'Brain investigates the abandoned towns.'
Content Warning: This chapter has Brain dealing with some pretty intense feelings of guilt. While most of it's about standard for what I write, it gets a little heavier around "it cocked its head curiously as it stared at him, yellow eyes unblinking;" please proceed with caution if that's something that might trigger you. I'll include a summary of that part of the chapter down at the bottom, just in case.
Chapter Thirteen: Guilt Enough to Swallow You
Nothing.
There was next to nothing in the library about what had happened to the other towns, no matter how hard he looked. Brain had spent nearly the entire night here, scanning book after book, making useless notes about what little he could find. There were countless stories—legends about him and the other Union Leaders, about the bluebloods, about people he couldn't even begin to know. There were actual history books, talking about the towns themselves and what they did. There were a couple of records that he managed to access—being a Union Leader did have some perks, he supposed—of large swathes of people having to relocate to what was now the singular town. But there was nothing about what had actually happened.
The librarian had been sympathetic, once she'd gotten over her shock at being harassed upon just coming in. "There aren't a lot of records of that time," she admitted. "It was very chaotic."
"Seems weird that nobody knows what happened."
"People do. Most of them just don't talk about it. Losing their homes was…difficult."
Brain thought of purple rooftops and a Clock Tower and excited chatter drifting down the halls, and then tried very pointedly not to think about it.
"You could always ask around—I think the storykeepers and bluebloods both have some—"
"No thanks." Brain slipped around her, heading towards the library's entrance. "Think I can handle things on my own."
"O-oh. Okay, if you're sure."
"I'm sure."
"You look like you're thinking about something."
Brain blinked, drawn back into the present slowly. It took a moment for him to place where they were—in the café near the apartment, shoved in the corner, the sky still a hazy gray. Brain stared down at his cooling cup of coffee, not sure if it was worth it to take a sip and try to wake up a little more.
Skuld had a funny look on her face. I should tell her, he thought, for probably the millionth time. She deserves to know. But when he opened his mouth, what came out was: "Thought that was my thing."
(Coward.)
The worried, scrunched-up expression turned exasperated. "I woke up and you were gone," she said, and her voice was just on the edge of accusing.
"Not like I'm the only one who's ever spent most of the night out."
"So it was all night."
He cursed himself silently. "Just trying to get some work done."
Skuld's eyes narrowed.
"Your face is going to get stuck like that."
"Brain."
"Don't worry so much. It'll only be for a couple more days." He hoped. It couldn't be that hard to figure out what Frigga and Sigurd were worried about, right?
(Are you sure? some part of him whispered. All you know is that it's connected to what happened to the other towns somehow. That for some reason, they're worried about the same thing happening again. Is that really going to be enough?)
(I don't want you to have to worry about losing another home.)
"What's on your agenda for the day?"
She gave him a look that said this conversation absolutely was not over, but she was apparently willing to let it go for the moment. "Nothing you can annoy me about."
It drew a small smile from him. "That was karma."
"We weren't that bad." But Skuld's sheepish look said she knew that she and the other Union Leaders had been exactly as annoying as he'd (allegedly) been.
"Mm-hm. How often did all of you pester me?"
"That was different. We had to make sure you actually slept and ate something."
Brain lifted his coffee cup and shook it lightly, if only for the tired groan it got out of Skuld.
"I'm going to start doing it again," Skuld muttered.
"You don't know where I'll be this time."
"I can guess."
Brain hummed an acknowledgement, but there was something bittersweet in the thought. "Well," he said, trying to keep his voice light, "have to see if you can find me, I suppose."
A tiny smile tugged at her lips. "I'll just look for wherever an experiment went wrong."
"Hey."
She laughed, and some of the tension eased out of Brain's shoulders.
(But he didn't miss the fact that she looked tired, too, bags under her eyes, shoulders slumped like the weight of the world was weighing on them, and it brought with it the familiar sting of guilt. You were lucky enough to find her again. What if something happens, and you lose the one bit of your family you have left?)
(It's your fault you're in this situation in the first place.)
"Hey," he said, "don't suppose Meili's ever talked about the other towns?"
Skuld gave him a funny look. "No," she said, her voice lilting upwards like she almost wanted to turn the word into a question.
"Mmm." (It'd be easier if you just told her. You could work together again. You could figure things out.) "I'm…thinking about looking into them."
"Why's that?"
(Tell her. Tell her, just tell her—) "I'm—" His voice faltered, and it took half a second to steady it again. "Curious."
Skuld's narrowed eyes said she'd caught the misstep, and she opened her mouth like she was about to prod him about it.
"Nobody talks about it, is all," he said, shrugging like it didn't matter, even though it did. "Just wanted to know." There. It wasn't…technically a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.
Skuld didn't look entirely like she believed him, but instead of pressing, she said thoughtfully, "I guess it is weird. Mimir mentioned that people don't really go over there anymore, but that nobody had really told them why."
Brain crushed down the unexpected flicker of disappointment. "Well. Might not be a big deal—maybe there just weren't enough people to fill up the towns anymore."
"…Yeah." Skuld sounded skeptical, and he wasn't really surprised when she asked, "Do you want help? Looking into things, I mean."
Yes. "Nah. It's not a big deal—and besides, we already have a big project. Figure it's probably the council's business. I'll just poke around in my free time."
"…Okay."
(For a moment, he was sitting in the Foretellers' Chambers again, the Book of Prophecies in his hands. "We're still headed for inevitable destruction. And I'm going to change that.")
"Besides, you have your own stuff to worry about. Don't you have to talk to Frigga today?"
Skuld made a face, and it drew a quiet chuckle out of him, despite himself.
Brain nudged her with a foot. "Go ahead. I'll catch up to you later."
Skuld groaned, head sinking so it rested against the table. "See you later," she agreed, reluctantly pushing herself away from the table and giving him a tired smile. "Hopefully."
It was meant as a joke; he knew it was a joke, but it still made his chest tighten uncomfortably. He couldn't quite manage a response, but he convinced himself to smile back. If Skuld noticed anything wrong, she didn't comment on it.
It wasn't until after Skuld had left that Brain allowed his smile to fall, shoulders slumping until he was hunched over the table. It doesn't matter, he told himself. It's not your problem anymore. It's not like you can do anything even if there is something wrong. You should just be worried about finding the rest of your family and making sure they're all okay.
Scala was just starting to wake up—he could hear people outside, the first few early risers calling quiet greetings to each other.
It's the council's problem, anyways. They don't want you involved. They've been doing fine without you—let them handle things. You aren't needed here.
A couple of people entered the café and greeted the barista cheerfully. The bells rang in the distance, enough like home that it made Brain feel like he was in a different place.
Nobody's probably going to talk to you about any of it. The council won't—and you can't necessarily trust what they'd say.
The day had brightened enough that he could see the hazy city streets, sunlight flickering over apartment buildings, a couple of kids running after a loose dog while someone—a parent, presumably—shouted after them.
…This place is the last thing you have left of Ephemer.
Brain let out a frustrated, tired breath. His coffee cup nearly crumpled in his grip, and he forced himself to relax. There's no harm in poking around, he reasoned, and it sounded like a hollow excuse. Not like there's much the council wants me for, anyways. He stood, throwing away his coffee cup and heading out into the streets.
-If there was anywhere that Brain would find answers, it'd probably be the Market Place. The whole area was filled with people from all walks of life—which theoretically, should make actually hunting down answers easier.
"Yeah, my grandma used to talk about it a little bit! She got all sad, though, and never finished."
"Oh, I don't know; they've just always been like that, as far as I know."
"I heard a big monster came by and ate everyone! Or was it a storm…?"
Theoretically.
Brain rubbed the bridge of his nose and tried to reign in his frustration. "Somebody," he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral, "has to know what happened over there."
