Kingdom Hearts 1. Chapter 1

_There are many worlds,_

_but they share the same sky—_

_one sky, one destiny._

**CHAPTER I**

Once upon a time, during the middle-distant time when legend and history starts to blur into one, there was a tropical paradise amidst a sparkling ocean, at the point where the sky met the sea. The people who lived upon it, all of whom knew just how fortunate they were to live in that part of the world, had built a small but thriving community that emphasized the natural beauty of the island, while still enjoying many of the comforts of civilization. It was a small, warm, friendly place, and would likely remain to be as long as the earth rolled.

But the island of Valmorgen, one of a dozen in the archipelago off the western coast of Ardania that extends far into the Sundering Seas does not concern us all that much, although if you have heard only the barest fraction of what I have heard about that land, and I would be the first to admit that I have only heard the merest taste of all that there is to hear about that extraordinary place, you would already be prepared for any sort of remarkable tale. For that was the way of things, tales and adventures are always swept in with the waves all over those islands, and once they begin nobody can guess where they might be swept up in, or what they might become part of.

The story that we will concern ourselves with is already _media res_, well in progress, and concerns a young man who, through overcoming great trials and adversity, at last achieved his hearts desire, where it led him, and what became of him afterwards. And while that is not, as stories go, entirely unique or original, such concepts are over-rated anyway and there was much about this young man and what happened to him that was unusual, even if he himself never learned the whole extent of what exactly occurred. Indeed, I believe this manuscript here is the first to entirely catalogue the events in full, for none have ever had the perspective I now give it. The story we need concern ourselves with is an ancient one, for stories are not necessarily linear, and events long distant find their way back to haunt us with alarming regularity. It concerns a wider conflict then the wishes of any single individual, already simplifying itself as the final confrontation took on wider and deeper complications than any yet understood.

And all of this centres around this one boy, Sora, his two closest friends. He was not an overly-complicated individual, in action or in thought. For all of his early years, he had wanted nothing more than the friendship of those closest to him, and the means to explore new horizons, to see the sights and dreams he imagined were beyond the little world he lived in. Which, in a round-about way, is more or less what did happen to him. But there were complications along the way, as there so often are, and the story he found himself a part of was nothing like he could ever have imagined.

His story had begun where we now find him, almost two years before this point. And over its course, it had indeed taken him to places past imagination, beyond the edge of the multiverse to worlds too terrible and wonderful to contemplate, all for the sake of those closest to him. And at last it had taken him home, though only for a while, because even then his journey was far from done. But I confuse matters, for that is the travails of a boy, which has come to an end, and what follows is the story of a man.

Where we begin, to the two boys were looking out over the great, shining sea from their perch, a tropical tree bent just in the right way for a person to rest on its trunk, beneath the branches where fruits shaped like stars dangled from the tree's leafy heights. Sora, who we have already been introduced to (though not in person), sat on the bent trunk, his dangling legs swinging in the air, while his friend (Riku) stood beside him, leaning his weight against the tree. The two had been friends and companions longer then either could remember, and their respective ordeals had strengthened their bond, to the point that they were closer than many blood kin. The two shared everything, even dreams. Legends have been written about less than the ties that bound the two of them, and though they had been tested, it had only strengthened their friendship. Once, it had been their fondest desire to escape this tiny place, and visit the rest of the world. Now, for the moment at least, there was nowhere they would rather be then here at home. Their time here wouldn't last, rest never did, and it was a matter of time before they were drawn back into the rest of the multiverse, but for now there was peace.

The two were as different as night and day. Sora was young, just on the cusp of becoming a young man, a vagrant gleam in his clear, cerulean blue eyes, his nut-brown hair a touch too long, that has arranged itself into a mess of spikes that sneered disdainfully at any attempts to tame them, and swept back from a clear brow. He had an easy and honest smile, at once open and artless, that illuminated his face from within, and had a wiry strength his build that was easy to overlook. One couldn't help but note a strange, indefinable nobility in his bearing tempered with an unconscious grace that seemed out of place on a boy so young. He was wearing loose bright and colourful clothing of a distinctive fabric and cut, mostly black, all held tight in place by a series of belts and clips so that it didn't snap or flap when he moved. It had been a gift, and it never sagged, stretched or suffered any damage whatsoever, not so much as a stain. A silver crown pendant hangs from a chain around his neck, that he had been given when he was very young, in circumstances that were a blur, though seemed important whenever he thought about them.

They were strange shoulders for so many burdens to lie upon, for so many fates to depend, to bear so much hope, but to his credit be bore the hopes and dreams easily and well. He was too young to work, and owned nothing save what he had been given, but appearances that so often deceive and mislead here reflect a truth so simple most never grasp it. Sora was everything he appeared to be, gentle, open and honest, even pure. His dreams were untroubled, his conscience unburdened, and his nature generous and forgiving. He was unfailingly loyal, quick to offer aid, and inspired these qualities in others. Those who do not posses these traits in any abundance are quick to deride them, and often foolish enough overlook them. But in Sora's gentle soul and better nature was a strength that would think nothing of uprooting mountains or fording oceans when called on to do it.

Riku, who we are just meeting, was a little more heavy-set then Sora, a little taller and a little less comfortable with his body, as much due to being older and larger as anything. He had a shoulder length, square-cut mane of hair that, through a quirk of genetics, was naturally a steely lilac-silver and stuck out just about everywhere, and electric green eyes that were almost neon in colour. He was well built for a seventeen-year-old, his shoulders broad, and his body was lean with plenty of definition on his upper arms. He wore a black sleeveless shirt and pale white and yellow jacket, positively practical when compared to Sora's eclectic choice of clothes, though as in the case of Sora, appearances could be deceiving.

Riku never seemed entirely at ease. He was always on the balls of his feet, never on his heels, and every turn ended in alignment and balance. His upper body was loose and nimble, his centre of balance always low, his movements deft and controlled. Either he was at rest, in which case he was still, or he was in motion, where he was smooth and balanced and coiled. He was at once more forceful and more withdrawn then his friend, more demonstrative and more subdued, more there and less alive. He had an air of slightly brooding melancholy and sadness, though now he was at peace. His burdens were different, but by no means less than those of his friend, as were his ways of dealing with them. His smile was more cautious and reserved, his manner more subdued and introspective. There was darkness in this one, as there was darkness in everyone, but he had been confronted with his dark side, seen it for what it was, and the experience had changed him. He wouldn't fight his darker nature, but he wouldn't let it have any power over him either.

The two had sat there for the better of half an hour, watching as the blazing orange sun set slowly, painting the sky in a glorious array of warm colours, which in turn bathed the ocean in a spectacular glow. At their backs was a small plateau rising from the water, just a little back from the shore of a small island that was covered in structures their parents had built for them, sheds and walkways, even a treehouse, and caves that had been carved over time by the ocean, connected to a cliffside ledge of said island by a wide wooden bridge. The Seashore stretched along the island, a yellow sandy beach broken only by exotic trees and shrubbery. As I'm sure you can imagine, for a child of the right age this was very close to paradise if not actually heaven, at least if said child had anything like an imagination. The place was as familiar as their own homes, for the process of growing up had taken place here as much as anywhere else.

The two of them were enjoying the comfortable, companionable silence, that only the best of friends can be comfortable with, when at once, as much to his own surprise as Riku's, One moment he was watching the sky, the next minute he was on his feet, as though propelled. He couldn't have explained have the strange feeling welling inside him had he wanted to, yet somehow felt swept up by it. The feeling didn't settle on any single one thought or emotion, but bounced over everything like a stone skimming across a lake, all but forcing him to his feet, and down to the water's edge, where he stared up at the horizon again. He'd had some manner of premonition, some insight or intuition that he couldn't articulate, even to himself. But he felt as though he was waiting for something to happen,

Riku slid to his feet and stepped after his friend. He followed Sora's gaze out to the horizon, all the way over the sparkling ocean to the fiery sunset that had bathed the entire island in an orange glow and dyed the ocean red. He'd been here before, staring out at the wide blue yonder, dreaming of what lay beyond. For as long as he could remember he'd come here to imagine. He had an idea now, though it was a taste that had only whetted his appetite. There were more stars in the sky then anyone could count, and every single one a world.

"So what are you thinking about?" he asked the younger boy when Sora showed no signs of enlightening him unprompted. The two were comfortable with each other, but not quite as demonstrative and open as they'd been when they were younger, a lifetime ago.

"Absent friends," Sora replied, and then he grinned, a little self-conciously. "I've got so many of them, scattered across the stars, and in every one I left a part of myself in their heart, just as they did in mine. And now I can't help wondering what they are thinking about, looking up at different stars. I know I'll see them again, but..." he shook his head, but he was still grinning. "Heh. Look at that. I'm not even sixteen yet and I'm already telling war stories."

Riku raised his eyebrows. "Well if that's the way it is, I'm betting I have stories that could top anything you can tell, if I wanted to," he replied. "You don't know what I got up to while you were sleeping."

Sora chuckled. "Not on your best day. So what were you thinking about?"

Riku laughed as well. "I was wondering how we were supposed to get to other worlds on a raft," he said at last, with total honesty. "We weren't trying to cross the sea, we were never interested in the next island, or anything on the maps at school. It was always passing the horizon to somewhere entirely new, where nobody else had ever seen. We wanted to discover something new." He shook his head. "We had no idea at all what we were doing."

Sora shrugged. "We were kids," he replied, as though that explained everything. The battles that had calloused his hands and toned his muscles hadn't hardened his soft heart. "But the raft was just to get us started, only begin the journey. We would have traded up sooner or later."

"Think so?"

"Well, we'll never know now. Hey, what happened to that raft?"

"Huh? Oh we... why?" Riku stuttered, glancing about the island and shrugging. He honestly had no idea, he was thinking about bigger things that night.

"I put some hard work into that raft, that's why," Sora replied. "You might have drawn up the plans, but Kairi and me built it, and I'd hate to think something had happened to it after all that hard work."

"As I remember, your job was to run and fetch things," came a new voice, and they both turned to see Kairi making her way up the spot.

Kairi was Sora's age, a slim, softly curved girl with short, glossy red hair of dark satin, that framed a charming face that showed signs of already being well on its way to becoming a full, adult beauty. Her eyes were her finest feature, big and wide, as deep and green as the sea, with an irresistible mischievous sparkle in them. She wore a strapless, pink sheath dress, with three zippers running down the front. The fastener was zipped down a fifth of the way, to make space for her burgeoning bust line; though her modesty was preserved by the white tank top she wore underneath. She giggled, tucking a loose tuft of her short crimson hair behind her ear, and then stared straight at the two of them, still grinning as though she knew that one of them had done something wrong.

"Right. Quartermaster," Sora replied, having spent enough time around boats (and even, at one memorable point, sailed under a self-confessed pirate on the fastest ship in the Caribbean) to have a pretty good idea of what the ranks and stations were, if not how to actually do the jobs.

Kairi was in many ways the catalyst of their adventures, and had drawn them both into their own personal journeys across the stars. First when she had lost her heart, then when she had been kidnapped, she had been the force that drove them on and inspired them to greater heights. Kairi was a Princess of Heart, one of the maidens with hearts completely devoid of any darkness.

The term here, darkness, is one everyone is familiar and experienced with, however it is easy to misinterpret. The darkness is not the dark, and the two should not be confused. The dark is what happens when you switch off a light bulb, not the opposite of light but the absence of light (and in many ways more terrible then either extreme). Darkness – true darkness – is the antithesis of light, the true opposite. The two cannot exist without each other, indeed they define each other, and too much of either can destroy an individual. But the princesses were a naturally occurring anomaly; the exceptions that proved the rule, as the only begins who existed whose hearts are born naturally free of darkness.

