd ever seen.
To begin with, the man wore a sleeved, black cloak, his hood up. At the front of the coat, in place of buttons, there was some sort of shining, metal, continuous clothing closure that stretched from the neck of his coat to the hem, though it seemed to be, well, 'unbuttoned', as it were, from the thighs down.
Not only were the man's clothes strange, but his countenance as well, as was clear when he lowered his hood to allow the child a clear view of his hair.
It was pink. As pink as any carnation, as any pale rose, and voluminous enough to make any woman envious, though the rest of his features seemed to be masculine.
"Hello," the man greeted, his deep voice sending shivers up the child's spine. "That was a brave thing you did earlier, standing up to those two men. Very brave." He nodded toward the cart. "That carriage belongs to an old friend of mine. It's a shame that it's been damaged." He kneeled in front of the boy, his blue eyes shining with something that made the child's skin crawl. "My name is Marluxia."
"I'm..." the boy began, but stopped. His parents had always told him not to speak to strangers, and this man, though he seemed to be acting kindly enough, frightened him more than the violent men from before had. Somehow, something about him seemed inhuman.
"That's a very long branch you have," explained the man with a nod toward the limb lying on the ground between his feet and the boy's. "Were you planning on using it to repair the cart?"
The boy nodded mutely.
"Would you like me to lift it for you?" asked Marluxia.
Again, the boy nodded without a word, and the man climbed to his feet. With what seemed to be no effort, he gripped the rear of the cart and lifted it to waist height. The horses shuffled nervously. The wheels fell uselessly to the side. "Crawl underneath and set the branch in place," he instructed. "I will hold this for as long as necessary."
The child nodded. Despite the man's words, he made sure to push the broken pieces away and replace them with the branch as quickly as possible.
"Now set the wheels in place," said Marluxia.
Ignoring the way the man's voice still gave him goosebumps, the oy did as he was told.
Marluxia lowered the wagon carefully onto the ground, and it stayed upright. "It seems to be functional," he said, "but the moment they set off, the axle is certain to come loose. Those wheels were not meant for that branch."
The child crossed his arms, humming in thought for a moment, before kneeling to the ground and reaching for his shoes. With swift, dexterous movements, he began to loosen the laces of his boots. Once both laces were free, he walked awkwardly to the side of the wagon, bent down, and used them to fasten the axle in place.
Upon realizing what the child was doing, Marluxia stepped in, taking the laces from the boy's hands and tying the strings into a more suitable knot.
He did the same with the opposite side before returning to the child and grabbing him by the shoulder.
"My friend and her husband are sure to come through that door at any moment," he said firmly. "We should remove ourselves from the scene. We wouldn't want them to think we had done this, would we?"
The boy swallowed nervously and allowed himself to be led to the alleyway he'd originally come from, his feet sliding in his boots with every step.
Indeed, mere seconds after the two had disappeared into the shadows of the alleyway, the door to the pub opened up, and two young people walked out into the street.
The woman was the first to notice. She gasped, her delicate hands rising to cover her mouth.
The man, realizing what his wife had seen, cursed. "Almasy..." he accused.
"Zack," chastised the woman, "we don't know it was him." She sighed and stepped forward, circling her wagon and inspecting the damage closely, her thin fingers drifting over every dent, every broken spoke. "It could have been anyone."
"Some people," growled the man. "I can't believe there are so many jerks in the world."
When the woman reached the rear of the carriage, she stopped in her tracks, and a slow smile spread across her face. "I don't know," she said softly. "Maybe there are a lot of jerks, but there are good people, too. See?"
The man followed his wife to where she stood at the far side of the cart and followed her gaze to the repaired axle. "Huh," he said quietly, crossing his arms. "How about that?"
From the alleyway, the dark-haired child smiled, allowing himself to be proud for a moment, having temporarily forgotten who he was with. But was soon reminded when the man's hand found his shoulder yet again. The boy swallowed and turned to look up at him.
His expression was indeterminable.
"I want to repay you for what you did," he said with a chilling smile.
"Oh..." The boy cleared his throat and took a step away, only to bump into the stone wall behind his back. "You really don't have to do that."
"I want to," insisted the man, and he kneeled to bring himself to eye-level with the boy. "And I have just the thing."
The boy's eyes widened. "I-I need to go home. My parents..."
"This won't take long," said Marluxia, and his hand moved from the boy's shoulder to the crown of his head.
The child moved to the side, apparently to attempt an escape from the chilling man, but he made it no farther than an inch before his body became rigid and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. His hair, as dark as the night, was slowly drained of its color from root to tip, as if it were a glass inkwell that had been tipped upside-down. In wake of the ebony shone an ethereal, angelic silver.
"Riku, was it?" purred Marluxia. "In choosing to defend a dear friend of mine from those foul creatures from before, you have earned my favor, and with it, a blessing. From this day onward, the Ankou will treat you as one of their own. Each will revere you for the remainder of eternity, and each will be seen to you until the day comes that one must eventually take you. In addition..." He slid his hand down from the top of the boy's head and stroked his hair fondly. "The bonds of morality will have no hold over you until you have met fifty Ankou from your parish. For the next fifty years, you will be as invulnerable as the Ankou themselves. Illness will have no hold over you, your skin will mend itself as soon as it is torn, and even the most painful of burns will fade in seconds. This is my will, and it will be done."
The man finally pulled his hand away from the child's head, and the boy dropped to the ground, his eyes half-lidded.
"Your strength will return to you in minutes," explained the Ankou, pulling his hood over his head to hide his features once more. With the wave of his hand, a scythe as pink as his hair appeared in his hand. "Now, if you will excuse me, I really must have a word with those brutes from before."
The child closed his eyes, and in seconds, sleep took him.
When he awoke next, it was to the sound of a kind voice.
"Hey! Hey, are you okay?"
The child blearily opened his eyes, and when he did, he was warmly greeted by a pair of warm, blue eyes. The kindest and most beautiful he had ever seen. They seemed to be made of the sky itself.
Slowly, he forced himself to rise. He felt moderately nauseated, but aside from that, he was fine. He looked down at his hands uncertainly, then back to the gorgeous blue eyes. Was that all just a dream?
