(This chapter is the unofficial 'spiritual predecessor' to re:Live... re:Start, and it inspired a lot of themes in that story, though they're technically unrelated. It's funny to come back and see where it ended up taking me, how it spawned a 150,000-word epic. Vanitas is such a goddamn asshole, and he's so much fun to write. Thanks to everyone who came back to this story when I started this rewriting project, and thanks to everyone who read it for the first time. I'll see you in a decade when the next Kingdom Hearts game comes out.)

When Vanitas opened his eyes to find himself fully awake and very much alive, to say that he was pissed would be a gross understatement.

He silently stared up at the ceiling, janky wooden planks illuminated by flickering candlelight that sent shadows dancing across the room. He listened to the pounding of his heart, somehow stronger and louder than he remembered as if the muscle had grown in size. The air smelled faintly of incense and spices. Vanitas' eyes darted left and right, his body frozen in place as if his muscles had turned to stone. He was roasting alive beneath layers of heavy quilted bedsheets like he was sleeping in a sauna. Every sensation sent Vanitas spiralling deeper into discomfort, but nothing could top the creeping vines of dismay that wound their way around his heart at the realisation that he was alive.

Vanitas just couldn't catch a break. The only reason he joined Xehanort's cult in the first place was because the old man promised him a way out. An escape from the pain that encompassed his entire existence. He would've taken the sweet nothingness of death over the agony of life any day of the week, but fate was not so kind. Vanitas was an imitation of a whole being with only half the ingredients. While Ventus continued to breathe, surrounded by those who loved him, his light would shine strong. Vanitas was the shadow cast by that flame, and he was sustained by its darkness. The brutal cycle would end only if the two ill-fated brothers leapt in the abyss together. Vanitas had to take Ventus out with him.

That was precisely what Xehanort offered; the opportunity to destroy his brother and the tools to do so. Xehanort gave Vanitas the chance to die, and he had royally fucked it up.

All the pieces were in place, the pawns had played their roles. All that was left was to call checkmate. The incomplete χ-blade was heavy in Vanitas' hand, vibrating with unfathomable power that was barely restrained by the rusted metal. They could've materialised the χ-blade at its peak potential if only Ventus had cooperated, but the blond was determined to put up as much of a struggle as possible. He fought with the ferocity of a cornered animal, kicking and screaming as Vanitas tried to suffocate his light with his bare hands. Xehanort was convinced that darkness would prevail, a destiny written in a book of prophecies long before the worlds became disconnected. Vanitas bought into his promises, brainwashed by years of assimilation until it felt like Xehanort had placed a piece of himself inside his brain.

Well, Vanitas knew how that turned out for him. The power of darkness couldn't protect him from a Keyblade to the face.

Vanitas' face was almost permanently set in a frown, but his look of disdain only deepened into a poisonous scowl. If fate had given him one more minute just so he could regain his composure, he could've retaliated against Ventus' light and extinguished it for good. But fate was not so kind. Their untimely fusion put too much strain on their conjoined heart, and it crumbled away before their very eyes. That could'vebeen the end of it, both souls lost to the darkness where they could sleep for all eternity. Sure, it wasn't quite the closure that Vanitas had hoped for, but he would take what he could get.

He had no idea how long he spent drifting in stasis, his body turning numb and his thoughts becoming murky and unclear. The darkness corroded his soul until there was almost nothing left. Vanitas remembered a sudden bright light that surged across the abyss, burning brighter even than the χ-blade as if the sun itself was sweeping him into its embrace. The black-haired Keyblade wielder struggled with all his might, determined to stay in the anaesthetising blackness until he was consumed by the void. Vanitas had fought his whole life to be released from the agony of existence; he wanted to remain asleep forever. The light was just too powerful. It scattered the darkness wherever it lay, cleaving a path through the shadows until it found Vanitas curled up in the darkest crevasse. It snatched him away from the peace and quiet that he yearned for and pulled him towards the sun, and Vanitas had fought it the entire way.

Then he woke up here, wherever 'here' was.

Vanitas hurled the weighty bedsheets onto the floor, crushing the fabric beneath his feet as he jumped out of bed without hesitation. A single candelabra stood on a nightstand, its three flames flickering in a breeze that Vanitas couldn't feel. He had failed to form the χ-blade in its purest form by fusing with his brother, but if Ventus had still died, then he would've counted it as a victory anyway. Hell, it didn't even need to be him that did it! Xehanort had every opportunity to plunge No Name between the blond's ribs while he was incapacitated, just as long as Ventus didn't squirm too much. He always acted like the power of light was an impenetrable suit of armour that rendered him invincible, and Vanitas would've loved nothing more than to see his brother knocked down a few pegs.

So why couldn't he shake the feeling that something was wrong? If Vanitas was alive, then surely Ventus was too. Did Xehanort... fail?

Vanitas shook those traitorous thoughts out of his head before they could take root in his brain. He didn't need some old man with a bad back to stab people in the chest - he was an indefatigable being of pure darkness. The Guardians of Light quaked in their boots at the mere mention of his name! Vanitas could find Ventus and finish the job on his own. The Void Gear was just as hungry for blood as its master, and he couldn't wait to paint it red. It can't have been long since Ventus shattered his own heart to keep the χ-blade out of Xehanort's hands, so he was likely still injured and ripe for the picking. Vanitas had his standards, but he was not above kicking his brother while he was down. He found great pleasure in taunting his brother at every turn, but there was no hint of mirth in his heart. Now, he just wanted Ventus dead.

Whether he liked it or not, their hearts were now invariably connected. There was nowhere for Ventus to hide. Vanitas would track him to the edge of the universe if he had to.

The black-haired Keyblade wielder placed one hand over his chest and closed his eyes. He could feel the strength of his heartbeat, forcing ruby blood through his veins. Vanitas clenched his hand into a fist and focused all of his willpower into a single concentrated burst. He called out to the darkness within his half-heart, his voice searching for the thin sliver of thread that connected his soul to his brother's. Ventus couldn't conceal himself for long. Vanitas was like a bloodhound, and he wasn't going to lose the trail-

Wait a second, since when did he have a pulse?!

Heart or no heart, at least he still has a conscience. YOU might not hear it, but right now, it's loud and clear. And it's telling me you're on the wrong side!

Somebody knows where I came from. If I can't get answers here, I'll get them somewhere else. That'll be the person I trust.

How could he say that...? He's wrong. My Keyblade is not a sham, and neither am I!

Please don't do this, Master. I'm not strong enough.

Vanitas had suffered through a lot in his short life. Every time one of his Unversed was slain, he felt their cries of pain in his bones, reverberating through his head until his own thoughts were drowned beneath the wave. He bore the knowledge that he was only half a person, that he would only ever be half a person. He was thrown to the frontline to slow the apprentices down, only to be left to lick his wounds in solitude. Vanitas endured through everything that the universe threw at him, but nothing could compare to the pain that tore through his soul until he felt he would split apart. He couldn't find the breath to scream. His heart felt as if it would burst through his ribcage as needles dug into every inch of skin. His skull was on the verge of collapse, crushed under the weight of a thousand voices that were all screaming his name until he could hear nothing else.

Then a switch flipped, and it was over.

Vanitas tentatively peeled his eyes open. He expected the room to be filled to the brim with Unversed, spilling out of the door and windows as manifestations of his pain. He was alone. Vanitas removed his hands from his temples as he found himself collapsed on the floor, kneeling on the cushy duvet he had discarded with his head in his hands. The pain that once permeated every atom in his body had completely vanished like it was never there. The voices had been silenced. Even though he was alone in his head, he could still hear their cries.

Vanitas had called out with his heart, and four others answered.