Kairi had grown up on Destiny Islands, though she came from another world entirely, and had been close friends with the two almost since arriving. What she meant to both of them was hard to articulate exactly, but both of them adored her.

The three of them had been home for a few days by this point, and were yet to really adjust to life as usual. They probably never would, try as they might. They'd changed too much, and now the world was going to have to adapt to them, rather than the other way around. The three of them were having to readjust to what they had once taken for granted, having to try and fit themselves back into old routines that no longer entirely fitted, which was a lot harder than anticipated. If they hadn't had each other to share the experience with, it's likely that the process would have been beyond them.

Sora had it easy, his mother didn't so much as flinch at his absence, almost as though she had expected it, or something like it, though she'd never heard of a Keyblade or Heartless. She had simply pulled him close the day she opened the door to find him standing there, sobbing with relief as she clutched him, then sat him down at the table. She hadn't wanted an explanation, an accounting or anything else, she had just been glad to see him again, and that's all she wanted. It was a fatalistic acceptance perhaps, one that sensed she'd lose him again soon, and he sensed that he was seeing only a fraction of the story behind it all, but something kept him from asking for an explanation, just as she'd been happy not to ask for his story. Susan was a practical woman, and she realized that some things were beyond her control and ability to influence. Hoping for what could never be did nobody any good, so that was that.

And largely, that was that, and if they both noticed their relationship was changed, her no longer the protector, him no longer a child by any measure worth considering, then they did their best not to dwell overlong on them, focusing instead on the better things. If only everything were that easy. He'd been asleep for an entire year, he'd taken part in a war that stretched across the cosmos, and he'd grown in ways he found it difficult to express, that put typical puberty to shame. Suddenly the islands felt delicate, like if he stretched he might destroy them all, and small and stifling. He loved his home, but he wondered if he could remain there.

Sora's mother Susan was by nature quiet and gentle, who expressed herself more through her eyes and the tone of her skin than she did with words. She was tall and broad-shouldered for a woman, and her skin was pale with a sheen to it, which made her look warm and precious as a sylph or spirit of nature. Her hair hung down to the small of her back when braided, and quite a bit longer unbound, still golden and hiding any strands of silver that might have shown fairly well. She had eyes, a paler blue than her son's, which were as soft and gentle as the rest of her. She was young, not far into her thirties despite the silver, and had bore him very young indeed, though she never spoke about it, or where she had come from (for it certainly wasn't the islands, that much he had worked out).

She bred horses for a living, and broke them as well, which seemed incongruous, given the size and shape of the island and the size and shape of Susan, not to mention her gentle nature, but in a world where the internal combustion engine is seen as a noisy, smelly abomination that had its place, provided that it was kept well out of the way where nobody would have to look at it, magic was much too rare and valuable to be wasted on trifles and alternative means like clockwork hadn't really come into their own, the horse was still the favoured means of transport, anachronistic as it seemed, and in the small islands of the archipelago where Sora had grown up, they likely always would be. She owned a field big enough for them all to run and graze, and four score horses of various breed, which she cared for with a firm hand. Sora had no head for it himself, he could ride and care for them as far as chores went, but that was about the extent of his abilities when it came to horses.

Kairi's homecoming had been less dramatic, because she had an advantage that the others did not; she had already spent her time missing, returned, and given what explanations she could. It had been lacking, due to her amnesia that the realm of darkness had caused, but for the most part the rest of the islanders were in the same boat she was, given the toll the realm of darkness exacts on those it swallows, so she'd barely been noted at all. In comparison to that, getting lost for a week was hardly even remarked on. Her foster-parents (though she never thought of them in those terms, her adoption had been happy and welcome) were strict in certain-ways, they had firm ideas of what was proper behaviour for a lady and how one should act, but as if to balance this they were both incredibly lenient in others, and as long as she conformed to their expectations of behaviour and didn't get into any trouble that required their intervention she was free to roam as she wanted, which suited her just fine. She'd been as independent as possible since she could walk three steps without falling on her face.

Kairi's foster-father Cole was the mayor of the island, the closest thing to authority any of them had seen, and he was good at it. Cole was large, portly, expansive and respectable, with a waxed and curled white moustache, a pair of spectacles on a black ribbon, and an entire wardrobe full of white double-breasted suits with brass buttons. He was very well-liked, honest, and the consummate man of the people, a fine organizer and an expert in resolving what issues arose with a shrewdness and cunning that was disarming, often letting him find solutions in such a way that both sides felt they had been fairly treated. He was good at flattering those that needed flattery, finding the right argument for those who were hard to convince, and otherwise ensuring as few hiccups as possible in his running of things, most of which he tried to minimize and let people get on with things. Life was good, why rock the boat?

Her foster-mother was his perfect foil, taller than he was, slim, and practical, firmly in the moment and softly spoken, always busying herself with one task or another. The two had been happily married for a decade, but had been childless until one day a small red-haired girl had been found wandering on their doorstep. They had raised her as best they could, treating her exactly as they would their flesh and blood, but for the most part he encouraged Kairi to go her own way, and if this meant he spent a lot of time unable to account for her, then that was for the best.

When Kairi had returned, they'd both greeted her like she'd just walked out the door. She was in good health, she hadn't gotten into any trouble, or done anything dangerous (far as they could tell), and they'd raised her to be responsible. They trusted her judgment, and if she was all right then what was there to be concerned about?

Riku had it worst. He did not have a good relationship with his parents like the others did. They didn't respect him as an individual with his own dreams and goals, and what they wanted for him was nothing like what he wanted for himself. Neither of them were what you'd call emotionally absent, because they always made time for him when they judged it important, and they did pay attention, but, it seemed to him, only to find new ways to criticize.

Riku's father was a tall, severe, puritanical figure who was gaunt as a skeleton and ground his teeth so that, on quiet nights, the sound filled the house. He wore black, his pallid face lined with a kind of cheerless romance, and believed in hard work, constant labor, and never talking about feelings or emotions, and his mother was much the same, if a touch less passionately. Neither had any time for his somewhat whimsical nature and dreams. Indeed, Riku felt he got his hair from his mother, his seriousness from his father, and nothing else from either.

Riku had always wanted to travel, but given that the wanderlust in his line had caused the family no end of trouble, not least when his grand-uncle had expressed similar sentiments and vanished without warning or explanation, never to be heard from again, his parents weren't too keen on seeing him go the same way. No, they wanted him to do well in school, find a niche, get married young and build himself a house. And Riku had never had any time for their expectations. He had his own idea about what to do with his life, and it didn't mesh with theirs at all. And so they tried to force him to conform to what they felt was best, which only made him dig his heels in and resist more, and by that time any hope of salvaging their relationship was long distant. Both sides were too proud to give any ground, because of this they had more or less ended any closeness they ever did have, and so that was the end of it. Indeed, if not for his friends, he probably wouldn't have ever bothered to come home at all. There was nothing else for him there.

Indeed, since Riku had gotten back, he'd been effectively under house arrest, under constant supervision and locked in his room whenever one of them wasn't around to watch him. He'd only got to the island at all by sneaking out through a window.

But here they were, and they were making the best of it. In the three weeks they'd been back, not one of them had used magic, their Keyblades, or let anything slip about what they'd gone through. They'd promised King Mickey that they'd keep it all to themselves, and they intended to see it through. And so Sora had gone through the three weeks as unconscious to time as a sleeping dog. His entire life seemed almost dreamlike to him during those days, full of inexplicable transitions and unnoticed shifts. Only at times like this did he feel entirely in the moment, entirely alive.

"So what were you really thinking about?" Riku asked Sora. Sora was incapable of concealing anything more than a surprise birthday, and even that for no more than a day or so. All the misdirection and changing the subject in the world wouldn't change that. "You're looking for something."

Sora sighed. "Yeah I am. I don't know, exactly what. I just get the feeling something is happening, somewhere, out there. Something big, that I should be able to see." He sighed. "It's just a feeling," he finished lamely.

"Like what?" Riku pressed. "What do you think it is"

Sora shrugged. "I get the feeling it's something to do with our friends." He stared at the horizon another moment, but nothing revealed itself. Then he sighed, turned around and sat back down.

"Well, must be. Nothing's changed here, has it?" Riku said.

"Nope," Sora replied. "And probably, nothing ever will."

Riku smiled. "What a small world." Once, he would have said those words with bitterness, but his feelings had changed. He never thought he'd be able to see his home again after all that he had done, and here he was, dealing with the same problems he'd dealt with all his young life. It was almost ironic. Before his journey into the depths of the darkness and out again, he had longed, ached to get out of his water-bounded prison, but now that he knew of the other worlds out there, he was ready for some rest. What once had seemed stifling was now a welcome diversion, a chance to recover from his injuries- both mental and physical.

He wouldn't stay here long, he still had the itchy feet and the wanderlust he always had, but seeing his home afresh had struck him once again with the beauty of the islands. He wasn't ready to rest, but if he ever was, if he ever did wish to settle down, he hoped he ended up here. He might not like his house, but the land itself was his home.

Kairi nodded sagely. "Yeah. But it's part of one that's much bigger. And who knows? We're young, and the world is wide and full of wonder."

Sora agreed. "Yeah. Somehow I think we're only just getting started. That someday I'm going to wake up to find the world has moved on, and thrust back into a war..."

The silver haired teen made a noise of agreement, and Kairi shook her head.

"Don't even think about it," the young woman all but scolded. "I'm done with being left behind while you two run off. If you try, I swear I'll kidnap you, and tie you up in my basement to keep you from leaving."

Sora laughed, finally jumping off of his perch. "Hey. I spent the entire time wishing you were there with me. There was so much I wanted to show you, so many things I wanted you to see. If... when we do go, I'll kidnap you first, so you can't miss it all." The spiky haired teen smiled at his closest friends. They had been through hell and back with their adventures, but they knew they could always count on each other.

"Do you think we'll get back? Really?"

"I know we will," Sora replied easily. Not with conviction, with raw certainty. "There's too much still to do to leave things undone." He looked up at the setting sun another moment, and then shook his head one last time, looking wistful. "Let's go home," he said at last.

And so they left. They don't know what is coming, what trials and tragedies await, any more than anyone else does. It is a conceit of the storyteller to address things as a linear series of events, but to those caught up in great things, the world rarely follows such a structure. But they were young, and full of hope, and the world was bright and shining, their whole lives ahead of them. What did they have to be afraid of?

None of them thought to look back, but if they had they would have seen a bottle, clear glass, with a rolled up piece of parchment within, bobbing gently near the shore.

The island they were on was separated from Valmorgen by a narrow trench that carried the mouth of the Great River Rush that Narrowhaven was built alongside out to sea. The channel was narrow, no more than half a kilometer wide at its furthest point, but deceptively deep, its current more than sufficient to drag you out to sea. To that end there was ferry, that connected the little island where they had spent so much of their childhoods and their homes (although how that ferry came to be put there I have never found out), that they used to come and go. It was built for no more than ten people, connected to both shores by a heavy chain that was wound one way or the other to drag the boat, or rather the glorified platform, from one side of the water to the other. It was a simple machine, and fairly easy and safe to operate. Shallow hulled, with a cabin that had just enough room for one, a few controls and an enormous paddlewheel that propelled it across the trench, it could make the trip in no more than ten minutes, allowing them to come and go as they pleased.