"I'm okay," he said softly, taking in his surroundings, shifting uncomfortably in his damp clothes; the road was still wet. "What happened to me?"
"I don't know," said the boy those blue eyes belonged to. He was Riku's age, perhaps slightly younger, with sun-kissed skin and brown hair just long enough to tickle his cheeks. "I just found you like this. Most people don't take naps in the middle of the street. I thought you got hit by a cart or something. I got worried. I'm glad you're okay."
The boy stood and offered a kind hand. Riku took it gladly and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.
"I like your hair," said the boy, beaming.
Riku raised his eyebrows. His hair was just black and no doubt messy. There was certainly nothing special about it. Unless... He reached up to a lock that framed his face and pulled it in front of his face.
Silver?
So that wasn't a dream, then.
He looked back at the boy, who was watching him with a bright, radiant smile. "What's your name?"
"I'm Sora!" said the child brightly. "What about you?"
The silver-haired boy couldn't help the sincere smile that tugged at his lips.
"'It's Riku."
Against Xion's warning, Roxas returned again the following day, his mind still full of questions.
"So..." he began, sitting with his back against the stone wall, shoulder-to-shoulder with Axel. "You used to be part of this...school of people with powers like yours, right?"
Axel looked at Roxas. "And?"
"Well, what was it like?" asked Roxas. "Like, all of your powers were different, right? So how did you teach each other?"
Axel shrugged. "Every person is different, but you can always find common ground if you look hard enough, can't you?" Roxas nodded. "Same basic principle. It doesn't matter if the relationship you have is with ice or wind or water; there's always common ground."
"Like what?" asked Roxas.
"I dunno..." Axel rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully. "Like... Like how they're triggered."
Roxas leaned forward intently.
"They're all controlled with emotions, got it memorized?" Axel tapped his temple with a half-smile. "The emotions might be different, but the way they're used is the same."
"So what's light's emotion?" asked Roxas.
Axel hung his head in exasperation. "You don't even know that much? Man, talk about blank with a capital 'B'..."
Roxas elbowed him gently. "Give me a break; I never knew any of this before," he grumbled. "I didn't even know I could control anything besides locks."
"Yeah, I guess you've got a point," sighed Axel. When he lifted his head, he met Roxas' eyes. "Happiness."
Roxas chewed his lip. "And fire's?"
Axel's smile disappeared. He regarded Roxas darkly through half-lidded eyes.
"Rage."
It had been a normal enough day to begin with. Axel had woken up, met with Saïx, eaten breakfast, and met Lexaeus in the library to discuss a new concept, something that he'd mentioned before, but never in detail.
"We discovered this on our travels before we settled here on the border of Sublustris," explained the copper-haired man. "Our first experience with it was with an older gentleman, a man named Galuf, who controlled the earth in the same way that I did. We've since dubbed it a Limit Break, as it seems to be a defense mechanism that is evoked when we are near the ends of our lives, or once we've broken our limits, so to speak.
"However..." Lexaeus' expression became grave. "Its use seems to be not to save the user's life, but the lives of those around him, as the limit break exerts a great deal of energy. Galuf, for example, used his final breath to free his granddaughter from fallen stones after a rockslide."
"Hold a moment," said Saïx, his green eyes narrowing. "How many experiences have you had with this phenomenon? How can you be certain that this will happen for all of us?"
Lexaus fixed Saïx with a stern look. "Vexen, Xaldin, and I have each tested it on each other, but only ever with Eraqus there. Without him, each of us would have died. I'm sure of it."
"Ouch," said Axel with a smirk. "Why would you risk something like that?"
"The more knowledge we gain now, said Lexaeus, "the less future generations have to suffer. We are paving their way."
"What can we expect from the defense mechanism?" asked Saïx.
"An explosion of power," explained Lexaeus. "Axel, for instance, might cause a literal explosion. For you, Saïx, it is more difficult to tell, thanks to your...unique ability. Perhaps nothing at all will happen, unless underneath a full moon."
"So what—"
Axel's question was cut short by the creak of an opening door. Zexion stood in the doorway looking rather stiff, rather serious. More than usual, which was no small feat.
"Axel," called the boy, "Vexen and I require your assistance. Lexaeus, do you mind?"
Lexaeus gestured a dismissal toward Axel and turned his full attention toward Saïx.
Axel stood from his chair and rolled a shoulder, stretching it out, before walking to the doorway.
Zexion nodded down the hall, and Axel took the hint to follow.
"You're being awfully mysterious," said the man, out of earshot of the library. "What's this about?"
Zexion spared not a word.
"Man, and I thought you were quiet before," sighed Axel. "Am I in trouble for something?"
"No," said Zexion. "In fact, quite the opposite. It is because we trust you that we are giving you this responsibility."
"Huh..." Axel narrowed his eyes skeptically. "I thought the old geezer didn't like me."
"He doesn't," admitted Zexion. "Not very much, at least. But he does trust you."
When they reached Vexen's study, they found it dark. The curtains were drawn closed and the fire was out.
The moment that they entered, Eraqus, who had been sitting in the corner, closed the door and locked it behind them.
Axel's eyes scanned the room, relying on the smallest break in the curtains to illuminate the faces surrounding him. "Okay..." His eyes landed on Zexion, Vexen, Eraqus, and back again. "You guys are kinda creepin' me out. What's the deal?"
"You've noticed the disappearances, surely," prompted Vexen.
"Xigbar and Xaldin?" asked Axel. "Kinda hard not to. What—"
"Dead," Zexion explained quickly. "Both of them."
Axel took a step back, his eyes narrowed. "You're kidding. What happened? They weren't—"
"Murdered?" offered Vexen. "As a matter of fact, yes. They were."
"Whoa, okay." Axel's gaze darted between the three. "You guys don't really think that I—"
"No, Axel," came Eraqus' fatherly voice. "We do not think that you were the one responsible. Not in the slightest. In fact, you are here because you are one of the least likely to be our murderer."
"Least likely?" Axel stood up straighter, slightly less defensive, but only slightly. "So what is this? Are you trying to get me to figure out who it is or something?"