This whole thing was quickly passing absurdity and crossing the line into disturbing. One of those voices was undeniably Ventus, but Vanitas had no idea who the other three belonged to. They were so damn loud as if they were standing right behind him and screaming directly into his ear! His shrivelled, blackened heart had no connections to anyone besides his brother, and even that was against his will, so these freeloaders must be tied to Ventus somehow. Oddly enough, Vanitas could tell that the response was not delivered in the voices of Aqua and Terra, the two other wannabe Keyblade Masters. Who could possibly have such a powerful connection to his brother's heart, and why was it not those that Ventus called his best friends?

Vanitas needed to know what was going on, and he needed to know now. He launched himself to his feet and snatched the golden candelabra from the nightstand with his left hand. The embossed metal was warm to the touch, and the flames didn't even flicker as they passed through the air as if lit by some magical means. Until he could figure out where he was, he would have to assume that everything in this world was hostile. For a being of pure darkness, that likely wasn't too far from the truth anyway. Vanitas tightened his grip on the candelabra, his right hand twitching as if the Void Gear was chomping at the bit, ready to be summoned at a moments notice. He steeled his nerves and pushed through the only door, opening the gateway to the world that lay beyond.

The hallway that greeted him seemed to go on forever in both directions, lined with bookshelves that were practically overflowing with tomes shoved into any available space. The creaky wooden floorboards were covered by a thick shag carpet, dyed crimson red and embellished with golden thread that seemed to sway in the candlelight. Vanitas could feel sparks of static tickling his toes as he stepped barefoot onto the rug, tiny bursts of magic entwined in the fibres. A broom hobbled past, walking on its own and sweeping the floor as it went. Vanitas raised one eyebrow and took a step back as the living broomstick trotted by, completely oblivious to his presence. This was clearly the home of a wizard or someone with an equally unshakeable command over magic. They must have an incredible reserve of energy if they could spare the magic for something as mundane as animating cleaning supplies.

Vanitas could peer out of the star-shaped windows if he stood on his tiptoes and craned his neck. A royal purple sky illuminated by the golden rays of a setting sun stared back, fading into an impenetrable fog that clouded the horizon. There was nothing else poking out of the mist as far as the eye could see. Just an endless expanse of haze. If Vanitas squinted hard enough, he could almost make out the silhouette of a train chugging away within the dense fog, but it vanished from sight as soon as he blinked. His heart leapt in his chest as a surge of hope swept through his soul. That train was a potential escape route. All Vanitas had to do was find the exit. Though, if this world was under the rule of a wizard, that may be easier said than done.

Vanitas picked his way down the corridor, listening intently for the smallest sounds that graced his ears. The building was eerily quiet, his footsteps accompanied only by the distant sweeping of living broomsticks. The raven boy winced every time a floorboard creaked beneath his weight, but no Guardians of Light leapt from the shadows to cleave him in half. Whoever pulled Vanitas from the peaceful stupor of death mustn't have expected him to be up and about so soon.

As the dim glow of the candelabra cast its light down the hallway, a jumbled set of furniture covered with an offwhite cloth crept into view. Vanitas cringed as his nose was filled with the smell of mothballs. He was about to disregard the mismatched pile of fittings and continue his hunt for the exit, but he could hear faint whispers coming from whatever hid beneath the cloth. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The black-haired Keyblade wielder pressed his ear up against the fabric, determined to decipher the strange murmurings.

An image of the Keyblade unleashing its ultimate power flows into your mind.

Vanitas flinched as the quiet voice spoke directly into his brain. He jumped backwards, expecting the source of the cryptic words to pull back the cloth and reveal itself, but the furniture remained stationary. Vanitas shook his head sharply, banishing the intruding thoughts from his mind. Funnily enough, the vision that the voice described didn't manifest in his mind, only the words themselves. There was no image of the Void Gear reaching its true potential, surging towards heights that would've made Xehanort shake in his boots. Perhaps the vision was intended for someone else? Vanitas' scowl darkened, his forehead wrinkling as he clenched his teeth in growing anger. Was he being mocked? Taunted and teased, reminded that his power was not his own and that destiny always had its sights on someone else?! How dare they!

Without another thought, Vanitas ripped the cloth away and hurled it to the floor. Anyone brave enough to belittle him could do so to his face!

What lay beneath the frayed, speckled fabric was nothing more than his own reflection.

Well technically, it was a mirror. A floor-length sheet of reflective glass set into an aged oak frame, its surface marred by fingerprints and smudges. The enigmatic whispering was conveniently silent now the cloth had been drawn back, but Vanitas was more concerned with the face in the mirror. His features were exactly as he remembered them, but the colours had shifted so that his reflection didn't quite match. His jet black hair was still its usual unruly mess of spikes, but the gravity-defying strands in the mirror were a rich chocolate brown. His sickly yellow eyes shone with a blue pigment like gently rolling waves. Even his cheeks were rounder, his skin tinted with a healthy tan like he had been kissed by tropical sunshine. Vanitas was clad in plaid pyjamas, buttoned up to his neck and smelling slightly of seawater. The only consistent thing was the deep-set bags under his eyes, betraying the exhaustion that gripped every muscle in his body. That was about right.

Vanitas stood so close to the mirror that his breath left fog on the glass. He poked his right cheek with a mixture of shock and horror, and his reflection copied the movement perfectly. He clenched his eyes closed and counted to ten, willing the magic in the mirror to disperse and reveal his reflection as he always knew it. The mirror did not oblige, for it could only reflect the truth. That same boy stared back at him, the one that Vanitas had never met in person, but whose heart was inexplicably entwined with his own.

Xehanort hadn't expected Ventus to survive the cataclysmic trauma of having his darkness siphoned out, leaving only his light behind. The old man wanted to two beings, one of pure light and one of pure darkness, to recreate the χ-blade. Vanitas was born of the shadows that Xehanort plucked from his brother, but Ventus almost perished in the process. The only reason that the blond escaped the claws of death is because someone had merged their heart with his. Someone heard the cries of a broken heart and offered their strength, filling in the gap that Vanitas had left behind. He couldn't understand why someone would sacrifice half of their lifeforce to save a stranger, and Xehanort never determined the identity of the soul that was irreversibly bonded with Ventus.

As Vanitas looked at himself in the mirror, he saw the person whose light was powerful enough to save a broken heart from death. This boy, with his ocean-blue eyes and cocoa hair, was the child that saved Ventus.

Well, it definitely explained a lot. Vanitas always wondered why he and his brother looked nothing alike, even though they shared two halves of the same heart. Vanitas resembled this boy, not Ventus. Somehow his disgruntled expression didn't suit the brunette's softer features, despite being identical in almost every way. He felt as if he was looking into the eyes of an imposter.

Vanitas let out a throaty growl as his stern expression caused his twin's eyebrows to furrow in an unsightly manner. This kid, whatever the hell his name was, was the crux of his problems. Ventus' heart could've faded into obscurity after he self-destructed to keep the χ-blade out of Xehanort's hands, and he would've taken Vanitas along with him. Whether he understood the consequences of his decision to bond his heart with Ventus or not, the brunette was to blame for Vanitas' continued existence. That burst of blazing light that swept him from the numbing darkness, that denied him the peaceful death that Vanitas had always dreamed of... it must belong to Mr Hearts-A-Lot over here. The kid had tethered his soul to Ventus, and in doing so, he had unintentionally tethered himself to Vanitas too.

Oh boy, this kid had no idea what he had gotten himself into. A heart could be a hospital, but it could also be a prison. The brunette might have acted with the best of intentions when he fought off the call of death to save Ventus' fractured soul, but he had invited the wolf into his midst.

Vanitas placed his hand over his chest once more, the buttons of his pyjama shirt digging into his palm. He didn't doubt for one second that one of those voices that screamed from the edge of his consciousness was Ventus, or what was left of him. The other three hearts were utterly foreign to him, but it stood to reason that one came from this kid whose body he was inhabiting. If Ventus had taken refuge within the brunette's heart, then just maybe Vanitas had been dragged along with him. If that was the case, then his brother may be closer than he thought. The raven boy was hesitant to open himself back up to the chorus of voices that assaulted his senses before, but there was no other option. He had to know if Ventus was in this body with him.

