Hey all! Time for another chapter, and this one is probably my favorite that I've written for this story yet! We are kind of jumping back in time again for more backstory, but this'll all flow into the present in the next chapter, so stick with me. And with that, let's get started!

Chapter 2: The Skye's the Limit

You don't know what it's like, not to know who you are
To have lived in the shadows and to have traveled this far
I've seen flashes of fire, heard the echo of screams
But I still have this faith in the truth of my dreams

Eight years ago, a little boy awakened alone in an alleyway. His face was dirty, his clothes–which might have once been fine and elegant–were now just threadbare rags. His body was cold and sore, and his mind–

His mind was in tatters.

He didn't know where he was as he slowly stood on unsteady bare feet. He didn't know how he got here or what was going on as he stumbled out into the town square. He didn't know why the sky was so dark, why the people around him were so afraid, why the back of his head hurt so badly.

He didn't know much of anything at all.

The only thing he did know right now was that he was hungry–starving, really. He couldn't remember the last time he might have eaten–or the last time he'd done anything for that matter. He hobbled through the streets, his head swimming to the point that he could barely stay standing without support for too long. As he leaned against the wall of another alley, he noticed someone emerging from their shop. They carried a basket in their arms, warily looking around before dumping its contents out on the street. Three loaves of bread, burnt to a blackened crisp.

The boy's stomach growled loudly enough to prompt him forward. He grabbed the bread before anyone could see him, and though it tasted terrible, he ate the first loaf in a matter of minutes. He saved the other two for later–but when later came, the bread had grown stale to the point his teeth couldn't even cut it. Disappointed, he fell asleep in that alley, going hungry that night. The first of so many others he'd spend starving.

It rained the next several days after that, as if the sky itself was crying. Over what, the boy had no idea. He'd only managed to catch a few whispers in passing: "royal family", "dead", "King Xehanort", "Organization XIII", none of which made any sense on their own. No one would piece the full story together for him for quite some time. Not that any story mattered to him right now. All that mattered was surviving; all that mattered was staying out of sight.

But why though? Why did he shy away whenever anyone tried to approach him? Why did he outright run and hide whenever he saw one of those scary men in the black coats? Why did his heart race with fear whenever he looked up at the ominous castle that had appeared high above the city just a few days ago? Why did his heart ache whenever he looked at the other castle, still smoldering on the small island sitting on the horizon?

It didn't make sense. Nothing did anymore. Not for him, or for anyone else around him, it seemed. The townsfolk were anxious, afraid, unwilling to even spare a single munny or a crust of bread to the tiny, skinny boy wandering their streets. He wondered if they'd always been like this, so cold and closed off. He wondered if the world he'd woken up in a few weeks ago had always been a broken one.

With the rain, the air grew colder. The boy's sorry excuse for clothes were soaked straight through as he hugged himself tight in an alley. His entire body shivered, yet he felt so hot, a harsh cough rattling his chest and burning throat every few minutes. He hadn't eaten that day, or the one before it, and the hunger was starting to take its toll. When he lay down to sleep on the wet pavement, he could have sworn he saw someone leaning over him, a beautiful woman with a soft, sweet smile.

"Don't forget…" she said, bruising his dirty hair out of his eyes to kiss his forehead. Her voice was distant, to the point that he could barely hear her, barely see her as she began to fade away. "I love you more… than the…"

He felt like he should have known what came next, he should have known who she was. But he didn't. Just like he didn't know the shadows who would constantly show up in his dreams. They'd call out to him, but their words never reached him, their hands never touched. He'd chase them, begging them to stay, but in the end, they always vanished, leaving him with nothing. Nothing but the echoes of something he didn't recognize or remember, something that might not even be real.

He was scavenging through a trash can for food one day when he saw it. It slipped out of his pocket, something he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed until now. Carefully, he bent down to pick the seashells up, tied together into the shape of a star. It was a pretty little thing–some kind of necklace if he could guess, with a short inscription carved onto its backside: "Together in R.G."

