(Welcome to anyone reading this after finishing re:Live... re:Start! My writing has significantly improved since beginning my ridiculous 155,000-word novel, and this story could do with a little zhuzhing. Please bear with me while I give it a fresh coat of paint and a spit-shine. The rewrite of chapter one added well over 2,000 words, so it's now much closer in length to the rest of the story. The quotes section of the KH wiki totally co-authored this story btw)

Ventus couldn't remember the last time he was awake.

The niggling doubts lingering at the edge of his consciousness insisted that he should be far more concerned than he was. Ventus' mind felt fuzzy as if the space between his ears was packed with cotton wool, and he couldn't conjure the willpower to question his apathy. The gaping void between waking hours just didn't seem all that strange to him. He clumsily rubbed the rheum from the corner of each eye and cautiously peeled them open. Nothing unusual. The sliver of green light snaking beneath the doorframe cast opaque shadows that drowned the room in darkness. Perhaps his eyes had grown lazy from disuse. With a booming yawn and a satisfying pop of his jaw, Ventus threw his bedsheets back over himself and unceremoniously rolled over to face the wall. If the world wanted him to rise and shine, then the world could wait five more minutes.

As far as Ventus was concerned, anything that had occurred before the moment he awoke might as well be lost to the sands of time. Heavy storm clouds engulfed his memories like a woollen blanket; not even the tiniest sunbeam could pierce through and grant him insight. The blond had just come into existence mere moments ago, opening his eyes for the first time like a newborn baby. That was perfectly normal... right? He shouldn't be so perturbed by the inky ocean pooled around his memories, so why was his heart about to burst from his chest? Why was it pounding as if driven by some intangible, primal fear? Ventus huffed to himself and stalled that train of thought before it left the station. If it was such a big deal, he could always pick Master Eraqus' brain in the morning. His mentor was just as short-tempered as he was wise, particularly if one of his students barged into his room in the middle of the ni-

Wait.

This wasn't the Land of Departure.

Ventus jolted upright, scattering bedsheets like rivulets of colourful cotton. He felt as if he had been dunked in water as frigid terror crept across his chest and stole his breath away. The memories lurking in the penumbra of his subconsciousness rushed to him all at once. The crushing chill that permeated his bones as Master Xehanort paralysed his battered body with ice. The glistening tears in the corners of Aqua's eyes as she stood between him and Braig like a living barricade. The ringing of Vanitas' laughter echoing inside his head as his brother puppeteered his body and turned him against those he loved. The voice of a child calling from beyond the veil of death and pulling him into a deep, dreamless slumber.

That was a memory Ventus was happy to leave behind.

But there was another intangible droplet of doubt that he just couldn't shake off. The half-formed χ-Blade birthed from his union with Vanitas was destroyed, lost to the abyss along with the siblings that fought over it... so shouldn't he be dead?

Ventus expected death to hurt. He had prepared himself for the most excruciating pain known to man, but there was only unending peace. He could sleep easy knowing his passing would allow his friends to continue on, even if they had to do it without him. Ventus would make the same decision over and over again without a second thought. That alone was worth all the Munny in the world. His only regret was that he would never have the chance to become a Keyblade Master. His memory would forever live in the shadows of his friends.

Ventus groaned and put his head in his hands. His mind was stuffed to the brim with pillowy yarn. Was this the afterlife? Or was his brain still entrenched in sleep? The blond reached into the depths of his psyche, but all that greeted him was static. Something was there, hiding in the darkest crevasse of his mind where his light couldn't reach. Something had happened to him after he and Vanitas lost their hearts to the darkness, and he hadn't died. He was sure of it. Pins and needles ran down his fingertips as Ventus clenched and unclenched his fists, watching blue-tinted veins shift beneath his skin. They were once so incredibly numb, nerves muffled by the darkness that crept into every fibre of his being until even his name was a whisper in the wind. From somewhere beyond the event horizon radiated an intense warmth: a star so bright that shadows were banished in the blink of an eye. Ventus felt his skin burning under the powerful rays of light, but it brought sensation back to his deadened limbs. The star held out its arms as if greeting an old friend, and Ventus tumbled headfirst into its embrace. His heart recognised the source of the light, but his mind couldn't hold onto the name...

You don't remember my name? Thanks a lot, Kairi!

The hairs on the back of Ventus' neck stood to attention like rows of soldiers. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart skipped a beat. He tore his hands away from his face, ready to launch himself at whoever dared approach him while he was sleeping. The room was empty. Ventus' eyes scoured every opaque shadow creeping across the floor, but found nothing. The only illumination came from an artificial green glow peeking beneath the doorframe, accompanied by the gentle humming of machinery from somewhere unseen.

I'll give you a hint. Start with an "S".

Ventus let out a pained whine as the fuzziness in his head blossomed into a severe migraine. His ears were deafened by high-pitched ringing, and he was sure his eyes were vibrating in his skull with the pressure. Ventus' already limited vision sparked as he dug the heels of his palms into his eyesockets, imprinting waltzing afterimages onto his retinas. He could've sworn the pain continued on forever, but something in his soul abruptly clicked into place and it was over in an instant. Ventus found himself face down on the floor, having tumbled out of bed as he wrestled with the sudden onset of pain.

What in the hell was going on…?