Vanitas took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. He couldn't muster the courage to howl across the bridges connecting his heart to four others, but it wasn't necessary. It only took a whisper.

Look — whoever you are — you don't know the first thing about Terra. Me and him will always be a team!

I'm nothing more than a puppet - something that somebody created. So why would I have... their memories?

Best friends are honest with each other! Xemnas said me and Xion are connected to Sora. Who is that?! Am I a puppet, like Xion?

Forget it! There's no way you're taking Kairi's heart!

It took every ounce of Vanitas' willpower not to lose himself in the whirlpool of emotions that battered his heart. The voices spun around and around in his head, his mind and the floor spinning with them until he could barely see. They threatened to swallow him whole, eroding his soul until he could no longer remember who he was. Vanitas was drowning in a tsunami of sorrow, and his half-baked heart wasn't strong enough to defend itself. They just wouldn't shut up. They pulled him in every direction until his soul was ripped to shreds, seeping through like mould and wearing away at his identity until he was just another cog in the machine.

Vanitas curled his right hand into a fist and slammed it into the mirror.

The glass shattered with an almighty thunderclap and crumbled to the floor, the shards reflecting the light of the candelabra still firmly clenched in his left hand. Vanitas took several unsteady breaths as if his lungs had forgotten the taste of oxygen, his knuckles streaked with blood. Jolts of pain shot up his wrist, but the distraction had broken him out of the trance. The voices were silent, and he had regained control of his mind. Vanitas pulled back his hand and licked the blood from his fist. His tongue tasted metal, yet he felt no remorse. After all, this was not his body. The kid deserved any punishment he chose to enact.

Vanitas forcibly loosened his grip on the candlestick as his limbs returned to his control. The pain was unbelievable, but he had confirmed his suspicions. Whenever he tugged on the cobwebs wrapped around his heart, Ventus was one of those who pulled back. The blond's soul had been sucked into place right alongside the heart that had linked itself to him all those years ago, and he had taken Vanitas with him. He didn't know who the other two strangers were, and frankly, he didn't care. Ventus had tried to escape the hunt, yet he was now closer than ever, and completely unable to fight back. He was so pathetic, he couldn't even die right!

Darkness would continue to exist as long as the light that cast it still burned. If this brat was keeping his brother alive, then the solution was simple. Vanitas could put an end to all of this by simply killing the boy. All three would be freed from the curse that bound them together, and Vanitas would finally achieve the quiet death that he yearned for.

After everything he had been through, he finally had a chance to snuff out the light that cast his shadow for good.

If there was anything left of the mirror, it would've reflected the malicious grin that crawled across Vanitas' borrowed face. Here he thought that fate had shafted him once more, but it couldn't be further from the truth! He was convinced that this was his personal purgatory, but it was actually his second coming. There was no need to force Ventus into submission and materialise the χ-blade, no threat of resistance or retaliation. Vanitas could just take the brunette out the old-fashioned way! His heart must be unfathomably strong to support the weight of at least four others alongside it, but the kid was still mortal. The strength of his heart wouldn't matter if he had a knife in his chest.

With his confidence reinvigorated to dizzying heights, Vanitas sprinted off down the hallway in search of anything he could use as a weapon. He shoved his way through a crowd of enchanted brooms and mops, sending the cleaning instruments clattering to the floor as he charged past. Vanitas was not one for piety, but he prayed that the master of the house was still lost to sleep. He couldn't rely on the cold, unfeeling steel of the Void Gear while caged within someone else's body, and there was no reason to suspect that the brunette had any magical prowess of his own. Vanitas could already savour the delightfully sweet taste of vengeance on the tip of his tongue. He was not going to taste defeat again.

Eventually, Vanitas wandered across a door that led to a rustic kitchen. The savoury smell of home cooking caressed his nostrils as if someone had recently eaten there, but the room was mercifully empty. Pots and pans were stacked up to the ceiling as an enchanted sponge washed each plate with soap suds. Every surface was spotless to the point that Vanitas could see his own reflection in the polished marble. He grimaced at the reminder that his face was a morbid perversion of his true appearance, that he was nothing more than a stowaway in someone else's body. The animated sponge paid him no attention as he set the candelabra down on a crooked oak table, leaving the door wide open behind him. The utensils had been granted sentience through the power of magic but had no interest in anything outside of scrubbing the building from top to bottom. The raven boy had never been so grateful to be overlooked.

Vanitas couldn't have asked for anything better. He had hit the jackpot! What deadly delights hid in those cabinets and drawers, concealed from prying eyes and just begging to be used on unsuspecting flesh? Perhaps he would find a box of rat poison, something to stop his heart mid-beat? Should he fill a pot with water and dip his head inside until his lungs gave up? Could he climb on the counter and out a window, throwing his body to the mercy of whatever crouched in the fog below? So many options, he barely knew where to start! Vanitas' sapphire eyes hungrily swept over the contents of the kitchen before falling on a set of knives planted in a wooden knife block. The sharpened metal glinted in the candlelight as if the blades were alive and calling his name. Vanitas licked his lips in anticipation and unsheathed the largest knife from the holder, rotating the blade in his hand as warm golden light danced across its surface.

Perfect.

Vanitas' heart was racing, forcing blood through his veins faster and faster as his elation grew. His mouth was uncomfortably dry, and a bead of sweat ran down his forehead. He was about to be free. No more pain, no more Unversed, no more Ventus. No one would even remember his name, and there was nothing that Vanitas wanted more. He lifted the knife to his neck, pressing the ice-cold metal against his jugular. His lifetime was much shorter than most, yet it consisted of nothing but hurt. All those sleepless nights spent staring at the vast expanse of stars that snickered at him for trying to find his place in a universe that didn't want him. All those hours spent toiling under a master that looked at him with disgust, just for a single shot at freedom that kept slipping through his fingers. It had all been for this moment. All Vanitas had to do was slide the knife across his skin, and the two identical pairs of blue eyes would close forever.

So why couldn't he do it?

Xemnas, there's more to a heart than just anger and hate. It's full of all kinds of feelings. Don't you remember?

I have the right to know the truth! How did I even get here? Why am I so special? I hardly know who I am! What's so wrong with wanting some answers!?

I see... Your Wayfinder broke. Well, don't worry. Friendship's more than an object.

Roxas, don't be sad. I came from you and Sora. You'll forget me, but the memories themselves will never go away. Memories of you and me will always be together... forever, inside him.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!"

Vanitas slammed the knife into the countertop with enough force to crack the marble. He clenched his teeth until he felt as if his jaw would shatter, demanding that the hearts calling out to him remain silent. Their voices blurred together until it became impossible to tell them apart, fragments of a hundred different conversations all jumbled together. Vanitas could almost see four pale hands wrapped around his wrist, but they weren't trying to stabilise his firm grip on the knife's handle. They were trying to hold him back. From the darkest depths of his heart where not even the brightest light could reach, the four souls that crowded his chest were fighting against his efforts to kill them all. Their will to live was stronger than Vanitas' will to die.

Vanitas took a sharp intake of breath as something pointed and dangerous jabbed at the back of his neck.

"Put it down and turn around. Now."

Vanitas swallowed heavily and licked his lips, his mouth as dry as the Keyblade Graveyard. If he so much as flinched, whatever was poking the tender skin of his neck would find its home between the vertebrae. Someone had taken advantage of the mutiny in his heart to sneak up behind him while he was off guard. The voices were mysteriously quiet as if they too were being held at knife-point, leaving a gaping hole in their wake. Vanitas squeezed his eyes shut and forced his iron-clad grip on the knife to slacken, slowly resting it down on the marble counter. Here he was, submitting to the orders of someone new after just shaking off the shackles that Xehanort had placed around his ankles. He raised both hands in the air to show that he was unarmed and slowly turned around to face his aggressor. If he was about to die, then he would meet his fate without fear.

It was…

Just some kid?