The vendor he was talking to, at the very least, looked apologetic. "I really haven't heard much," they admitted. "I know that the last one was abandoned years and years ago—the place became uninhabitable, so everyone who was left had to come here. There are stories about the rest of the towns—about people fighting monsters to try and save their homes, or trading an island in an agreement with something from the world outside."
If they're anything like the ones about us, they probably aren't accurate at all, Brain thought with a grimace.
"The storykeepers could tell you about them. They put on shows, sometimes."
Brain fought back a grimace as he thought of the over-exaggerated tales of him and his friends, and then imagined stories of the abandoned islands in their place. "Thanks for the info," he said, even if he wasn't sure it was something he could use.
"Sure, but—uh, not that it's any of my business, but…why are you asking?"
"Personal reasons."
"A-ah. Right."
Brain wandered away, silently trying to collect what little information he had to go off of. It…wasn't much. Definitely nothing that would make Frigga and Sigurd so convinced that something was going to happen. He laughed humorlessly. Where's the Book of Prophecies now?
…Hidden in that locked room, most likely. Which meant he'd need to get back in there if he wanted any sort of answers. Which meant he needed Master's Defender back. Which meant—
(You were never worth it in the first place.)
He breathed in slowly, closing his eyes and letting the quiet noise of the Market Place ground him. It's fine. It's probably not as big a deal as you're making it out to be. You just need to focus and think things through. Then you can form a plan, and you can tell Skuld without overburdening her, and we can fix things. And then, if we're lucky, we can find the others.
It felt a little like a vice had clamped around his chest. He sucked in another breath to try and loosen it.
Something hit his shoulder; he stumbled and corrected himself, half-twisting towards whoever he'd managed to run into.
The other person snapped, "Hey, watch where you're—oh." He blanched, apparently only realizing who he was talking to when Brain turned. "That's—uh. Sorry, Mister Union Leader, sir. I didn't, uh, realize it was you."
It probably shouldn't be so frustrating to get an apology solely because he was a Union Leader, but it was, and it worsened Brain's already irritable mood. You don't have time to argue with him, Brain reminded himself. It's not worth it, anyways. You've probably wasted enough time looking for useless answers—it's not going to help to waste more.
A glint of metal caught his eye as he turned to leave. Armor. Just a pauldron, strapped to the man's shoulder—but then, Brain didn't think that anyone wore armor besides Keyblade wielders. Maybe… "Hey."
The wielder paused, turning to give Brain a curious look. He was young, Brain realized with a start; it was weird to think about, when so many of the wielders he'd grown up with were so much younger, but by Scala's standards, this particular wielder probably would've been a recent graduate.
Brain realized that he'd been silent too long when the wielder started fidgeting. "The abandoned towns." Brain nodded in their direction, trying to recollect himself. "Don't suppose you know what happened with them?"
The wielder's eyebrows furrowed. "Uh, I mean—kind of? We had a section talking about them a little in school. You don't know?"
"Didn't exactly go to the same school."
The wielder's face turned red. "U-uh. Right. I just thought—never mind." The wielder scratched his cheek awkwardly. "It wasn't ever a super in-depth lesson, really. I remember my history teacher told us that we don't exactly know what happened to some of the oldest islands—all the physical records of that time were lost, so we only have stories. But the other ones we have a couple of surviving records for. People started disappearing."
It ticked at something familiar, uncomfortable and uncertain. That happened in Daybreak Town, too. Before the Keyblade War. "Really."
"Uh—it's not as ominous as it sounds! There are a lot of people who ended up leaving for different worlds, probably. There's not a lot here if you're not interested in being a Keyblade wielder." The wielder's expression fell a little. "I kind of thought about leaving myself, but—I don't know. There's nowhere I really wanted to go."
It made something twist in Brain's stomach. "Right." He turned the information over, pensive. It wasn't much, but it was something. "Don't suppose they told you anything else?"
"I mean—not really?" The wielder shrugged. "I know something happened to the last one. I don't know, I didn't really pay—uh, I mean. They didn't…cover it?"
It would be my luck that that I got the one person who didn't listen, huh? "Know anyone who might know?"
"Maybe the storykeepers?" He shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "Is it a big deal?"
The last thing Brain wanted was to spread panic, so he shook his head. "Nah. Just curious." And that's probably about all I'll get out of you, if I had to guess. He turned, waving the wielder away. "Thanks, I guess."
"Um, anytime!"
Brain frowned, picking the information over, careful to keep his eyes open this time. Disappearing people—Darklings? But I haven't heard of any of them being around—just normal Heartless. But if Darklings are only Keyblade wielders—
Frigga is worried about Heartless—but, what, is she worried about a whole bunch of people just turning at once? It felt like he was missing a piece to the puzzle, and it itched. Something's not adding up.
…He didn't need to keep looking into this, really. He'd spent most of the morning failing to track down information. It probably was just Heartless, and he was just being paranoid, and the council would get it under control. (And keep him out of it, like they seemed to want so badly.)
…Just a little longer. I'll just look a little longer. I'm close enough to put something together, probably.
You could save yourself some time, some part of him whispered, if you just went to the storykeepers.
Brain grimaced. The thought wasn't wrong—the people in charge of Scala's legends and histories would probably know the most about the fallen towns—but the idea of talking to them made his skin crawl.
"Master Brain! There you are!"
Brain just barely managed to bite back a frustrated groan. "Sigurd," he ground out, and tried to exhale his frustration with the word. "This might shock you, but I don't need you to follow me around everywhere."
Sigurd skidded to a halt behind him, panting. "You didn't show up this morning."
"Had other things to do."
"Like…wander around the Market Place?"
"Yep." He turned away, intending to hopefully lose his shadow somewhere in the crowd. Maybe it's less of a problem of a bunch of people turning, and more of a problem of a bunch of Heartless invading. It could just be paranoia, but the two of them seemed to sure something was going to happen—
"Master Brain," Sigurd said, interrupting Brain's train of thought, "I understand that you don't really like the council, but…" He trailed off.
"Yeah? You going to tell me I need to head back?" Brain waved him off idly. "You know, I get the feeling that they'd prefer it if I didn't. Might make us all happier if I stayed away for a while, yeah?"
"I…suppose we could say you were out looking for materials."
Brain snorted. "You don't need to make excuses for me, Sigurd."
"I know. I just—well. It'll make things easier. When you get back."
He glanced back, eyebrow raising. "You offering to lie for me?"
"Not—not exactly. Technically, if you buy something, it's not really lying."
Brain snorted, almost warmed by the offer.
(But he's still spying for Frigga. For however much he tries to help you—he's ultimately loyal to her first. You can't forget that.)
They walked in silence for a few moments, and Brain had to bite his tongue. If Sigurd was here, he was never going to actually find anything; he'd have to lose him if he wanted to get anywhere. You don't have to keep looking, he reminded himself.
But don't you want to find out what they're hiding for you? another part argued, and he wasn't proud of how convincing that thought was.
"Why are you out here?" Sigurd asked finally, sounding hesitant and confused. "I'm not—I'm not going to tell Master Frigga, if you just need a break. But it seems so…strange for you."
"Maybe I'm finally taking your advice."
"Is…this about the council?"
It was probably easier if Sigurd thought that's what this was about, so Brain didn't say anything.
Another long pause. "You—you do have a place here. You know that, right? Master Ephemer wanted you to have one."
The comment brought about all sorts of complicated feelings that Brain wasn't sure he wanted to deal with. He misread the situation, he thought, in a detached sort of way. Maybe that's better. He closed his eyes, breathing out deeply. I don't have time for this. I have to keep looking.
(Sigurd knows, a part of him whispered. And if he's working with Frigga—are you really going to feel bad about working the answers out of him?)
