So I said I wasn't going to write any long stories for a while. That lasted…longer than I thought, but still not as long as it probably should have. Oh, well. You know how people say that stress drives them to drink? Apparently it drives me to write.

Anyway, some notes on the upcoming story: I should be updating this weekly. It's never been an issue for me before, but I will warn that, at the time of writing this, I'm a college senior, so I might end up swamped with school work at some point. If that happens, though, I will let you know, and get the update out as soon as possible.

-bolded word in the course of the story=time/perspective shift

And I think that's it. Without further ado, on to the story!

Chapter One: Sparks

At seventeen, Sora believed he'd seen most of what the worlds had to offer. He'd battled Heartless, earned the trust of the world's hearts, stopped a second Keyblade War, and become a Keyblade Master, among other things. The worlds were open to him, still exciting, still wonderful, but not frightening or surprising. He believed he was ready for anything.

At twenty-seven, he realized how wrong he'd been.

The world he dropped into burned. Flames writhed around him, darkness imbued into them. Buildings crumbled and fell. People screamed, trying to run from the flames or pull out family members. The heat made it hard to breathe; the darkness made it hard to move, bringing with it all the oppressive weight of a curse.

Sora could only stare a few moments.

Someone shouted, "Help!"

Sora shook himself from his stupor and hurried towards the voice.

A man pushed against a board, his legs trapped beneath. Tears streamed down his face; flames licked his hands.

Sora summoned his Keyblade. "Blizaga!"

The spell shot into the flames and melted. The fire withered a moment, then regained momentum.

The man stopped and stared.

Sora knelt beside him. "Come on, let's get—" He stopped when his hands neared the fire. The darkness reached for him, hissing quiet curses. Alarmed, Sora lifted his Keyblade. "Purge!" Light shot in a thin strand from the Kingdom Key. The darkness hissed and split around the light.

Sora lowered his weapon, then paled.

The man's glassy eyes still stared widely, the fire licking his face and lifeless hands.

Sora bowed his head, then stood. What kind of fire is this? He ran through the burning city. "Blizaga!" It's like Maleficent's, but darker. Did the Heartless cause this? Is the world falling to darkness? He checked for the creatures, but none appeared, and Sora was distracted by an injured woman reaching towards him. "Curaga." The green light surrounded the woman.

She smiled, then withered, falling listlessly.

Sora's hand shook. He whipped around. There's got to be a way to put this out. He turned his Keyblade to the ground. "Purge." Light bloomed beneath him. The flames writhed and screeched. Sora slowly lifted his Keyblade. A thin stream of darkness seemed to follow, then snapped and returned to the earth.

Sora's grip tightened. He hurried on.

The pattern continued, Sora rushing through wreckage to someone who appeared to be injured and trying to heal them, only for them to collapse and die. He tried dragging individuals from the flames, but they didn't live long enough to escape the fire. So Sora continued, casting Curaga and Blizaga, vainly trying to use Purge to draw the curse from the ground.

Never, in all his time traveling the worlds, had he seen something so resistant to purification.

Sora grit his teeth and closed his eyes, reaching for the world's heart. Hey. Hey! You know there's a curse eating you, right? What's going on?

Usually, a world would respond, albeit not in normal, human thoughts—images, impressions, this vague sense of knowledge and experience, and the sense of a slow, determined pulse. This time, however, Sora could barely feel that slow beat, the heart beneath the surface seeming muddled and fuzzy.

Does it come from you?

Something snapped, breaking his concentration.

A kid wobbled through the wreckage.

Sora blinked, then shook himself. "Hey!" He rushed towards him.

The kid stumbled.

"Woah, don't fall."

The boy caught himself on Sora's Keyblade.

Sora knelt and checked him. "Can you hear me?" He turned the boy's face towards him.

Dull amber eyes stared back. Soot fell from his hair and coated his face.

Sora dismissed his Keyblade and hoisted the boy in his arms. "Okay, let's get you out of here." He sprinted through the burned city, rambling, "It's a good thing I found you. Wouldn't want a kid to get stuck in that, right?" He tried not to think about the countless kids who would have likely already died. "It'll be okay, though. We'll get you out and heal you. Just stay with me, okay? You'll be out of this in no time."

A light rain fell when Sora reach the fire's edge. The break between the shadowy flames and safe ground seemed oddly clear-cut.

Sora skidded through the dirt and lay the kid on the ground. He checked his breathing. Vaguely, he could sense the same curse from the fire, wound tightly around the boy's heart. Sora summoned the Kingdom Key. "Curaga." Green light fell around the boy, then faded, but he didn't stir. I don't have that much magic left. What else can I do? He steadied himself. I guess there is that. He placed the tip of his Keyblade against the boy's chest. "Purge."

Light flared beneath the tip and spread across the child's heart.

The boy gasped, jerking.