Ventus tentatively pulled himself to his feet, his stomach swimming with swelling nausea. His body felt so foreign; legs too short, arms too muscular, hair too long. Ventus was a stranger in his own skin. What was wrong with him?! He felt cripplingly alone, lost in a world that he no longer recognised. Ventus was no coward, but sometimes he needed to remind himself to be brave. Courage came so naturally to Terra and Aqua, but they never allowed their friend to feel inferior. He could almost hear Aqua now, whispering reassuring words in his ear; "bravery is not the absence of fear, but the power to overcome it." Ventus needed Terra and Aqua to come for him. They would know what to do. They always did.

Wait, Terra and Aqua!

Ventus practically launched himself out of the room, almost knocking the door off its hinges as he burst into the hallway. He had no idea what happened to Terra and Aqua after hitting the self-destruct button on the χ-Blade and throwing his soul to the wolves. They would be so happy to see him alive! Ventus nearly tripped over his own feet as he scurried down a set of rickety wooden stairs, each board bent at a different angle and creaking with every step. He was alive! They could put Master Xehanort behind them and go back to the Land of Departure. Terra could finish his Mark of Mastery. Heck, maybe they'd even let him take it this time! Ventus could see it now: three Keyblade Masters, travelling to the farthest limits of the Ocean Between and braving uncharted worlds. The unbreakable trio, side by side. Just the thought filled his heart to the brim with joy.

"Aqua! Terra!" Ventus yelled, exploding into the front room unannounced. His voice rang throughout the quiet house like a chiming bell.

The room was completely empty.

Or at least, it was unoccupied. Signs of life occupied every corner of the room, haphazardly shoved wherever space could be found until the walls threatened to overflow. An enormous computer screen spilled ghostly green light across the floor, the same tinge that leered beneath the bedroom door. Hats and coats hung from the doorframe, strewn across chairs and stools when space became scarce. A heavy weapon propped upright in the corner like a sentinel, longer than Ventus was tall and wrapped in... bandages?

The elation gripping Ventus' body screeched to a jarring halt as his mind began to register the contents of the room. A table with a steaming hot kettle and cup of herbal tea? Bookshelves sagging under the weight of countless magical tomes? A pointed blue wizard's hat?! The smile slowly slid off the blond's face. Even through the gaps in his memories, Ventus knew that he didn't recognise this place. His feet had never disturbed the dust on these floorboards before. The only wizard he could recall meeting was Yen Sid, but the chaotic disarray would've sent shivers up the old warlock's spine. Where in the universe had the darkness spat him out...?

Higitus Figitus zumbakazing!
I want your attention, everything!
We're unpacking to stay. Come on, let's go!
No, no, not you; books are always first, you know.

A flash of pain behind Ventus' eyes sent images of books dancing through the air from within a bottomless bag rushing across his vision. The illusion vanished as soon as he blinked, leaving him sorrowfully alone once more. Ventus winced sharply and shook it off. He was an apprentice of Master Eraqus, a skilled Keyblade Wielder and defender of the light. His resolve would not be weakened by whatever was playing mind games on him. He must've been split up from the others during his fight against Vanitas. If Terra and Aqua weren't here - wherever 'here' was - then he would just check the next world. Maybe even the one after that. Aqua promised that the magic in his Wayfinder would bring them all together no matter what, and Ventus didn't doubt her words for one second. It didn't matter how many worlds he had to traipse through. He would find his friends, and they would go home hand-in-hand.

The claws of fear that once gripped Ventus' heart steadily retracted as his determination returned in a blaze of glory. He gave a curt nod and stood up straight, pushing out his chest in triumph and placing his hand on the pauldron worn on his left shoulder. His Keyblade Armour and Glider would prove crucial if he wanted any chance of escaping the world he had found himself in. The Ocean Between was nigh impossible to navigate, but the blond could make his way to Neverland by following the second star to the right. That would give him a place to start. Grazing the cold, coarse metal with his fingertips, Ventus reached down into the depths of his heart and-

He wasn't wearing his pauldron.

Funnily enough, it hadn't occurred to Ventus that he should've checked if he was wearing clothes before charging around a mystery house. His mind had been just a tiny bit preoccupied with more pressing matters, such as whether he was dead or not. Looking down at himself, Ventus was clad in black pants that clung loosely to his calves, wrapped with canary-yellow belts and straps. The skin of his shins and arms held a soft, sun-kissed tan, warmed by the touch of islander sunshine. Strands of chocolate hair crossed his vision, sweeping carelessly in front of his eyes. Ventus brushed them aside without thinking about it. His mind didn't immediately recognise that anything was wrong.

"Sora? Is everything OK?"

Ventus spun on his heels, shoulders tense and eyes wide as something descended the stairs behind him, filling the placid air with heavy thumping. His Keyblade hand twitched, ready to summon Wayward Wind and defend himself. As far as he knew, these people had kidnapped him and stripped him of his armour. If they knew the power held within that single piece of metal, it would be game over. Even worse, they had put him in the ugliest clothes he had ever seen! Ventus' heart was torn between two extremes; the desire to face the villain that had taken him captive raged against the urge to run for his life. He would be of no use to Terra and Aqua if he found himself in chains. Perhaps a living coward was better than a dead hero. The thought left a bitter taste in the blond Keyblade wielder's mouth, but this was no time to fall prey to his emotions.