"Hey," Brain said, keeping his voice carefully light, "got a question for you."
"O-oh?"
"Have there ever been spikes in Heartless activity before?" He cast a glance back towards Sigurd. "Frigga just seems very worried, is all."
"I—sometimes. Not often, but—sometimes."
"Mm. Any particular idea on why? Might help with creating that device she's so worried about."
"I'm—I'm not sure."
"…You said that the other towns fell because the citizens 'did it to themselves,' right?"
There—Sigurd stiffened, and while Brain still couldn't see his expression, he suspected he'd hit on something.
"Suppose it could be something like that, right? Like infighting?"
"I—suppose. But it would probably—it would take more than that to call a lot of Heartless here." Sigurd hesitated. "This is…for the device?"
Brain caught the hesitance—the wringing hands, the halting voice—and felt his guards going up slowly. He can't know, he reminded himself. If he knows, Frigga knows, and if Frigga knows— "What else would it be for?"
"It's just—you asked about the other towns before. That's all."
"Well, if you didn't want me asking, maybe you shouldn't have brought it up." It was too sharp, too quick, and he had to force himself to relax. "But the Heartless are the bigger concern. That's what we need to worry about, right?"
"And—and that's it?"
Brain studied him. He wondered what Sigurd was thinking; he wondered if he cared. (You could keep going, something whispered. You could probably get more information out of him.)
Brain glanced away sharply, bile in his throat. The storykeepers know—and you don't have to worry about them telling anyone. Or—well. Not soon enough for it to matter.
…Why did they have to be the best source?
He'd been quiet too long, he realized. "Yeah," he said, breaking the silence. "That's it." Starlight flashed into his hands.
Sigurd yelped, startled.
Brain flashed him a sharp smile. "Sorry," he said, and with a flick he'd disappeared.
"Will you please stop doing that?"
-It felt like there were always performances going on somewhere in Scala, so of course the one time Brain actually wanted to find one, it felt like he spent a small eternity trekking through the streets. He was pretty sure some people had tried to flag him down or catch his eye—he'd definitely seen a couple cast surprised glances his way—but he didn't slow down enough to double-check.
In the end, he finally found a small performance in a tiny plaza in the Breezy Quarter. The lead storykeeper was familiar—Lodur, if he was remembering correctly, the name pulled from his memories of the second day after Skuld's arrival. (He wasn't sure if he would have remembered, if he didn't have that; most of the performers blurred together, a hopeless conglomerate of people in a gross facsimile of what he'd lost.)
The performance wasn't one he recognized, which was something of a relief; it was just a small thing, a couple of people with only a handful of props, but they made the most of their tiny space with sweeping gestures and booming voices.
"And Valkyrie struck, again and again, fighting to pull her comrades from the monster's clutches—"
Brain folded his arms and leaned against the wall, waiting. He was still in the shadows, but Lodur apparently noticed him, eyes slipping his way; he barely faltered, staying carefully in character, but there was something a little stiffer about his movements, an uncertain twitch to his smile.
Brain…could see why people liked this, he supposed. It was a little more entertaining when the stories weren't about him and his friends, and even if he didn't entirely know what this tale was about, he found himself getting drawn into it, anyways.
(Is this about real people, too? a part of him wondered. Were they just as scared as we were?)
Brain waited until the performance ended, the tiny crowd dispersing and the storykeepers packing up their supplies, to approach.
Lodur didn't look up right away, bent to carefully fasten a pack. "I didn't think you particularly liked our work."
"I don't normally."
Lodur laughed quietly. "Honest as ever, I see. Well, what brings you here, then?"
Brain went to answer, then paused to give the other storykeepers a pointed look.
They averted their gazes sheepishly.
"I have some questions that the council won't answer. I've been informed you guys are my best bet."
"Oh? Trouble in paradise?"
Brain kept his expression carefully neutral. "We don't always see eye-to-eye on things."
Lodur rubbed his chin. "Well. I don't know if I can be much help, but I can try."
"I want to know what happened to the other towns."
Lodur paused. "That's—" He sighed. "I see." He gave Brain a look. "I can tell you that story, but I'm probably not the best suited for it."
Brain raised an eyebrow.
Lodur hesitated, seeming to think things over. "Come on," he said finally. "I'd like to introduce you to a colleague of mine."
-It felt a little like Lodur understood something of Brain's secrecy; he kept carefully off the main streets, moving quickly and quietly. A part of Brain wondered if maybe he'd done this before—but then, he couldn't really figure out why he would have.
"Now," Lodur said quietly, "I'm going to have to ask you to be delicate about this. Runa's often willing to discuss even the hardest stories, but most of them she never had to live through."
Brain filed the name away carefully. "I'll keep that in mind."
Lodur didn't take them to another performance, like Brain was expecting; instead, he led them towards a shadowed garden, tables clustered near what looked like a small theater. Brain eyed the device on it curiously and almost missed the woman sitting nearby.
She was old—older than the council members, at the very least, face thin and weathered. She wasn't looking at them, but she still shifted at their approach, saying quietly, "It's been a while since you've actually been by to talk, Lodur."
"I'm sorry. I've been quite busy. But I brought someone who wants to speak to you."
"A Union Leader. I saw." She turned, finally, and gave Brain a critical look.
Brain masked his surprise carefully. When that faded, he was hit with something almost like relief, the tension melting off his shoulders. He pushed his hat up a little. "Hey. Got a question about a story, if you're willing to answer."
A faint smile flickered across Runa's lips, something almost approving flashing in her eyes. "That is what I'm here for." She nodded towards Lodur. "Go on—you can get back to your work. But I'd appreciate it if you stopped by to chat a little more."
"I will," Lodur promised with a small smile and half a bow. He ducked away, heading out into the street.
When they were alone, Runa studied Brain curiously. "Well? I've seen how you've reacted to some of our stories; I always got the impression you'd prefer arguing over listening."
Brain forced himself not to react to that. "Not the biggest fan of hearing stories about myself. But I'm not asking after them today."
Runa's eyes lightened with interest.
"I'm curious about something. The other towns—nobody ever goes out to them. Got to asking around about them, and I've heard some mixed stories. Something about disappearing; something about them falling, a little like a world. Most people said the storykeepers would know what really happened—and Lodur led me to you."
He watched Runa's expression as he spoke; it fell slowly, emotion draining like water, features hardening until they were almost stony.
Brain waited, watching and unwavering.
Runa's hands twisted, knotting the fabric of her skirt. She set her jaw, eyes turned to the city streets. "It's a hard story you're asking for."
"Kind of used to hard stories."
Runa laughed, but the sound was harsh and bitter. "I guess you have lived through your own, haven't you?" She sobered, the lines of her face still hard and set, her eyes tight. "I'm surprised none of the council's told you."
"Pretty sure they'd be happier if I didn't pry into things."
Runa hummed quietly. "None of them have first-hand knowledge of it anyways, I suppose. Frigga and Osmin were just children, I believe—and they already lived here, on this island, when the last of the outer islands fell. But I lived through the fall of the last one—that's why Lodur brought you to me." She laughed again, but it was a little less angry and a little more sad. "Stars, moving over here was a mess. Gave me a better understanding of what refugees from fallen worlds go through. This was our world, and there was still so much paperwork we had to fill out. So many details. There weren't enough places for everyone; the earliest days, we had to set up camp near the docks while the wielders went back to the island to look for survivors." There was a lost sort of expression on her face; she worked her jaw, her hands twisting harder, turning the knuckles white. "It's a hard story," she repeated.
"I can ask someone else, if you point me in the right direction."