Riku was in the cabin at the controls, as he had been from the moment it had been decided that they were old enough to use it unsupervised, and Sora and Kairi were at the helm staring down at the water. It was clear, given the rate freshwater poured into the ocean kept anything from settling, and one could see all the way down to count individual grains of sand if they wanted to, at least when the light was better. Sora closed his eyes, smiling at the feel of the cool breeze, a sweet south-westerly blowing across the oceans and bringing with it all the scents of the oceans of his home upon his face. The calming, familiar scent and embrace stole through his senses, easing any doubts and worries he'd had, when suddenly the boat rocked. Sora slipped a moment in surprise, losing his grip on the handrail, and found himself staring down at the water bellow as the broad gray back of something too large to be a fish was slinking beneath the surface.

It glided by ten feet down, long as a southbound freight train, then moved upwards again as he watched, brushing the ship and sending it rocking once more. A film over its eyes blinked. Long whiskers trailed back from its cavernous mouth - it had a mouth like a castle portcullis, then it glided past, pushing them towards shore with the weight of the water it displaced, and raised its dripping head above the surface. Its furry profile resembled that of a cave man, something old and somehow solemn, perhaps even dignified, though that might be a little too much. It looked about, saw nothing to overly interest it, then dived beneath again, its passage creating a wave that rocked the boat.

"Would you look at that! Bull sea wyrm!" Sora said, pointing excitedly at the beast as it dived beneath again. "Don't think they usually come so close to the coast!" He sounded a little awed. He'd seen pictures, but the actual reality of it was far more than anything so impersonal can prepare you for. Sea Wyrms were (and still are to this day) about the most dangerous predators in the oceans around Ardania; when roused they've been documented to sink Ironclads, crushing them beneath their coils as though the battleships were made of matchsticks. Seeing one here is nothing short of bizarre.

Kairi didn't say anything. She just blinked, then shrugged. "Maybe it's hungry, or chasing something, or maybe something's chasing it?" she said at last, still watching the creature as it surfaced again silently, then dived back down once more.

It almost defied belief, such was its size. Something so huge, so monstrous should have no place on this world, no way to exist. And yet there was no terror, despite how at its mercy they were, nothing but a kind of awe. The beast was majestic in its terrible splendour, like the living avatar of the wrath of the ocean, and from the tip of its tale to the end of its jaw it was beautifully, horribly lethal, the overwhelming power of nature incarnate given physical form.

It made a few more passes, poking its head out each time, but finally decided that there was nothing it wanted all that much aboard, and swam back towards the sea, a dark shape snaking beneath the waves.

Riku stepped out of the cabin, his mouth open. "Did any of you see that?"

"See what? Nothing ever happens here Riku. You know that," Sora barbed his friend gently.

"Very funny. Seriously, that was a bull sea wyrm."

"Yes it was. Apparently it's not hungry, since we're not being dragged to the depths below, so I guess it's looking for something other than its next snack."

Kairi, who had settled down again, spoke up. "I think it was looking for someone. It looked sort of lonely."

That got the consideration it was due.

"I suppose it did. Sort of solemn, I thought. Who would it be looking for?" Sora asked at last.

"Maybe it has a mate, or children, or something like that," Kairi replied. "I guess it's a mystery."

The friends thought again of the old, lonely wyrm searching the endless depths of the

ocean for something it had lost, and a strange melancholy settled over them. Without quite noticing, Sora found himself squeezing Kairi's hand reassuringly.

At last, the old ferry came to a rest at the jetty built for it, they slipped a rope into place tying it down to keep it from drifting about in the current (the chain was too slack to hold it in place) and they got off, making their way along the sparkling white sand. Kairi was barefoot, though if one is prepared to walk on the soft sand and downy turf this is hardly a problem, and Sora and Riku were on either side of her, both looking down at the sand.

A storm was brewing out to sea, too far away to be seen yet, but they could feel the wind Come morning rain would lash the islands and waves would crash against the cliffs, and they would all be forced to spend the day indoors. You or I wouldn't sense anything but a wind, but they'd lived on the islands all their lives, and learned to anticipate the weathers moods.

The three friends made their way up the long clay path leading from the beach to the town where all the residents lived and worked. Narrowhaven was still extremely provincial, as isolationist colonies tend to be. The buildings rarely, if ever, rose above two stories, most of the roads weren't paved, and those that were could hardly be called maintained, and things sprung up almost on their own. The houses were comfy and homey, the majority of them colourful with pink roofs and tan walls, plenty of windows and gardens. As has been noted, it is a tropical paradise, the climate warm, the air clear, the whole place safe and secure enough to leave your doors unlocked. The industrial revolutions and the waves of innovation that had followed had overtaken Ardania in the last century and changed the face of it forever, but had mostly passed the islands by with minimal changes. Electric lights, running water, advanced printing and the like had made their way in, but for the most part that was the extent of it.

Twilight was upon them now, the light fading to make way for night. The sky had turned dark purple, and the ocean, reflecting the sky, had also turned into a murky dark blue-violet. The water looked infinitely deeper than it had just an hour or so earlier. Outside, the street lamps cast their warm yellow light on the road, piercing through the darkness at regular intervals, like tiny islands. Making their way up the road, they stopped at Destiny Plaza, meaning to split up and go their separate ways.

The Plaza was a large, paved square. A huge fountain dominates the square, in the middle a small island where a carefully maintained paopu tree sits, a wide ring of water surrounding it. Jets of water are funnelled up around it in arches, and a few fish swam around in the water. From here, Kairi will make her way to the houses at the top of the hill, Riku will head head down a few streets and be home, and Sora will head beyond the outskirts to his own place. And so they lingered, wordlessly trying to avoid the goodbyes.

"Well, good night," Sora said at last, a little awkwardly, after prolonging the inevitable for as long as he could. The feeling he'd had watching the sun set was back again, and in force.

"Night," Riku said as well, shaking his head, and mentally preparing himself for the ordeal of sneaking back into the house without anyone hearing him, or, (hopefully) ever knowing he was missing

Kairi lingered another moment, staring at her friends, particularly Sora, before she turned and walked away herself. And so, they all went their separate ways.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER II

In a world that never was and never will be, where light never shined and darkness reigned supreme, on the edge of even greater darkness which swallowed all who journeyed into it unprepared, there hovered the castle. The castle hovered above a single world, a world without sun or stars or anything at all to light up its empty, pitch-black skies. This world was built of the shattered fragments of a hundred other worlds, and unusually in a multiverse that is slow to change, it is a largely new development. It had been built by the Organization XIII five years ago. The Castle That Never Was, the Kingdom built by Nobodies dreaming to one day regain their hearts and be human again. This dream is understandable, perhaps even noble, but if the motives were pure the methods were not, for in order to do this they intended to feed every other living being in the multiverse to the Heartless.

But that was before, and now the world has moved on. The organization were dead to the last man, reunited with their hearts somewhere in the realm of darkness, leaving the place deserted. Now the castle has been claimed by The Darkest Fairy, who meant to use it to claim Kingdom Hearts, and use it's power to reign over the universe. She had forced her will upon the Heartless within, and killed the remaining Nobodies when they would not listen to her. There was nobody left to oppose her here.

After it had been taken from it's builders (and, afterall, was not possession nine-tenths of the law?), she had applied her personal touch to the castle. The pure white walls darkened like the changing of day, the once smooth, clean surfaces had begun to crack, as large winding thorns came to decorate the outside, winding around the towers and clinging to the walls, giving the place a smell of rot and decay, and an unsettlingly organic appearance. A chill ebbed and flowed through the stones, as if transmitted by some fluid, tidal motion outside. Sudden cold spots froze the air, and frost formed on the dank ceiling. Distant moaning, mumbling noises drifted in from the streets outside, the slow slide and squeal of metal blades or claws tracing along tiles and outer walls.

In the place of the Nobodies, now there were savage creatures given free run of the castle, stunted creatures with beady black eyes and green, leathery skin, spotted with ugly cancers scored with deep, badly healed scars. Yellow tusks protruded from their oversized lower jaws, and their meaty fingers ended in thick, stubby claws. They wore scraps of black armor over scraps of chainmail, and conversed in a guttural tongue. Maleficent may command the Heartless, but these things had been her servants for far longer, and she owned them, body and soul.

But even though Maleficent had the castle, the Heartless, and the magical might to bring entire civilizations to its knees, there was a minor snag. She was stranded, trapped like a fly in a jar of honey. When she and her oaf of a servant, Pete, had arrived in this world using the corridors of darkness, she had realized just how deep in the shadowlands this world truly was, but her greed and lust for power had overcome her caution and better judgment. She'd taken the castle, but could not leave this world the way she had come without losing her heart and becoming like the shadowy, indistinct beings that served her. And so she had been stranded here for over six months.

None who had glimpsed her before would recognize her now, before she had come here Maleficent had been terrible, coldly imperious and saturated in dark power, all fierceness and pride, but the sorceress had seemed more human then not (though the darkest fairy had not a drop of human blood in her veins). Now she was an unsexed, diseased looking ghoulish thing, dressed in tatters and rags that had once been robes, so scrawny she resembled nothing so much as a walking skeleton, her peeling skull set in a ghastly grin.

She had given over completely to the darkness, and had no idea that the prolonged exposure was sapping the wrinkled remains of her soul, wringing what it could from it. She likely would have considered it fair trade if she had known. Power was the one thing that mattered to her, the only thing that she valued, and for it she almost certainly would have considered her life's force well spent. But even had she wished to resist, there was no longer enough of her left to do it.

Fingers as thin and sharp as the tips of quills stroked a ring with a circular black stone set in the gold, and her lips peeled back in a ghastly smile. Maleficent had taken this place by simple expedient of getting here first, and the heartless followed her lead for now, but her control was frail and needed constant reinforcement.

The sad truth was that most evil contains the seeds of it's own defeat. She had taken the castle, but no real idea of what to do next, beyond vague notions firmly beyond her reach. She knew if she gathered the seven princesses of heart she could fashion a key to open Kingdom Hearts, but not how to fashion the key, or how to acquire the princesses, trapped as she was in the dark worlds that even now sapped her away. She knew the Organization had somehow constructed a gateway into Kingdom Hearts, but not how they had done it or what had happened to cause it to vanish from the sky. All she knew was desire, desire for power (and spite, of course), and that was the measure she weighed all things. It would never occur to her to study for knowledge's own sake (unless that led directly to more power), or to surround herself with others of equal power, rather then fools she could easily dominate. And where we see her now, she was bearing the price for this, without even realizing why she was doing so.

Maleficent had never heard of Ansem the Wise, and her knowledge of the Heart was instinctual rather the product of research and careful and controlled experimentation. She could no more comprehend the actions the King had made to keep it from his wayward apprentices than she could understand the futility of her own dreams. And so she sat on her throne woven of thorns, with the pieces of dreams scattered about her, with no idea how to put them back together, or even which to pick up, and told herself how wise she was, how powerful, how great, how much better then the rest until she quite believed it herself.

Kingdom Hearts is the Beginning and the End, the place from which hearts, souls, and all else is born, and to whence they all return once their time in the universe has come to an end. All power, all life, the heart of all worlds all flows from Kingdom Hearts, and back once more. There are some who even call it God…and who could say they are wrong to do so? What else could you call the Source of all things?

But what it represented was absolute power, and so Maleficent coveted it above all, more then even her own life, for the power she imagined it would give her. It was her obsession, her driving force. And she was closer then she'd ever been, and yet she could stretch out her hand no further to seize it, and the power it offered. As much as she strained, she came no closer. And likely she never would.

If Maleficent suffered, Pete was in his own personal, almost ironic hell, which he had ultimately brought entirely on himself. Pete is, and has almost always been, a chronic bumbler, but he used to be relatively harmless.