Oh c'mon, if Vanitas was going to be threatened, then at least it could've been by an adult. This was just yet another insufferable punk. His long silver locks shimmered in the dim candlelight, messy from sleep and brushing his tense shoulders. His cyan eyes held a fierce and murderous glint like a tiger ready to snap. He was garbed in a pair of slate-grey pants with a white and yellow sleeveless jacket, and his cheeks were flushed with barely restrained rage. But Vanitas didn't care about the kid's appearance. What interested him most was the weapon aimed directly at his throat. A blade shaped like a vicious batwing tinted dark purple and tipped with a needlepoint that could slice through sinew with little effort. An angel wing extended from the leathery hide, appearing to flutter as the candlelight danced across the individual feathers.

"A Keyblade…" Vanitas mused out loud, his voice laced with awe. He wasn't aware that Eraqus had any other apprentices. Who was this brat, that he would so casually wield a weapon of immense destruction?

"SHUT UP," the silver-haired boy barked, the spark of rage in his eyes igniting into a bonfire as Vanitas completely ignored his presence. "Don't play games with me. Who are you, and what have you done with Sora?!"

Vanitas didn't grace him with an answer. His gaze was still firmly glued to the tip of the blade that was inches from poking an eye out. The possibility of encountering a Keyblade wielder out in the middle of nowhere was so unfathomably small that he hadn't even considered it. Did this kid understand the power he held at his fingertips? Did he think it was some plastic toy for children, or did he recognise the potential locked within the metal? Vanitas was no longer stricken with fear; now, the boy with silver hair had piqued his interest.

This wasn't a person who was going to stand between Vanitas and the end of his story. This was someone who was going to write that chapter for him. The hearts inside of Vanitas' chest would never allow him to snuff their shared lights out, but they couldn't stop this kid from doing the same. Even in the hands of the most inexperienced user, the power of a Keyblade was nothing to be dismissed.

Vanitas didn't need to take himself out, he could just have this guy do it for him.

"ANSWER ME! I'LL KILL YOU!" the silver-haired boy screamed, growing increasingly impatient with Vanitas' lack of response. The controlled rage in his eyes was replaced by something feral and wild, reminding Vanitas of the darkness that stirred within his own heart. He had seen that same look on Terra's face, the animalistic anger as he realised that Xehanort had misled him to spread his vile doctrine across the galaxy. A Keyblade wielder that relied upon the power of darkness stood no chance against a being of pure shadow, one who drew their strength from the same place. This was almost gonna be too easy. What a shame.

"First of all," Vanitas spat back, finally addressing the silver-haired boy who held him at knifepoint. "You can shove right off. My identity is none of your stinkin' business. Secondly, I have no idea who 'Sora' is. And thirdly-"

Vanitas snatched the tip of the Keyblade with his right hand, the sharpened wing spikes digging into his palm. The weapon's owner flinched as if expecting the Keyblade to be yanked out of his grasp, but Vanitas had no such intention. Instead, he merely forced the teeth of the blade down until it was angled straight at his chest.

"If you're going to kill me, at least do it properly. My heart's down here, buddy."

Vanitas released his grip on the Keyblade and placed both hands on his hands, lowering his defences and offering himself up for the slaughter. Anyone would be grateful for their enemy to willing expose their weak spot, and Vanitas gave it freely. All the kid had to do was follow through on his threats and impale his heart with that Keyblade of his. Easy peasy, even a braindead monkey could do it. Vanitas might as well have painted a big ol' bullseye on his chest. He paused to give the silver-haired brat a chance to strike him down, but the blow never came. Even in the dim candlelight, he could see the hesitation and confusion in his cyan eyes. The tip of the Keyblade never moved from its spot above his chest, but the hand that held it began to quiver with uncertainty.

"Wait... you're…. not Roxas?" the kid questioned, his overbearing confidence suddenly drained away. Vanitas rolled his eyes. Typical Keyblade wielder, all bark and no bite.

"Are you stupid?" he snarked back, his words laced with venom. "Come on, we don't have all day. Right between the ribs. I won't even wriggle, promise."

He puffed out his chest in a show of bravado, the sharpened tip of the bat-winged Keyblade digging into the fabric of his pyjama shirt. He was inviting the brat the close the distance, but he was frozen in place. Those cyan eyes that once bubbled with hate were now lined with fear, scouring Vanitas' face as if searching for a sign of recognition. He talked a big game, but he didn't have the balls to finish what he had started. He was nothing more than a child who was in way over his head. Vanitas sneered and nonchalantly batted the Keyblade away. The silver-haired boy's grip was so slack that the weapon slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor.

"Pathetic," he snarled. The kid stared at the discarded Keyblade in stunned silence, as if he couldn't believe that he hand been disarmed with such little effort. "You're just a snot-nosed brat playing with things you don't understand. Don't let your mouth make threats that you're too much of a wimp to follow through on. Well, whatever- "

Vanitas seized the knife that lay patiently waiting for its master to call upon its sharpened edge. This time, the boy with cyan eyes made no attempt to stop him. Vanitas raised the knife to his neck and, without breaking eye contact, pressed the blade against the vein that slumbered beneath his fragile skin.

" -I'll just do it myself."

He dragged the knife across his neck, pushing hard enough to allow a thin trickle of ruby blood to seep from the cut. Vanitas didn't even have a chance to blink before the silver-haired boy snapped out of his trance, grabbing the arm holding the knife like a snake constricting its prey. He forcibly twisted Vanitas' arm at the elbow, yanking the blade away from his skin before the raven boy could carve through his jugular. He let out a piercing cry as his tendons were stretched almost to the point of snapping. He dropped the knife as spikes of pain shot up his forearm. It rattled against the wooden floorboards as the knife came to rest alongside the abandoned Keyblade.

Vanitas dug his other elbow into the chiselled cheeks of his aggressor, sending shockwaves through the silver-haired boy's skull. He reeled back as waves of dizziness washed over his brain like the crashing of waves against the shore, releasing his hold on Vanitas' arm. Funny that the brat who had threatened to kill him was now trying to stop exactly that from happening. Vanitas swept the knife up from the floor and sliced the blade through the air, aiming for the kid's face. He jumped backwards just in time for the singing blade to narrowly miss hacking a chunk of flesh out of his cheek, the metal whistling as it zipped through the air. The kid could almost see his own frightened expression reflected in the knife's polished edge.

Part of Vanitas' mind was screaming at him to turn the blade on himself before the kid had a chance to retaliate, or the choir of hearts mustered the strength to hold him back. That fragment of Vanitas' soul was muffled by an overwhelming desire to murder the punk that dared stand in his way. The only thoughts echoing inside his head were ones of vengeance.

Vanitas reared his arm back like a scorpion preparing to strike and stabbed the knife towards the silver-haired boy, attempting to sink the blade into his thick skull. The brat ducked in time to avoid the blow, causing the knife to become entrenched in the wooden door of a cabinet. Vanitas tugged and tugged until the door almost flew off its hinges, but the blade refused to budge. A fist found its home in the curve of his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending him flying with a strained gasp. Stars flew across his vision as he crumpled against the marble countertop, struggling to catch his breath as his lungs screamed for mercy. Vanitas may have been pissed off before, but now he was downright furious.

"SORA!" the silver-haired boy screamed, retrieving his Keyblade from the floor before the window of opportunity could slam shut. "I know you're in there! Fight back!"

Vanitas wiped the sweat from his brow and grabbed the edge of the large dining table, upending it and flipping it on its side. The brat yelped and hopped backwards before the flying furniture could knock him off balance. The candelabra that Vanitas left on the table toppled to the floor, yet the flames didn't flicker or catch the floorboards alight. The enchanted sponge continued to scrub away at dishes by the sink, utterly oblivious to the brawl that was destroying its workstation. Vanitas hurled a chair over the flipped table, tossing it legs-first at the silver-haired boy before he could fight back. He raised his Keyblade to deflect the blow, but the weight of the chair sent him tumbling to the ground. Vanitas vaulted over the table and stomped on the brat's hand as hard as he could, forcing him to drop his Keyblade before he could pull himself to his feet.