But Runa was already shaking her head. "No, no. I'm a storykeeper. That's what I'm here for: to remember the past. If we forget what we came from, we'll just repeat the same mistakes, over and over and over." She blinked, falling quiet as a couple of kids rushed past. She watched them with a melancholy sort of warmth. "The stories are what keep our memories alive, anyways. What once was, and the people that we've lost."
Brain's throat tightened. He watched the kids and a different sort of worry rose, unbidden: If I don't figure out what's going on—will they lose their home, too?
Runa sucked in a careful breath. "It begins with the old stories," she said, and her voice fell into a cadence born from years of practice. "Your stories. In the very beginning, when the world died and was born anew. When the world cracked apart, and Darkness leaked from its heart. It chased after the survivors, and captured them one by one, sticking their hearts into its vast expanse—trophies of its chase, to taunt the brave few who thought they could stand up to it."
"That's not how it went."
"Oh, I know. No story stays the same as the years pass. It's easier to turn a tragedy into a legend; it hurts a little less. But I need you to listen: this is how it starts."
Brain swallowed his arguments until he felt like he'd choke on them; he could put up with it—had to put up with it—if he wanted to get answers.
"The Darkness chased the survivors to the very edges of the broken world, until only five remained. With nowhere left to run, and their numbers dwindling, they were forced to fight. It would be a hopeless battle—the Darkness was eternal, and for all their bravery, they were only human. But a certain trickster had one final plan up his sleeve—a way to ensure they survived, scattering them across time and space, hidden from the Darkness that chased them."
Brain could feel Runa giving him a pointed look; he didn't interrupt this time, the words too bitter in his mouth.
"Except one of them refused to leave—their leader."
Ephemer.
"He had lost too many friends—including someone very dear to him. And if everyone left, who would remain to build a place for his scattered friends to return home to?"
Brain clenched his fists so tightly that his nails bit into his skin.
"The Darkness raged at four lights escaping its clutches, and so it turned on the one that remained. For seven days and seven nights they fought, and during that time, the last remaining wielder tried everything he could to reach out to the trapped hearts—and finally, one answered. That same dear friend that he'd lost."
The one he shared with Skuld. She'd said that they had been possessed; that Ephemer had been forced to kill them when they'd escaped. Brain didn't doubt that the story had changed on its own over the years, but he wondered if maybe Ephemer had been the first to twist this story; if he'd hoped that maybe he could help his friend be remembered as someone heroic in their last moments, and not as an unwilling villain.
(He wished, suddenly, that he'd told Skuld about what he was doing. She knew more about this story; she could've told him what actually happened. Stupid, some part of him thought, but a quieter, more insidious one whispered, Coward.)
(Are you trying to protect her, or yourself?)
"They tore themself from the Darkness, stepping in to protect their friend. With a mighty strike they forced the Darkness back. 'You believe that you're so much stronger than us,' they cried, 'but you forget how much light you've swallowed. There are countless hearts within you—strong enough to keep you back.' And so they reached out to the hearts that remained—hearts that were easier for them to touch, having once been among their number. One by one, they responded—and one by one, they fought back, pushing the Darkness higher, higher, until it was pinned so far away from the world it could no longer harm anyone."
It took Brain a moment to figure out what Runa was referring to. "The stars," he said skeptically.
She laughed. "It's a bit fanciful, I know—but it's a good story. Has a good ring to it; makes it feel like the Darkness can't get to us anymore." She fell quiet, expression turning hard and pensive. "Most of the time, the telling ends just a little after that—that Master Ephemer began rebuilding the fractured world, slowly plucking the hearts out of the stars one by one and helping to restore light and life to what remained. But there's a reason I'm telling you this story—and the most important part is what most people leave out. I understand why; it's not a particularly nice bit. It's easier to end on the happy ending, and not on a warning."
Runa went quiet. When she spoke again, it was with deliberate carefulness, and Brain wasn't quite sure if it was for his benefit or hers. "The oldest stories end with grief. The world's heart was damaged, and it never quite healed. Master Ephemer was building a world from a graveyard, and there was so much grief there that it could never quite leave—and so he buried it, placing it inside a tomb, deep in the world's heart. He had hoped that it would stay there—but there is no way to contain it forever. The grief festered, and eventually, Darkness found its way back, leaking through the cracks."
There was a slow-growing realization forming in the back of Brain's mind; a lingering sort of horror that made his heart beat faster and his chest feel like it was going to collapse. It felt like the last piece of the puzzle was slipping into place, building a bridge between what he'd heard and what Frigga seemed to fear.
(Skuld had said that Ephemer had opened a portal to take away the remaining Darkness—but he didn't know to where. If they were still in the Data-Daybreak Town, and that was in the ruins of the original, then—)
Runa was shaking, now; her voice broke a little, but her face was set with a stubborn sort of determination. "I don't know how true that is," she whispered. "I don't know if the same thing happened to the other islands that happened to us. I was young—probably only a little older than you are now. A lot of the actual fall was…blurry. But I remember the shadows. Voices—whispers that lured people off into the darkness and didn't give them back. Heartless—so many of them that we couldn't ward them off. The Keyblade wielders evacuated everyone they could; they searched for survivors for days, and tried to clean up the remaining Heartless for even longer." After a long moment, she added, "My mother didn't get out. Nor my sister. Just me. I ran without them."
It was a painfully familiar feeling. "I get it."
She laughed, and it was angry and bitter and reminded him of himself. "Even if the stories are exaggerated, I can't imagine you'd leave anyone behind to save yourself." Her voice turned gentler as she added, "But thank you. It's…a kind sentiment."
(It's not. It's true.)
Runa sucked in a shuddering breath. "It's easier to believe it was some ancient Darkness, I think. That the Heartless overran the town because of that. But things were unsettled before that. I didn't pay much attention to it then; I almost wish I had. I spent ages trying to find some justification for what happened to us. Might've been easier if I had a target I felt was justified in blaming." Her smile turned bitter. "But then, maybe it would've been worse."
(This can't be right. There has to be some other sort of explanation. It's just Heartless. It's not—)
(The world cracked around him, buildings torn apart, and he stood in the lifeboat chamber and desperately tried to make sure his family survived it.)
Runa gave him a sympathetic look; he hadn't even realized he was shaking until that point. "It's a hard story."
Brain shoved his hands into his pockets. "I suppose."
"Mm. I imagine it feels the same for you, hearing your stories. I wonder if ours will be the same someday, or if we'll just be forgotten."
(It can't be Darkness. It can't be, it can't be, it can't be the same thing—)
"I want to get out there."
"To the town?"
"Yeah. Like to see it for myself. Maybe get a better idea of things."
"The stories aren't enough for you, hmm?" Runa shook her head, but her eyes were sad, not angry. "You'll have a hard time finding someone to take you. We've been forbidden from going back—for our own safety, apparently. Though, you are a Keyblade wielder—and a Union Leader, no less. You might outrank anyone who tries to stop you."
It didn't make him feel any better. "Yeah." And then, "Thanks."
"I won't say 'you're welcome,' but—well, I hope you at least found what you were looking for."
-It really did take a fair bit of searching for Brain to find someone to take him—even with him being a Union Leader, most people at the docks got quiet and jittery when he told them where he wanted to go. Eventually, he found a fisherman who was either brave enough or foolish enough to bring him to the nearest place. "I can just say I was looking for better waters and got too close, if someone notices me," the fisherman said with a shrug. "But if they ask, I didn't know what you were doing, alright? And I'm not stepping foot on the island itself; that place gives me the creeps."
It wasn't a hard agreement to make.
The trip over was…quiet. That suited Brain fine; it left him alone with his thoughts, turning ideas over and over and trying not to panic as he studied them. It's probably not the same Darkness, he argued to himself. There's probably nothing there. I just need to look around and prove that nothing's wrong. Then I can come back and figure something out. Let Skuld know what's going on and let this go.