Once, in a gentler, more innocent and forgiving time, Pete had lived in the land of Disney, where he'd been variously, in no particular order, a schemer, a conniving thief, a shameless cheat, a bully, a con artist, as well as being generally abrasive, obnoxious, and truculent. But he'd never been more than a petty criminal, though whether through lack of opportunity or an inherent but well-concealed better nature Pete himself couldn't have told you.

He'd had a wife named Peg, a son and daughter, and a place in the world. It was only when Mickey made him captain of his guards against his better judgment that Pete began dig his own grave and ruin himself, as men like Pete tend to do.

To really understand him, you have to have an idea of King Mickey, as so much of their lives have revolved around each other that their pasts are intertwined. King Mickey had not been brought up to be a king. Quite the opposite, he had grown up firmly at the bottom of the social ladder, a deckhand under Pete who helped him take his steamboat up and down the river, and completely unaware that he was third in line for the throne (he was a distant cousin of the crown prince, his side of the family fallen on hard times). It had not been an easy existence, but it had been one that imprinted certain qualities in him, that had ultimately served him well in his later life. Mickey had learned the value of hard work, not to make excuses or evade responsibilities, and to work with people he'd rather avoid which, coupled with his inherent decency and character (which hadn't needed to be learned) and made him quite ready for responsibility, not that he was aware of it at the time.

Mickey had been no older then fifteen years when his life had changed dramatically. Mere (or perhaps mighty) chance had brought him to the hub of his world, Disney Castle, for some minor reason, that he couldn't for the life of him remember, where he had met the prince.

Although not important or really relevant at this time, and at the risk of being considered tedious, which I hope you'll forgive me for, I find I must describe Disney Castle now and at length, inasmuch as an accurate account of it's dimensions will be indispensible in enabling the reader to visualize it.

It had been built at the end of the 'Monochromatic' age in the world's history, after the great wars had ended and uneasy peace had settled the lands, but even now it is not complete, the castle is always growing, with more added to it each time. Indeed, by now the word castle does not truly do it justice, those who claim to have seen wonders of the universe but never gazed upon Disney Castle cannot begin to conceive of the sheer scale of it, easily visible from orbit. The castle itself, of course, wasn't all there was to the throneworld of the Disney Kingdom. It was merely called 'Disney Castle' due to it's position in the center of everything, the giant castle the size of a major metropolitan city (if not larger) which served as the capital and hub of all governmental, commercial, religious, and militaristic functions for the entire kingdom, it's grounds stretching out far further still.

But really, if you haven't seen the castle for yourself there is no describing it, no way to do it justice, to capture the magnificence of the structure. Sprawling for miles outside the castle walls were the satellite cities and villages, some of the settlements big enough to qualify as metropolis on their own, but all of them dwarfed by the unbelievable immensity of Disney Castle in the near distance, which was so big it could be clearly seen from any point on the world, such did it dominate the horizon. Even at the furthest point away from it on the other side of the planet, one could still see a blurry smudge on a clear day. Its tallest tower was so high that it scraped the planet's atmosphere. It's foundations stretched miles beneath the earth, deep as deep went before the pressure melted rocks like wax.

The structure was home to the largest concentration of people on the planet, supplied with food and other resources from the many satellite cities, villages, and farms scattered in the lands around it, though the castle was very close to self sufficient all on it's own. Indeed, the other settlements depended on the castle more then it did on them, for not only did it have vast storehouses, factories, and agricultural facilities of it's own, but it also housed the finest academy in the entire Kingdom; an interstellar port to receive visitors and dispatch Gummi ships to the Kingdom's many worlds and far-flung allies; a movie studio, several giant shopping centers, an amusement park, an open-air stadium with a retractable dome seating tens of thousands that could be converted to play just about any sport imaginable, museums, a river the size of a small ocean flowing in the depths beneath the earth it and powering an clean energy hydroelectric energy plant, police stations, high-tech research centers, and the entire cultural hub of an empire. It was more then a dwelling, it was an entire capital city, or perhaps several capital cities contained within a castle's walls. Airships and blimps flew all over the place, ferrying citizens, tourists, and workers from level to level and place to place in the incredible structure, and at it's heart was the cornerstone of Light.

But back then, it was a lesser structure, still more than grand enough to rival any wonder any other world you can name has yet produced, but yet to become a fraction of what it is in the time of this story, let alone what it is now.

It was in this castle, behind a curtain in the throne room and within touching distance of the Cornerstone of Light, at the uncertain point when a new age had begun and the world desperately needed direction and guidance, that Mickey had met the prince. Through some bizarre quirk of genetics the two were almost identical, Mickey's forearms better toned from his life as a sailor, the prince slightly better padded, but for all that they could have been identical twins.

At first, the shock had overwhelmed them, The Prince suspecting an elaborate hoax, Mickey suspecting a prank or some strange form of magic, but once it wore off, the two had gotten talking. And as the conversation turned, as conversations do, jumping from one subject to another as it tends to when people are trying to feel each other out and get a good understanding of each other, both of them had expressed dissatisfaction with their lives, and on a whim, both Mickey and the Prince had agreed to swap places, taking each others lives from that point on. Two hours later, the coronation took place and Mickey found himself saddled with the chains of command, and the responsibilities that came with it. He was now a king of one of the largest empires in the cosmos, and he had best get used to it, and more then that, he was engaged to a woman he'd never met before, or even caught a glimpse of.

Mickey was naturally uneasy about the whole thing, since he had never been a leader of anything before. One would anticipate disaster, but Mickey had somehow risen to the occasion, and proved himself a fine, even exceptional ruler, wise, virtuous and sensible, who tirelessly served his people and worked for the betterment of his world, promoting equality and tolerance, never showing favor or abusing his power. And so the kingdom prospered, his decisions were shrewd and just, his laws fair, and he showed himself wise beyond his years.

Matters were eventually came to light, as most secrets tend to, but everything was going so well in the new regime that nobody really wanted to change anything. Mickey was to remain king, and his distant cousin (formerly known as prince) would be free to do as he would, as long as he didn't protest his replacement. And of him I can tell you no more, for which I apologize. But the mouse who would be king continued as he was, he even got on extremely well with Princess Minnie, who preferred him over her original fiancé considerably, commoner though he might be.

So it was that the reign of King Mickey I began officially. And Mickey had made Pete the captain of his guards out of his innate generosity, a certain gratefulness to the man who had essentially provided for him for most of his youth, even if it had been grudging and far from generous, and perhaps even a genuine desire to redeem Pete, get rid of the rough edges. It was the wrong decision to make.

What had seemed to be a crusty exterior turned out to be deep flaws of character, and Pete had used his station and rank in an almost entirely in a corrupt manner. The King was traditionally protected by the Musketeers, however Pete had all but disbanded them, retired their commission, then taken steps to reform the Guards in his own image, replacing most of them with toadies and sycophants of dubious morality, and taken to abusing his position in every way he could, doing everything from embezzling funds, minor larceny, accepting bribes and allowing impunity to those whom Pete was in cohort with.

And Mickey, who had journeyed offworld to be trained by master Yen Sid The Worldspinner, was not around to notice. Minnie had, however showing a surprising shrewdness Pete had managed to isolate her from the rest of the world, keeping her in house arrest (protective custody was the official term, but it was meant as a prison, whatever he'd called it), then, growing even more out of-control, he had attempted a coup, with the help of the mercenary Beagle Boys, which was the final straw. Mickey had returned in time to foil this, and banished his one-time friend, appointing Goofy as captain of the guards in his place (at the time a lowly janitor who had proved instrumental in foiling Pete's coup).

So Pete, never to come home, had wandered the stars without direction, and had soon become lost, and eventually fallen into the hands of Maleficent. A different sort of man, one better suited to self-reflection perhaps, or just with a moral compass that doesn't so utterly serve their own interests, would balk at what Pete did. But Pete was completely self-interested, and had long since deluded himself into blaming his victims for the consequences of his actions. He wanted what he saw as rightfully his (everything that Mickey had, essentially), and praise and recognition that he felt he was entitled to.

He had completely failed to recognize that one earned these things, wasn't simply given them, but then Pete had never really understood earning in the first place. He went through life expecting to be given, without any sense of personal responsibility, then blustered, raged and threw tantrums when he wasn't given what he (and nobody else) felt he deserved. Self-pity came naturally to Pete. It came now, as he sulked, wandering about the silent, empty castle. In theory, right now he had more then he'd ever had before. And yet all that remained for him to do, all that he could do, was to wander empty corridors, all alone.

It is easy to pity Pete, and yet foolish to do so, as he was the cause of all his own misfortunes. It is easy to laugh at him, yet that is foolish too, for while he was certainly incompetent and stupid, he possessed a ruthlessness and low cunning that had allowed him to attempt that which had driven him here. So pity him, yes, as one should emphasize with all unfortunate souls, the pathetic always evoke sympathy, but do not mistake what he feels for anything but what it is; despair at his situation is not the same as regret for his actions. Pity him, but never forget what he is. And never turn your back on him.

Pete was interrupted from his blubbering when out of nowhere there came a strange, metallic sound, grating at her ears, and then the doors slammed open above the dark city. A beam of white light stretched down bellow, which a lean, crooked figure, his spine bent walked along the ray as easily as a road.

He was a small man, even sleek, but with a wiry and capable strength in his limbs. He was bald except for thin eyebrows and a fine, silver goatee, with leathery skin darkened by the sun. A tiny thread of scar wove in and out of his right eyebrow, like a bit of string, his nose was hooked, and his ears were pointed, but it was his eyes that one found themselves drawn to stare at, deepset, glowing things, like a river of molten brass, the eyes of a dragon that happened to be shaped like a man. However, this impression is offset by his non-confrontational body language, and if anything he carried with him the air of a simple man who had mastered an important trade. He has broad, hunched shoulders and a crooked back, giving the overall impression of faded grandeur, like a mountain that had eroded, or a warrior now in the end of his life, and had six fingers on his left hand. He looked old, and he was old, but age had not softened here, except, perhaps, in one or two places. Mostly, it had hardened.

He wore a white and black coat with a red inner lining, the same one he'd always worn, along with a white silk shirt, and white gloves and black boots of the finest calfskin. The motion of him beneath those fine clothes was like silk sliding over a razor-blade. A keyblade rested loosely in his right hand, extended after he'd used it to open the door, and the blade was distinctive in a deadly way. It featured a spiky, black guard that put one in mind of demonic wings, two barbed shafts, and teeth like a battle-axe split into three claw-like protrusions.

"This is the place then?" He asked politely, his voice deep and hoarse with a slightly metallic rasp to it, probably from disuse. "Excellent." He continued without waiting for a reply, rubbing his hands together, his keyblade flickering out of existence as he did. "Now then..." He turned his eyes on Pete, glowing with a slightly feral light, and his lips twitched.

He smiled then, his private, secret smile, showing just a hint of his small, sharp teeth. It certainly resembled a smile, although on consideration that was not quite correct. It was closer to a look of gently amused contempt then anything else, but somehow it made his gaze easier to endure. "My name is Master Liam Xehanort. Perhaps you've heard of me?" He said, his jaw jutting out as though proud at the very mention of his name. "Could direct me to the Alter of Naught, it it's not too much trouble?"

"Now hold on a sec' bucko." Pete said, his deep booming voice nonetheless quavery with a hint of a whine. Pete was always blustery, it was one of his more reliable qualities. "This is our castle and you're not invited."

"You don't say?" Xehanort replied lightly. "How nice for you. You'll have to excuse my ignorance; I'm no longer as well informed as I once was. You would be?"