Before he could be caught and detained by the figure closing in on his position, Ventus slipped through the front door and out into the world beyond.

At least it was a pleasant night.

The cool night breeze delicately kissed Ventus' cheeks, reddened from exertion and frustration, brushing away the cobwebs and clearing the bleariness lingering in his head. His nose wrinkled as the smell of dirt and cement swarmed his nostrils, barely masked behind the saccharine scent of flowers spilling from every open window. The moon hovered above his head like a glowing eyeball, surrounded by the faint flickering of countless stars. Ventus breathed a sigh of relief. Every star in the night sky was the light of a different world; the sight of so many dots winking back at him must mean that Xehanort's plan had failed. His only regret was that he couldn't be there to watch it all come tumbling down.

Ventus' midnight reverie was abruptly shattered as the footsteps reached the bottom of the staircase. He could hear their owner slowly pacing around the room as if stalking their escaped captive, hunting for movement in the shadows. The blond grumbled under his breath and sprinted away as fast as his legs could carry him, bolting around a corner and out of sight. He would come back when he had gained his bearings, and boy would they be sorry for stealing his stuff. Metal pipes and pistons wound up the brick walls like the twisted ivy of the Enchanted Dominion, threatening to sweep his legs at any moment. Ventus reluctantly put his friends on the backburner - his first priority was figuring out where he was. If he was spat from a wormhole at the edge of the universe, who knows what could've happened to Aqua and Terra! Ventus knew his friends needed him just as much as he needed them, though they would always stubbornly disagree. Terra would scoff and cross his arms, reaffirming his undisputable strength but never denying his need for companionship. Aqua would put her 'Mom face' on and break into a lecture about how they were a team and-

Right, my friends! There's two of 'em. The loud one is Dona- You know what? Never mind. I'm looking for my friends, Riku and Kairi.

Ventus dug his heels into the concrete paving and skidded to a halt, sending dust and sand billowing into the air in a dense cloud. That voice was still following him, clawing at his brain and strangling it of oxygen. Every time his mind wandered, those incorporeal words echoed inside his head until his own thoughts were reduced to a whisper. Were his kidnappers stalking him, giggling to themselves as he descended deeper and deeper into madness?

"Who's there?!" Ventus demanded of the vacant alleyway, channelling Terra's imposing presence in his words. "SHOW YOURSELF!"

The only reply was the echo of Ventus' own voice resonating throughout the sidestreet. His sky-blue eyes flicked around aggressively, but the forest of rickety houses was impenetrable. Not even a single meagre Unversed sprung from the darkness. The blond almost hungered for an attacker, just so he would have something to direct his frustrations towards. The owner of the disembodied voice seemed determined not to give him that satisfaction.

Ventus let out a dangerous growl and extended his right arm behind his back. His Keyblade manifested in his grasp with a flurry of sparks, illuminating the darkened alley with a powerful flash. They may have taken his armour, but he could still fight! If his stalker refused to reveal themselves, then he would flush them out of hiding like the rats they were.

"COWARD!"

Maybe everything we've done... maybe it was for nothing. What am I supposed to do if I can't use the Keyblade?

Ventus' knees almost buckled under his weight as a splitting headache shot across his skull, digging into his brain and ripping it apart. The pain ricocheted throughout his chest as if his heart had burst into flames. His blood boiled in his veins and his lungs turned to ash, but Ventus refused to fall victim to the panic pooling in his stomach. The blanks in his memory didn't matter: the blond had clawed his way up from the jaws of death, and he was not going back without a fight. The weight of Wayward Wind in his right hand was like an anchor in stormy seas, a stalwart knight that remained by his side without uttering a single complaint. Unversed or not, his stalker would taste the metal of his Keyblade if it dared antagonise him. Ventus resented resorting to aggression, but his back was up against the wall. He tightened his backwards grip, warmth trickling up his forearm as the hilt began to heat up, and steeled himself for the inevitable attack.

Ventus noticed it almost immediately. The straining muscles in his wrist and the metal guard digging uncomfortably into his skin. Wayward Wind was the only Keyblade forged with a reverse grip, designed to be wielded with its teeth behind its master. Ventus found that any weapon fashioned without his unique stance in mind would chafe his skin and leave dark purple bruises up his arm. Technically speaking, any Keyblade could be handled backwards if the user tried hard enough, but the Wayward Wind was an extension of his own will. It was too lightweight to ever deliver a heavy blow, and the curved guard often deflected attacks in strange directions, but Ventus would never choose any other Keyblade. Its speed was unparalleled, and the blade had never once dented or chipped, no matter how many times he hurled it across the room in a Strike Raid.

So why did Wayward Wind suddenly feel so foreign to his touch?

It was far too lightweight for his tendons to be groaning in pain as they struggled to support the Keyblade's newfound mass. The guard was too finely curved to be chafing against his forearm, tugging uncomfortably on his skin with every movement. And it certainly never felt hot to the touch...

