The years went by. In those years, Sarai buried a husband, remarried royalty, and gave birth again for what she swore was the last time. Ever.
Harrow didn't argue. "You've already blessed me with more than I could have hoped," he told her, his words lavished in genuine sincerity, his emerald eyes brimming with love. Love not just for Sarai and Ezran, but for Callum and Mira too. Though he still struggled with being their stepfather, Sarai knew he loved her children every bit as much as she did; she wouldn't have married him otherwise. She knew in Harrow's heart, he didn't have one child, but three.
Callum had trouble adjusting to his new status as a prince, but he thrived in his role as big brother. He often peeked into Ezran's crib and made funny faces at him, he held Mira's hand in his as he taught her how to hold a pencil and scribble in his sketchbook. Lately he was sharing his bed with her as well, his way of helping his sister deal with her recent night terrors.
At two, Mira proved to be different from five year old Callum and months-old Ezran. She slept most of her days away, and when she was awake she merely stared at those around her with a heavy-lidded blank expression. She didn't talk, she didn't cry. Sarai hated herself for thinking it, but it was as if her daughter was less of a child and more of a phantom.
In a way, it was almost a relief when her plight with nightmares began and Mira started to show real emotion, though Sarai desperately wished they were of joy and not of fear and sorrow. No one knew what was causing the nightmares. Mira obviously couldn't tell them anything.
The most they got out of her was one night after a particularly bad nightmare, where try as they might nothing was able to soothe her. "Gone, gone, gone!" Mira screamed, flailing in her mother's hold, an endless torrent of tears streaming down her fevered cheeks.
Her anguished shrieks pierced Sarai's heart as keenly as any spear. Her words echoed in her head. 'Gone'? What was gone?
One of the castle healers suggested Mira's nightmares were a delayed grief from her father's death, but something in Sarai insisted that wasn't it. Callum was old enough to have some memories of their father, but Mira was an infant when he died; for all intents and purposes, there wasn't anything for her to grieve. Yet Sarai couldn't deny her daughter's cries were reminiscent of those in the throes of loss.
She didn't understand. It killed her to be unable to do anything to relieve her pain.
One afternoon in the castle courtyard she, perched on a bench and holding little Ezran, watched Callum try to engage Mira in a game of tag. He was always trying to get her to join him in his games, for all the interest she showed in them. It was one of her better days. She was toddling after her brother across the yard without being told. There were times Sarai thought she might even have smiled.
Then, she stopped in her tracks. Her entire body spasmed. Her eyes rolled backwards, and she collapsed to the ground with a thud.
"Mira!" Callum shouted in alarm. Sarai was on her feet in seconds. She passed Ezran over to one of the guards on duty, rushed across the open space, bent down to her knees, and scooped Mira into her arms.
Her chest heaved with sharp, rapid breaths. Her eyes were wider, more alert than Sarai had ever seen them. They darted left and right, up and down, over and over again.
"What happened?" Callum asked fretfully. "Mom? Is Mira okay?"
Sarai didn't answer him. Instead, she gave her a soft shake. "Mira," she said. "Mira!"
Mira's gaze landed on her. Her breaths slowed. She swallowed. "Mama?" She said.
Sarai's lips parted, and her eyebrows leapt. Mira never called her 'mama' before. "Are you okay?" She asked. She grabbed her by the chin and moved her head about in search of any bumps and bruises.
Mira removed herself from her mother's grasp. "What happen? Where-where am I?"
"We're in the courtyard," Callum piped up from beside Sarai. She felt his shaky fingers against her elbow. "Remember, we were playing tag."
"Tag? I don't…" Mira scrunched her eyebrows. "Callum?"
Callum jolted. "You said my name! Mom, Mira said my name!"
"Mira," his sister repeated. "That's…me. That's me?" She sounded like she was trying to convince herself. Before Sarai could respond, she continued, "It was dark. I remember stars. Voices. Someone calling me. But no one was left. Gone. How…"
Gone.
"What's gone?" Sarai asked sharply. In the span of five minutes her daughter had spoken more than she had in the past year. Questions whirled within her mind, and Sarai knew she needed to take advantage of Mira's newfound awareness and finally find out what was wrong. "Mira, what's gone?"
She looked up at her. "Everything," she whispered.
"She's in perfect health," the royal physician concluded after observing Mira in his quarters. Sarai and Harrow stood by her side at the examination table, expressions painted in worry. Mira, for her part, seemed lost in her own little world, idly swinging her legs back and forth and peering around the medical wing with great interest. "No concussion, no bruises, not even a scrape on the knee."
"Are you sure?" Sarai asked. "She was saying such strange things."
Upon her mother's words, Mira ducked her head and hunched her shoulders.
"Young children say all sorts of things," the doctor assured her. "My own daughter babbles on about blue cookie monsters and talking dogs all the time. It isn't unusual for children of Princess Mira's age."
Harrow stroked his chin. "She seems-livelier than usual." He glanced at his stepdaughter.
Sensing his focus turned on her, Mira redirected her gaze to him. She stared at him with furrowed eyebrows. "You're Harrow," She said at last, with an air of great realization. "Ezran's daddy."
Harrow shot Sarai a startled look, to which she shook her head in bewilderment. "That's right," he said slowly. "You…do you know who Ezran is?"
Mira nodded. "He's Mama's baby," she said matter of factly.
"Ezran is your brother, love," Sarai told her.