But his stomach had gone tight, heart pounding with a lingering terror.
The fisherman, true to his word, stopped a fair distance from the town itself. That was fine; it was still close enough that Brain could teleport himself close to shore, feet splashing in the shallow water.
"Stay safe!" the fisherman shouted, like an afterthought.
Brain barely had the presence of mind to wave in response, eyes honed on the empty buildings, towering high enough to claw the sky.
The abandoned town was quiet in a way Brain wasn't used to anymore. It reminded him of Daybreak Town after the War—unnatural in its stillness, with no friendly chatter to fill its streets. But where Daybreak Town had at least had birds and squirrels and other animals to run across the cobblestones, this place lacked anything; the gulls cried in the distance, but didn't come near enough to land. Brain found himself quieting his footsteps in response, fighting off the part of him that itched to summon Starlight.
The town certainly looked the part of a city abandoned in a hurry—there were stalls left toppled in the streets, doors hanging open by their hinges. When Brain looked inside some houses, he found plates still on tables, or toys left abandoned in the hallways. Some of the buildings were remarkably intact; others had cracked windows and crumbling sides. There were places that looked like they might've been gardens, once, but the plants had withered and died.
Brain sucked in a deep breath, laden with the scent of salt. Alright. I'm just here looking for info. This isn't any creepier than the wastelands or Data-Daybreak Town—or any of the newly-forming worlds, for that matter. It was easier to look at things when he thought about them like that, and he pulled his notebook out of his jacket, scribbling out some quick notes. Nothing living's here anymore. Lots of things left behind—whatever happened, happened fast. Doesn't look like many people came back to try and collect stuff.
(Something shivered down his spine. He wasn't sure if it was paranoia or justified worry, but it felt like he was being watched.)
Brain snapped his notebook shut. He sucked in a slow, shaky breath, then forced his legs to steady and headed further into the town.
Sunlight flickered across white-washed buildings, reflecting off broken windows and small puddles. It was almost too bright sometimes, the light reflecting in Brain's eyes; he tried his best to shield them, pulling his hat a little lower. (That was probably for the best; between the sunspots, the abandoned town almost looked like the impression of another place, pulled from his memories like a ghost.)
Nothing that looks Darkness-specific yet. He laughed humorlessly to himself, carefully cresting a bit of rubble. Though it certainly looks like a bit of a fight. The further he got from the edges of the town, the more damage he saw—blackened splotches on the sides of buildings, cracks in the cobblestones, shattered glass that cracked underneath his feet and made him jump. A breeze tugged at his jacket lightly, and with it came something that sounded almost like a whisper.
Starlight was in his hands in an instant, every sense on high alert.
Another whistling, whisper-like sound—the wind again, blowing through a bit of broken pipe.
Brain groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Well," he muttered, "not going to help if I'm jumping at everything." The words came out limp and lifeless, falling heavily through the dead air. He wished, almost, that he'd brought Skuld along—but he pushed the thought aside roughly. No need to worry her until I know what's going on. Might not even actually be Darkness, for all I know. The thought made his skin prickle, his heartrate picking up a little, and he shook his head and kept going, forcing the feeling down roughly.
(It felt like something was whispering too him, a low voice hissing slowly through his ears: Isn't this why the world ended last time? Because you didn't tell anyone until it was too late?)
(I have to fix this I have to prove I can do this I can't fail again—)
"…Might've been nice to have someone, though." Saying the words aloud felt a little more grounding, like they could chase away the specter of his own worries. This was just a place—abandoned, sure, but not inherently different than anywhere else. He snorted a quiet laugh. "Can't imagine the others would have been much help, though." Lauriam probably would've helped the most; Ephemer would've gone chasing after something, and Skuld probably would've chased after him, and Ven either would've been clinging nervously to Lauriam's side or hurrying after the two of them. "…Then again, maybe he would've been too distracted by Ven."
It was a bittersweet sort of thought, and he wasn't sure he wanted to think about it, really, so he tried to blink away the ghosts of his friends. "Well. No use worrying about that, now." He slipped around the side of a building, wincing and brushing away the dust that scattered over his shoulders. "Might get more done, without anyone to bother me." Rubble scattered underneath his feet as he slid down a slope. "There were Heartless when Daybreak Town fell, too—but they came from the outside world. Think they were attracted to the light—then again, that might not be so different to Scala."
It might've been his imagination, but he thought he heard the skittering of claws; he turned and almost thought he caught a flash of something darting between the buildings. He tried to brush it off as paranoia, but he still edged Starlight forward and used it to turn over a bit of rubble. Crushed pottery was underneath; anything that might've been inside was gone.
The wind stirred, and he shivered; another quiet, hissing, whisper-like sound reached his ears, curling around his chest like a large, clawed hand. He almost thought he could make out words, and he forced himself to take a step out of it, further into the shadows.
"Scala's the main hub for Keyblade wielders. There might be enough light to attract Heartless on its own, no Darkness—" He broke off, breath stuttering in his chest, as he caught the glint of metal. "—required."
He knew, intellectually, that Keyblade wielders had probably died here. From the way Runa described things, the city had been overrun quickly. No matter how well-trained the Keyblade wielders were, there were bound to be some casualties.
It still didn't entirely prepare him to see the trio of Keyblades.
It reminded him of the wastelands, a little—the Keyblades left where their wielders fell, unmarked gravestones jammed into the dirt. Only one stood upright, and even that was leaning; the others had been left on the cobblestones, one intact, the other shattered, little bits of the blade scattered across the ground. These had had longer to waste away than the ones in the wastelands, rust tinging their edges, two of the keychains broken and scattered.
"…No one came back to take care of you, huh?" Brain huffed quietly, but he couldn't put any heat into the words. (He wondered if anyone was taking care of the ones in the wastelands.) "You guys probably had families to go back to—not like the ones we had to deal with after the Keyblade War." Some emotion he couldn't quite place pooled in his chest cavity, and Starlight creaked in his grip. "You were probably adults. Not children."
(Like that makes it better.)
He shouldn't care about them. Not any more than he cared about the people who'd fallen during the Keyblade War. But he couldn't quite bring himself to move, staring at the Keyblades with an intensity he didn't entirely intend. "Lauriam probably would've liked to have his sister's Keyblade back, if given the opportunity."
The remaining keychain clacked lightly against the blade, stirred by a light breeze.
Brain blinked rapidly and sucked in a sharp breath. "Well. I guess that confirms one thing, at least. I should—get moving." The wind grew a little stronger, whistling through the buildings—but this time, he almost thought he could hear—
(Who's this…?)
It dragged Brain back to himself; he jumped backwards, Keyblade lifted defensively, snapping, "Who's there?"
Nothing moved, and for half a moment, Brain was ready to brush it off as his own paranoia. And then—
Yellow eyes.
He thought he'd imagined them at first, but then they dipped out of the shadows again, a bright contrast against the darkness from the buildings. The Heartless prowled back and forth, almost wary; it was hard to make out the details, but he thought he caught the vague outline of horns and long claws, wings flicking lightly along its back. Darkling-like, almost.
"Hey." Brain lifted his Keyblade warily.
The Heartless's wings twitched, stretching a little.
"This going to be a problem?"
The Heartless tilted its head. It crept closer, twisting carefully around the Keyblades. As the light washed over it, he got a better look: long, spindly limbs, tattered clothes, elongated proportions and a face that was too human and skull-like for comfort.
Brain held his ground, watching it warily.
The Heartless made a low chittering sound. It curled itself around the still-standing Keyblade, mouth opening in a screech, but it didn't make any further move toward him.