He frowned, not having the faintest idea as to what that could mean. Still, he put the necklace on, realizing it was one of the few possessions he owned aside from the shredded clothes barely clinging to his back. It was something beyond just that though; because as he stared at it just before falling asleep that night, he wondered if this tiny charm could be a clue. A clue to a past he couldn't seem to remember a single thing about, no matter how hard he tried.

The full weight of his missing memories didn't hit him until about a month later. As winter fully set in, he'd grown much sicker, to the point that he could barely even search for food anymore. He lay in his usual alley languishing, feverish and afraid of the darkness creeping in on the corners of his vision. He didn't want to die, he didn't want to die, not without knowing who he was, not without knowing why this was happening to him. He didn't want to die… but death hardly seemed to care.

He blinked slowly as someone stepped into his bleary field of view. He could only just make out what the man was saying to him as he gently shook his shoulder. "Kid? Kid! Are you ok?"

The only answer the boy could manage was a weak groan that passed through his chapped lips. The man pulled back, looking around anxiously as he ran a hand through his bright red hair. "Oh, I'm gonna get in so much trouble for this…" He didn't say anything else to the starving boy as he carefully scooped him up into his arms. If he'd been more awake and more aware, he might have struggled against the telltale black coat the man was wearing.

He slipped in and out of consciousness several times as the man carried him… somewhere. Eventually, they entered a building, but by then, the boy was completely out of it. The next time he woke up, he was lying in, of all things, a bed. A brief look around told him he was probably in some kind of hospital or doctor's office. That must have explained why he felt much better than he had before, his hunger subsided and his fever broken.

"C'mon, doc! Cut me a break here!"

The boy sat upright, pulling the thin sheets to his chest when he heard voices out in the hall just beyond his door.

"For an Organization member? I think not."

"Hey, we're not all as bad as people say! Plus, I didn't have to bring the kid here. I did my good deed for like the week or the century or whatever."

"Making sure a child doesn't die of exposure on the streets is the bare minimum of 'goodness', young man."

By now, the boy crawled out of bed and crept out of the creaked door to see what was happening. Now that he could finally see his 'rescuer' clearly, he froze in fear. He was one of the 'black coats', as he'd come to call them, one of the men he'd been so scared of ever since he woke up. Why would one of them bring him here?

"Now, pay up," the doctor he was talking to held out his hand. "Full price. No exceptions. I know you Organization miscreants have more than enough munny to spare."

"Oof, harsh words, doc," the man in the black coat frowned. The boy was surprised that he wasn't angrier at the doctor for speaking so boldly to him. He'd seen other black coats punish people for far less than that. "Tell ya what. I'll find the kid's parents and get them to pay his bill. How's that sound?"

"Just as long as someone pays," the doctor grumbled. "I'm running a hospital here, not a charity."

The black-coated man rolled his eyes. He prepared to argue further with the doctor when he spotted the boy staring straight at him from the other side of the door. "Oh, uh… hey, kid," he cracked a small, uncertain smile. "How are ya feeling?"

The boy tucked back into the room, frightened. He wasn't able to hide for long before both men fully entered the room. "Ah good, you're already up and about," the doctor grabbed a clipboard, writing something down on it. "I suppose now's as good a time as any to start sorting the paperwork out. What's your name, my boy?"

He stiffened, his mouth suddenly dry. "M-my name…" he forced himself to speak. He gripped the sheets of his bed, balling the fabric tightly in his fists.

"Yes, your name," the doctor didn't look up, not noticing the child's emerging panic.

"My… name is…"

He swallowed hard, silently begging himself to say something, to remember.

"My name is…"

It was right there, in the shadows of his mind, on the tip of his tongue, almost in reach, and yet-

"My name is–"

He cried as a burst of sudden pain seemed to split his skull in half. He fell to the floor, gripping his head as tears began streaking down his cheeks.

"I don't KNOW!" he yelled, sobbing. The doctor and the black coat were taken aback, only able to watch as the boy continued crying, desperately trying to grasp onto something that just wasn't there anymore.