Ventus yelped as the gentle, thrumming warmth exploded into angry heat as if his palm was filled with smouldering coals. His Keyblade slipped from his grasp and clattered against the stone cobbles below his feet as he stared at his hand, expecting to find his fingers blackened by flames. His skin was completely untouched, protected by black leather gloves worn away at the palm by years of Keyblade use. The blond hissed as the intense heat receded until he wasn't sure if he hadn't just imagined the whole thing. His mind was no longer his own, beseeched by images and voices that his heart recognised but his brain couldn't recall. Wayward Wind had never once rejected his touch. Was he sick? Cursed?

No. It wasn't his Keyblade. The weapon lying before his feet was straight as an arrow, glowing ethereal silver under the pale light of the moon. Its teeth were moulded in the shape of a crown, and its hilt glimmered as if constructed of solid gold. Ventus' mouth was so dry that he could barely swallow. He backed away from the blade with his right hand clutched towards his chest in a tight fist. The imposter Keyblade vanished in a burst of light, only to reappear in his possession moments later.

Yes, the Keyblade's Chosen One.

So, THIS is the Key…

Ventus felt sick. He was trapped in a world he didn't know, plagued by visions he didn't understand. He had no armour, no Keyblade, and no friends to back him up. The silver blade had returned to his hand of its own will, yet it stung his skin like acid as it rejected his touch. Ventus clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white and willed the Keyblade to just go away and leave him alone. The weapon was more than happy to comply, disintegrating into particles of light that disappeared between the cracks in the paving stones. The blond felt the pattern of the leather grip seared into his palm through his glove, though he doubted any marks had been left behind.

Just what had happened to his heart? Why did it no longer feel like his own?

Ventus slammed the brakes on his spiralling thoughts and took a deep breath. Every brain cell was screaming at him to freak out, get angry, do something other than stand there, but he couldn't stop imagining the disappointed expressions on Terra's and Aqua's faces. He had once proclaimed himself worthy of the title of Keyblade Master, and it was time he acted like one. Maybe he was dreaming, or maybe he was still dead. Either way, having a breakdown in an alley was not going to get him anywhere. He needed Terra's strength, Aqua's wisdom, Master Eraqus' resolve.

Eraqus.

Ventus sharply turned and stormed off, leaving any thoughts of his master behind. He wasn't ready to face what happened in the courtyard that day. The steeled expression on his mentor's face as he fought down the tears, aiming his Keyblade at Ventus' heart to murder him where he stood. The darkness that swallowed Terra whole, driving him to enact the same fate upon the man he once called 'father'. It was just another notch in his axe, another situation where the universe had woven a web around Ventus and he was helpless to struggle free. A vision of the night sky appeared as the blond mindlessly climbed a short flight of stairs, the sound of concrete crunching with every step echoing down empty alleyways. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, allowing the moon to shine with its true glory. It was funny, even across every world Ventus had visited, the sky never changed. The same old moon, the same old stars. He took comfort knowing there was something in his chaotic world that would always remain the same.

Two worlds, one sky.

This place triggered some fond memories hiding in the crevasses of Ventus' heart. His legs broke into a jog as renewed energy surged through his muscles. He had wandered upon a makeshift market square, lined with rickety shacks and sheltered on all sides by war-torn battlements. What a strange place, for its denizens to go about their business undeterred by the fortifications that loomed overhead. The stalls were so haphazardly thrown together that a single gust of wind could've toppled them to the ground, but the atmosphere buzzed with life. Benches were wiped clean, signs were hung out to attract customers, there was even a shop for his favourite sea-salt ice cream! Ventus licked his lips at the thought.

It's salty… but so sweet!

Wait, now he remembered this place!

Ventus' heart leapt into his chest as he almost threw himself over the battlements, desperate to catch a glimpse of what lay beyond the brick walls. He remembered the castle that pierced the sky, the enormous vault that hid sweet treats from prying eyes, the winding streets and glowing lanterns on every corner. This was Radiant Garden! Ventus released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding – this was a world he recognised after all. Terra and Aqua always complained about 'responsibilities' and the 'order of worlds', but he knew deep down they loved sea-salt ice cream just as much as he did. It never took much convincing for the three to put their duties as Keyblade wielders to the side, and the temptation of ice cream didn't hurt. Ventus let out a quiet chuckle and crossed his arms on the exposed stone wall, resting his chin on his forearms and staring wistfully at the stars above. Now that Xehanort's scheming had been squashed, the three actually had a chance of returning to the days spent dreaming about the future. For a while, Ventus had given up all hope of reliving those cherished moments. Perhaps, for once in his life, everything would turn out alright.

...

There was something still not quite right. Ventus' heart was lost in idyllic dreaming, but his mind still ticked away like a time bomb. He had spent countless hours in the market square of Radiant Garden, half-listening to Aqua dictate battle strategies while he and Terra goofed off. The three practically had a table reserved for them, their faces were so well known to the locals. The Radiant Garden he knew was opulent and grand, aromatic flowers hanging in baskets from every window and the perpetual smell of freshly baked goods in the air. The city Ventus found himself stranded in was a war zone, stone walls crumbling into dust and holes patched with sheets of smudged steel. Miles of irradiated purple land stretched out from the borders of the city to the horizon like a disease. Even the illustrious castle facade was dampened by broken windows and missing chunks that exposed the palace interiors to the elements. Why did everything feel so off? His clothes, his Keyblade, and now the world he was in? The puzzle pieces were almost lined up to form a complete image, but the edges didn't quite match. How could a place feel so familiar and yet so antagonistic at the same time? It was like Ventus had visited his childhood home, only to find a different family living in his place and they'd moved all the furniture around.