"Not hardly," said Vexen, looking down his nose at the man. "We know very well who it is."
"Who?" asked Axel.
Eraqus' expression darkened. "Xemnas."
"The new guy?" Axel crossed his arms thoughtfully. "Huh. You know, somehow, that doesn't surprise me. So, what's the real reason I'm here?"
"It's difficult to explain right now," said Zexion. "In fact, if we tried, you would undoubtedly refuse. I do hope you will be able to forgive us for this eventually."
It was in this exact moment that everything in Axel's environment began to add up.
No fire. Not only was the room dark, but it was cold, and that chill had already begun to take its toll on him.
Curtains drawn, making it impossible to see outside, or for anyone else to see inside.
A locked door, and no key within reach.
"What the hell is going on?!"
Despite the fact that the primary reason Roxas went into the basement was to ask questions, he found that he was not the only one with questions to be answered.
"So, who's the king now?"
Axel looked at Roxas expectantly.
"That's...kind of complicated," admitted the boy, averting his eyes to the floor in thought. "The last queen died without an heir, so the husband of some distant relative of hers took the throne a couple of years ago, but he doesn't even speak English, so we've got this guy, Prime Minister Yen Sid, in charge of everything now."
Roxas lifted his head, and when he did, he was surprised to find Axel with a strangely subdued expression, like he was...disappointed.
"What's wrong?"
"Hm?" Axel lifted his head. When he realized he'd been zoning out, he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry. Guess I just didn't expect things to be so different."
Roxas would have understood that, provided it had been the truth, but something in the way that Axel avoided his gaze told him otherwise.
"So..." Vexen lowered himself onto the edge of their borrowed bed. "You can speak English now?"
Zexion opened his book and flipped through the pages until he landed on one specific blank leaf. "Not quite," he said after a moment. "I am only reading a translation."
"And that book translates for you?"
"Of course."
"And the others?"
"The black one, the Untitled Writings, is merely an anthology of fictional works," explained Zexion. "As for the gold one, the Atlas of Omens, it shows me maps."
"Maps?" quizzed Vexen."
"Yes," said Zexion. "Maps of things to come, of the directions that can be taken and the destinations that they lead to."
Vexen rested his elbows on his knees, his fingers interlaced. "So what you are saying is that it tells you the future?"
"In a way," said Zexion. "It tells me several possible futures. Some can be avoided, but others cannot. And some pages are more detailed than others. Some show pictures of people or of objects. Some even show poems or songs yet to be written."
"And just how much time did you spend in the shadow of that church, researching your maps?" asked Vexen. "You must have them memorized by now."
"No," said Zexion. "I was simply trying to follow the path that was most likely to lead to my preferred outcome."
"That being?"
Zexion managed a small smile, still looking at the book. "You haven't realized it by now?" he asked softly. "Traveling with you, of course."
"Hey, what's with that look?"
A nudge to Roxas' shoulder snapped him out of his trance. When he turned his head, he was met by Axel's playful smirk, his wrist inches from where it had just pushed against Roxas' arm. Though his lips were pulled into a playful smile, his eyes told a more sincere truth. "You look like someone just drowned your goldfish."
"Sorry," said Roxas, touched by his concern, but feeling silly that it was necessary at all. "I guess..." He sighed. "I guess I've just been away from home for too long. I'm really starting to miss having my brother around."
"Homesick, huh?" asked Axel, earning a nod. "I get that. I used to feel that way all the time. Guess I still do sometimes, but I'm pretty used to it by now." A dark, terse laugh pushed past his lips. "Man, that sounds terrible."
Roxas shook his head. "No, it doesn't," he said. "You've been down here a long time. If you didn't get used to it eventually, you'd go crazy."
"Guess so." Axel lifted his head to look at the ceiling. "It still makes me feel bad, though," he admitted. "I got over missing my family, but there's still something dumb that I never stopped missing."
"Really?" Roxas inched closer, curious. "What's that?"
"The sun," said Axel. "Especially the sunset. If I ever get out of here, I'm never missing another one."
"You are getting out of here," said Roxas. "I'm not giving up until we all are. Then you, me, and Xion can find someplace really high and watch one together. Like a cliff by the ocean, or the roof of the tallest tower we can find, and we'll sit up there and eat cinnamon rolls."
Axel laughed softly and lowered his head, shaking it, perhaps in disbelief, but perhaps only in amusement. "Tell you what, Roxas," he said. "Make it ice cream, and you've got a deal."
"...What's ice cream?"
"Man, you are missing out big time."
Riku awoke with a start.
It was far from the first time he'd relived the night he'd been blessed by that strange, pink-haired Ankou, and it was certainly a welcome break from the nightmares that had plagued him over the past several days, but still, it had been a terrifying experience at the time.
Honestly, the least Marluxia could have done was warn him.
Not that he had any right to complain, really. The invulnerability had come in handy more than once, and, well, he certainly didn't bemoan the fact that Sora had been fascinated with his unnatural, silver hair from the day that they met and continued to compliment it often.
And speaking of Sora...
Riku pulled the boy in his arms closer to his chest and buried his face in his hair. Spiky, brown locks tickled his cheeks as he indulged in his guilty pleasure, the only thing that had made his nights bearable since the incident in the forest.
Since that horrible evening, Riku had spent every night at Sora's house. His parents hardly noticed he was gone, and Sora hadn't questioned it once, even when Riku had timidly requested to share his bed. Of course, that didn't mean that Sora wasn't worried. It was in his nature to put the needs of others before his own, and he'd been able to tell right away that something was wrong. Riku had tried to convince him many times that he was fine, but every attempt had been met with a skeptical frown and an elbow to the ribs. Still, that was as far as Sora had pushed it.
It was a blessing that Sora had been so understanding. Having him within reach every time Riku was haunted with visions of Sora's death was a great relief. Every time he woke from one of those dreadful dreams, he'd simply pulled Sora close, felt him warmth, heard him breathe-and, on occasion, snore-and he would be able to remember that Sora was alive and, though not exactly well, getting better. Certainly not dying in Riku's arms in the depths of a white forest.
And what's more, Sora had always been able to sleep through his needy clinging. There were no awkward questions to answer, no nerve-wracking discussions to have...until that night.