"I'm the mighty Pete!" He said, puffing out his chest so much that it almost stuck out as far as his hairy slab of a gut, and jabbing his thumb in the center of it. "King Pete, now. This is my castle." He paused. "And Maleficent's." He added, a trifle guiltily.

"Ah. Well then, Pete, In that case, you had best take me directly to your mistress. I have little time to spend, and much to achieve within what moments I do have."

"Hey, now, I'm not doing anything you say." Pete replied, popping his knuckles. It sounded like shinbones cracking. "You can't just expect..."

Xehanort leaned forward, his eyes seizing Pete's own gaze and refusing to release it. "I don't have time to waste. You will do as I say. You will never question me, you will die to carry out my merest whim if I believe such a thing is required, and as long as there is the merest scrap of use left in that body of yours, you shall wait upon my pleasure. Do you understand?"

Pete understood nothing else. He had to follow Xehanort's orders. Not to do so was literally unthinkable. He nodded, once, eyes never leaving Xehanort's.

"I see that you do" Xehanort said levelly. "Now, take me to Maleficent. There is not a moment to waste."

• • • • •

A man sat atop a green hill overlooking a shining city, staring up at the sky. The man watched silently, with no signs of passion or distress, in fact seeming almost serene, above the petty distractions of the mortal world. He was dressed in light armor plated with gold, gilt and ornamental rather then functional, over silken purple robes. He is beautiful rather then handsome, with delicate features, flashing green eyes and an arrogant smile that cut like a knife. His face was sensuous with curving cheekbones, and a soft jaw. His eyes, strangely mild for so powerful and dangerous a man, have purple makeup around them making them stand out sharply, and he wore a golden crown. He is unarmed, though his gauntlets sport extended claws.

He was an emperor, and a god, ruling by his own divine right. He had duties and responsibilities, but still, every night without fail, he took the time to come out here, all alone, and watch the stars, and think deep thoughts.

So he sat, and as he watched them wheel above his head he thought, a long, pale finger sheathed in gold stroking his chin, the razor sharp tip scraping gently over his soft skin, occasionally leaving faint red trails as he, unnoticing, pressed too hard. The stars had his attention.

To most people there was nothing to see but points of light, or perhaps abstract patterns if one took the time to look hard enough. But when he looked up into the veil of night, he tried to sense the movement of creation, a reflection of the totality of existence. So many lights, each a world, each world, all its history and people, all the sums of it's knowledge and wealth, all reduced to a point of light from this perspective. All that it was, all that it would ever be, just a pinprick in the sky. And yet, sufficiently strong hearts, those of kings and heroes, had a light of their own, difficult as it was to credit. Such was the multiverse, it's sheer scale defeating the idealist and the cynic alike.

Did the stars and constellations relate at all to what happened here within the bounds of the world? Were the constellations really harbingers of universal will, or was any pattern, any hints at a greater design just someone's fanciful imagination at work? Did the celestial mechanics serve some higher purpose, did they demonstrate some subtle reflection of the lives within, or was there nothing more to it then existence?

He didn't know for sure, though he had his suspicions. And he loathed that, as he loathed anything beyond his control. Nothing existed without his consent. And anything that existed without his knowledge, existed without his consent. To have power over something was to be able to destroy it utterly, at will. Any less was to be at best a pretender.

So instead he stared up, seeking the star he could always, unerringly, find. A bright star at his left was the star of his house, or so a Wise man had confided him when brought to his palace in chains, before Mateus had choked the life out of the old man and beat out his brains on the walls of the palace to make sure, then scattered his bones on the four winds. That star was his sign in the Heavens. And as the fortunes of his house rose, it would blaze all the brighter, and where he to weaken it would fade, until the house died with him (for he would have no heir) and the star fell at long last. He liked looking up at it. As long as it blazed as brilliantly as it did now, he knew all was well. For there was light in his heart as much as Darkness, he knew that for certain.

The stars. So brilliant, so bright, so distant. But within his reach. And one day, there would all dim and go out, one by one, and there would be but one star in the heavens, alone in an empty sky and all the brighter for the light it no longer had to share. All he had done, all he had achieved, when that day came, when only one star shone in heaven, it would all be worth it.

• • • • •

Sora left the town, heading across the field on the outskirts. High yellowish grass with bearded heads swung on either side of the path, stretching off into the night as far as his eyes could make out. A cool breeze came in off the ocean, rippling it in mysterious but lovely ways. Ahead was a stone tower atop a slight knoll, a lamp mounted on a pole in front of it. A yellow flame almost too bright to look at burn clearly inside the lamps bright globe. The tower that loomed above the landscape had once been a lighthouse, and was now his home.

The distant sound of crashing waves blended with the buzzing chirps of cicadas and the rustle of the stalks to give it a sound entirely unique to home. He could smell the loamy, rich soil, freshly turned over mingled with freshly cut grass mingling with the salt on the air. And he could see the place he'd been born and raised. He let out a little sigh of contentment.

The lighthouse had been abandoned for a long time before Susan had bought it with big golden coins that nobody had ever seen before. Back then, it had fallen into disrepair, and it had taken a long time to repair it and get it back into living condition (back then, people still repaired houses whenever possible rather then just knock them down and build again from scratch). But she'd done it, mostly on her own, and even turned what used to be the lighthouse keepers cottage into a stable where she could keep her horses.

The story of the lighthouse is one of simple expediency. The natural harbor where it had been built was not a good place for a town or dock, given that the bay was directly in the path of the storms that blew in, and so naturally it was not a sensible place for a lighthouse. The town was about a mile inland, and shipping and fishing worked better when the ships came and went to the other side of the island where there was a natural harbor. So that was that. Can't argue with progress.

What Susan had seen in the old building, what quality had made her want to live there she'd never said. Perhaps as an outsider she'd simply wanted her own space far away from the rest of the town. She certainly seemed to prefer the company of her horses to other people. But regardless, this was where she had chosen to live, and this is where Sora had grown up.

Walking down the path, lined by uncut sandstone on both sides to keep the gardens from spreading, Sora opened the door silently, his eyes adjusting to the dark, then groped his way over to the staircase, feeling his way as much by memory as the evidence of his senses, aiming towards the top of the building, which was his room. He was on the third floor when he heard something, no more then the faintest scrape of leather against the floor, which stopped him cold. Something was already up there, waiting for him.

Sora was not paranoid by nature, or even cautious, but he reacted as most would to find their home invaded. Suddenly tense, he froze, hand on the railing, a list of possibilities flashing through his mind. Riku and Kairi had gone home themselves, and his mother was fast asleep, he'd heard her gentle snores coming from the second floor. Which left Tidus and Selphie, since he doubted Wakka even knew where his house was. And neither of them would be lurking quietly in his room this late with the lights turned off. Sora struggled to listen, but he heard nothing else, not even breathing. There was an unmistakable tension in the air, his own chest had tightened and his heart-rate had kicked up a notch.

Was that the faint scuff of a boot somewhere above him? Sora stained to listen, not daring to breathe himself. Another sound, perhaps the tiny rattle of a buckle or chain. Or it could just be his imagination, stoked by the feeling he had a few hours back. Sora thought the situation over and reached a decision. He waved his right hand, and with a flash of light and a faint metallic ring, the Kingdom Key appeared in his right hand, ready to serve the wishes of its master, which Sora gripped with a comfortable familiarity.

The blade and teeth of the Keyblade were silver, but the guard is bright gold, and the teeth of the Keyblade form the outline of a crown, which matched the crown charm Sora had owned as long as he could remember. He doesn't have a keychain, he kept them all beneath a loose floorboard under his bed where he couldn't lose them and they'd be safe (he hoped), but one always felt more comfortable with a weapon in their hands. Feeling much better already, he abandons silence, leaps up the final flight of stairs three at a time, and opens his door.

The figure turned slowly around, taking his time. "Well look at that." He says, baring his slightly yellow teeth at Sora, and tossing a small bag up in the air to catch it, with a rattle as he did. "Looks like you found me." He spoke in a purely conversational tone, as though he had done nothing wrong, and they were passing acquaintances exchanging a few words for formalities sake.

Sora's eyes widened, as he recognized the man at once. He was unmistakable, though the black cloak he'd last worn was gone, replaced with faded blue-jeans and a flannel shirt, that had once been quite different shades but had long since been worn to the universal color of fade, a tattered red scarf wrapped around his neck.

But the clothes do not make the man, and Sora recognized this one. He'd seen him not a week ago, and he indeed he looked no different, bar a glimmer of humor where before there'd been only emptiness. His two arrowguns rested on his hips, within easy reach. He resembles nothing so much as a wolf, all lean, rangy muscle and a feral brass eye that showed only amused indifference, his ears pointed from too much time in the realm of darkness. More animal then man, the strands of grey in his hair reminiscent of a tigers stripes, and his movements carrying the easy grace of a feline. He smiles a smile of a hateful man, that say more eloquently then any words that he can already see you dead.

"Xigbar? But you're… I killed you!" Sora accused, as though by insisting it would somehow make it true, and reality would start making sense again.

"Names Braig, and not anymore. You saw to that yourself. No, I'm not dead, I'm a man again, and doing a job." He taps a finger to the corner of his mouth, where a small, sarcastic smile had bloomed. "So what do you say to a fresh start? Lets be friends, huh?"

"Really?" Sora asked incredulously. This was all too surreal. His room had been ransacked, he noted out of the corner of his eye, his chest of drawers rummaged through, his wardrobe emptied, and his bed pushed over with the covers ripped away. Xigbar, or perhaps Braig, or whatever else he called himself, had been looking for something.

"As if." He replied with a little chuckle that went with the sarcastic smile. "No, not in this life either. Now, I know I can't kill you, already went down that road, but that doesn't mean I can't hurt you."

Sora pointed his Keyblade directly at Braig's chest, the point unwavering. "I'd like to see you try."

"Taking this like a champ, aren't you big man?" No chuckle this time, he actually laughs. "Well you do what you gotta do. But remember this. I know where you live now. Who your little friends are. And you can't always be here and protect them." He cocked his head, a little like a bird, then laughed again. "Well I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got places to be, and you're holding me up. Ciao."

And with that, the air behind him began to open into the corridors of darkness, the shadowy opening a wafer-thin, vertical pool of shadow that seemed almost to stretch out like a thing alive, wrapping itself around Braig almost tenderly.

Sora didn't hesitate, even for a moment. He broke into a run, crossed the room in three steps, and swung his Keyblade at the one-eyed man. But although he was fast, and Braig's fingers still touched the side of his mouth, Braig beat him to the draw easily. The first of his bolts would have taken Sora between the eyes if he hadn't desperately thrown himself out of the way, the second curved after him, scouring a red line across the side of his face that bled freely.

And Braig was gone. Swallowed up into the realm of darkness and headed nobody knew where. Without one of the cloaks that protect you, Sora realized. Well, that couldn't be good.

Sora sighed as he got to his feet, clenched his teeth, and made the Keyblade vanish with a thought. Then he went about straightening up his room, trying to figure out what Braig was doing while he did.

It's never easy to search for something that's missing, because whatever is missing is not there to be found by its very definition. And even when you have few possessions, it's hard to keep all of them straight in your head. But despite that, Sora had a good idea what was in his room, or at least what was valuable enough to be worth keeping there, and so it didn't take him long. The loose floorboard under his bed had been torn off, and his Keychains were missing. The Keychains come about from forging strong emotional bonds with people Sora's fought alongside, and now they were gone. Braig stole his connection to his friends.

Sora punched the stone wall so hard he nearly broke his hand (and nearly cracked the wall). Then he walked back down the stairs, and went to look for Riku and Kairi. It looked like things were due to change faster then he'd imagined.