Everything about this situation belonged to someone else… but who?

First one to the boat gets to be captain! C'mon! You call that running?

That's weird. It's like something's squeezing me inside.

Hey… can you hear me?

Ventus was so overwhelmingly tired. He'd only opened his eyes just moments ago, yet was already running on empty. If he allowed his eyelids to slip closed, the sweet song of sleep filled his ears and lured him down where nothing existed and he could tumble into endless black. Ventus' heart was fractured, but all the pieces were within reach. They just needed to be put back together. But if that was true, then whose heart was beating in his chest? Whose heart was bound to that silver Keyblade, whose heart resonated with this world and called it home? Because it sure as hell wasn't his.

Reluctantly sliding down from his perch with a sigh, Ventus turned back towards the deserted square. His limbs were like solid blocks of concrete, dragging him down to the earth with every step. All he could think about was climbing back into that bed, back into the warm arms of sleep; just like the embrace of light that plucked his soul from the void and saved his life. His exhaustion was so great that he no longer considered the dangers of returning to the house he had awoken in or the threat of the shades who lurked inside. Even the best Keyblade Masters need a decent night's sleep. Terra was the biggest grump in the galaxy when his beauty sleep was cut short. Ventus chuckled lightly to himself and sheepishly rubbed the bridge of his nose. The best Keyblade Masters… just like himself, huh?

He began his slow saunter across the market square until his eyes hovered over what seemed to be a community signboard. Gaudy posters for events and adverts for local stores were pinned to the corkboard, plastered in neon colours to attract the attention of passers-by. It had worked on Ventus, at least. His young mind was inexplicably drawn to the explosion of hues and he wandered over, shivering as the cold night air washed over his exposed shins. His sky-blue eyes trailed over the posters; something about a 'Struggle' championship being held in a city he didn't recognise called 'Twilight Town'. If this really was Radiant Garden, maybe there was some kind of local event that would lead Aqua and Terra to him. Ventus could leap out of the crowd and scream "SURPRISE!" with a stick of sea-salt ice cream in each hand. Terra would recognise how strong he had become, how he could hold his own in battle and finally accompany the duo on missions. Aqua would pretend to be upset at his disappearance, but she would pat him on the shoulder and admit that she never lost faith in him. The three would fly their Keybalde Gliders into the sunset, the long-awaited beginning of a new chapter in their lives. He could barely wait.

Ventus was ready to resume his trek across the ruined city until his eyes fell upon a calendar tacked to the signboard. A dog-eared photograph of a group of friend smiling and laughing together displayed the date. A woman with brown curls and sunshine in her eyes, a man with spiky blond hair and an expression that could melt steel, a boy with wild, untamed chocolate locks and a disturbingly familiar key in hand. Just looking at the boy's face was enough to send shards of pain shooting through Ventus' skull. Of course, the date was the most crucial pa-

The date.

Ventus sunk to his knees.

Ten years.

It had been ten years.

The Radiant Garden he knew was in the past, left to wither away until it was a shell of its former glory. No wonder the castle was so run down, the buildings derelict and walls crumbling. No wonder the winding cobbled streets seemed so familiar yet so hostile. No wonder he could barely remember anything, why he couldn't summon his own Keyblade, why his one remaining tether to his friends was hanging on by a thread.

Ventus had slept for ten years, and the universe had moved on without him.

I've been having these weird thoughts lately.

Like, is any of this for real, or not?

Aerith hadn't slept well in years, even before Radiant Garden was swallowed by darkness

She was never the type to curse - such behaviour was vulgar and uncouth - but she could curse her inability to fight until she had no more words to give. Perhaps she was spending too much time around Cid, who had the mouth of a sailor and the patience of a lit fuse. Every world had a Lifestream coursing through the earth and nurturing the plants and creatures that called it home, though Aerith had never heard anyone else refer to it by that title. Whether it was 'Mother Nature', 'Gaia', or 'Terra Firma', the myriad of names all referred to the same phenomenon. As a Cetra, Aerith's connection to the lifeblood of the planet was stronger than most, but her heritage meant nothing in a world without Materia. The Lifestream was sealed behind the world's Keyhole, locked away from prying eyes and greedy hands in the depths of the castle. The beating heart of Radiant Garden would never see the light of day, and Aerith could only pray that it remained that way.

Instead, she did her best to make herself useful in other ways. She would supervise Leon and Cloud as they trained, reining in their competitive natures every time they became too enthusiastic and almost took the others head off. She would roam the twisting streets with Yuffie and Tifa, searching for treasure and secrets down every dark alley and behind every closed door. She would stock up Cid's workshop and pressure him into putting down the cigarettes and eating a decent meal every once in a while.

Aerith was determined to prove that her usefulness did not begin and end with her heritage. She was unsure if she was trying to prove it to the others, or to herself.

Aerith was the first to settle into their temporary home in Traverse Town after Radiant Garden was devoured by the Heartless. Rumours of grotesque experiments and wailing in the halls of the castle had spread throughout the town like wildfire, long before the Heartless poured through the palace gates and consumed everything in their path. Something had changed from the moment Xehanort was introduced to the apprentices of Ansem the Wise. Aerith worried every day that her friends would go to investigate and never come back. She fretted over Cloud whenever he disappeared to seek revenge against Sephiroth for the tenth time that month, returning bruised and beaten yet stubbornly alive. She would gladly trade every ounce of her Cetra blood if it could somehow protect those she loved. There was no price too steep.