Brain's eyes flicked from the Keyblade to the Heartless and back, and it felt a little like he was going to be sick. "Right," he said, voice shaky despite his attempt at bravado. He took a few cautious steps backward, Keyblade lowering to nearly touch the ground.
The Heartless watched it with a cocked head.
I need—I need a better vantage point. I need to see if there's—anything else like this. I need—
(I need to get away.)
He'd moved before he'd even entirely registered what he was doing, a chain flying from Starlight's tip and latching into a building. The world flashed by in a blur, too cold and too bright, and he hit the side of the building ungracefully, toppling onto the rooftop. He didn't entirely intend to run, but he did, putting distance between himself and the Heartless (the Keyblades) until he felt like he could breathe again.
(He was shaking harder than he thought he should be. It was…stupid. It was just a Heartless.)
Brain forced himself to dismiss Starlight, trying to shake out the ghosts of nerves. It didn't work quite as well as he wanted it to, but he didn't dwell on it, forcing himself to actually look into the streets after a few steadying breaths.
They were more obvious, now that he was actually looking for them: dark shapes and yellow eyes creeping in the shadows, bits of moving darkness that brushed against each other and slipped near-silently through the buildings. They blended almost seamlessly with the rest of the city—like they were a part of it, and not something separate left to wander the ruins. I thought the Keyblade wielders came back to get rid of you, he thought, but didn't quite dare say. That's what Runa made it sound like.
It didn't add up. He didn't doubt that the wielders would come back—because of their duty, if nothing else. Were there simply too many to get rid of? But you'd think they'd fight with each other at some point. Brain trailed carefully along the edge of the building, making a cautious hop to a lower roof. His eyes never left the shadows, darting from one Heartless to the next. There are more than I thought there'd be, if people really did come back to clean them up. What, are they multiplying? How's that possible if there aren't people left here?
Another jump; he misjudged, landing on a fabric rooftop, frayed and chewed-through. It broke underneath him, spilling him onto the street, and he grunted quietly as his shoulder hit the ground.
Heartless chittered quietly. He couldn't see them clearly, but he could feel them looking at him, now that he was there.
(Do we know—
We know
We know
You've been here.)
Brain scrambled to his feet and kept moving, footsteps hurried, not quite breaking into a run. Starlight itched and sparked at his fingertips, his shoulders tense. The Heartless didn't move to approach him—not here, out in the sunlight. They kept carefully to the alleys, but they prowled after him, the clicking of claws on cobblestones a frustratingly loud refrain. They don't seem to like coming out into the sunlight, at least, he thought, but it felt fragile and shaky. Some part of his mind was still spinning through the implications, and it was a struggle to keep himself steady.
(Darkness had been the reason the Heartless had found them, back in the data Daybreak Town. It had drawn them there. If there were more Heartless here than there should be—
It made it hard not to look and see the fragments of Daybreak Town, colorful streets and familiar buildings poking out between the bones, and it felt a little like he was starting to panic, his breathing growing unsteady.)
(That's right. You were—
The fall.
The first.)
Just—focus. Focus. There's—there has to be some sort of explanation for this. Frigga is…worried about the Heartless. Maybe she's—
She's worried about them coming from here, isn't she?
It was a painfully obvious answer, and Brain rocked underneath it. Frigga knew that there were more Heartless here than there should be—that the other islands had them, too, maybe. Why else would everyone be forbidden from coming back here? Sigurd, too. And maybe the rest of the council.
The ground felt fragile underneath him. If he took a step, it would crack, sending him tumbling into the ruins of Daybreak Town below.
Something crept closer, skittering across the ground.
(We remember you.)
Brain whipped around, light flaring around his fingertips. "Hey—"
A Heartless hesitated, just on the edge of the sunlight. It didn't look quite like the others, small and covered in white fur, leaf-like ears flicking curiously. It had a small, worn doll caught between its jaws; it cocked its head curiously as it stared at him, yellow eyes unblinking.
…It reminded him of the Dandelions.
Oh, you poor thing.
The words echoed and scratched, cracking half-broken inside Brain's skull, a thousand whispered voices rolled into one. It slithered through his ears and made his shoulders tense, a well-honed warning of get out get out get out pounding against his ribcage. Starlight came with a flick of his wrist.
The little Heartless skittered away—scared of his Keyblade or the voice, he couldn't tell. He tried not to watch it, stalking carefully through the empty streets.
Do you want to hear a story?
The voice faded a little, words fractured and dripping, but it sounded familiar in a disconcerting sort of way. "Ven…?"
(It's not Ven, some part of him hissed. Ven's not here.)
Something moved in the corner of his eye. He whipped around, a burst of light at Starlight's tip. A Heartless screeched and darted away.
It's one you know very well. It's your story.
"Don't appreciate the hiding." Starlight tapped the cobblestones, a rhythmic beat that helped him focus. That's not Ven. That's not his voice.
Oh, your heart is bleeding, isn't it? We can see the grief dripping into the cobblestones. The boy who thought he could change fate. Be something more than what he used to be.
"That's enough." He didn't mean to snap—didn't mean the way that his voice had started to shake, or the way it felt like the world was starting to spin. Focus. You need to figure out where the voice is coming from.
(He thought he could see something dark and slimy pooling from the cracks in the buildings. Were the shadows always that deep?)
But you were wrong, weren't you? You can only ever be what you are. Oh, how it must hurt, to see these people praise you as the hero you could never be.
Brain swept Starlight around, releasing a wide, mild light spell. The world lit up, nearly blinding, the shadows disappearing in a ring.
(It sounded like there was something dripping behind him.)
Do they know your horrible secret? That when the end came, if you had the choice between saving the world and your new-found family, you would've chosen your family and let the world burn?
Something moved, and he whipped around, Starlight lifted to block a blow that didn't come. Instead, he found himself staring at a ghost, and something wrapped itself around his heart and squeezed. "Lauriam?"
He wasn't there. He wasn't there, he wasn't there, he wasn't there, but it still looked like he was, smiling that same gentle smile that he had when he was trying to convince Brain to go to bed or join them for breakfast or just rest. "Your work will be there tomorrow. It's okay. You can rest."
His tongue caught on the roof of his mouth, a thousand protests stuck behind his teeth.
Oh—that's why you won't let yourself stop, is it? If you keep going, maybe you can outrun the guilt. Maybe you can do something to prove that you are better than you are.
Bile burned the back of his throat, and he ignored the way his heart screamed and lifted his Keyblade, shooting a spell at random into the specter of his friend. He couldn't watch it hit, eyes squeezed shut.
(He couldn't breathe.)
(He needed to get out of here.)
You cannot ignore your ugly parts. They are a part of you; you cannot run far enough to escape them.
"Come out!" He wanted to sound confident, but his voice was a little too panicked, his heartrate a little too quick. He couldn't think, not with this thing picking him apart.
Are you sure?
He didn't realize he'd been moving until he came to an abrupt halt, staring at himself, and for a moment, he thought it was another specter. It took a moment to realize it was just his reflection, staring back at him from a broken window. Something dark dripped down the edges and clung to the fractured pieces, hemming his reflection like a picture frame. His eyes were wide; his face was pale. He looked…scared.
(He looked like what he'd always been—a child who didn't really know what he was doing.)
It's alright. We have seen many like you. People who thought they were brave until they were faced with death. People who thought they were selfless until they had to choose between their happiness and someone else's. People who thought they were kind until the world broke them.
We have seen heroes too, of course—people who have seen the worst the world has to offer and choose to be brave and selfless and kind anyways. And so have you. Oh, how much better would things have been, if someone more worthy had ended up here instead of you?