"...This case is more serious than I thought…" the doctor noted, shaking his head. "Even if you don't know your own name, child, do you know who your parents are? Your family? Anyone who could possibly come and claim you–" he dropped his voice down to a stealthy whisper. "And pay your hospital bill?"

"N-no!" the boy's hold on his messy brown hair tightened. "I-I don't–I can't remember anything!"

"Whoa, hey," the black-coated man knelt down to the boy's level. Even he was surprised when the distraught child fell forward to cry into his shoulder. "It's, uh… it's gonna be ok, kid. We'll sort this mess out." He shot a pleading look up at the doctor. "Any ideas?"

"...I don't suppose King Xehanort is interested in adopting?" the doctor joked with a grim smirk. The black-coated man didn't laugh as he shot him a look sharp enough to kill. "Fine," he flipped to a new page on his clipboard, scribbling something down. "Since the boy has no clue who he is or where he belongs, and since I'm sure you aren't intending to keep him, I'm afraid the only thing we can do for him is send him off to the orphanage on the next island over. I can arrange transport for him as early as tomorrow."

"The orphanage?" the black-coated man questioned. He resisted the urge to hug the poor boy back as he continued clinging onto his coat for dear life, still lost to his own heartbroken tears. "Doc, are ya sure-"

"It's either that or turn the child loose back out on the streets," the doctor concluded, unsympathetic.

"Ugh, ok, fine, whatever," the black-coated man stood, startling the boy. "Take him to the orphanage. And take your munny, you greedy old quack," he all but tossed the payment back at the doctor. He was halfway to the door when the boy stopped him, grabbing onto the hem of his coat.

"Y-you're leaving?" he asked. His big blue eyes were still filled with tears.

"Uh, yeah, I gotta," the man frowned. "Sorry, kid. But…" He eyed the doctor, who was far too consumed in counting his munny to pay attention to either of them. He sighed, knowing he was being far too soft as he got down to the boy's level once more. "I know your memories aren't doing so hot right now, but if there's anything you should remember, it's that my name's Axel. If you ever need anything, just track me down, k?" He couldn't help but smile as he gently ruffled the boy's hair. "You've got a friend in Organization XIII. Got it memorized?"

"Ok," the boy nodded, finally smiling himself. "Thank you… Axel."

He looked back at the boy one final time before he slipped out of the room. He didn't know what else to say, so he simply waved, hoping that poor, unknown orphan could find himself and his family somehow. After all, he knew better than anyone just what being so young, and so lost and alone felt like.

"Huh," he shoved his hands into his pockets, muttering to himself as he strolled down the hospital hall. "I could've sworn that kid almost looked exactly like…" Axel trailed off, chuckling as he shook his head. "Nah, it couldn't have been," he told himself, time and time again, for the next eight years.

"It couldn't have been…"

The next day, the boy found himself on a ferry, accompanied by one of the doctor's nurses to the "orphanage", whatever that was supposed to be. The nurse was nice enough, explaining to him that it was a place where children with no parents lived. She told him he'd only have to stay there until his family–if he had any–showed up to take him home. Compared to living and starving out on the streets, it didn't sound so bad to the boy. At least until he caught his first glimpse of his new "home".

The orphanage was a dirty, ramshackle building perched on the edge of one of the smaller islands. As they approached it, the nurse told him that it used to be in a much nicer place, until King Xehanort had it moved to this half-rotting structure. The boy had no idea who this "King Xehanort" everyone kept talking about was, but he felt like he didn't need to know much to dislike him, just like everyone else seemed to.

An older man–well-dressed despite the squalor he was in–answered the nurse's knock on the door. He scowled at the pair before him from the very start. "Oh, hello, Sir Ansem," the nurse offered a feeble smile. "I'm here to-"

"I'm aware, madam," the man–Ansem, apparently–interrupted. "I received the doctor's letter. So," he raised a critical eyebrow as his gaze shifted down to the boy. "This is the… 'foundling', I presume?"