Traverse Town was a fresh start for them. They were suddenly surrounded by people in the same awful situation – lost and confused after their homes and families were consumed by a tidal wave of Heartless. These people needed help, and it was exactly the kind of help that Aerith could provide. There was no demand for oversized swords or eco-terrorism in Traverse Town; just honest work and honest people. Aerith never ceased mourning the loss of her home, but every day spent within the walls of Traverse Town left her memories of the cobbled stone roads and regal gates of Radiant Garden feeling more and more faded.

Sora brought all those emotions back to the surface, for better or worse.

Aerith would never blame him for dragging up her feelings of helplessness or guilt. It wasn't his fault; the kid was just trying to do his best. Still, she was faced with the reality that this was yet another person she was powerless to help. She still remembered the first time they had crossed paths; the boy stumbled into Cid's shop, dazed and disoriented, rambling about a giant black monster and a friendly bloodhound with a green collar. This was a story Aerith had heard many times: countless children had washed up on the proverbial shores of Traverse Town before she had arrived, and many would for years to come. Cid insisted that he detested how kids would start poking around his stuff and breaking things, but the mechanic had a heart of gold beneath the layers of rust and dirt. Aerith had to physically stop him inviting wayward children to stay at their house before they ran out of space.

This child was different, though. He had the Key.

Leon almost blasted the front door off its hinges in his haste to intercept Sora's tracks. Cid had only brought up the weapon in passing, but the colour immediately drained from the stoic mercenary's face at the mere mention of the silver key. The Keyblade was nothing more than a legend, the one weapon that could push back the tide of darkness. At least, Aerith thought it was only a legend. If the Keyblade truly existed, then Leon wanted it for himself. His Gunblade carved through Heartless hoards like warm butter, but the pearls of darkness eventually condensated back into their original forms. Only the Keyblade could release the hearts trapped within and annihilate the Heartless for good. Aerith had humoured Leon's ranting many times before, nodding her head as he mimed how he would cleave a path through the monsters and reclaim Radiant Garden from the clutches of evil. His passionate words sparked a surge of hope in her heart, but the seeds of doubt had long taken root.

If the road to triumph was paved with the blood of her friends... then Aerith couldn't say if it would ever be worth it.

Visions of Leon throwing himself at the Heartless with Keyblade in hand, ready to give his life for those he loved, drove Aerith after him. She didn't know if the Lifestream would ever hear her voice, yet she prayed with all the strength in her heart that she would not be too late. She should've put her foot down long ago, begged him to give up his dream if it meant carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. She should've done more to make Traverse Town feel like home, pulled him aside when his mind wandered back to the labyrinthian streets and friendly faces of Radiant Garden. Aerith's heart never ceased yearning for the embrace of home, but there was no place in the universe worthy of such a sacrifice. What was the use of returning home if the price was the souls of her family?

Aerith had arrived too late, but not in the way she imagined. The redhead expected to find Leon poised over the unconscious body of a young boy. Instead, she rounded the corner just in time to witness Leon crumple to his knees, struck down by the legendary Keyblade held in the hands of a child barely fourteen years old.

She never let Leon live that one down.

Sora reminded Aerith of everything she hated about herself. Every time he returned to Hollow Bastion to regale the crew of his adventures, Aerith had to physically restrain herself from sweeping the boy up into her arms and never letting him leave the house again. Yuffie clung to his every word, desperate to hear about the worlds that lay beyond their castle walls. Leon seethed with jealousy, broiling with bitterness from his pride that had never quite healed. Cid chewed on a toothpick with increasing intensity as his mind overflowed with ideas for new Gummi Blocks and routes through the Ocean Between. Aerith didn't want to hear any of it. Sora's mastery over the Keyblade only continued to grow with every battalion of Heartless he decimated, every tyrant he toppled, every world he united. He entertained the others with stories of facing off against an entire army of Huns and how he was almost eaten by a pack of ravenous hyenas, but Aerith didn't find his tales amusing. Sora's innocent smile and naive spirit steadily faded into sepia tones, replaced by hardened resolve and solemnity. Every time he stepped aboard the Gummiship and ventured into worlds unknown, the boy who stood shaking in his boots as he struggled to hold the Keyblade in both hands became more and more of a stranger.

Aerith had already picked up on the fact that Sora stopped over even when there was no trouble in Hollow Bastion. He dropped in at the most unexpected times, accompanied by Donald and Goofy who never voiced any complaints about taking a break from the endless onslaught of Heartless. Cid practically salivated at the opportunity to study the Keyblade in person, and Sora always seemed to have a new dent or chip in the weapon for the mechanic to go to town on. The trio would eat Aerith out of house and home, and she was happy to provide. Her connection to the Lifestream may have been severed, but there would always be a demand for hot meals and cosy beds. Aerith eyed the bags under Sora's eyes and the bruises on his arms with intense suspicion. He was far too young to be so sleep-deprived, and there was no time for rest on the battlefield. The brunette never let slip about his homeworld, seemingly content for that chapter of his past to remain closed. Aerith couldn't describe the joy she felt upon crossing the threshold of Merlin's house after their world was restored, having once believed that she would never again walk the streets of Radiant Garden. She could only imagine the turmoil raging within Sora's heart; unable to return to the sandy beaches of Destiny Islands until Xehanort's plans had been laid to rest once and for all.