Vanitas was practically drunk on the exhilaration coursing through his veins. He couldn't stop grinning as the boy with cyan eyes wailed in pain as his foot crushed his fingers. This was what he lived for: the thrill of the hunt, forcing his prey into a corner and watching them squirm. Not since facing his brother had he felt so excited to meet someone on the battlefield. Shame the kid was about to die.

Vanitas ignored the throbbing pain in his wrist and summoned the Void Gear. He raised the Keyblade above his head, ready to cave in the skull of the boy that lay sprawled at his feet. Riku could've let him drive that knife into his neck, stabbing his flesh over and over again until he had no more blood to bleed. Instead, he chose to involve himself in matters above his station. It would be the last lesson he would ever learn, and Vanitas had no qualms about being the one to deliver it. He couldn't wait until Riku was just a smear of red against the wooden floorboards-

Wait a minute. Who is Riku?

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Sora stopped in his tracks, the crunching of sand beneath his feet fading into silence as Riku grabbed his arm. The gentle crashing of waves against the shore was like the whispers of an angel, imploring him to lie back down and stare at the night sky until the stars went out. Sora would've gladly obliged, but Riku insisted they turn in for the night. The pair had spent all day racing along the shoreline and making up constellation in the midnight sky. He could've spent the rest of his lifetime in the embrace of crystalline sand, but his mom would kill him if he was late for dinner. For some reason, she didn't accept his quest to beat Riku's winning streak as a valid reason to skip curfew. Adults were so lame.

Sora turned to Riku, his heart instantly stricken with worry at the concerned look on his best friend's face. Riku was as cool as a cucumber; the brunette had never seen him look so anxious before. He wordlessly pointed at Sora's face as a single tear squeezed from his left eye, rolling down his cheek and leaving a damp trail that glimmered like diamonds under the moonlight. Sora flinched and lifted his hand to his face, feeling the inexplicable dampness on his features. His heart felt like it was being strangled by thorny vines, though he had no idea why. His soul was suddenly swamped by an immense sorrow, echoing from a place that was further than he could ever imagine.

"That's weird," Sora remarked, rubbing the tear from his cheek and staring at the droplet on his fingertips. "It's like something's squeezing me inside…"

Sora rested one hand on his stomach, feeling as if all the joy in his heart had disappeared. The chilly night breeze was no longer a soothing presence, instead filling his veins with ice. There was no reason to feel such crushing anguish, yet Sora's heart was consumed by profound sadness. Riku hummed in thought, crossing his arms as the brunette scrubbed away the residue from his unbidden tear.

"Somebody up there must be sad," Riku concluded, believing Sora's words without an ounce of doubt. He gestured up at the sky above them, the infinite expanse of stars dancing around the pale full moon. "They say every world is connected by one great big sky, so maybe there's somebody up there in all those worlds who's really hurting, and they're waiting for you to help them."

Sora's eyes widened in shock as he fixated his eyes on the stars that twinkled back without a single cloud to shroud them from view. Riku was so smart, and Sora couldn't help but look up to him. He spoke with such confidence that he couldn't think of any reason to believe that he was wrong. Could there really be someone out there who was in so much pain that the ache resonated across the vast emptiness of space?

"Well gee, do you think there's something I could do?"

"Hmm…" Riku pondered for a moment, pouting slightly as his analytical brain ticked over the possibilities. "Maybe they just need you to open your heart and listen."

Sora raised one eyebrow. He really didn't understand Riku sometimes. He acted like he was so tough, like he owned the Destiny Islands and the treasure hidden within the impenetrable forest of palm trees. Even so, Sora caught the occasional sliver of softness through his brash exterior. He knew that Riku was just a big softie on the inside.

"I dunno Riku, you say some weird stuff sometimes, but… I'll try it."

Riku cracked a small smile and shoved his hands in his pockets, content to wait while Sora did what he needed to. The brunette wasn't wholly convinced that someone was trying to reach him from beyond the horizon, but it was no stranger than all the stories that his mother had told him, curled up in bed with a mug of hot cocoa while she regaled him of tales of other worlds. Sora turned back to the ocean, watching how the rolling waves caused rivulets of sand to swirl in the shallows. He couldn't begin to imagine how much pain this person must be in to reach out to a stranger for help. Sora was sure that he would never feel such overwhelming sadness while Riku was around. The pair were inseparable, and they would never be defeated as long as they were together. Perhaps this person just needed someone to be there for them like how Riku was there for Sora. That was something that the brunette was sure he could do.

Sora nodded to himself with renewed confidence and closed his eyes, puffing out his chest to prove just how tough he was. He ignored Riku's snort of amusement. He mom told him that he was a big boy, and he wanted to be sure that this stranger could see that too.

If Sora had his eyes open, he would've seen the moon briefly flicker into the shape of a heart as it watched down from above. He reached out into the darkness, offering a hand to anyone who needed it. If there was anything he could do to ease the suffering of another, even if it was someone he had never met before, then he was willing to give his all.

...

Hey, can you hear me?

It hurt. Someone was screaming with such incredible volume that Vanitas couldn't tell which of the five parts of his heart was in pain. Maybe it was every part of him, people without faces or names but who had lives and memories that were snatched away and turned to dust. His Keyblade burned with a heat so intense that he could almost smell the skin of his palm searing. The voice of the weapon howled within the depths of his soul, cursing and swearing with such vile words that Vanitas had no choice but to throw it to the ground before it burned him alive. There was no sign of the red and black gears or the piercing blue eye of the Void Gear. The embossed golden hilt and lustrous silver edge of his Keyblade glowed so brightly that Vanitas was blinded but its light. Even though he had relinquished the Keyblade that despised him with every ingot of its metal, the screaming in his head and in his heart just wouldn't stop.

I heard your voice. It cut through the darkness around me.

All alone, I followed the sound into a sea of light and found myself here. With you.

You gave me something back when I needed it the most.

A second chance.

I did?

But now… I have to go back to sleep again.

Are you sad?

It hurt. It hurt.

Would you mind if I stayed here, with you?

It hurt.

Riku knew there was something wrong with Sora before he even knew himself. Mind you, that wasn't particularly difficult. Sora was about as sharp as a sledgehammer.

Riku wasn't particularly optimistic about the decision to move back to Destiny Islands. In fact, to say that he wasn't optimistic didn't give enough credit to the dread that sunk into his heart when Kairi first suggested the idea. He was terrified. The thought of facing the people he once called his friends, who he had fed to the darkness in his lust for power, made him feel sick to his stomach. Riku was a coward. He was afraid to set foot on those unblemished white beaches, to smell the salty sea air and taste the juicy nectar of the Paopu fruit, because he was afraid that he wasn't deserving of forgiveness. He was scared to look into the eyes of those whose souls he had devoured, only to find that they hated him as much as he hated himself.

Both Kairi and Sora would slap him across the face without hesitation if they ever found him talking about himself like that. The denizens of Destiny Islands had never discovered the reason for the tidal wave of darkness that consumed the tropical paradise, and they never would. Riku had been forgiven time and time again by those who mattered - the only person unable to let go of his mistakes was himself. He had accepted the darkness as part of his identity, but that didn't mean he wasn't haunted by it. Riku's shadows no longer looked like Ansem: they looked like all the friends he'd tossed away like broken toys. Mickey insisted that he needed to forgive himself, that he had already paid back what he owed tenfold, but Riku didn't know how.

Riku had a tough time finding his place in the ecosystem of his homeworld. He didn't consider himself to be a particularly empathetic person, but even his dense eyes could see that his friends were pushing to keep him included. Tidus and Wakka had gotten so good at Blitzball that Riku actually had to focus on their matches, and Selphie kept trying to ask him to go on dates to the mall. It was just... after spending what felt like an eternity submerged in the Realm of Darkness, he didn't have much in common with them anymore. They were still the same age as each other, but Riku felt like an adult surrounded by toddlers. His stubborn yet cheerful demeanour had been replaced by something colder and darker that he couldn't put a name to. It was hard to make casual conversation with the people who should rightfully hate him for casting their homes into darkness. The innocent and oblivious looks on their faces made him sick.