"He doesn't know his name, or a single thing about his past," the nurse placed a comforting hand on the boy's back. "Poor thing is still such a sweetheart though. Please, Sir Ansem, take good care of this one."

Ansem all but ignored her earnest request, rolling his eyes as he beckoned the child to follow him. "Well?" he asked impatiently when the boy tucked himself behind the nurse. "Come along, boy. I've no time to coddle you just because you're an apparent amnesiac."

The boy didn't know what that word meant, nor did he know why he was expected to stay here with a man as mean as Ansem. He was about to protest to the nurse when Ansem suddenly reached forward, grabbing the boy by the arm and pulling him inside. "Good day, madam," he said to the nurse before slamming the door in her face.

The boy tried squirming away, but Ansem kept an iron-tight hold on his wrist as he dragged him down the hall. "You'll quickly find there are only two rules you must follow here, boy," he said, not glancing back at the frightened child. "Firstly, do not cause trouble. And secondly, do not disrespect me. Mind both of those rules, and we won't have any problems."

They finally stopped at the entrance of a large room that somehow still felt claustrophobic. Bunk beds lined the walls, small chests at the foot of each. The mattresses were thin, lined only with thin, dirty sheets and sorry excuses for pillows. Still, the boy tried to look on the bright side; anything was better than sleeping out on the streets like he'd been doing.

Ansem led him down the row of bunks, pointing to a bottom bed closest to the room's lone window. "That will be yours," he said, his stoic tone never shifting. "There should be some clothes in the chest for you to exchange those filthy rags you're wearing. I make no promises that they'll fit though."

"Um… what should I do after I change?" the boy asked, trying to hide how nervous he was.

"Frankly, child, I don't care what you do as long as you stay out of my way," Ansem turned his nose up at the boy. He left, muttering about "another whining mouth to feed" and how he "couldn't believe the task of caring for such lowly brats" had fallen to him.

Once he was gone, the boy began rooting through his chest, finding a worn pair of slacks that would likely fit him and a patchwork shirt a few sizes too big. Still, he slid them on, tucking his old clothes into the chest in their place. He didn't know why, but the thought of getting rid of them, the clothes he must have been wearing before he lost his memories, didn't sit right with him. And neither did taking off the seashell charm still hanging from his neck for that matter. He held it tightly, as if it could give him the courage he needed to face whatever new life might await him here. As if the only piece of his forgotten past could somehow guide him to his uncertain future.

Just as he was closing the lid of his chest, three other children–two boys and a girl–all about his age, ran into the room. They laughed as they chased each other between bunks, probably playing tag. The boy watched them for a minute or two until one of the kids finally noticed him.

"Oh, hey!" he put their game on hold, grinning as he hurried over. "You're that new kid Mr. Ansem said we'd be getting, aren't you? I'm Hayner," he grabbed the boy's hand, eagerly shaking it. "And these are my friends, Pence and Olette."

"Nice to meet you!" Pence brightly greeted.

"What's your name?" Olette asked with a curious smile.

The boy looked down, rubbing his arm. The other kids exchanged a worried look. "Hey, it's ok," Hayner said, much quieter than he'd been before. "Everyone's scared on their first day."

"We'll introduce you to everybody," Olette readily volunteered. "And we'll show you how to have fun without Mr. Ansem blowing up at you."

"So, you don't gotta be shy," Pence encouraged. "You're not alone here. You've got us!"

"It's… not that," the boy shook his head. "I… I don't know what my name is."

For a moment, all the other kids could do was stare at him in disbelief. At least until Hayner found himself far too baffled to keep their shocked silence going. "What do you mean you don't know what your name is? Everybody knows their own name!"

"Well, I don't," the boy sighed as he took a seat on his new bed. "I don't remember it–or anything else…"

"What could've happened to make you forget?" Olette asked, worried.

The boy shrugged, wishing he knew even that much. At least if he did, he might have some clue as to how he wound up wandering the streets all on his own.