"Nngh, Riku?" Sora stirred in Riku's arms and tilted his head back to get a good look at his childhood friend in the din of his bedroom. Riku was quick to pull his arms away, but the damage had already been done. Sora was already pushing himself upright, tiredly rubbing an eye with the heel of his right hand.
"I..." Riku searched for an excuse, some credible reason as to why he'd been onto Sora so tightly like that. "Erm..." He found none.
"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Sora, his hand falling to his lap.
"I'm okay," insisted Riku, rolling over and praying that Sora would leave it at that, just as he had any other time he'd voiced concern. He pressed his eyes shut, his entire body facing away, half-curled into himself. "Just go back to sleep, Sora."
"No," said Sora, his voice gentle. Riku felt a hand on his arm. "You're not okay. We've known each other our whole lives, Riku. You really think I'm not going to notice when something's wrong?"
"It's nothing to worry about," insisted Riku.
"Uh, it kind of is," pressed Sora. "You came home crying, Riku. I don't think I've ever even seen that before. And you haven't gone back to the forest since. You've been sleeping in my bed for days, and..." He sighed heavily. "And you have nightmares."
Riku's eyes opened slowly. He stared into the flickering firelight near the door. "...How do you know about that?"
"You wake me up," said Sora. "Every time. I just didn't want to say anything because you always seemed so scared. I didn't want to make it worse."
Hesitantly, Riku rolled onto his back and looked up to find Sora hovering over him, his features pinched with concern.
"So why tonight?" asked Riku.
"Because you're not shaking tonight," said Sora. "I've had enough of it. It's freaking me out, Riku. Whatever happened out there, it's seriously got you bugged, and I wanna know what it is."
"It's nothing—"
"Cut it out, Riku!"
Riku's eyes widened. Even in the dim light, he could see the desperation in Sora's face. He seemed a little scared, almost...sad. It sank deep into Riku's stomach, twisting it with guilt.
"You need to tell me what's going on," said Sora. "Tonight. I can't take it anymore. I love you too much to see you like this."
"Wh—"
"You know that. We've been best friends for forever."
Oh. Riku closed his eyes, taming his pounding heart. Of course. What was I expecting?
"So are you going to let me help you or not?"
When Riku opened his eyes, Sora's were mere inches away.
"You wouldn't believe me," he said.
"Try me," said Sora.
Riku sighed and forced himself to sit up, Sora leaning back to give him space. "We're gonna need some tea for this."
Within a few minutes, Riku and Sora were at the kitchen table, staring each other down from opposite ends, each holding a warm cup of weak black tea in their hands. They'd been like this for quite a while, neither looking away, even to take a drink from his cup.
"Spill," said Sora, sudden enough to make Riku jump.
"Uh..." The latter cleared his throat. "Right..." He couldn't tell Sora the whole story. He knew that. There were more secrets involved here than his own. He had still been trying to figure out which parts he could tell. "How would you feel if I died?"
Sora's immediate swap from an expression of determination to one of horror made Riku instantly regret how he'd chosen to open the conversation. He stumbled over his words before they'd even formed in his mouth, too distracted by Sora's wide eyes, the pallor that even whitened his lips.
"W-Wait, sorry, let me start over—"
"It'd kill me, Riku," said Sora, leaning so far forward that it almost seemed as if he were trying to walk through the table. "I don't even want to think about something like that, I..." He hung his head, and his grip tightened around the cup in his hands. Riku could see his knuckles turn white. "I don't know if I'd ever be able to stop crying."
Riku doubted those words; Sora was far too strong to let anything bring him down for long. "It's the same for me," said Riku. "If I ever saw you die, I mean."
"Why?" Sora shook his head mournfully. "Why would you ask that? Why are you even thinking about that?"
"Because, Sora," said Riku, "I did see you die."
Sora lifted his head, clearly and understandably baffled. "But—"
"There's something in that forest," explained Riku. "Something that doesn't want me there. I got..." He averted his eyes. "I got a warning from someone about it. I wanted to ignore the warning because I wanted to find Roxas, but..."
"But?" pressed Sora.
"I guess I ticked whatever it is off," continued Riku. "It pulled me into some kind of illusion, I think. I mean, that's what it had to be if you're not really..." He shook his head. "I don't know if it was supposed to break my spirits or if it was a warning about what might happen if I went back, but whatever it was..."
"What did you see? I mean...exactly."
"Sora, I really don't want to talk about it."
"Please?" begged Sora. "I want to help. Maybe if I know what happened, I can prove to you that it wasn't real. Something that'll stick."
Riku lifted his head in a feeble attempt to send Sora a stubborn glare, but the second he met those blue eyes, he knew he couldn't say no. "All right."
He sighed in submission. "I was on my way home from the forest when I saw 'you'...that you...lying on the ground. You—it—was half frozen to death, but still, you know, conscious. Aware enough to talk, at least. I wrapped you in my coat and tried to carry you home and get you warm, but..."
Riku closed his eyes, but he could still hear Sora lean across the table again. "But?"
"You..." Riku took a deep breath.
"I...?" prompted Sora.
"You...died. You died in my arms." His pulse quickened, and along with it, his speech. "I was so helpless. I couldn't do anything. All I could do was watch and cry and—"
The feeling of warm hands against his cheeks made Riku's eyes fly open. Perhaps if he hadn't been so panicked, he would have heard Sora walk around the table.
"I'm here," whispered Sora from where he knelt next to Riku's chair. "You can feel me, right? I'm not even cold. And I'm definitely not freezing to death anytime soon. I don't even think I have a fever right now."
Hesitantly, Riku reached down to check for himself. Sora's cheek was slightly cool, perhaps, but he knew it wouldn't be if not for the fact that Riku had been cradling a hot cup of tea. Sora was right: No fever.
"I'll be back to normal in no time," said Sora, his kind voice an anchor to Riku's racing thoughts. "You'll see. Maybe I'll even be well enough to help you look for Roxas soon."
Riku set his cup on the table, freeing his hands to squeeze the two that held his face. "Maybe...we should wait until then before we start searching again," he said softly. "I don't want to leave you alone right now. I'm afraid that the...whatever it was that made me see that illusion...might really hurt you."