For a moment, he thought he saw someone else staring at him from his reflection—Ephemer, brave and kind and selfless, determined enough to rebuild their lost home, despite everything. (And now Brain was here, and he could barely look at it. He was going to fail again. He was going to fail and the world his friend worked so hard to restore was going to fall because Brain was never smart enough, never brave enough, never good enough—)
Something in the reflection moved. Brain spun around, chains of light flying from his Keyblade. Someone shouted in alarm, and his chains wrapped around something real.
It was like a spell broke. The darkness shrunk backwards. A pressure lifted, and he stumbled, slick with sweat and cold in the sudden sea breeze. In the distance, he thought he could hear seagulls and the quiet ring of the main island's bells.
Sigurd stood frozen; Brain couldn't see his face, but he imagined if he could, his eyes would be wide.
Frigga's spy.
(You wouldn't have had to be here if he'd just told you the truth, would you?)
"Sigurd." He should've let him go. He didn't, his grip tightening on Starlight, the slack disappearing from the chains.
Sigurd twitched, grunting a little as the chains tightened. "Ah. Master Brain. You really shouldn't be here."
"I shouldn't, huh." Something angry and jittery and scared smoldered slow-burning in his chest; it crept up his throat and filled his mouth with words that burned. "That got something to do with the fact that this place is filled with Heartless? Funny, how Frigga's so worried about them when they're practically at her backdoor."
"There's—there's nothing that can be done about them—"
"Is there, now? Weird, considering this is a world filled with Keyblade wielders."
Sigurd fell silent.
Brain wasn't entirely sure what he was doing; it felt like a part of him had stepped away from his body, and all that was left were the fractured bits of someone he'd been once, tired and angry and rubbed thin, and for once, for once he just wanted to get some answers and maybe feel like he could do something. "I think," he said, deceptively calm, "we should have a talk."
"That's—yes. Yes, a talk would be good, but not here, please. If you'll just let me go—"
"No." The chains tightened a little for emphasis. (A part of him screamed, What are you doing? but it was buried underneath a tangle of anger and guilt and grief that felt like it would overwhelm him if he didn't do something.) "You know what's going on."
"Master Brain—Brain. I promise, I can explain, but we really need to—"
"You and Frigga were talking about the possibility of us 'losing another home.'"
"I hadn't—I didn't know you overheard—"
"These islands are infested with Heartless."
"Brain. Brain, I'm serious, we shouldn't stay here—"
"You said that the older generation was worried about something seeping through the cracks, but it's still here, isn't it?"
"Brain—"
"What. Is. It."
It wasn't a question—because he knew, really. But he wanted to hear Sigurd say it.
Sigurd fidgeted. The wind stirred, and something tacky slipped over Brain's shoulders, creeping around his throat like long, curling fingers.
Brain tugged on his Keyblade, pulling Sigurd a little closer. "Well?"
Sigurd lifted one cautious, shaking hand, placing it hesitantly underneath the chains. "Brain," he said, and his voice was gentle in a way that grated, "it's—" His breath came out in a stuttering, hesitant gasp. "I'm not—allowed to talk about this."
"You're going to keep listening to Frigga's orders, huh? Well—"
"No. No, it's—I made a promise to someone else."
Brain's eyes narrowed.
"He never gave me a name, but he was—concerned. About you. He didn't want you to get involved. I didn't get a good look at him, but he made it sound like he knew you."
What…?
Sigurd's voice grew a little stronger. "And—and he's right. You shouldn't have to deal with this. Not after everything you've already been through."
(It felt, uncomfortably, like the same justification he'd used to avoid talking to Skuld.)
"I'm already dealing with it. In case you weren't aware." He tugged on the chains a little. "Who made you promise? What'd he look like?"
Sigurd lifted his head, and Brain got the impression that he was looking at him, finally. "Just go back to the main island, Brain." A pause. "I'm sorry." And then, before Brain could blink, Sigurd had summoned his Keyblade and cut through the chains.
Brain stumbled, Starlight dipping to clang! against the cobblestones. His head bobbed up in time to see Sigurd darting into an alley.
(He was tired. He was so, so tired. Something had seeped into his bones and torn him open, raw and angry and hurting.)
(Has another of my friends been here, this whole time?)
It felt like there was something coiling, tighter and tighter, around his ribs, his throat. So much magic flooded through his arms they burned, and with a frustrated shout he sent chains flying after his fleeing opponent. They crashed into a building, rubble and debris flying from the impact, and Brain cursed quietly and ran through the cloud of dust.
(Yellow eyes flickered in the shadows; if Brain looked close, he thought he could see something dripping down the sides of the buildings.)
Brain's feet lifted off the ground, and he had a moment to curse himself. (A Zero Gravity spell. Stupid, stupid, he should've known better, he could fight better than this.)
"Please." Sigurd's voice echoed, the origin indistinguishable. "I understand you're angry, but this isn't going to help."
(Hiding things from me didn't help, either.)
A sweep of his Keyblade. A spell flicking from the tip of his blade, fire arcing in a wide wave in front of him. A fleeing figure, briefly highlighted by the flash of flames. Brain moved to follow, throwing a glowing chain into the nearest building and using it to launch himself at his opponent. The Zero Gravity spell faded in time for Brain to hit Sigurd's back, sending him sprawling against the ground with a solid thud! Sigurd twisted, managing to scramble away from Brain's downward strike. He'd barely made it to his feet before he was parrying blow after frantic blow, backing away and on the defensive.
(It felt, almost, like something was watching them, creeping along the streets, trailing behind them with glowing eyes. Doesn't this feel better? something whispered. Doesn't someone deserve it—to understand what this feels like?)
(Aren't you the one who deserves it?)
Brain's ears rang. It felt like something deep inside his chest had cracked open, and everything was spilling over the edges.
"Brain—" Clang! "Master Brain, please—"
"That title means a whole lot, doesn't it?" His strikes finally broke through, cracking against Sigurd's ribs. "I'm not really a Master, you know." Crack-clang! Another strike, and then a parry, caught desperately on a shaking Keyblade's teeth. "None of us were. Tell me, have you seen what a real Master can do?"
(Something crept over his shoulders, clinging tightly around his chest. Make him understand. Make him hurt.)
(Do you think you'd get what you deserved then?)
"I—of course I have. There are other Masters—"
"And I bet there isn't a single one of them who lives up to the Foretellers, is there?" Brain grinned, all sharp edges. "But you probably don't even know who they are."
Sigurd's Keyblade flicked. Another spell—a Stop spell, maybe, from the faint haze. It forced Brain back, ducking behind one of the buildings and swinging around. Heartless skittered out of the way, claws scratching frantically against the cobblestones.
Sigurd whipped around, shaking as he caught the edge of Brain's Keyblade on his own.
Brain was never the strongest of them—Lauriam and Skuld and Ephemer were all stronger—but that didn't feel like it mattered right now, his Keyblade pressing down, down, down on a shaking and unwilling opponent. He twisted his Keyblade, teeth catching the underside of Sigurd's, and wrenched it free; it clattered against the ground, and before Sigurd could call it back he stepped in to strike again, weapon cracking painfully against Sigurd's arm. Sigurd dropped into a roll, summoning his Keyblade in nearly the same instant, sweeping it upwards to protect himself from another strike.
Sigurd's Keyblade swept across the ground, but Brain knew this spell—a Mine spell, a barrier and not an actual attempt to harm, and Brain leapt over it, crashing into an actual barrier half a moment later. He kicked off it, trying to spin around behind and getting a solid strike at Sigurd's knee. The man cried out in pain, leg crumpling; it didn't stop him from sweeping around to protect himself, Keyblade lifted in a desperate, back-handed parry.
"So maybe you were right—maybe you shouldn't have told me about Darkness. It's not like we could do anything about it last time, right?"
Sigurd made a noise that sounded half like a growl, the green of a Cure spell haloing his knee. It gave him the strength he needed to support himself again, and then he was back on his feet, taking a few, almost unwilling steps forward, Keyblade sliding into a lunge.