Hollow Bastion couldn't hold a candle to the endless blue ocean and towering palm trees, but Aerith would do everything she could to make Sora feel at home. If his endless quest kept him from returning to his family, then she could fill that role until he was ready to leave. Heaven knows any of the Restoration Committee would be overjoyed for Sora to stay with them forever.

When Aerith was awoken in the middle of the night by an almighty CRASH, she feared that dream was about to come tumbling down.

Her mind had been toying with the idea of sleep, just hovering on the cusp of rest when it happened. A dull thud and a muffled groan of pain. Aerith's green eyes snapped open in the darkness, holding her breath as her ears strained for any noise within the silent house. Was it a break-in? Had Organization XIII gotten tired of waiting and brought the fight to their home? Had Sephiroth picked the lock on the front door so he could wake Cloud up with an ominous monologue again?! The only sound was the constant, gentle humming of Cid's computer in the living room and Aerith's own pounding heart. Perhaps she was just exhausted, teetering on the edge of sleep and imagining scenarios that would never come to pass.

She sighed and forced her eyes closed once more. Her mind was playing tricks on her, just the foggy remnants of a dream that eluded her gra-

Sora's door slammed open.

Aerith had never gotten dressed so quickly in her life. Her ginger locks were already tied back in a loose plait, a souvenir of the daily grind that she lacked the energy to undo on an evening. Her mind raced as quickly as her heart as she slipped both feet into their respective boots and tugged her tiered skirt over her hips. Sora had a knack for disappearing in the middle of the night, but the brunette usually slunk through the front door without a whisper to avoid waking his companions. The sound of pounding feet reverberated from beyond Aerith's bedroom door as Sora flew down the stairs towards the living room. The young Keyblade wielder was unshakable even in the face of certain death; something must've severely spooked him. Aerith's blood turned to ice at the thought, but she couldn't turn a blind eye. Something was wrong, and she was not going to merely stand back and watch.

"Sora?!" Aerith cried as she followed the brunette's tracks. "Is everything OK?"

No reply. Aerith's heart sunk deeper into the pit of her stomach. She descended the final steps only to find the living room wholly unoccupied, with no signs of spiky brown hair or beaming blue eyes. Merlin's teacup waited patiently on his table beside a stack of ageing tomes, its contents kept piping hot by a spark of magic embedded in the porcelain. Cid's computer ran algorithms and processes that Aerith couldn't even begin to decipher, casting the room in an eerie green glow. Just how many times would she need to remind him to turn that off thing before bed?! Her frantic heartbeat relaxed at the conclusion that her house was free of both Heartless and One-Winged Angels. Sephiroth must've learned his lesson after the last time she kicked him to the curb.

It was also unsettling devoid of Sora. The rumbling in Aerith's heart refused to settle until she confirmed his safety with her own eyes.

Thankfully, the Keyblade wielder wasn't all that smart. The front door stood slightly ajar, allowing the frigid night air to billow into the house. Sora's strength was beyond comprehension, but he wasn't the sharpest Keyblade in the Graveyard. Aerith breathed a sigh of relief and followed after him, shivering as the icy moonlight brushed across her bare arms. Just how was Sora able to work in conditions like this? She briefly contemplated staying behind, granting Sora the privacy to work through his problems and return of his own accord. She would be ready and waiting with a mug of hot cocoa and an open mind. Boys' emotions were so fragile at his age, and Aerith didn't want to cause more harm by prying.

The clattering of metal against stone coming from one street over was enough to make up her mind. Whatever had sent Sora scrambling for his life in the dead of the night was not something Aerith could overlook. Braving the chill that seeped into her bones, she resolutely made her way towards the source of the commotion.

Aerith had half expected to find Sora knee-deep in Heartless, brandishing his Keyblade against the tide of darkness. Perhaps she would've even felt better knowing that his suffering could be attributed to something he could fight against. She shook that thought out of her head before it took take root. Aerith followed the curvature of the street as it led her up towards the market square. The engine of Hollow Bastion during the day was a mere ghost town at night, dense shadows betraying the haphazard construction of the stalls. It was a bleak reminder that Aerith's homeworld had a long way to go before it could reclaim the name of 'Radiant Garden'. The pool of molten metal in the redhead's stomach eased somewhat as she reached the apex of the stone steps. Sora's unruly brown hair finally came into view as he knelt before the community signboard, completely oblivious to Aerith's presence. His face bore a blank expression, head leaning back like his neck was struggling to support its weight. Aerith was relieved to find him in one piece, but his sapphire eyes were dull and lifeless as if his soul had left his body. Sora's gaze was glued to the calendar, proudly displaying the photograph of the entire Restoration Committee that Aerith had pestered Leon to include in the rotation, yet his eyes were unfocused as if he was staring straight through the wooden signboard. Was he sleepwalking?