"Sure thing," said Sora, smiling. "Then I'll be able to look after you, too."
Riku smiled in spite of himself. "Yeah," he said softly. "I'll probably need you to."
"You'll definitely need me to," said Sora with a soft laugh. Ignoring the way that his legs shook, he stood and pressed his lips to Riku's forehead. Even such a chaste, platonic show of affection was enough to earn a blush. "You're not getting rid of me that easy, okay, Riku?"
"Y-Yeah," said the boy. "Okay."
"Good," said Sora. "Now we can talk about happier stuff while we finish our tea. Like spring. I bet it's gonna be great after a crummy winter like this."
"Okay, Roxas. Show me what you got."
"W-What?"
Axel gestured vaguely with the hand unoccupied by fire. "Your light. Come on, you think I haven't figured out why you were asking all those questions? I know you've been practicing for a while now. I want to see what you can do."
Roxas laughed nervously. "Actually, I..." He sighed, turning his face away. "I haven't learned anything."
"What?" Axel nudged his shoulder, which surprised him, considering he'd just expected Axel to roll his eyes and call him 'slow' again. "You're kidding me. After all that?"
"I guess I still just don't know where to start," admitted Roxas, his eyes on the ground. "I guess it's because I..." He shook his head. "...don't know how to make myself happy."
"Don't I make you happy?" asked Axel. Another surprise; it actually sounded like he cared about the answer. "Doesn't Xion?"
"Sure, I guess," mumbled Roxas. "But when you guys aren't around, I just...don't feel anything at all."
"I know what that's like," admitted Axel quietly. "But come on. If you're happy enough around me and Xion, that's where you should be practicing, right?"
"I guess so," conceded Roxas.
"So give it a shot right now," said Axel. "While you're down here. Maybe it'll make a difference."
"But I don't..." Roxas trailed off. He didn't want to embarrass himself in front of Axel by trying and getting no results. Sure, he liked Axel, and he was starting to think of him as a friend, but that didn't change the fact that Roxas was still a little intimidated by him.
"Here," said Axel, moving away from the wall to turn his body toward Roxas. "I'll help you."
Roxas straightened his back, suddenly alert. "Really?" He gaped at Axel. What was going on? He seemed so open. It wasn't like him. Not the Axel that Roxas knew, anyway. "Why?"
"Why?" echoed Axel, raising an eyebrow with a steady smile. "Why wouldn't I? We're friends, aren't we?"
A pleasant warmth crept up Roxas' neck and into his face, burning his ears. Axel had never actually called him his friend before. In fact, the last Roxas knew, Axel had described Xion as being his one friend. What changed?
Roxas almost addressed that question, but before he got the chance, Axel steered the conversation away.
"So, are we doing this or what?"
"Oh!" Right. Practicing. "Sure. What do I do?"
"Start by putting your hands out," said Axel. "Like you're holding something in them. That's how I started."
Roxas did as he was bid, holding each hand out, palms parallel to the floor, like he was holding a ball of yarn.
"All right, now remember what I asked you the other day?" asked Axel. "Think back to when I asked about your happiest memory. And don't just say your brother again. It's not specific enough. How about a first hunting trip?"
"I never went hunting," admitted Roxas. "Sora and I were farmers."
"You gotta be kidding me," said Axel. "Give me something to work with. There's nothing exciting about farming."
"You're telling me," replied Roxas, a smile at his lips.
"All right..." Axel tried again. "How about your friends back home? Think about some kind of mischief you got into, or—"
"Uh..." Roxas chuckled shyly. "I didn't really...have friends. My mom kind of had this...reputation, and...the whole village avoided my family. Sora was still able to make a couple of friends, even with everyone hating us like that, but that's because he's Sora. It's hard not to like him."
"What kind of a reputation would make the whole village avoid you?" asked Axel.
"Uh..." Roxas forced a hesitant smile. "Sora and I were born out of wedlock, so—"
"You're kidding," said Axel.
Roxas winced. He hadn't just messed everything up, had he? Not when Axel was finally starting to open up—
"People still get wound up about stuff like that?"
Roxas' eyes widened. He stared at Axel for a long moment, trying to determine whether he really meant what he said. "Uh, yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, they do."
"Shit, Roxas." Axel shook his head. "No wonder you couldn't figure out your light on your own. Your life stinks."
Roxas laughed softly, only realizing that his shoulders had tensed up now that they were relaxing. His hands dropped to his lap. No one had ever brushed off his family's reputation like that. Not even the few travelers that managed to find their way to Sublustris. Axel was one of a kind.
"All right..." Axel said thoughtfully. "Uh... How about this? What do you call someone who's just got a nose and no body?"
Roxas blinked. "What?"
"What do you call someone who's just got a nose and no body?" repeated Axel, slower this time.
"Uhh..."
"Nobody knows."
Roxas stared at Axel for several seconds, watching the firelight flicker against his face while his brain ran at double-time, trying to figure out if what Roxas heard was what he thought he heard.
And then the laughing started.
It all burst out at once, completely uncontrollable. Not for want of trying. Roxas deliberately tried to quiet himself, to make sure he didn't alert Xemnas to his presence in the basement, but any attempt to stifle the laughter only made it briefly turn into a slightly-quieter giggle-fit before it overpowered him and rose back to full volume.
"Geez, Roxas," said Axel. "It wasn't that funny."
"Exactly!" managed Roxas between cackles. "It wasn't even a little funny! It was so bad!"
"Hey!"
Roxas wrapped his arms around his middle and doubled over, shaking his head. He didn't speak again until his uproarious laughter dissolved into smaller chuckles.
"I knew you couldn't be completely perfect," he admitted. "But wow... Axel, you suck. I've never heard a joke that bad before, and I live with Sora."
Axel chuckled softly, echoing Roxas' laughter. "Man, you are one tough crowd." The small smile on his lips faded slowly.
"Hey, Roxas..."
"Yeah?"
"What was your mom like?"
Roxas stopped laughing almost immediately. "What?"
"It's not like you have to tell me," said Axel. "You brought her up, so I thought I'd ask."