"If you don't remember your name," Pence began, tapping his chin in thought. "Then maybe we can try to jog your memory by guessing it!"

"That's a great idea!" Hayner exclaimed, plopping down onto the bed beside the boy. "Ok, I'll go first. Does… Hiro sound familiar?"

"Mm… no."

"How about Kumo?" Pence suggested.

"Nope."

"Cloud?" Olette guessed.

"Uh uh."

"Kenji?"

"No."

"Tsuki?"

"I don't think so?"

"Sora?"

The boy jolted, as if struck by something. He quickly shook it off though, ignoring the dull ache at the back of his head. "No, that's not it either…"

"What about Skye?"

"...Skye?" he repeated, looking at Olette. "What made you think of that?"

"Your eyes," she smiled. "They're blue, just like the sky used to be before it turned all dark and scary."

"Skye…" he said it again, unable to hold back his own emerging grin. "I don't know if that's my name or not, but… I kind of like it."

"Well, until we figure out your real name, why don't we just call you that then?" Hayner asked.

"Ok!" he perked up, savoring the idea of having a name, of anything at all, really. Even if it wasn't actually his name, at least it was something he could call his own, something he could go by, someone he could be.

"Alrighty then, Skye," Pence grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet. "Come on! We'll show you around!"

For the first time in what felt like his entire life, Skye laughed as he ran after the trio. True, he didn't know what his past held, who he was or where he'd been before he'd awakened in that dark, damp alleyway. But as far as his future was concerned, with such kind friends to help him get through it, maybe it wouldn't be that bad after all.

Surprisingly, it didn't take long for Skye to start settling into place at the orphanage. He mostly hung around Hayner, Pence, and Olette for the first few days, but slowly, he started to open up to the other kids too. The older orphans were largely sympathetic, helping the boy out in whatever ways they could, while the younger children took to Sky like a moth to a flame. He didn't know why, but the feeling was mutual. Sometimes, when he played with them, he could have sworn he saw a little girl with black hair, a boy with blue eyes as bright as his own. Sometimes, when the older orphans ruffled his hair, he almost heard a voice that wasn't any of theirs, one that sounded so very familiar. Even when he hung out with kids his own age, he sometimes spotted another child among them who he knew wasn't really there, a boy who looked almost exactly like he did in all but his black hair and gray eyes.

It didn't help that he saw each of those unknown children almost every night in his dreams. He couldn't make their faces out clearly, didn't know their names. But whenever he woke up in the middle of the night to find they were gone, he couldn't ignore the pain that would pang through his chest, pain so real it almost always made him cry.

"Who are you…?" he'd whisper in the dark as the other orphans slept peacefully around him. Though they'd all lost their own families, at least they still had their memories of them. Skye wasn't even lucky enough to have that. "Why can't I remember you…?"

Of course, he never got an answer. No traces of his missing memories ever surfaced, no matter close they might be to breaking through the mist filling his mind. Hayner, Pence, and Olette all tried what they could to help him recall even the smallest things about his life before now. But nothing ever worked, at least not until one day when they were playing in the orphanage's untamed yard.

"So I've been wondering," Hayner asked, tossing their ball to Olette. "What's that necklace you're always wearing, Skye?"

"Oh, this?" he smiled down at the seashells. "I dunno. I've always had it, ever since I could remember."

"Oh! That means it's gotta be something important from your past, right?" Olette asked, setting the ball aside. Skye could tell from the looks on all three of his friends' faces that they were already slipping into "sleuthing mode".

"I mean… maybe?" he shrugged. "But I don't know where it came from or how I got it. The only thing I do know about it is that something's written on the back of it." He pulled the charm up to show them the inscription. "'Together in R.G.', whatever that's supposed to mean."

"Hm… R.G…." Pence mused. "Maybe that stands for… rocky gates?"

"Nah, that doesn't make any sense," Hayner crossed his arms. "What about… really good?"

"That makes even less sense!" Olette huffed. "What if it's together in… radiant grass-"

"Radiant!" Skye gasped, clutching the side of his head. "That's it! It's radiant–radiant… something!"