Aerith cautiously approached the motionless boy and placed one hand on his shoulder. His frame gently rose and fell with each breath, but Sora was so serene that Aerith half expected her hand to phase through his body like a mirage. She had heard many tales from an increasingly exasperated Merlin, ranting about how Sora's heart seemed to wander off on a dime. The wizard suspected that the brunette's brief stint as a Heartless had loosened the tether between his body and soul. Aerith couldn't bear the thought of losing him to the darkness again. A single tearstain ran down Sora's cheek, a trail of diamonds twinkling under the moonlight. Aerith swallowed the lump in her throat and briskly shook the brunette's shoulder.

"Sora?" she repeated, her voice cracking with thinly veiled dread. "Are you still with us?"

At first, Sora didn't react to her touch. He remained as listless as the stone battlements that circled the market square. An eternity passed before Aerith finally felt his muscles move below her palm, his head turning to face the one who released him from his trance. The brunette's face remained expressionless like a porcelain doll, not even blinking as he stared into Aerith's soul. The inner workings of her heart were laid bare as Sora delved into her spirit with his piercing blue eyes, desperately searching for something that wasn't there.

This person may look like Sora, may be wearing his clothes and standing in his shoes, but the soul behind his eyes was foreign to her. A boy with a flash of blonde hair and electric blue eyes, whose smile was innocent and pure. For the briefest of moments, Aerith looked into Sora's eyes and saw a stranger staring back.

"...Aqua?"

Sora's voice croaked from his throat as if he was holding back a sob, a husk of his booming, confident tone. Aerith had no time to respond before the brunette's eyes refocused, blinking hard as his consciousness returned. Sora scrubbed his eye sockets with the heels of his palms, scouring away any remnants of the trance that possessed his body. He leapt to his feet, frantically turning his head back and forth as if searching for the faces of two nameless Keyblade wielders. Aerith was relieved to see the last of the blank, unfeeling expression that once soured Sora's face, but she wasn't sure that blind panic was much better. She grabbed the brunette by his shoulders and stopped his breakdown before he made himself pass out.

"Sora, calm down," Aerith commanded, her voice firm but kind. "You're in Hollow Bastion. You're safe."

Sora was still visibly shaken, but Aerith's earnest words were enough to bring him down to earth. He took several jittery breaths, sliding his eyes closed and forcing his racing heart to relax. Aerith found herself doing the same. The two shared a moment of fleeting tranquillity until Sora suddenly flinched and wiped the tear stain off his cheek. His face flushed red at the realisation that he had cried in front of someone he respected. Aerith couldn't help but smile - even in his weakest hour, Sora was still trying to keep a brave face. Sometimes she forgot just how young he was.

"H-How did I get here?" Sora probed, his eyebrows furrowed in deep confusion. "Last I remember, we all ate dinner together, Leon and Cloud had an argument about whether guns or swords are better, then I went to bed…"

He trailed off into silence, desperately looking to Aerith for answers. Her heart yearned to reveal the truth that danced on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't bring herself to crush Sora's spirit. Aerith still remembered that fourteen-year-old boy begging to know what had happened to his world and his friends and his mother, blissfully unaware that he would never see the latter again. All questions that she asked herself every day, that Sora would never hear the answers to. The many years of conflict had moulded Sora into a strapping young man, but that lost child was still alive inside his soul. He was robbed of his childhood by a fate decided long before he was born, and Aerith refused to stifle the last shreds of the brunette's innocence. No matter how dim the light, how weak the flame, she couldn't bear the thought of snuffing it out.

"You were sleepwalking, dear," Aerith stated, forcing a gentle smile onto her features. "Come on, let's go back inside. It's cold – I'll make you some tea."

She could tell by the way Sora's lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed that he didn't fully buy her story, but he was too exhausted to argue.

Aerith took his hand in hers and lead him home, like a lost lamb returning to the safety of the flock. She didn't doubt that the Keyblade wielder would still be crumpled in front of that signboard until the sun rose if she hadn't been awake to hear him fleeing. Sora's fingers were like icicles, but the weight of his hand in hers dispelled the fog that clouded her senses. As the two walked back to Merlin's House in comfortable silence, Aerith's mind lingered on something that had taken root in the depths of her psyche. A throwaway remark that Cid had let slip; an expression that meant nothing in the moment, yet had echoed in her brain since the moment it was conceived.

"The Keyblade, eh? Lucky kid."

There was nothing lucky about the Keyblade. Nothing Aerith envied about the role that was forced into Sora's hands before he even knew what it meant. The Keyblade was a blessing for those it liberated, and a curse for those chosen to wield it.

Well, there was no use lingering on the matter. Sora's fate was inexplicably tied to the Keyblade, and there was no changing that. Even if there was some way of snipping the threads of fate, Aerith doubted that Sora would have it any other way. He would've taken on the Heartless army with just his fists if the Keyblade had never appeared to him. Sora never cursed the life he was chosen to lead; Aerith resolved to do the same. Rather than put up a futile fight against the unyielding hands of destiny, she would turn her attention towards making the battle a little easier. Aerith would never support him on the battlefield without the power of Materia, but she could offer something that no one else could. After all, the frightened boy that lived on within Sora's heart would always need a warm bed and a loving embrace. The passage of time could take its toll on the brunette's body, but his mind was unbreakable. Some things would never truly change.

Perhaps, in her own way, Aerith could be the most useful of all.