"Oh." Roxas gripped handfuls of Xion's coat. He hadn't talked about his mother in a long time. Not even to Sora. But now that Axel had asked, he felt strangely compelled.
"Well..." He took a deep breath. "She was smart. Really, really smart. Sora and I never met our dad, but apparently, he was some kind of tutor, and he taught our mom all kinds of things. She knew how to read and write, the differences between certain kinds of plants, how planets move..." Roxas smiled nostalgically. "And she was nice, too. She never blamed anyone for hating her, and she told Sora and I that we shouldn't blame them, either. She only ever said that they were set in their ways and that nothing we could say would change that, and it didn't make sense for us to be mad when it wouldn't change anything. And she said that she wouldn't let them feel guilty, because she was glad that me and Sora were born, and it didn't matter how it happened." He sighed. "She was way too forgiving. I guess that's where Sora gets it."
"You, too," said Axel.
Roxas faltered. He'd been so caught up in what he'd been saying that, for a second, he'd forgotten that anyone was listening. "Huh?"
"You're way too forgiving," said Axel.
Roxas shook his head. "What are you talking about? Is this about the burns? Because that was an accident, and they don't even really hurt anyway—"
"Even if they don't," said Axel, "I still burned you. What you said before, about me being perfect..." He glared at the wall to his left. "You couldn't be more wrong. If there's anyone out there who's the complete opposite of perfect, as far from perfect as anyone could ever get and farther, you're looking at him."
Roxas could only stare. Where had this come from? Had Axel's self-esteem always been this low? "Axel, I think you've been down here too long."
"The day we met, when you walked down here the first time, I could have killed you," said Axel. "And Xion..."
"Xion loves you," said Roxas.
"She lost her hand because of me."
What?
Roxas furrowed his brow, trying to understand. Lost her hand? But she wasn't missing either of her hands, was she? Sure, she always kept them covered, but he could have sworn he'd seen both of them move like normal hands. "What are you talking about?"
"Her hand," said Axel. "Her right hand. It's not real."
"How can it not be real?" asked Roxas. "It looks—"
"Don't always believe what you see," said Axel. "Get Xion to take her gloves off. Then you'll see how perfect I am."
Roxas sighed, exasperated. The evening had started out so promising, and now it just seemed like Axel had made up his mind to hate himself. "Fine," said Roxas. "I'll tell her to show me."
Axel didn't even look at him. He just kept staring at the wall.
Roxas shook his head. "I'll take a look, but only because I want to be able to come down here and prove to you that it doesn't matter. You're still Axel, and whatever you did back then doesn't matter now. It's in the past."
Still nothing from Axel. He kept glaring at the wall. The only motion he made was to curl his hand into a fist and extinguish the flame.
Roxas turned around silently made his way to the stairs, guiding himself by keeping his hand on the wall.
When he reached the top of the stairs, rather than leaving through the stairwell door, he simply sat there at the top, staring at the backs of the dusty paintings and going over every word he'd said that evening in his mind, wondering if there was anything, anything at all he could have done differently that would have made that night end as smoothly as it had started.
Nothing at all came to mind.
"Zexioooooon!"
Demyx's sudden and unlikely appearances had become the norm for Vexen and Zexion during their stay in Agrabah, but that day, his appearance had been particularly unlikely. They—or, rather, Zexion—had tried to find him in the city before they left to join the caravan, but they had been unsuccessful. It was a miracle that they had been found just beyond the city limits.
Demyx ran frenetically, legs struggling against the sand. When he caught up, he wasted no time in pulling Zexion into a tight embrace.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, pushing a very startled-looking Zexion away by the shoulders. "We might never see each other again. Kinda rude, leaving without even saying goodbye, don'cha think?"
Zexion frowned, his eyebrows knotting as he struggled to translate Demyx's quickly-spoken jumble of words with the sparse English he'd managed to teach himself with the White Tome. "I'm sorry," he said slowly, his voice slightly more accented than usual. "We did search."
"Well, apparently, not hard enough," said Demyx, pouting. "Just... Just—!" Without warning, he yanked Zexion back into his arms
Several silent seconds passed, neither daring to break it. Even Vexen held his tongue.
"This is so dumb," said Demyx at last. "You're, like, the best friend I've ever made and I've only known you for three weeks. And I don't even know if you can understand what I'm saying."
It was true, Zexion could not understand many of the words, but he understood the emotion behind them, and it was that understanding that convinced him to slowly, uncertainly, wrap his arms around Demyx, reciprocating the amicable embrace.
It wasn't until the caravan began to move that Zexion reluctantly moved away. He took a cautious step backward, his gaze still locked with his friend's, because looking away meant losing him forever.
Hurriedly, Demyx removed something from his shoulders: The large satchel Zexion and Vexen had seen him wearing from the first moment that they met. He held it out for Zexion to take, smiling sadly.
"I want you to have it," said Demyx. "For your books." He laughed, a bittersweet sound. "Non lo vuoi?"
Expressionless, but with a shaking hand, Zexion reached out and wrapped his hand around the strap, his fingers curling inward slowly. He pulled it tight to his chest with a deep, heavy sigh.
"Goodbye, Demyx," he said softly, thunder rumbling from the thick cloud cover overhead.
"Yeah." A raindrop splattered against Demyx's cheek. "Bye, Zexion."
The following night marked the only time in known history that there had ever been a flood in Agrabah.
When Xion appeared at Roxas' bedroom door the following night to allow him the use of her coat as was the usual routine, Roxas was waiting for her. He may have lacked the courage to confront Xion the night before, but this time, he was ready.
"Xion?" he prompted once the door was closed.
The girl's gaze softened immediately, having seen that something was wrong. "Are you okay, Roxas?"
"Um..." He rubbed the back of his neck. Even a full day had not been enough for him to figure out what he was going to say. "It's just... Axel and I were talking last night, and...he started saying these things about himself, and when I tried to cheer him up, I think I just made it worse, and he just told me..."
"Told you what?"
Roxas averted his eyes. "He...told me to look at your hand."
"He wants you to..." When Roxas looked back, Xion was gripping one hand with the other.