"Garden?" Pence suggested.

"Radiant Garden!" Skye practically shouted, beside himself with excitement. "That's gotta be it, I know it is! Uh… what is Radiant Garden, exactly?"

"It's another world, super far away from here," Hayner explained. "Wait… what if that's carved onto your necklace because that's where your family is, Skye!?"

"Why would they be there?" Skye asked. "And why would I be here without them?"

"There were a lot of people from other worlds who were here the night the Organization took over," Olette recalled. "Your family could have escaped before the sky was sealed up, but they left you behind on accident."

"Yeah, yeah, it's all starting to come together now!" Pence snapped his fingers. "After they left, whatever caused you to lose your memories happened. Who knows, Skye? Your family could be out there right now looking for you and you would have never known!"

"That's… wow," Skye held his charm just a bit tighter as he looked up at the cloudy sky. "Do you guys really think there's someone out there waiting for me?"

"Yeah!" all three of his friends chimed in at once.

"And whoever they are, we're gonna help you find them!" Hayner bravely proclaimed. "Even if we have to build our own ship, we'll get off these islands and get you back to where you belong, Skye. You'll see!"

He pulled the group in for a tight-knight hug. Skye basked in the warmth of that embrace, of the new friendships he'd built out of the ashes of a life he no longer had. But if there was a chance, however small, that he could rebuild that life, if he could line up the pieces that made whoever he used to be…

Then he'd do anything to take it.

"Yeah…" he holds onto his charm, onto his friends as he looks up to the sky, smiling as one of so many stars–so many worlds– and so many possibilitiesshine through the shadows above. "Where I belong…"

Even though Skye didn't remember a single thing about what his life was like before, he knew enough to recognize his life at the orphanage was… dysfunctional, to say the least. Granted, it only made sense that a tiny, run-down, and underfunded building packed with parentless children wouldn't be the most peaceful place in the world. But it would have been a little more bearable if its patron wasn't a miserable curmudgeon of a man.

He'd heard from the other orphans that, like the rest of them, Ansem wasn't exactly here by choice. In fact, he used to work at the island's prestigious university as a professor, known and respected by his students as "Ansem the Wise". All that had changed when Xehanort took over though; the university, like many of the island's other institutions, had been closed down. And with few other options left for work, Ansem was left with only one option: taking care of the children no one else wanted. It had been a humiliating demotion, and in its wake, Ansem had no problem taking his frustration with the lot he'd been forced into on the very children he was supposed to be nurturing.

While most of the other kids had the good sense to avoid Ansem when they could, it didn't take Skye long to fall out of line. He'd remembered what Ansem had told him when he'd first arrived, to stay out of trouble and show him respect. But as soon as Skye saw Ansem shout at one of the younger children for essentially no reason at all, those rules were out the window. As were any chances the boy might've once had for staying in the patron's good graces.

At first, his pranks were small, but purposeful–leaving toys in places where Ansem would trip on them or replacing the patron's sugar for his coffee with salt. He couldn't pin those acts to Skye–he didn't have enough proof to punish him with. And it would have stayed like that too, with Skye getting by with those tiny, petty acts of vengeance.

If he hadn't decided to start going overboard.

He was ten the first time he was caught, emptying a jar of ants into the patron's bed. Needless to say, Ansem was furious. His face was red enough to pass for a tomato as he ranted and raved at the boy, who was struggling not to laugh the entire time. Any trace of that laughter quickly cleared out, however, when Ansem grabbed him by the arm and dragged him outside. Skye already knew where they were going, but he'd never been there himself. Still, he'd heard more than enough from the other kids about The Shack to know it wasn't a place he wanted to be.

The Shack was exactly that; a small, wind-battered storage shed resting on the far side of the orphanage's yard. It also doubled as a way for Ansem to punish any child he deemed as "disrespectful" or "disobedient". He would lock them inside for hours on end, forcing them to miss meals and separating them from their friends. He claimed that the isolation would force unruly behavior out of them; but from the second he was thrown into it, Skye could see The Shack for exactly what it was: a way to break their spirits even more than they already were.