Someone was going to pay for this.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER III**

It was midnight, and the storm had swept in as the wind had promised before dusk, dark rolling thunderheads forming balks as black as pitch and spilling blinding sheets of rain and lightning in equal measure, and deafening thunder enough to rend a mans soul wide drumming with a terrible frequency. The lightning licked at the waves, flashes of brightness in the dark for moments, as the wind howled and the pillars of heaven shook and the rain came tumbling down. The sea beneath heaved and raged beneath, as though it had been tasked with building a new range of mountains with mere salt water. Towering waves rose up until the tip almost scraped the low-slung belly of the sky, only to let go and plunge down, down, down into troughs so deep that the bottom of the ocean couldn't lie much deeper.

The storm has stolen the world away, sewn the sea to sky and sky to sea and left the islands in the middle of it, a tiny mote caught in a vise of the fury of nature, as the storm hammers it with wind and rain and lightning. This time of year, storms were a fact of life. Nothing on Destiny Islands lasted long if it wasn't prepared to deal with tropical storms, and the buildings were sturdy. Come morning there would be damages, repairs and perhaps a little rebuilding, but that was a fact of life too. No, it wasn't the storm itself that concerned Sora. It was the consequences of it.

Where all else would have failed, the storm had prevailed, rolling in as he left and trapping Sora at home far more securely then any prison could have. He spent a restless night, unable to get any sleep or even remain still for more then a few moments, constantly acing back and forth his room, occasionally making a cursory effort to straighten it out before giving up due to not being able to focus on anything but the fact that Xigbar (Braig) was alive, had stolen his Keychains and threatened his family and friends. And now, when he longed to take action and try and do something, here he was trapped by the capriciousness of the weather.

He wasn't alone. Kairi, who'd always been afraid of thunderstorms thanks to the circumstances of her arrival at the islands, spent her night much the same way, though for different reasons. She lay in bed, warm but far from comfortable, and got on with her sleepless night, never managing anything much more then a light doze that was torn away every time thunder boomed, shaking the windows and rattling the walls and startling her back into wakefulness.

In contrast Riku, who was a heavy sleeper, barely noticed it. He had successfully let himself in through a window he knew how to open from outside, and was sleeping deeply, dreaming of horizons and adventures, dreams that are forgotten come morning.

The storm, despite their wishes, did not let up, and raged through the night. But when morning came, the last of the storm finally blew it's last and tiredly dispersed, making way for a clear, bright morning. It was a day washed clean by the night's fury, and the sun fell bright on long wet grass, the air clear and the water sparkling. Trees had been ripped down and tossed out to sea then washed back up, some roads had been flooded, no doubt crops had been ruined, and a few boats had been swept out to sea then wrecked.

Life went on.

The island where this tale began had worn the storm very well, as it had many times in the past, when the season rolled around. A few structures would need patching up, but it was nothing that the usual suspects couldn't do themselves in a single afternoon if they applied themselves. But that was a problem for later. (Indeed, I cannot say with any certainty whether the islands structures were ever repaired, as it does not concern this story).

Up a fairly steep, low hill, we find yet another of the young heroes whose actions define this tale. His name is Tidus, and bar the briefest of appearances this is the first time he stumbled into the story as a whole. Tidus grew up with Riku and Sora, and has always been on the periphery of their friendship, one of their close circle who they'd feel comfortable allowing to sleep in their room for a couple of days or lending large sums of money to, but not quite close enough to talk to about girls or feelings. And like many of the characters in this story, he is far more than he appears.

Tidus grew up in privilege as it was reckoned on the isles, though not the sort of privilege many would envy. His father was Jecht, a star Blitzball player who had vanished some ten (now eleven) years ago in mysterious circumstances, never to be heard from since, and his mother passed away a short time later, wasting away having lost the will to live without the love of her life. And so he was an orphan, and the wealth and fame and pampered lifestyle in many ways only made it worse, by drawing attention to what he didn't have. So he had done his best to make a surrogate family out of his friends.

Because in spite of adversity, or because of it, Tidus had remained resolutely upbeat, carefree and above all cheerful, a really was a genuinely good and charitable person, if a little over-sensitive, and understandably bitter. He certainly had a complex about his lack of father that, though diminished in time, never vanished entirely. But perhaps I say too much. Better to let him speak for himself through his actions, and let you draw your own conclusions.

Tidus had recently been swept into a story of his own, that, like Sora, Riku and Kairi's own adventures, had taken him beyond the boundaries of his world to another land when his was all engulfed into the Realm of Darkness. He arrived at a bizarre ruin like nothing he'd ever seen before, on a world called Spira, accompanied by his friend Wakka. At first, Spira seemed much like the lands he'd always known, an island in a temperate climate surrounded by sparkling oceans. Once, before even I can look back, it had been ravaged by war but things had been settled down for uncountable generations by the time he had gotten there, and so he'd made his way across the land on a journey that he'd become swept up in. He'd met a surrogate father in Auron, who'd taught him to use a sword and the much more important lessons about responsibility and obligation that everyone needs to learn if they want to become a man someday, he'd learned what it was to be depended on, after taking the duties of Guardian for the High Summoner named Yuna, and he'd met the love of his life in the same person. And so, Tidus and Wakka had accompanied her on her quest, making their way around the land to every temple in Spira. The pilgrimage was undertaken every ten years, after the period of peace was over, for only after they had completed the pilgrimage, would a Summoner be strong enough to defeat the creature known as Sin that constantly plagued and ravaged Spira, destroying cities and sinking continents. In order to defeat Sin, a Summoner had to reach the temple in Zanarkand, the city where the war had taken place and now completely destroyed.

This was the sacred task of the Summoners, so much so that every Summoner who defeated Sin was known as High Summoner, the greatest honor their order bestowed. Yuna's father Braska had been High Summoner thanks to defeating Sin ten years before, and Yuna intended to follow his footsteps. An innocent, even childish desire, bought on by admiration for a father she idolized, but an admirable one nonetheless. But receiving the Final Aeon came at a terrible cost. The Final Aeon could only be granted by sacrificing the life of one of a Summoner's chosen Guardians.

Of course, that was as far as they knew, but naturally it was considerably more complicated. Essentially, the game was rigged. Sin had been created during a war, as an ultimate weapon that, unfortunately, could not be controlled by any means. It was not a physical being so much as a conglomerate of tortured souls fixed to the mad, hysterical desire of one, Yevon. Whenever it was defeated, he would take control of the one who destroyed Sin, and build him into a new monster, and the cycle would continue, as it must.

And so Tidus suggested that instead of killing Sin itself, which clearly could not be done they find a way to destroy Yu Yevon's spirit within it, and thus a new Sin would never be born. And so they waged a full scale attack on Sin with the airship Fahrenheit, entering it's mouth in search of it's master, where Jecht awaited them. It transpired that ten years ago, Jecht had found his way to this world as well, where he had served as a Guardian for Yuna's father Lord Braska, and had sacrificed himself for ten years of peace. He had tasked Auron with taking care of his son, than done all he could, before being sent the same way as so many others had, becoming that which he had sought to destroy.

So Tidus had been forced to kill the father he had thought he hated, in order to get to Yevon, who they had at last destroyed and lain his spirit to rest. Of course, this was at the end of a long journey, and he went through many more trials and tribulations to get to this point that do not really concern us, but one is particularly important. Stranded in Spira, Tidus ultimately chose to save this foreign world at the cost of his own. He realized that, no matter how real the people he knew and loved were, the Realm of Shadow had them already, while this new world was still vibrant and alive. In the end, he recognized that the boundaries of worlds were a false distinction, that the only thing that really mattered was life.

Making this choice, and paying his own very life as the cost to do it, ultimately awarded him a second chance, not at the whim of any higher power, but by the love of Yuna, Tidus showed himself a man who turned against all that should have been expected of him and did the right thing. He had died with no regrets. Fate, however, had something else in store for him.

And then he'd woken up in the bed he'd slept in for as long as he'd remembered, to find himself back where he'd been before the journey begun, with only Wakka sharing his memories to convince him he hadn't dreamed the whole thing. Right now, Tidus was watching the stars, trying to guess which one was Spira, as he had many times. He cut a distinctive figure, with his shorts that were longer on one leg than the other and his yellow and white jacket. He ran a hand through his spiky dirty blonde hair and shook his head, frustrated. Hope could be a bitter draught to swallow when it was all you had.

So where did it all – the quest, all that he had worked for an achieved on another world, all he had fought for - leave him? What was he supposed to do with himself now? The sad but undeniable truth was, he had no idea at all. One can sympathize, it is, afterall, a malaise common to people of his age whether talented or otherwise, that begins when they are just on the cusp of becoming an adult. Possibilities seem endless, potential bottomless, and yet indecision strikes, and one has no idea where in all the world they are supposed to fit in, and what they are supposed to spend the rest of their years doing. But his case was far worse then most.

He knew what he wanted to do with his life, and he knew who he wanted to spend it with. Yet here he was, far out of reach in any manner. He'd found the place he belonged by accident, and now he'd lost it forever.

Since then, he'd changed, becoming more withdrawn, standoffish, occasionally even sullen, spending more and more time alone with his thoughts. And so, as had recently become his habit, Tidus had come here to think, all alone. It was a good place for it, he had few distractions, plenty of privacy, and there was something about the little island that always put him in the right frame of mind.

In that moment, sitting with his back against a tall palm tree in the clearing around which all the structures were built, his face crisscrossed with opposing beams of green-gold forest light, he looked handsome indeed – a young man with unruly blond hair which constantly tried to spill across his high forehead, a young man with a strong, mobile mouth and bright hazel eyes.

"Tidus!" Came the shout, and before he could react a blitzball bounced off the back of his head, startling him and shattering his trance.

"Wakka," Tidus groaned, turning around to look at up at the still laughing boy, more irritated then the action would warrant. The peace had been shattered, and he was not going to recover it, try as he might. "What do you want now?"

The slightly older boy tossed his ball up into the air, catching it again easily, not even needing to look to know where it was. Wakka was tall and leanly muscled, with tanned skin, brown eyes and long reddish-orange hair styled into a coif, at considerable effort. He'd initially started a friendship with Tidus more or less because Jecht was his personal hero, but since then they'd become close to inseparable. "Come on, man! You've been moping more or less since we got back! Nearly a year already! Time to be a man, and get on with it. Life's waiting for you to come back to it, ya!"

This was not the first time they'd had some variation of this conversation. Tidus let his head fall back onto the sand and closed his eyes. "Go play with Sora or something." He muttered. "This is a happy place."

"Are you being serious, ya?" Wakka snorted. "Tell me you're not being serious. _That_ kid is as bad as you. He barely even talks to the rest of us these days. At least with you I know what the problem is."

Tidus grumbled, then got to his feet. "Fine. Give me a moment." He said, and then followed his friend onto the beach.

• • • • •

On the island where this part of the story began, and where Tidus and Wakka were just entering this story was a small stream, that winds around the island twice before threading out to sea, but nonetheless composed of fresh water, fed seemingly by nothing at all. There was a small waterfall, a series of pools where it was deep, and behind the waterfall was a section of caves. Sora and Riku first discovered them when they were young children, as well as a door they had no idea how to open, until very recently. The cave's walls had been covered in chalk drawings, some no more then scrapings, some of deep emotional importance.

The doorway, really no more than sharp lines etched into the stone by some unknowable artiface, began to glow, the lines cut in the stone lighting up like a sun seen through the cracks in a wall, then smoothly swung open without the need for hinges. One would expect it to lead to nothing but a wall of stone, or perhaps another, deeper cave, at least if they were more rational then is sensible, but the fact was it was opening to somewhere that it had no business opening to.