"I'm sorry," said Roxas. "I wouldn't ask, except I get the feeling he won't talk to me until I know what happened."
"He probably thinks you won't like him anymore," said Xion, her voice small.
"That's not going to happen," said Roxas sharply. "No way. Whatever he did to you, you forgave him, right? So I will, too."
"There wasn't anything to forgive," said Xion. "It... It was an accident."
Roxas took a hesitant step closer. "Can I...?"
Xion pulled her hands tight against her chest. "You have to promise me something first."
"What?"
"You have to promise...that you won't hate me," said Xion. "Promise that you'll still be my friend if I show you."
"Why would I—"
"Promise me, Roxas," begged Xion. "Please."
"I promise," said Roxas, his voice firm. "You're my best friend, Xion. Of course I won't hate you. Especially not of something like what your hand looks like."
Xion bit her lip. "It's not because of what it looks like," she said softly, removing the leather glove from her left hand. That one looked completely normal. Pale, feminine, five fingers of expected length...not even a broken fingernail to speak of. "It's...because of what it means."
The second glove was removed, and Roxas began to wonder whether he was dreaming.
What Roxas saw in place of Xion's right hand was...vaguely hand-shaped, admittedly, but it was remarkably jagged. It reminded Roxas of a whittled toy he and Sora shared as children, but instead of painted wood, it was made of what appeared to be shimmering crystal. When
Roxas reached out to touch it, however, and his hand was greeted with a wintery bite, its true makings were revealed.
"Ice?" asked Roxas, turning the diaphanous shape over and inspecting the opposite side. "Your hand's made of ice?"
Xion refuse to meet Roxas' eyes. Instead, she stared at their joined hands, looking as though she were on the verge of tears. "It's...not just my hand."
The opposite hand, the normal-looking one, set the gloves on top of the nearby chest of drawers before reaching for Roxas' free hand. Her left, though much smoother, was just as cold as the hand Roxas already hold. When Xion guided that hand to her face and held it there, her cheek bit into his skin just as fiercely as a winter gale.
"Xion, what...?"
She smiled, but it was melancholy. She seemed...broken. "I'm not real, Roxas. This thing... What I am... I'm just a doll. A puppet made from ice."
"How...?"
"My father..." She shook her head, moving Roxas' hand along with it. "No, my creator, Vexen, was...a very smart man. He and Zexion both were. They traveled a lot. I already told you that." She lowered his hand and turned her face away. "While they were traveling, they found...something. Zexion said that they were something like memories that somehow got lost in time. Zexion found them, and Vexen pieced them together. When he named them, it gave them a spark of life. A shem. A heart."
Xion pulled her hands away and turned around, hugging herself around the middle. "Zexion found a way to look for the source of the memories, and Vexen sculpted a body for me out of ice, one that looked like the people those memories came from. When the heart was introduced to the body, it came to life. Zexion's illusions could make me look less like ice and give me a voice, and..." Her shoulders shook. "...here I am."
Not even so much as a finger twitched while Roxas listened, trying to register what he was hearing.
"A golem," whispered Xion. "That's what Vexen called me. He said...people made them long ago, just to prove that they could create life, that they could become gods. He told me that they couldn't talk or even think for themselves, and that the reason I can is because I was meant to exist, but Xemnas says—"
"I don't care what Xemnas said to you."
Roxas met Xion's frightened eyes and offered a kind smile in an attempt to assuage her worries. He held out both of his hands, hoping that she would take them.
"It doesn't matter what he thinks," said Roxas, "and it doesn't matter where you came from. You're Xion. My best friend. You introduced me to Axel, and you were the first reason I had to smile in this place. And it's not just that. You were the first real friend I ever had. If you think I'm giving all of that up just because of something like this, you're nuts."
Xion stared at the offered hands for an agonizingly long moment before she slowly, carefully uncurled her arms and reached out to take them in her own. "If you say so," she said, a shaky smile stretching her lips.
Roxas nodded firmly and squeezed her hands. "I do say so. Got it memorized?"
Xion giggled, and the tears that had welled in her eyes finally rolled down her cheeks. "I think you've been hanging out with Axel too much."
"What's so bad about that?" countered Roxas, grinning. Then, "Nah. You're right. I have been hanging out with Axel a lot lately. What if I spend the rest of the night here, with you, instead?"
"He's going to worry," said Xion, her voice softening. "He's going to think you hate him."
"I'll just apologize later," said Roxas. His thumb swept over Xion's right palm, tracing the jagged, icy surface. "How did this happen, anyway? You never told me."
Xion chewed her lip. "It really was an accident," she said. "Axel just got so mad one night. About everything. Being locked up, what Xemnas did to everyone else... Axel just...lost control. It was only for a second, but..." Xion looked down at her hand. "A second was all it took."
Roxas shook his head. "Axel thinks I'm going to hate him over that?" He sighed, shaking his head. "I'm gonna beat some sense into him tomorrow night." His smile returned. "I meant what I said about tonight, though. Just you and me. Sound good?"
"Okay." Xion smiled. "That sounds great."
Zexion and Vexen had simply been eating when they'd heard a handful of locals urgently discussing something that, for once, had nothing to do with the strange foreigners wandering the city. Or it didn't seem to, at least, when they weren't looking frantically in the travelers' direction after every other word.
"Zexion," whispered Vexen, looking at the boy to his left with a side-long glance.
The boy nodded and set his bowl aside to open the black book on his lap. His eyes began to scan the page, hurriedly keeping up with each translation before it could be replaced with the next frantic sentence.
"Curious," mumbled Zexion. "It seems that the Tung Shao Pass is haunted."
"Superstition at its finest," said Vexen dismissively, returning to his rice.
"Superstition, yes," said Zexion, "but there must be some reason behind the superstition. Naturally, it would not be the work of some angry spirit, but these people have witnessed occurrences that have sent them into a panic. Strange things."
"You will have to be more specific than that if you want me to take this seriously," said Vexen.
"Parts of a body have been found on the mountain," said Zexion. "Hands, eyes, strips of skin and muscle..."
"So there's a demented murderer on the loose," said Vexen. "Disturbing, yes, and plenty of cause for alarm, but nothing that we should volunteer to be involved in."