Worst of all was when Sora gave him that same look. Even after everything he'd put his best friend through, Sora still couldn't bring himself to hate Riku. That just made Riku hate himself more.

Honestly, Riku had expected Kairi to be on his case about his antisocial behaviour way more than she had been. She was right, of course, she always was. Riku would have a much easier time slotting into place amongst his friends if he didn't spend so much time brooding in solitude. The only reason he escaped Kairi's scrutiny was because someone else was becoming a much bigger cause for concern. That person being Sora, who seemed to find himself at the centre of mischief whether he was aware of it or not. The brunette was one of the laziest people that Riku knew, so the news that he was having sleeping problems had drawn his attention. Sora didn't just go to bed for eight hours a night, he basically became comatose. It was truly remarkable.

Riku's intrigue had quickly evolved into unease when the trio moved back into Sora's old house, allowing him to see the situation for himself. It was barely noticeable at first; the glassy, absent gaze that occasionally clouded Sora's eyes could simply be a sign of exhaustion. The brunette had hardly sat down since their adventures first began, and he insisted on shouldering the worlds' problems all on his own. Even if their time on the Destiny Islands was short-lived, it granted them a precious moment of peace. A chance to unwind and let their aching bodies rest. Heaven knows they needed it. Sora would still be out there fighting the Heartless until he passed out if Kairi hadn't dragged him home by his earlobe.

Then the sleepwalking started, and the excuses quickly ran dry.

Riku couldn't place a finger on when the problem started to grow out of control. Sora began waking at all times of night, wandering around with a far-off look in his eyes and unresponsive to anyone who tried to snap him out of it. Unusual behaviour for Sora but pretty standard as far as sleepwalking went. Riku often forgot just how young they were when Xehanort tore their lives apart. Considering everything that Sora had been through, it wasn't all that surprising that he was having trouble sleeping.

Riku wished that he had taken things more seriously. Perhaps this whole thing could've been nipped in the bud while it just a matter of sleep disturbances. Soon, Sora appeared to be fully awake and cognizant of his surrounding, but in the worst possible way. He seemed to slip into other personalities that had no idea where they were or who Sora was as if someone had stolen the brunette's body while his heart was sleeping. They had their own unique speech patterns and facial expressions, and none of them were cooperative in even the basic sense of the word. Riku wasn't the only one who had seen it either – Kairi, the King, Aerith... even Hayner of all people had voiced their concerns that something was going on inside Sora's brain. He'd snap out of his stupor, consumed with panic and inconsolable as if he'd been wrenched back from the edge and into a body that wasn't his. His bright smile would inevitably return, but Riku could tell that it was forced. The bags under Sora's eyes only seemed to get larger each day, and he was becoming a danger to himself and those around him.

Riku still got shivers down his spine when he remembered the day that Sora almost accidentally killed himself. The brunette had come inches from walking off the edge of a cliff while sleepwalking, if they could even call it 'sleepwalking' anymore. He was rambling that 'Aqua' and 'Terra' were waiting for him and that his 'Glider' would catch him before he reached the bottom. It took Riku tackling him to the ground and putting him in a headlock before Sora snapped out of it. Mickey and Riku didn't always see eye to eye - both literally and figuratively - but they were in accordance over Sora's deteriorating condition. They had to delay the Mark of Mastery. The threat posed by Xehanort was rapidly approaching and the duo desperately needed to pass their training, but the risk posed to Sora's health far outweighed the urgency.

Sora raised all kinds of hell when Riku dropped that bombshell. He still harboured a great deal of self-doubt, born from the moment that he learned the Kingdom Key was never intended for him. He was determined to prove that he was worthy of the Keyblade, regardless of whether he was the weapons first choice or not. The brunette spoke emphatically about the message left by Naminé, the only sentence that surviving the rewriting of his memories: 'their hurting will be mended when you return to end it.' Sora suspected that Roxas continued to live on inside his heart, defying the fate that all Nobodies were destined to fade into nonexistence. Not to mention the fact that DiZ had been hiding scraps of research within his heart for who knows how long. Just how deep did the rabbit hole go? How many souls were connected to Sora's that he had become the pivot around which the rest of the world turned?

He couldn't help the hearts trapped inside of him by resting, he needed to fight. He wanted to fight. He was going to fight, and he wouldn't allow anyone to stand in his way.

Riku didn't have it in him to refuse. Sora's tired eyes were alight with a determination that he hadn't seen in a long time. He knew that Mickey wasn't happy, but there was no talking Sora down from the ledge when he had his mind set on something. His stubbornness got him into a lot of trouble, but it was also what made him such a terrifying force of nature. They reached a compromise. Mickey wouldn't be a narc and rat Sora out to Yen Sid provided he slept at the Mysterious Tower the night before the Mark of Mastery began. The brunette would be surrounded by competent Keyblade wielders in case anything went wrong, and they could ensure a decent night's sleep before the exam demanded all of his strength.

Riku expected Kairi to take the news badly, but she was surprisingly on board with the idea. She was one step away from barricading Sora in his room while she squatted by the door with a baseball bat, ready for the moment that his sleepwalking tried to carry him into the ocean. Kairi refused to go into any details about the last time she caught Sora wandering off in the middle of the night, citing his need for privacy while he was at his most vulnerable. All the redhead would divulge was that she had found him on that island and promptly dragged him home. Riku was hurt that she was obviously hiding the truth behind a plausible cover story, but he could sense the anxiety in her eyes. Kairi was just as desperate for this to be over as he was, but she didn't have a Keyblade. She couldn't follow Sora onto the battlefield like Riku could. Kairi was helping Sora in the only way she could, and he would be nothing short of scum to take that away from her.

The fact that Kairi still trusted Riku around her best friend never stopped hurting, like a knife that kept digging deeper into his ribs.

Riku lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling and counting the knots in the wooden planks. He rested atop his bedsheets, too on edge to relax. Ironic that he was concerned about Sora's lack of rest, yet his own eyes refused to close and cross the border of sleep. A lot was playing on his mind, and the impending Mark of Mastery didn't even make the top five. Riku couldn't stop thinking about Naminé's words and the insight they offered into Sora's predicament. He wondered if she had any idea of the situation that Sora had found himself in, or if it was pure coincidence. Then again, nothing seemed to be coincidental when it came to Sora.

It was no secret that Roxas continued whatever sham of an existence he had within Sora's heart. The Nobody should've merged with his Other until the border between their personalities was indistinguishable, but it seemed that Roxas shared Sora's penchant for defying the threads of fate. There had never been another recorded instance of a Nobody and their Somebody existing at the same time, and their unorthodox arrangement had allowed Roxas to persist after death. Riku had no doubt that one of the many people who seized Sora's body while he slept was Roxas himself. He had no idea if the blond's allegiance still lay with Xehanort - the notion that he may deliver Sora's body to their greatest foe was not out of the realm of possibility. Riku suspected that the only reason Mickey had caved and offered his blessing to proceed with the Mark of Mastery was that he would be following Sora at every turn. He was one of the few people who could reliably take Sora in a one-on-one if he switched sides.

Riku prayed that it would never come to that. He assuredly had the strength to overpower Sora, but whether he had the willpower to do so was another story.

Riku wasn't sure what was different that night, but he woke in a cold sweat. The Realm of Darkness wasn't exactly the best place for a peaceful nap, lest a stray Heartless take a chunk out of his soul while he wasn't looking, and he had developed a habit of sleeping fully clothed in case he was called to action with little notice. He had no idea how long he'd slept for since the moon literally never set over the Mysterious Tower. Riku's nights were generally dreamless, focused solely on repairing the damage that he inflicted on his body with his intense training.