Brain's weapon twisted around it, neatly forcing it away, the tip resting just short of Sigurd's chest. "But that's right—you want to treat us like heroes too, don't you?" He tugged his Keyblade sideways, sending Sigurd skittering aside. "Are we children or aren't we, Sigurd?"
Sigurd finally, finally seemed fed up with being on the receiving end of the attack, because he charged back with a furious roar, making two quick strikes that almost knocked Brain back into the mines. "If you want to stop being treated like a child, then stop acting like one! I said I would talk; it's just too dangerous to stay here."
"So what—we can go back to the Main Island and you can keep hiding secrets from me?"
"I told you—I can't talk about it!"
"Well, I'm already involved, aren't I? Pretty sure I'm going to be involved as long as I'm here. But I suppose it's a great excuse, if you don't want to face the consequences of your actions." He ducked, swinging his Keyblade towards Sigurd's side, a burst of ice coming from the side and forcing his opponent back. "So I think I'll try to get answers my way, thanks."
"You—! Did you ever think that maybe your way isn't always the best way?" Sigurd swept his Keyblade around scattering a wide arc of ice. Brain threw up a barrier, and for a moment, he was blinded, light reflecting off the ice shards.
Something crashed through the ice and nearly cracked his barrier—something that almost looked like an arrow of light, so bright and blinding that Brain couldn't see what he was doing. Before he could recover pain cracked across his side; Brain's breath hissed through his teeth, and he swept his Keyblade in an arc around him, magic trailing from the edges. He didn't have time to think; Sigurd was fighting in earnest now, and he would respond in kind, blinking sunspots out of his eyes and parrying first one strike, then another.
"You really don't get this, do you?" Sigurd's vague panic had started to shift towards something angrier. "I want to help you, but you won't listen. You haven't been listening. You take off by yourself and do what you believe is right because—because that's what you've always done, isn't it? You try to take things on yourself instead of working with others because you think you know better."
The words stung, and Brain stumbled underneath them, another strike sending him to his knees. One arm went up to block, and he hissed quietly as Sigurd's Keyblade crashed against it.
"And then, when things don't go the way you want them to, you lash out at people like—like a child!" Sigurd fell silent, and in that silence, it felt like there was a realization he was coming to that Brain wouldn't like. "Like…a child," he repeated, some of the anger draining away into something fractured. "You…are a child."
The words broke ragged against his ribs. In that brief moment of distraction, Brain surged upwards, Keyblade cracking hard against Sigurd's chest. Starlight twisted, and a burst of light flared from the tip, solid enough to crash solidly against Sigurd's chest and send him flying across the street. He hit a building with a crash, dust and debris scattering; Brain didn't even flinch as debris cut against his skin, shooting after his opponent.
(Couldn't save your friends. Can't even get answers out of Frigga's spy. My, how the mighty have fallen.)
Sigurd coughed, Keyblade jamming into the ground and forcing him up. "Brain—"
"You are aware of what Darkness did to Daybreak Town, right?" Clang! His Keyblade rattled against Sigurd's, a slow, deliberate motion, meant more to scare than cause harm. "You don't think that matters?"
(You need to know what's going on, don't you? Go ahead.)
"That's not it—"
"Well, then I'd be happy to hear about why you think I shouldn't—"
"It's being taken care of!"
Brain froze.
Sigurd's whole body shook. He sucked in an unsteady breath, and then another one, then coughed, holding his chest, Keyblade dissappearing. Brain half-wondered if he had a broken rib, and something vaguely disconcerted started to break through his anger. "It's being t-taken care of," Sigurd repeated. "We have a plan. We-we just—we've got to figure out some details."
Brain stared at him. Blood and dirt stained his clothes; in the gaps in the fabric, Brain thought he could see something like a burn. He was holding his chest, breathing shuddering and rattling like his bones were shaking. His free hand patted the ground, looking like he was trying to steady himself a little more. And he wasn't the only one injured; Brain was still standing, but he was swaying lightly on his feet, magic too drained for even a basic Cure spell. Bruises ached along his stomach and chest; a shallow wound dribbled blood over his eye and tainted part of the world red. His left wrist was starting to swell, pulsing and hot.
The anger drained out of him slowly, leeching through his feet and into the cobblestones below him. "Why," he said, "didn't you just tell me that?"
Sigurd didn't answer; he lowered his head, like he was ashamed.
"Better yet—why not tell me what the plan is? Did you think I wouldn't help if the world was in danger?" He laughed, shaky and bitter and broken. "But I guess I haven't exactly had the best track record. Can't trust the person who failed the first time, right?"
"Master Brain—" Sigurd broke off; Brain wasn't sure if he was catching his breath or looking for the words to say. "Master Frigga…didn't want to tell you. The stranger didn't want to tell you. And I…agreed because…I thought it would be better."
"How is this better?" He gestured broadly, and he wasn't sure if he meant the abandoned town or the destruction from their fight.
"…You…the stories didn't really…you were always heroes." Sigurd shifted, sitting finally with a pained grunt. "But then you came here and you…you were just a person. Stubborn. Frustrating, sometimes. But also…grieving. You spent…so much time in the Clock Tower—"
"I know." The words came too sharp, too quick, but he didn't try and take them back.
"I didn't think it was fair to—" Sigurd broke off. "You were just a child. No," he cut Brain off before he could protest, "I know, I know, but—it wasn't fair, and I thought…maybe we could spare you from dealing with it again." He looked like he tried to shrug, but the motion caught halfway. "I don't know…why Frigga didn't want to tell you, entirely."
Brain thought he could taste ash; he wasn't sure if that was remains from the fight, or his imagination. "It's a little late," he said, too quiet for the bite the words had, "to be treating me like a child."
Sigurd didn't seem like he had a response to that. Then again, maybe he just didn't have the breath for it.
Starlight disappeared. Brain staggered a little when he moved, the world swaying and cloudy. He blinked rapidly and tried to regain his bearings, and only when he was steady again did he stoop to try to help Sigurd.
"What—what are you doing?"
The extra weight pulled on his aching muscles and stung his bruises. Brain ignored it, trying to disguise his swaying as adjusting Sigurd's position. "You don't look like you're getting anywhere on your own."
Sigurd didn't say anything to that; he just released a bone-weary sigh, his whole body slumping with the sound. Slowly, carefully, they made their way back to the boat.
(It was only later, as they were heading back to the main island, that Brain wondered how Sigurd had gotten over here.)
Summary of the latter portion of the chapter: Brain is taunted about his failings by a disembodied voice. He lashes out and ends up accidentally catching Sigurd in a spell; angry, he confronts Sigurd about the potential that Darkness is still here. Sigurd says that someone who sounded like he knew Brain made him promise not to involve him, then breaks out of the spell. The two fight; it eventually ends when Sigurd admits that "[the problem's] being taken care of."
ALRIGHT, we finally got this one out. This took a little while both because of its length relative to most of the chapters and because of me going back and forth on how certain scenes should play out. Fun fact: there was actually supposed to be an extended scene with those little dandelion-like Heartless, but it felt like it undercut the tension too much. So. The stuff with them's been moved to a future chapter.
Anyway, it's finally BRAIN'S turn to have a bit of a breakdown. This has basically been building since he first got to Scala, and Sigurd was the one who had the misfortune of being on the receiving end. Probably not entirely unjustified, all things considered.
(Also, the next chapter will probably ALSO be about two weeks-ish from this? I've kind of been saying that this chapter and the next are having a "conversation" with each other; both are digging into their respective characters' heads a lot, and the plot stuff kind of…echoes between them. So, uh. What I'm saying is next chapter is going to be pretty long, haha.)