"I doubt that," said Zexion, "considering each of these people have seen those body parts appear and disappear before their eyes."
This seemed to catch Vexen's attention. Though there was still skepticism in his leer, he had managed to tear himself away from his meal. "And what, pray tell, could possibly have caused such supernatural events? What is your hypothesis?"
"Vexen..." Zexion narrowed his eyes at the book in his hands. "I am currently reading a translation from a book that only I can read. You once saved the two of us from a fire by building a tunnel of ice. Is it really so difficult to believe that someone else could have a similarly inexplicable ability?"
"Zexion, are you suggesting that there is a person in the mountains creating human tissue and leaving it here and there for people to find?"
"No," said Zexion. "I am suggesting that there is a person in the mountains with little to no control over where his own human tissue disappears to at any given time." He turned his head to meet his guardian's eyes. "I think, perhaps, we should consider earning his favor."
The night following his stay with Xion, Roxas returned to Axel's cell, just as he'd promised.
"It's me," he called gently.
"Roxas?" A flame bloomed, illuminating Axel's lithe form huddled in the corner. His eyes bore into Roxas' for a long moment before he dared to speak again. "I thought..."
"You thought I'd hate you for melting Xion's hand," supplied Roxas, the smile on his face unwavering. "And Xion thought I'd hate her for having a hand that could melt. Am I really that scary?"
Axel avoided Roxas' gaze, his eyes averting to the floor. "So why weren't you here yesterday?"
"I was with Xion," explained Roxas. "She was scared, and it's been a while since I spent the night with her instead of you anyway." He moved closer to Axel and sat across from him, his legs folded underneath him.
"Still think I'm 'perfect'?" asked Axel, his hardened gaze holding firm to the ground.
"You mean aside from your crappy jokes?" asked Roxas. "Yeah. Sort of."
Axel lifted his head, his brow furrowed with skepticism.
Roxas' smile stayed where it was.
"How can you still look at me like that?" asked Axel.
"People make mistakes." Roxas shrugged. "Losing control and getting someone hurt one time isn't enough to turn a good person into a bad one. How long ago did that happen, anyway?"
Axel looked at the ground again, scratching his temple with his index finger. His embarrassed silence was all that Roxas needed to hear.
"Come on," he said with a laugh. "We never got anywhere with practice last time."
Axel shifted his position until he sat with his back straight, his posture far more open than it had been. "Right," he said, leaning forward. "How far did we get?"
"I was trying to think of a happy memory," said Roxas. "We got...side-tracked."
"Right. Yeah." Axel's gaze dropped, but only for a moment. "Did you ever think of anything?"
Roxas chewed on his lip as he thought. A happy memory... Xion's smile after they talked? It was worth a shot, anyway. "Maybe."
"All right." Axel closed his fingers around the flame in his hand, dousing it and sending the two of them into pitch blackness. "Hold your hands out like you did last time and try to focus on your happy thought. Think about how it felt when it was happening and try to put yourself in the past. Convince yourself that that moment is still happening. Let that happiness fill you up."
Roxas frowned thoughtfully, his eyes closing. "Do you have to fill yourself with anger to make fire?"
"It gets pretty easy with Xemnas around," admitted Axel. "Look, this isn't about me. You gonna focus or not?"
"Yeah," mumbled Roxas. "Sorry." He took a deep breath.
Happy thoughts...
Let them fill him up...
Xion's smile...
"I think I've got it," he said. "Maybe."
"All right," said Axel. "Here's the tricky part. Try to picture all of that happiness inside of you, in your chest or your stomach or wherever you feel it most. Try giving it a color or something."
Roxas tried. Sky blue, like the glow that appeared when he unlocked a lock. He could see it swirling around his diaphragm, like leaves swept up in the wind.
"Now push that color down your arms and into your hands," said Axel, "but don't stop thinking about what makes you happy."
It didn't take long for Roxas to learn that Axel had been right; it was difficult.
The minute he started trying to picture his happiness as something physical, he lost sight of Xion's smile. And when he tried to get Xion back, he let go of the sky blue vision. A hot, frustrated breath hissed through his nose.
"Calm down, Kid," said Axel, his voice soothing. "You're not gonna be able to make yourself happy if you're too busy making yourself mad. Breathe. You got this."
Roxas tried to do what Axel told him.
He breathed.
He relaxed his tense shoulders.
And he thought.
For what seemed like hours, he did nothing but think.
He thought about Xion's smile.
He thought about her cheerful, cherubic face.
He thought about her friendship.
Friendship...
"We're friends, aren't we?"
The sound of Axel's voice seemed to fill his mind like the rising tide. It overtook everything. The blue light, Xion's smile... Everything was put to the wayside in favor of Axel's voice. At first, Roxas tried to fight it, but the harder he tried, the more he realized how futile it was, and the more he realized how ridiculous it was to try to push a happy thought out of his head when he realized that it was what he'd been looking for all along.
Axel's voice, the first acknowledgement of their friendship... It might have been the preamble to a disastrous conversation, but in and of itself, it had been almost hypnotic. Roxas could still feel the surreality, the flushed heat that burned his ears and cheeks. The memory was still so fresh, so present, so concrete.
A tingle ran down Roxas' arms, sparked along his knuckles, gathered in the space between his hands, and then—
Pop!
Roxas flinched, surprised by the sound and the accompanying bit of red that managed to bleed through his eyelids. Had he just been imagining things, or was that sound, like something made of thin glass shattering beneath a shoe, or the solitary crackle of a fireplace... Was that sound...?
Axel let loose a low whistle, and the flame returned, filling the room again with its orange glow. "Congrats, Kid. You could put a bored firefly to shame."
"Shut up," he mumbled through a grin, playfully shoving Axel's chest with the knuckles of his right hand. "So was that really...? I did it?"
Axel chuckled. "You did it."
Roxas grinned. So he really was like the Eraqus that Axel and Xion had known so long ago. He'd created light in the palm of his hand. Axel had been right. He had a gift.
A way to save Axel and Xion.
Author's Note: Even the most simple compliment, if paid at the correct time, can change a life.
Thank you, Sdb5ss.