His first trip to The Shack was followed by plenty more for offenses both big and small. From talking too loudly to his friends one night, to letting the wind carry Ansem's hanging laundry away, Skye could never seem to keep himself out of trouble. And as strange as it may have seemed, he reveled in it. His friends didn't know how he had such a knack for mischief, but he did, to the point that starting a ruckus was practically a skill all his own. But for all the trouble he caused and all the fun he had causing it, Skye made sure to never get any of the other orphans involved. The last thing he wanted was anyone else getting in trouble just because he wanted to take Ansem down a peg.

It didn't help that the older Skye got, the less Ansem pulled his punches when it came to punishing the boy. The worst of it came one night when Skye was thirteen. Food was always scarce at the orphanage, with never enough to go around to feed so many mouths. After his weeks on the streets, Skye was already used to going without; but the shy, clearly starving little girl who'd just arrived a few days prior, was not.

So he decided to sneak an extra portion of food for her, planning to sacrifice his own dinner to make sure her stomach was full. He'd made sure the surly cook wasn't looking when he reached in to scoop another spoonful of gruel, when-

"Greedy little brat," Mr. Ansem slapped his hand with a slotted spoon. "You should know the rule by now; none of you are entitled to have seconds after any meal. Taking more than your share proves just how ungrateful you truly are to the one who cares for you."

Any of the other kids would have hung their head and apologized after such a sharp scolding. But for Skye, the thought never even passed through his mind. "Well, maybe I wouldn't have to take seconds if you actually fed us enough for a change," he said, loud enough for the entire mess hall to hear. He made sure to avoid making eye contact with the girl he was trying to help, lest he rope her into this unintentionally. "Not that any of the food you do give us is actually worth eating."

"What did you just say?" Ansem hissed, his eyes narrowly dangerously at the child before him.

Skye wasn't phased in the slightest; if anything, he was encouraged. "I said, the food here stinks," he reiterated bluntly. A wide, daring grin spread across his face as a sudden idea came to him. He didn't give himself a chance to think better of it before he carried it out. "But if you really want this back," he raised his bowl." Then here, take it!"

Without a beat of hesitation, he lobbed the bowl directly at Ansem. It struck the patron squarely in the chest, spattering his stately clothing with a mess of gray gruel. A ripple of stunned gasps rose up from the other children, though they were soon drowned out by Skye's spirited laughter. A few other soft chuckles come from the rest of the kids, though they were quickly silenced the second Ansem shot a warning glare their way. Skye, on the other hand, kept laughing, absolutely beside himself with this victory, however small it might be.

"You miserable mistake of a child!" Ansem yelled as he reached down and locked an iron grip around Skye's arm. "I'll teach you what it means to make a fool out of me! If you're so hungry, then perhaps a few days without any food in the Shack will help you appreciate what you have!"

Skye didn't gratify the patron with any sort of begging or pleading as he was dragged out of the mess hall. Instead, he kept on smiling, offering a brief wave of farewell to the other kids as he was led away to face his punishment.

By now, Sky was more than familiar with The Shack; rarely did a week go by that he wasn't thrown into it for at least a few hours. But a few days was a special kind of severity, especially when those days were smack dab in the middle of winter, without any food or extra clothes to keep him warm. Even so, Skye wasn't worried; not when he knew that what he'd just done was more than worth it simply for the few seconds of shock that filled the patron's stupid face alone.

So he was locked into The Shack, left out in it overnight. It didn't typically snow on the islands, but its winters could still get quite frigid, something that Skye quickly remembered as he huddled into one of the shed's corners. He hugged his knees to his chest, bracing himself for the elements as he settled in for what was sure to be a sleepless night. And that sleepless night led to a breakfastless morning, a lunchless afternoon, and a dinnerless evening. All spent entirely alone.