She tilted her head. "I know," she said, surprised.
Off to the side, the physician jotted down his notes on his clipboard. He bit his lip in consideration. "I understand your concern. Honestly, I would say it were like the princess had experienced years' worth of mental development in a day."
"And that doesn't bother you?" Sarai demanded.
The doctor shrugged. "Every child is different, Your Majesties. They grow, learn at their own pace. I heard of a case once about a child who didn't speak for the first three years of their life. Then one day she was spouting full sentences as if she'd been talking for years."
"So, she's okay?" Harrow pressed. "You're positive there's nothing to be concerned about."
"I wouldn't," he reassured his king. Fiddling with his glasses, he asked, "Is there anything else I can do to help, my liege?"
"No, that will be all. Thank you."
The doctor bowed, and the royal parents and daughter left the infirmary, their minds heavy with thought.
That night. Naminé lay with her head resting on a plethora of cushy pillows and wrapped in the softest blankets. Her tiny hands twisted the craggy ears of a dragon plushie given to her by a black-haired woman she somehow instinctively recognized as mama.
She stared up at the ceiling, biting on her lower lip.
The Keyblade War had wiped out all life from the World. Naminé knew this to be true.
However, here she was in a world both foreign and as familiar to her as the depths of Castle Oblivion. This world and the life thriving in it shouldn't have existed, but here it was all the same.
Fitting, for someone like her.
From what Naminé garnered/remembered, she was a two year old girl named Mira living in a place called Katolis. She resided in a large castle, ripped straight out of fairytales and as different from Castle Oblivion as could be. This castle teemed with life and color, bustling with the movement of people not trying to break her down and use her for their own dark purposes. The residents of the castle treated her not as a tool but as a precious figurine placed on a golden pedestal. They cooed at her, dressed her, fed her. The minute anyone thought she wanted something, they hurried to get it for her.
This treatment baffled her, but it made sense when it dawned on her just what her standing within this castle's hierarchy was.
Naminé, the Nobody of a Princess of Heart, was now an actual princess. Daughter to King Harrow and Queen Sarai of the kingdom Katolis, older sister to Prince Ezran and younger sister of Prince Callum. Royalty.
A family.
"Mira?" A timid voice emerged in the dark.
Naminé didn't answer.
Pitter patter of light feet replaced the silence of the night. Her bed jostled, then dipped down at her feet under the weight of a small silhouette on folded knees.
"Mira," Callum whispered again. "Are you up?"
She debated staying silent, but she felt the waves of apprehension coming off of him. The idea of leaving a small boy in such distress, especially this boy, her brother, made her stomach churn. "Yeah," she murmured. "I'm awake."
He fidgeted. "Are you-okay?" He asked.
Naminé sat up. Narrowed her eyes against the darkness to try and better see him. "I'm fine," she said. "Just…" She struggled for the right word. "Confused," she settled on.
He frowned. "What are you confused about?"
Everything, she didn't say. "What about you?" She asked instead. "Today must have been scary for you."
"I wasn't scared," Callum denied immediately. "Worried, I guess. Mom and Harrow said there was nothing to worry about, but…"
"But…?"
He didn't respond. He wrenched his hands together.
"Callum?" Naminé prompted.
"But you fell down!" Callum blurted out frantically. "And I thought-but Mom says nothing's wrong, and you're talking, you said my name, and it's like," His ramblings died down. "You just seem different," he said finally.
Naminé wrapped her arms around her knees. "I'm sorry," she muttered sorrowfully. "I don't mean to worry you, or Mama and Harrow. I just…"
She trailed off. "I hope it's okay, that I'm different now," was all she could say.
Before Callum could reply, if he was even going to, the door to their room opened, and light spilled inside as their mother came inside.
"I see two little ones awake," Sarai admonished, though she was smiling softly.
"We were just talking," Callum said in defense of both him and Naminé, and Sarai huffed amusedly before her smile faded and she regarded Naminé with resignation.
"Another nightmare?" She said, like she already knew the answer and was only asking out of routine.
Naminé shook her head. "No, Mama," she said. She didn't add that she hadn't gone to sleep yet and therefore hadn't the chance to have a nightmare.
"Oh," Sarai said, surprised. "That's good."
She stood in the center of their room awkwardly. She was disconcerted, that much was clear to Naminé. It was apparently obvious to Callum as well; he squirmed on his place atop Naminé's bed. Seeing this, Sarai steeled herself, and bestowed upon her children another gentle smile.
"I just wanted to check in on you two," she said. "But if everything's alright…"
She bent down and nudged Callum's shoulders. Heeding his mother, he clambered off his sister's bed and walked across the room back to his own. Sarai followed, tucking him in and planting a kiss on his brow.
"Goodnight, Callum," she said so softly Naminé strained to hear her. "I love you."
"Love you too, Mom," Callum said. His eyes trailed after his mother's as she returned to Naminé's side and tucked her back in as well.
She cupped Naminé's chin with her hand, sliding a thumb across her cheek. "Goodnight, Mira," she whispered. "Sweet dreams."
Naminé reached her hand up and grabbed her mother by the wrist. The sheer love she saw in Sarai's eyes brought tears to her own. Without thinking, she said, in a trembling breath, "Good night, Mama. I-I love you."
Her mother heaved out a shaky, shocked breath of her own. She swallowed. "I love you too, my sweet girl," she said, and Naminé knew in her heart it was the truth.