Perhaps his concerns about Sora's wellbeing weighed heavily on his mind, but he distinctly recalled hearing a distant, muffled voice that invaded his sleep. He couldn't make out any words as if they were swallowed by the darkness, but there was one thing that he knew for sure.

The voices of four different people were crying out in unison, and they were all screaming for help.

Riku threw himself out of bed and dashed towards Sora's room, ready to kick down the door and hurl himself at his best friend. Way to the Dawn was already summoned in his right hand, pulsing in sync with his own heartbeat as if the Keyblade was an extension of his arm. Its feathers quivered with anticipation, prepared to face the worst possible scenario. He turned the corner with the speed of a freight train, only to plough into a small gaggle of enchanted brooms that could only be described as running away in terror. Several had been pushed to the ground and were struggling to get back up. Almost as if something had barrelled down the hallway without a second thought for the harmless servants that kept the Mysterious Tower in tiptop shape.

The next thing that Riku noticed was the mirror. Yen Sid kept an extensive collection of furnishings that could reveal the supreme power of the Keyblade to anyone brave enough to gaze at their reflection in the polished glass. Someone had uncovered the mirror and shattered it, the scarlet shag carpet lined with tiny glass fragments and streaks of ruby red blood. This particular mirror always filled Riku's mind with a vision of the Way to the Dawn unleashing its ultimate power, yet the glass was eerily silent. It was as if the magic embued in the mirror had been stifled by whatever force had smashed the reflective glass. The stray shards were partly swept into a neat pile, no doubt by the brooms that Riku had darted past before, but countless pieces still lay strewn across the carpet.

Why had they abandoned their task when it was clearly still incomplete? What had happened that the brooms would rather run for their lives instead of remaining at their stations like their magic commanded?

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!"

Riku almost hit the ceiling with fright at the powerful voice that reverberated down the empty hallway. Its tone was gravelly and dark, commanding such terrible power that he almost believed Ansem had risen from the dead and returned to drag him to the depths of Hades. It sent ripples of fear down his spine and into his Keyblade, his grip quaking as his heart began to falter. It couldn't be Ansem; the voice sounded far too young, far too much like a certain brunette that seemed to caused trouble wherever he went. Riku tightened his grip on the Way to the Dawn and sprinted down the hallway as fast as his legs could carry him. He didn't care how much noise he was making, or if it would alert his target to his approach. All he cared about was seeing that Sora was safe with his own two eyes.

Riku screeched to a halt before a door that had been left ajar. He could see the faint glow of flickering candlelight coming from the kitchen that lay beyond the threshold. Looks like he had found his target. Riku gently pushed the door open so he could duck inside, trying his best not to allow the rusted hinges to creak and groan. He breathed a sigh of relief as his cyan eyes fell upon the figure of Sora hunched over the marble countertop while an animated sponge scrubbed at dirty dishes by the sink. He was clad in his favourite pair of plaid pyjamas, ones that now slightly smelled of saltwater after Kairi chased him to that island. Riku felt a wave of gratitude rush over him at the knowledge that the brunette was still in the tower and hadn't leapt out a window or snuck onto the train.

Even so, he couldn't shake the feeling that the boy in front of him wasn't Sora. His shoulders were tense with barely restrained anger, his back arched and knuckles streaked with blood from the shattered mirror. Riku reminded himself that this person may look like Sora, may be inhabiting his body, but this was not his best friend. This was someone potentially dangerous, and he couldn't allow his heart to falter just because they were using Sora's face.

Any sense of relief instantaneously drained away as Riku's eyes fell on the knife clutched in Sora's hand, squeezing with such force that he threatened to snap the hilt in two.

Riku didn't hesitate. He took a step forward and jabbed the tip of the Way to the Dawn into the back of Sora's neck. The brunette's posture stiffened as the honed edge of the Keyblade pressed against his nape, taking a sharp intake of breath and holding it as he froze in place.

"Put it down and turn around. Now."

Riku spat his demand with as much authority as he could muster, disguising his fear behind layers of self-assurance. He saw Sora swallow slowly, completely frozen in place as if his body had turned to solid ice. For a moment, Riku was afraid that whoever had usurped control of the brunette's body would lash out at him, but Sora tentatively released his hold on the knife and laid it flat on the marble countertop. Riku stood his ground as his best friend slowly turned around, holding both hands in the air in submission. His ocean-blue eyes almost seemed to glow sickly yellow in the low candlelight as the two finally made eye contact. It was like looking into the eyes of a stranger. Into the vile yellow eyes of the man who manipulated his heart and left Riku a broken, shattered mess.

Sora's face rapidly flickered through conflicting emotions. His sapphire eyes were wide with fright at he was held at knifepoint, but it only lasted a moment. The second he looked upon Riku's face, his expression shifted into one of disdain, as if he was supremely unimpressed with the person who had caught him off guard. It was such an ugly look for Sora, whose features usually shone with kindness and compassion. The brunette raised his eyebrows in surprise as he finally noticed the Keyblade clenched in Riku's hand, the one that was mere inches from ploughing into his throat. Sora had multiple Keyblades under his belt and was one of only two people know to dual-wield, yet he stared at the Way to the Dawn as if he had never laid eyes on a Keyblade before in his life. Riku's heart was torn between profound confusion and intense rage, directly at the monster who dared to wear his best friend's skin.

"A Keyblade…" Sora mumbled to himself, glued to the tip of the bat-winged weapon. His blue eyes radiated a fierce hunger as if nothing else existed to him.

"SHUT UP," Riku snarled, feeling a cauldron of bubbling rage brewing within his heart. "Don't play games with me. Who are you, and what have you done with Sora?!"

Sora didn't even respond to his own name. He was too fixated on the Keyblade that was inches from poking an eye out. Something about this felt very different from all the other stories that Riku had heard about the brunette's sleepwalking episodes. There was no erratic and confused responses, no glassy-eyed stares or senseless rambling. If it hadn't been for his extremely suspicious behaviour, Riku would've sworn that Sora was wide awake. He didn't want to think about what would've happened with that knife had he arrived a moment too late. Those voices that reached out to him from within his dreamless sleep... were they calling for help because this person was trying to kill Sora? Was this Roxas, trying to murder his Somebody in cold blood?!

What kind of evil person was controlling Sora's body that multiple hearts would unite against them?

Riku's controlled anger was quickly becoming eclipsed with an animalistic rage towards whoever had stolen Sora's body, and the lack of response was pushing him closer to the edge. He growled and jabbed his Keyblde forward, threatening to slice the imposter's throat open and leave him to bleed out on the ground.

"ANSWER ME! I'LL KILL YOU!"

The tip of the Way to the Dawn was less than an inch from Sora's skin, like a tiger flexing its claws. If this person wasn't taking him as a serious threat, then perhaps they needed to be reminded of who was in charge. Riku's hand was practically shaking as the darkness in his heart threatened to overflow and push him over the edge. He had never truly despised someone so badly, not since Ansem left his fingerprints all over his soul. Sora flinched at the sudden movement, a thin sliver of fear worming across his face as the Keyblade came close to drawing blood. As Riku continued to stare him down, the brunette's expression warped into a sadist grin until he could barely recognise his own friend. His kind blue eyes were saturated with venom so putrid that it could've turned the largest Darkside into a trembling Shadow. Riku had no idea that Sora was even capable of conveying such vindictiveness.

"First of all," Sora finally responded, spitting out his words like he was speaking to an infant. "You can shove right off. My identity is none of your stinkin' business. Secondly, I have no idea who 'Sora' is. And thirdly-"

Sora seized the tip of Riku's Keyblade without hesitation, not even flinching as the barbs of the batwing dug into his palm. Riku stiffened his grip on the Way to the Dawn's hilt, expecting the brunette to try and disarm him. Just like Sora had a habit of defying everyone's expectations, the person puppeteering his body was just as unpredictable. Rather than throw the Keyblade to the ground, the he realigned Riku's aim until the tip was firmly planted against his chest.