It was a doorway that led out of the world. Where exactly that meant depended on so many factors that even if you had a lifetime to study the phenomenon you would still understand only the merest fraction of the elements involved, but open it did, and one with the knowledge could find and open it were they willing to look. And so something stepped through the stone door, before closing it, where it turned back to ordinary stone, the seams merely lines etched into the stone.

He newcomer glanced around with interest and only the tiniest bit of embarrassment, well aware that he was trespassing in someone's private sanctum, then walked out of the cave and onto the island proper, turning his gaze to the rising sun.

His Majesty King Mickey, King of the Pan-Disney Empire, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, Companion of the World-Spinner Ascendant, Lord Paramount of the Walt, Commander of the Glorious Army of the United Kingdoms, and Master in the Order of the Keyblade was a short black-furred mouse with an equally short snout, a long, whip-like tail, and big, very round ears. He was dressed formerly, in a buttoned-up royal blue jacket with gold epaulets, brass buttons on both sides of the jacket tied together by strands of gilt fiber to keep it closed, and regal red pants with gold trim at the cuffs, though he had chosen not to wear a crown. He never wore it, despite how long he'd been king, and in this case perhaps it was for the best. Crowns caused problems.

Mickey looked around again, noting his surroundings with the air of a philosopher making sense of some new, unlooked for insight, then sat down and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

"I could try to open the corridors of darkness again..." Riku offered, as they stepped off the ferry, but Sora shook his head. Finding his two friends and convincing them of the urgency had proved easy enough, although he had to explain it twice before they entirely understood. But when Sora calmed down enough to think before he spoke, they both agreed it was urgent, and they had to find Braig as soon as they could.

Unfortunately, that was easier agreed upon then acted upon. How were they to get off the island, and when they did how, in all the worlds they'd visited and those they'd only heard about, were they to find Braig? Unfortunately, nobody had any idea. It was enough of a mystery how he came back to life.

"No Riku." Sora said softly, after pausing to consider a little longer then he was proud of. "You worked hard to get rid of the darkness's hold on you, don't you dare throw that away again." He paused, then added a little weakly. "There has to be another way."

Riku sighed, and stared at his friend. "Well what do you suggest then? And don't you dare suggest waiting."

Sora paused a moment, then went with instinct instead of analysis. "The door. If darkness can get through it, then so can we."

Riku's look evolved into a glare. "And then we'll be stranded in the middle of the Realm of Darkness with no way out, except back here, and even if we did try to get back we'd probably have the darkness rolling in behind us before we could get the door closed. How is this a good plan?" Riku replied, his voice aggressively soft and reasonable. "More to the point, how is that any safer for my heart? At least my way I'm the only one at risk…" Then he blinked, and his face went carefully blank. "Hi Tidus, Wakka. We were just talking about…"

"We were just talking about where we were last year, when we were missing." Kairi added helpfully, pushing in front of the two boys. "And how we're going to get back. Unfortunately none of us seem to have any good ideas."

Sora and Riku stared at her, as did Tidus and Wakka, struck speechless. Wakka cleared his throat in the sudden silence, and glanced about. "So, you too, huh? Where did you go?" Wakka asked, his good humour slightly strained. Tidus gaped comically, his eyes wide, then sat down on the sand. Riku, Sora and Kairi weren't much better, really.

"What? Keeping secrets from friends wasn't doing any of us any good." Kairi said, as Sora and Riku started to glare. "And you're already breaking the kings rules, trying to get out of here. So why should we worry about anything else? Hey, for all you know Wakka or Tidus can help!"

"What king, ya?" Wakka asked, as Tidus shook his head in response to Kairi's query. "No idea how we did it, just sort of happened."

Everyone fell silent, so Wakka decided to elaborate. "I mean, I go to sleep, wake up and" he clapped his hands once, loudly, for emphasis "BANG! There me and Tidus are in a ruined city, ya. No portal, no ship, nothing like that. Just one day here, the next day Spira, ya."

Sora sighed. "So basically, whatever brought you over there was probably on the other side." He said slowly. "Well, maybe we can get a message to the King, or Cid."

"Seriously, who is this king you keep talking about?" Tidus asked.

"That would be me." Came a bizarrely shrill voice that _should_ sound feminine but somehow didn't, and Mickey emerged from the cave. "About time you got here."

Tidus and Wakka as King Mickey made his way down with a careless agility and grace to stand next to him, as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world. Tidus wasn't particularly tall, but the king only came up to around his waist.

Had it not been for the strangeness that Tidus and Wakka had already experienced in a life that was long indeed where it counted, they would have thought they must be hallucinating, and even so it was a near thing. Mickey was very out of place in a world of humans, if not positively bizarre. Either unaware or choosing to disregard the strangers gawking, Mickey walked confidently over, and sticks out one gloved hand, which seems ridiculously big for his tiny body.

"Hello there." He said, taking Tidus' hand and shaking it firmly, then doing the same for Wakka. "Pleasant morning, isn't it? If you don't mind, I have to talk to your friends here."

Tidus blinked, then nodded once, then managed to say, "So you're a king? Of where exactly?"

Mickey thought for a moment. "The Walt."

"What?"

"The constellation called the Walt. Those are the worlds of the Pan-Disney Empire. Of course it's something of a constitutional monarchy, what with proportional representation, an elected majority and self-governance in most matters of policy, but I am nominally the man in charge."

It took Tidus a moment to realize what Mickey was talking about. Then he gaped. "That's about seven stars!"

"It's a big kingdom." Mickey replied mildly. "But as I said, it more or less governs itself. Now if you don't mind?"

Sora looked at the two of them. "Actually Mickey, I think we all need to talk to you."

It was two hours later. Sora, Riku and Kairi were sitting with the others at a cafe a block away from the beach. There was no view, but you could hear the distant crash of the waves, and smell the salt. It was almost empty but for them, a few older students sitting on the other side and throwing furtive, speculating looks at Mickey, and the chef, who was busying himself boiling water.

Kairi had offered to pay because Mickey hadn't thought to bring any gold, and Riku and Sora had both managed to spend their allowance already. Tidus was loaded, but he didn't offer, and Wakka had left without much in the way of explanation.

There was a reason for this. Wakka was home, and happy to be there. He had no desire to leave again, as he could sense his best friend yearned to. But neither did he wish to hold him back from his own dream. So he had quietly removed himself from the proceedings so that Tidus could be unconflicted when he chose to follow his heart. It might seem callous to you or I, but on Destiny Islands farewells and goodbyes are rarely stressed or drawn attention to. Wakka thoroughly believed he would see his friend again, even if he did leave the world in search of Spira now that he had the opportunity.

The mood amongst the rest, as you can no doubt well imagine, was confused. Sora Riku and Kairi had only the vaguest idea what was going on, Tidus was sitting there completely confused but unwilling to leave until he had some answers (which nobody was giving him), and Mickey was clearly bursting to say something but restraining himself. This awkwardness made them all uncomfortable, and when Mickey finally got on with it the mood was one of relief.

"You've been home two weeks. I know I promised you longer, and I apologize, but that's not in my power. Sora, I have been asked by Master Yen Sid to summon you and Riku. And I suppose Kairi had better come as well." Mickey says at last.

Sora blinked. Why was Mickey being so formal, acting almost pained. He blinked slowly again, than asked "Is this something to do with Braig?"

Riku and Kairi glanced at each other, while Tidus opened his mouth to ask who that is, but Mickey beats him to the punch. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not too sure myself." Sora admitted, patiently explaining the events of the night for the third time that morning. "Last night, he was in my room, waiting for me. And it was him, though he seemed more alive, more there. He made a few threats, then shot at me and scampered. Plus, I think he stole my keychains. Someone did, and he's pretty much the only suspect."

Mickey frowned. "I don't like this. The timing is too bad to be a coincidence." He said after a moment, then sighs. "But no, it's not that exactly. Yen Sid and I talked, about the future, about what those two keyblades you've been chosen to carry mean, and about the past as well. And we decided it's time. We'll take you back to his tower, and you'll all go through the Mark of Mastery Exam."

Riku had never been to the tower, though he'd heard about it. For that matter Kairi hadn't either, though to her it was less an inspiring thought. "What is that? Mark of Mastery exam, I mean." Riku asked, excitement and something harder to identify cracking his voice a little.

"That's not exactly easy to answer, I'm afraid." Mickey responded. "You have to understand that both of you are special cases. Normally, you'd go through an apprenticeship before you even touch a keyblade, being inducted into the mysteries and secrets of the order, while your master teaches you the magic's and skills needed."

Mickey shrugged. "But both of you took us entirely by surprise. You gained the keyblade without any of the preparation, using entirely instinct. And from that, you confronted what would easily defeat many masters and proved yourselves more then worthy of the honor. So your test will be a little unconventional."

"Unconventional how?" Sora asked.

"We'll skip the ordeals and the tests of heart, and get straight to the final challenge." Mickey replied.

"That seems a little… drastic." Sora said slowly.

"How do you really know we're strong enough, that our hearts are strong enough? Or are you just worried I'll fail?" Riku said quietly, staring into the dark depths of the hot chocolate Kairi had got him and everyone else with her allowance.

"Now don't be like that. If you're too hard on yourself, only your enemies prosper. " Mickey replied consolingly. "If we didn't think you were ready, you wouldn't be called here."

"But I gave into the darkness…" Riku began. No one stopped him, but he paused anyway, as if expecting someone to cut him off (as they had done many times before) from the painful subject.

"So what is a master anyway? I mean, we've been chosen to wield the keyblades, what else matters?" Sora said, coming to his friends rescue by changing the subject back to a safer topic.

"It's been decided you have the potential for greatness, nothing more." Mickey said. "Being a master means certain learned knowledge and will better prepare them for what's ahead. The difference between being able to and actually doing. Which is all the difference in the world."

"Somehow I get the feeling you just avoided answering my question." Mickey didn't answer, which was itself an answer. "So when do we go?"

"We leave as soon as we can." Mickey said. "Yen Sid is expecting us to be there by tomorrow."

I assure you that the place we are about to see exists, as difficult as that might be to believe. Indeed, I imagine it remains much the same now as it did then, for there is a reason, a consistency within the madness, if admittedly one that defies any attempts to rationalize or characterize, just as the world itself defies, even mocks the structure of order that has been imposed elsewhere in the universe. The world seems impossible, but only to an outsider, the small glimmers of insight only serve to further confuse.

Wonderland, for that is its name, or rather what it is called, is a place, of rambling confusion, madness and logic that leads to conclusions different from those found elsewhere. It was easy enough, if you only knew where to look. A place of accumulated nonsense and tomfoolery and profound lunacy snuggled tightly together. Wonderland.

It was in this world, a little girl in her favorite blue dress made her slow way up the path that curved around on itself, through a kaleidoscopic grove of enormous multi-hued mushrooms, each one large enough to shade an entire house beneath it's cap. On the horizon, glimpsed through small gaps between the enormous fungi, was a castle, that got smaller the closer she came to it, and a small stream that flowed gently upwards, drops occasionally breaking away then falling up into the heavens as it did.

Alice Liddell, for that is who it was of course, was now fourteen, and not for much longer, but despite her age there remained something fundamentally and unchangeably childlike about her, whether it was the gleam of adventure, curiosity, wonder and excitement in her clear blue eyes, or the look of pure, innocent delight as she glimpsed each new marvel. She hadn't grown all that much, in height at least, and likely never would. She was still skinny and coltish, still growing used to her body and slowly filling into it. Her hair was a light blond, tied back by a pretty blue ribbon. She wore a white pinafore over her knee length blue dress, and uncomfortable little shoes that did very little to protect her feet. Indeed, the overall impression was that of a dressed-up, pretty little doll.