"It's alright. I just need to loosen this a bit." Sora teased the light upward, a thin string emerging from the child's chest, dragging a dark tail.

The boy wailed.

Sora winced. The light rose a little more. Sora swung his blade to the side, sending light and darkness scattering into the air.

The boy relaxed into unconsciousness, a seeming peace crossing his face.

Sora knelt. The darkness still hovered around his heart, but seemed to no longer choke it. For a brief moment, he wished Riku were there; his friend had more experience with internal darkness than he did. He shook his head. "Well, I guess there have to be doctors on this world, right? Somewhere, anyways." He lifted the boy and carried him around the burning edge.

Large red vehicles had parked themselves some distance away, spraying water into the flames. White vehicles rested nearby, people rushing to and from them, frantically hovering over injured individuals.

Sora took the boy to them.

Someone noticed. They swept the child into the back of a vehicle and placed a mask over his face. "His breathing's stable," someone reported.

Another asked, "Where did you find him?"

"Uh," he hesitated, "near the fire."

The man surveyed him critically. "Perhaps we should see to you, too."

"What, this?" He realized burns had formed along his arms and soot coated his face and clothes. "It's fine."

"No sense in being reckless."

Sora shrugged and sat, clasping his hands between his legs. I don't think I'll be able to do much more, anyways. His expression fell. "Do you know what caused the fire?"

The man rubbed something cold onto a burn. "No. Probably some idiot kid."

Sora murmured agreement, his eyes staring into the flames.

The man cleared his throat. "I'm not going to ask why you lied about finding the kid."

Sora jerked.

"But I will say that, if you really did pull him out of the fire, he might be interested in meeting you when he wakes up. Or, at least, you might want to see how he's faring." He moved aside and scribbled something onto a paper. He handed it to Sora. "That's the address."

"Um, thanks." He examined the card.

The man checked Sora again. "Nothing serious. Still, keep an eye on those."

"Right. Thanks." He stood. "I'm Sora, by the way."

The man dipped his head. "Pleasure to meet you." He turned away.

Sora watched the busy doctors and the growing crowd, then walked away, slipping the card into his pocket.

-Shirou remembered screaming and darkness and heat. He remembered stumbling through a broken, burned city, people falling around him, dying alone or in their attempts to save others. He remembered moving past them, forsaking bits of himself that weren't necessary to survive, until he had nothing left. And just before he'd collapsed, a man had found him, and dragged him out of that hell, and removed some of the tightness around his heart.

These were his first memories. That was the place he had been born. Whatever had existed before had died in place of his body.

A voice came from somewhere, unusual, vibrating, more a sensation than a sound: "A most curious individual."

Shirou's eyes opened slowly. He stood on a stained-glass platform, surrounded by darkness. The platform glowed a blurry gray. Something seemed to be etched beneath the faint glow, but Shirou couldn't tell what.

"But there have been more unlikely candidates."

Shirou's response came automatically, dull and rehearsed, "Who are you?"

"The question is not 'I,' but 'you.'"

"What?"

"O apprentice, take up your weapon."

A sword materialized in front of him. He jumped, then hesitantly stretched out a hand. The hilt seemed warm, comfortable, familiar.

The glass cracked. Shirou stumbled, then yelped, falling through darkness.

Shirou's eyes snapped open. He squinted, surprised by the sudden light. He sat and rubbed his eyes.

He rested in a hospital room. A monitor stood by his bed, beeping quietly. An IV had been stuck in his arm, and he'd been dressed in a pale-blue hospital gown. Blue and white filled the room, from the walls to the beds. A curtain blocked his left side, but quiet groans came from beyond. Another bed across from him held a child with his arm bandaged.

Shirou carefully inspected himself. He had no bandages, and nothing seemed out of place—only the IV still stuck in his arm.

Footsteps tapped towards him. A doctor appeared, a clipboard cradled in her arms. "You're awake." She checked the monitor, then flashed him a small smile. "How do you feel?"

"Fine."

"Good." She placed a stethoscope against his chest, then against his back and ordered him to take several deep breaths. She attached a small sort of clip to his finger and watched the monitor, then checked his IV. "Everything seems to be in good order. I'd like to keep you here a few days, though, to be safe." She scribbled something on her clipboard.

Shirou frowned. Something seemed strangely out of place.

The doctor asked, "What's your name?"

"Shirou."

A pregnant pause stretched between them. The doctor prompted, "And your last name?"

"Last name?" Shirou hesitated. He searched his memory, then shook his head.

The doctor's lips stretched thin. "Alright. I'll be back to check on your later." She left.

Shirou lay back. His mind swirled with images of hellfire and of a brilliant, stained-glass platform.

Standard short beginning chapter, but hey, Shirou's been chosen. Let's see how long before things start getting interesting.

If you have any questions or comments, please leave a review!