Not only was The Shack a tortuous kind of punishment; it was also mind-numbingly boring. Skye tried to find ways to pass the lengthy hours of idle time by walking around the tiny square room, playing with a few of the weathered tools still kept within it, using a small garden trowel to carve pictures into the dirt and onto the structure's wooden walls. Every now and then, he'd grab his seashell charm, close his eyes, and try to imagine, try to remember who might've given it to him, what his life might have been like before. But like always, each time he tried, he was always met with the same thing: nothing.

He was halfway through the third day when he heard a soft, cautious knock on the side of the shed. Before he could even peer through one of the small cracks in the wood, something slipped through a tiny dugout near the Shack's base: a thin slice of bread.

"Skye?" he recognized Pence's voice on the other side of the wall. "Are you ok in there?"

"You better not be dead," Hayner said. "'Cause if you are, we just wasted some perfectly good bread for nothing."

"Hayner!" Olette scolded. Skye smirked as he heard Hayner groan, likely from Olette elbowing him in the stomach.

"Yeah," Skye answered, taking the bread as he looked through one of The Shack's peepholes at his friends. "I'm fine. Thanks, you guys."

"Don't mention it," Pence grinned warmly. "We still can't get over what you did the other night."

"Yeah, you're crazy!" Hayner chuckled. "As much as I hate Mr. Ansem, I'd never dream of throwing a whole plate of food at him like you did. You've got major guts, Skye."

"It has nothing to do with guts," Skye leaned back against the wall of The Shack. "Old Man Ansem had it coming for a long time now. So I did what I had to."

"You know, Skye," Olette began. "Maybe… Mr. Ansem will let you out early if you apologize."

"I'm not gonna apologize," Skye turned his nose up at the thought. "Old Man Ansem doesn't deserve an apology. He never does."

"Yeah!" Hayner cheered enthusiastically. "That's our Skye! A rebel through and through!"

"Oh no!" Pence gasped in sudden alarm as he glanced back toward the orphanage. "Looks like Mr. Ansem is coming! We'd better get out of here."

"We'll see you soon, ok, Skye?" Olette quickly whispered before they took off.

"Yeah!" Skye called after them. "See you… soon…" he finished in a sigh, his heart sinking at the thought of being left all alone all over again. He wasn't alone for long though, before The Shack's door suddenly creaked open, revealing Ansem's imposing figure looming in the doorframe.

"Well?" he asked, his expression cold, expectant. "Are you finally ready to renounce your foolish behavior and come back inside already?"

Skye took in a deep breath, setting his jaw as he glared up at the patron. True, simply offering a halfhearted apology would be so easy; it would guarantee him his own bed to sleep in tonight if nothing else. But for the sake of his own pride, one of the few things he still has left to hold onto in a place like this, he knew that he couldn't. He knew that he could never give in, he could never let himself be broken. Not as long as there was still an unknown past out there that he longed to find the answers to.

"Maybe I would," he muttered coldly. "If I actually had anything to be sorry for. Which I don't."

Ansem's scowl sharpened into a look of fury as he gripped the door. "Insolent whelp. If you wish to be this stubborn, then you can freeze out here for all I care!"

He slammed the door shut, locking it tight all over again. Skye sighed, shuddering at the cold as he started absently snacking on the bread Hayner, Pence, and Olette had left for him. Once again, he found himself reaching for his charm, carefully thumbing its delicate shells as he hoped for something better, something brighter, something beyond the bleak and bitter life he'd come to know.

"I don't know when, and I don't know how…" he held the necklace close to his heart. "I don't even know who you are, but… some day, I'm gonna get out of here and find you…"

"Don't forget," someone said somewhere in the spaces between his fractured memories. "Together in Radiant Garden."

"I won't forget," he whispered. He smiled as he closed his eyes and let himself dream of that day; of the day when he finally had the life that he lost, the life he'd do anything to reclaim, whatever and wherever that life might be. "I promise."

Next time... Skye sets out on his own for a journey to his past. Don't forget to REVIEW in the meantime!