Her parents had brought her to a garden party at an acquaintances' country estate, however she'd quickly become bored once Lord Ascot had stopped telling stories about his adventures in China. Seeking some privacy where she wouldn't have to nod sweetly at rather dull and boring men, with dull and boring stories, she had stumbled through a hedge and found herself back here, in Wonderland, as she had before and no doubt would again. The place seemed almost to reach for her, snatching her back each time with almost no warning, and leaving her to try and find her way through it.

Wonderland had dangers, but so do all places, and Alice was not afraid. It was her place, and she understood it as nobody else could hope to, even the natives. So quite delighted to have escaped a tedious affair, she began exploring, walking up the path towards the shrinking castle.

As Alice made her way up the path, she was stopped as someone suddenly stepped into her way, holding up his hands. The old man was huge and powerful, with a ruddy face and a shaggy white beard, clad in the pelt of a gigantic snow bear, its head his hood. Under it he wore a stained white leather eye patch, a frilly shirt with plenty of lace at the cuffs, and tights alternately striped with blue and white, a serrated knife pushed through the oversized belt, and enormous golden buckles on his shoes. His days as a hunter were behind him, he was too old, slow and fat now, but she could tell he'd once been terrible. Now he worked as a barber, explaining the beard, since he was the only barber to be found in all the kingdom, and barbers shaved everyone who didn't shave themselves.

Where Alice came from, manners are taught to a young woman far more rigorously then I suspect you are used to, and Alice had been brought up to always be polite and proper. So upon meeting this stranger (but then, everything in Wonderland was strange) Alice curtsied, keeping her back straight and lowering her eyes. "Good afternoon, gentleman." She said, "My name is Alice. You wouldn't know how to get to that castle up ahead, would you?"

"I would be careful if I were you, though were I you no doubt I would find myself giving myself the same advice." The old man said in a low voice, leaning forward conspiratorially and declining to introduce himself, or answer her question. "There's a fruminous Bandersnatch on the prowl, you see, and you might be just the one it's a'hunger for."

Alice blinked. That sounded like a riddle. She'd always been good at riddles. "What manner of thing is a Bandersnatch? Animal, vegetable, or mineral?" She asked, her voice light and sweet with simple curiosity.

The old man in white looked grave as he described it. "Why, you can't miss it unless you don't look! It is shaped like itself, and it is as broad as it has breadth. It is exactly as high as it is, and moves under its own power using only its own organs, traveling as fast as it moves! It detects what it can sense, and lives only by that which nourishes it!"

Alice nodded thoughtfully, as she committed the description to memory, then paused. "What color is it?"

"Of its own shade as well. Very distinctive."

"How strange it sounds. I don't think I've ever heard tell of anything quite like that." She said, and thanked him, as though he'd just been extremely helpful.

"Strange as it is, indeed it is so as I describe." He squinted his good eye at her, leaning down until he was almost her height, and resting his hands on his knees. "But perhaps I was wrong to warn you. Where are you going?"

"I'm going this way." Alice replied sweetly, pointing ahead of her towards the shrinking castle. "Until I turn around, or change direction."

"And what if that direction should turn around for you? Will you still be going that way?" He says, eye narrowing. "If you can only go left or right, and you know that left isn't right, then by a process of elimination, right must be right because it's the only way left."

Alice giggled at the idea, covering her mouth with her hand as she did. "You seem a little on edge."

"Just as well. When you're not on edge, you're taking up too much space." With that, he turned, and made his way back amongst the tall mushrooms. Alice watched him go, and thought for a moment about the monster he warned her about.

The land of the Red King, or the domain of the sleeper, was wilder than the land she was used to, and thereby more dangerous. She'd be better to change direction and go the long way around, then take a risk and keep on walking into danger. Alice often gave herself very good advice, but she very seldom followed it. Besides, she was curious. She continued going the way she had said she would. Her stomach rumbled softlt, she hadn't eaten since breakfast and the garden party would be well underway back home, but she was enjoying herself far too much to care.

That's when she first heard the monster.

First there came a simple, coughing sound, which is what great beasts sometimes make when they stalk through the night. But Alice had never encountered a great beast before, or at least one that hadn't learned to walk upright, wear clothes and speak the tongues of man, so she simply thought the noise odd. She grew a little more alarmed as the coughs came at first from one direction, then another, as if something was circling her. Something very, very big.

Alice stopped, and put her back against the stalks of one of the great mushrooms, so that it couldn't sneak up on her. It wasn't any protection, not really, but it was a comfort. The mushroom stalk was sticky, but not unpleasant. And certainly better then trying to look over your shoulder the whole time to make sure nothing is following you and thereby not watch where you are going, as I'm sure you can agree.

Next there was a deep grunting, growling sound from only a little distance in front of her, like stones being ground against each other, so deep and low that the ground rumbled with it. Alice squinted, but she couldn't make anything out. Was she being menaced by something that wasn't there? That certainly seemed to be what the old man was trying to warn her of. To you or I the thought sounds ridiculous, but Alice, well used to Wonderland, gave it due consideration. With the muffled squishing of dead leaves underfoot, it approached closer on heavy paws, and at last Alice saw that it really was there, and she gasped.

As it turns out, the Bandersnatch was a large, white beast, somewhat resembling a bulldog if a bulldog was crossed with a polar bear with the intention of designing something to hunt dragons, with long, tufted white hair, a scattering of black spots, a long, muscular tail, and multiple rows of sharp teeth in it's overlarge mouth. Ropes of drool hung around it's thick lips, and it's small eyes were milky white and blind, though judging by it's big snout it didn't need them to sense her.

For a moment she flinched, then she relaxed. It hadn't hurt her yet, so who said it would in the future? If this state of affairs continued, she'd be absolutely fine. It was then that the Bandersnatch pounced.

Have you ever seen a very young kitten being carried in the mother cat's mouth? It was like that. Alice, hunched up in a little ball, hung from the enormous creatures mouth. The Bandersnatch gave her a great shake, and then tossed her up in the air. She was as safe as if she'd been in bed, though at first she did not feel so. As she came down, the huge velvety paws caught her as gently as her mothers arms, and set her down (though not the right way up) on the ground.

Most would automatically consider a creature like the Bandersnatch to be dangerous, given its predatory appearance, obvious bulk and raw physical power. And undoubtedly it was, though not for the reasons such people assumed it would be. They'd quickly realize their mistake if they dared to stay around and try to find out, rather then panicking or desperately attacking, but scientific enquiry and the spirit of discovery are not what they once were.

In actuality, despite it's size and clear power, it has amongst the gentlest dispositions imaginable. It never had to be otherwise, because almost nobody is stupid enough to get it angry. And when it wasn't roused, it could actually be quite playful.

Alice was a girl of nearly infinite imagination, and though she had no head for sums or figures, and no interest in making the effort, she was insightful and sensible enough to realize she was being played with, and was soon squealing with laughter as it shook her and threw her up in the air. It was quite exciting, when you relaxed enough and let go of your fear, and the Bandersnatch was happy to have a playmate.

But there were more terrible things out hunting that day. Even as they played, a mile up the path was a young man with long black hair streaked with silver like a tigers stripes, his single golden eye narrowed with predatory anticipation. His movements were relaxed and fluid, and he was quick to smile, though there was a dangerous, lingering intensity in his single remaining eye.

Braig had never found himself in Wonderland before, even back when he was traveling killing Heartless for the Organization. There were never more than a few Heartless here, and he had better things to do with his time then get lost in a four-dimensional maze. But he was well away from the civilized lands, the maze and cards, and deep in the domain of the sleeper, the Red King, because so was Alice. He'd picked up her trail, and was well in the process of tracking her down.

His stride was longer, his steps tireless and unfaltering, but then, he was in no hurry either, quite content to take his time, not because he didn't feel any sense of urgency, as he was quite eager to leave this madhouse, but because it always took exactly five days to cross the Red Kings kingdom, no matter how fast you walked or ran.

Seven. Seven Princesses of Heart. Any seven would do to open the doorway as far as he understood it, but Xehanort had his heart set on a very specific group, which was fine by Braig. One victim was just as good as another, and it was better then going in blind.

So he'd come looking in the country estate where she spent most of her time, in a tiny, much more bearable world. Unfortunately, he'd timed it badly, and found nothing but a governess beside herself with worry (Alice's episodes, as they called the periods where their charge was in an entirely different dimension, had never lasted more then a few hours before, and she'd already been gone a week), an older sister and nothing else. The little blond girl had already found her way through the maze and into the wilderness, and she hadn't even known to run from him. That had been annoying. But he could be patient.

Braig paused in a spot about equally distant from four of the big mushrooms. It wasn't quite a clearing, but there was scant undergrowth in place. A good place for a drink, and he was thirsty. He groped around in his satchel, and had just found the flask of brandy and began to fumble for the stopper, when the shout came.

"Avaunt!" It was a deep voice, well suited to such a challenge, just as the speaker himself was. "You have the look of a miscreant. Turn, knave, so that I might know you!" The words rolled easily off Charles' tongue. The last of the White knights strode after his prey in a curious gait, taking two steps forward then one to the side, then repeating, so that he almost walked diagonally.

The White Knights were not knights as people are knights, but rather springing out of the ground fully formed and ready to serve their station. There'd been many of them once, but they had invaded the kingdom of the Red King because it snowed in Summer, and they had all been lost, one at a time, until only he was left.

Knights were not meant to be alone, and Charlie feared he was becoming something other than a knight. That was cause for concern, even alarm. He'd never been anything except a knight before, and didn't know how to be anything else. So he made up for it by being more knightly then he'd ever been before.

Braig sighed, and took his hand off the flask, leaving it closed. Then he pivoted sharply, his hand a blur of movement almost too fast to see, _never looking around to see his target_. He had no need to, he located the White Knight by voice alone.

Braig had drawn his rightmost arrowgun and swept it to the right in a rising arc in a single, fluid movement. It struck Charlie dead in the mouth, mashing his lips, and shattering three of his teeth. Blood sprayed out, soaking his beard and several high-flying drops struck the corner of his Braig's nose. Charlie screamed, clapping his hands to his face, and staggered back in a capital 'L' shape, as Braig slowly turned. In the silence that followed, the slow winding of the weapon he used to pistol whip the knight was very loud, as Braig loaded it. He hadn't expected to need a weapon but he had no problem using one.

"Well, looks like I went and made an awful mess of your face." Braig drawled, his smile cutting like a knife. Braig quite liked pain, as long as it was being felt by someone else. "Don't know what else you expected, sneaking up on people like that. You aught to know better."

He looked thoughtfully down at the weapon, turning the winch once to tighten it and ensure it was ready to fire, then tilted his head to one side, looking thoughtfully at the White Knight. "I wouldn't try to speak if I were you. Might do yourself harm. So it's a real shame I need you to answer something. You see, I'm looking for a girl." He held out his left hand, palm down, about level with his chest. "She's about so high, blond hair, blue dress. If you can give me a direction, I might not force you to eat this." He added, brandishing his arrowgun for emphasis.

Charlie only stared in uncomprehending pain. Braig shrugged, then shot him. Ah, satisfaction like that. Instant gratification. No wonder he had spent so long wanting desperately to exist again!

He put his weapon away, slotting it into the special strap on his hip that kept it steady but didn't restrict him when he wanted to draw, then took a swallow of brandy out of the flask he still held in his other hand, and smiled in satisfaction. Maybe this place wasn't so bad afterall.


End file.
