Special thanks to goirkens for proof-reading this :)

February, a Decade Ago

Chapter One: The Last Farewell

The Land of Departure, on the eve of March…

A rusted shovel pierced the undisturbed grass. With a grunt, the old man scooped it and the dirt beneath aside and then thrust the tool again into the soil, repeating the pattern. If he wished, the old man need only have waved his hand and willed the earth to flee from him. All that power and more lay at his disposal. But it wouldn't be the same. This is personal.

"I did everything in my power to save you," Xehanort lamented before ploughing further into the grass-covered precipice, Eraqus' old castle far behind him.

The sun retreated behind ominous clouds. A storm was brewing. Spring really has come early this year…

"And I know you hated everything I stood for—" A drop of rain splashed atop a flower nearby and the old master plunged deeper into the ground. "—and maybe I felt the same way about you. But I never wanted it to come to this."

He dug with the shovel once again. In time, the specks of rain became a light shower, piddling against his back. But the downpour grew and thunder rolled in the distance. An air of genuine heartbreak adorned the old man's features. "So, why? Why did you force my hand?" And as the burial tool struck the earth, a crack of lightning split the heavens.

In time long endured, Xehanort had carved a pit shoulder-deep, drenched to the marrow in rainfall. But it's not enough!—and so the rusted shovel plunged further into the mud.

"If only you had heeded me and embraced the darkness within you—!" A coughing fit overtook him and he lurched over in the grave, collapsing to his hands and knees. This wasn't the sort of weather a man his age should spend so long exposed to. He wheezed and his breathing became rapid and shallow. Finally, he retched in the mud. And when his lungs steadied, he reclaimed his grip on the shovel and tossed the vomit away with the patch of earth beneath it. He continued as he dug, "Instead, you chose to reject your own nature, clinging to that hoary notion that the path of light is the only true road to salvation. And so, you found only destruction."

Six feet, more or less. This should do.

Xehanort threw the shovel over the edge and then miserably leaped against the earthen wall and climbed his way out. When he pulled himself over to the surface, he turned back to his handiwork and laid on the ground, arms outspread as his legs hung carelessly over the pit. He looked up at the black heavens and smiled as the rain struck him.

"You see? There's the darkness. A terrifying squall, isn't it? It frightens the meek and the righteous flee for shelter at the sight of it, warning young children to never wander while the darkness rages on. 'It is evil,' you say. 'No good can come of it.' But you forget: ruin brings about creation. Though there will be destruction, do the plants and the trees not thrive from such downpours? It allows them to grow, emboldened and magnificent for when the storm yields and the sun shines once again. Darkness is only a beginning, you see; not an end. It will fall, in time, and a glorious new light will emerge. The worlds will begin anew, immensely strengthened by the fires that forged them, and a new age of prosperity will flourish! Ah, but you do not see this—only what lay in front of you, too shortsighted to fathom the grander design."

He paused a moment, his smile subsiding. "For what it's worth, I truly hope you've found your peace."

Xehanort grunted as he returned to his feet. He picked up the shovel as he arose and looked one last time at the massive grave before walking away, mounds of earth on either side and his work only halfway complete. This hole still needs something to occupy it and then be reburied. "And you needn't worry about your students. I'll take good care of them."