"If you're going to kill me, at least do it properly. My heart's down here, buddy."

Sora put his hands on his hips and shot Riku an impatient glower. Riku could only blink in response. That... wasn't the reply he was expecting. Why would anyone steal another person's body and then offer themselves up to be cast out of it without putting up a fight? Even Roxas, who had fought Riku until his final breath, had willing merged with Sora to become whole. Why would the blond Nobody put himself through all of that, only to leap at the first opportunity to scrub away what little remained of his existence? Unless...

"Wait... you're…. not Roxas?" Riku probed, the grip on his Keyblade weakening as his heart became overcast with doubt. Sora rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated "UGH" in response.

"Are you stupid?" the brunette snarled back as if he was considering spitting on Riku's shoes in disgust. "Come on, we don't have all day. Right between the ribs. I won't even wriggle, promise."

Sora put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest, the sharpened edge of the Keyblade digging into the fibres of his plaid pyjamas. Riku was so overwhelmed with confusion that his limbs wouldn't respond, whether he was tempted to take the brunette up on his offer or not. He was so damn sure that Roxas was the source of Sora's sleepwalking that he hadn't even considered any other possibility. The snappy, cruel manner of speaking almost reminded him of Ansem, the way he whispered lies into his ears and poisoned his mind. This person was dangerous, and they knew it. Riku had to do something while the opportunity presented itself. He had to use his Keyblade to unlock Sora's heart and banish this person to the abyss before he led his best friend down the path that Riku was painfully familiar with.

...

He couldn't do it. No matter how hard he tried to force his legs to move, he just couldn't raise his Keyblade against Sora. Not again.

The arrogance in Sora's eyes gave way to resentment as he realised that Riku lacked the resolve to give him what he wanted. He batted the Keyblade out of his face with the back of his hand, sending the weapon clattering to the floor. Riku stared at the Way to the Dawn, laying on the wooden floorboards like an injured puppy. He had fought so hard to prove that he had overcome his failings and was still worthy of a Keyblade, but it wasn't enough.

How could Riku ever hope to become a Keyblade Master if he couldn't even protect his friend?

"Pathetic," Sora snarled, determined to belittle the silver-haired boy until melted into a puddle. "You're just a snot-nosed brat playing with things you don't understand. Don't let your mouth make threats that you're too much of a wimp to follow through on. Well, whatever- "

The brunette threw Riku a nasty sneer and nonchalantly reached behind him to pick up the knife that was still resting on the counter.

Riku's heart leapt into his throat as the sight of the blade, the polished metal reflecting the warm glow of the candelabra sitting on the table. A voice in the back of his head told him that he needed to act now, that the situation was about to go in a direction that he did not want it to. Sora stared unblinkingly into Riku's eyes and raised the knife to his neck.

" -I'll just do it myself."

The brunette began to drag the serrated blade across his pale skin, a trickle of blood leaking from the wound and tainting his flawless complexion. The thin stream of crimson was finally enough for Riku to SNAP. He lunged forward and grabbed the brunette's arm, twisting Sora's elbow until he released the knife with a wail of pain. It was a sound that Riku prayed he would never experience again, but Sora would have to forgive him later. He responded by wildly shoving his other elbow into Riku's face, smashing against his cheekbones and sending shockwaves of pain throughout his jaw. He recoiled at the dizzying blow, staggering backwards until he found himself leaning up against a cabinet.

Riku clutched as his head and groaned, right in time to catch the light reflecting off the knife as Sora grabbed it from the floor and tried to cleave his nose in two. He jerked his head back as the blade barely whizzed past his face, so close that he could almost see his reflection in the blood-tinged metal. Sora snarled and lurched forward in an attempt to sink the knife between Riku's eyes. He ducked before the blade could find its home in his skull, the brunette careening past him and accidentally burying the knife into the wooden cabinet. Sora repeatedly tried to yank the blade from the splintered door to no avail. It was too deeply embedded in the wood and refused to budge.

As Sora tried and failed to free the weapon, Riku saw the rabid look on his best friend's face, an incomprehensible rage combined with undeniable joy. He truly believed that Sora would murderhim if given a chance.

Riku took the opportunity to retaliate while Sora was distracted by the knife. He punched him in the stomach as hard as he could, knocking the wind out of the crazed brunette and sending him flying. Sora staggered against the marble countertop, straining to remain upright while he caught his breath. Riku shook his fist as his wrist began to cramp from the brutal blow and snatched his Keyblade from the floor. He was hesitant to use it out of fear of turning Sora back into a Heartless, but his friend wasn't giving him a whole lot of other options. Way to the Dawn felt unnaturally heavy in his hand, weighed down by all the hopes and dreams resting on the edge of the batwing.

"SORA!" Riku yelled, desperately trying to break through to the sleeping heart that he knew was still beating in his best friend's chest. "I know you're in there! Fight back!"

It was an urgent plea, but Riku believed in Sora with all his heart. There wasn't a single other person out there who could walk into the jaws of darkness and emerge with a smile on their face, completely untouched by the corruption that lurked within the shadows. No one had ever possessed the strength of spirit to exist at the same time as their Nobody without losing themselves in the process, yet Sora defied every expectation laid out for him. Riku couldn't bring himself to cripple his best friend, but perhaps the brunette could still fight from whatever abyss his heart had been banished to.

Sora ignored his fervent cries and upended the dining table, lobbing the furniture at Riku in an attempt to crush him beneath its weight. He hopped back just in time to avoid becoming a red stain on the floorboards, only for a chair to be launched at him legs-first. He moved quickly enough to deflect the flying furnishing with his Keyblade, but he still ended up lying on his back surrounded his splinters of stained wood. Stars flashed across his vision as the back of his head cracked against the floorboards. Riku heard the sweet song of sleep trying to lure him into unconsciousness, but he fought against its call with every ounce of willpower in his heart. Sora's movements were so erratic that he was barely able to react in time, and he was playing so dirty that Riku had no chance of prediction his next action.

Riku's eyes refocused in time to see Sora vault over the flipped table with Kingdom Key in hand. His eyes glowed yellow in the light of the candle that now lay discarded on the floor, its flame still burning bright as the magic in the wick remained unextinguished. Riku's head was still reeling, but he could make out the ugly, sadistic grin that had overtaken the face of his best friend. Sora stomped on Riku's wrist with all of his weight, forcing him to release his hold on the Way to the Dawn with a yelp of pain. He raised the Kingdom Key above his head like a scorpion preparing its stinger, ready to impale the silver-haired boy into the ground where he lay.

Riku considered the possibility that he was about to die. That this person would jam the Kingdom Key through his chest hard enough to shatter his ribs and leave him skewered to the floorboards while he ran away with Sora's body. They would lose two Guardians of Light in the same day, and Xehanort would sit atop his throne of corpses while the universe crumbled around him.

Even when faced with his own demise, Riku couldn't bring himself to use his own weapon on his best friend. He squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for the final blow, the one that would take his life.

It never came.

At first, Riku thought that the screaming was just in his head, the last gasps of a dying heart that would never find justice. When he finally mustered up the bravery to open his eyes and face his fate, he saw that it was coming from Sora. The brunette had thrown the Kingdom Key to one side before its metal became stained with Riku's blood, and the blade was emitting such intense heat that it was almost glowing. Sora's hands covered his face as if he was trying to gouge out his own eyes, barely able to find enough air to scream. Riku no longer existed to him. It was like the cries of a wounded animal, cornered and frightened beyond belief.

Riku wanted to cry, but his brain was drowning in adrenaline. Something surged through his exhausted muscles, a force that emerged from the depths of his heart and filled his body until it threatened to tear him to shreds.

It was the will to live.

Riku jumped to his feet and punched Sora in the face as hard as he could. The brunette was instantly silenced as he crumpled to the floor with a dull thud. He didn't get back up.

Riku slid to the ground with a heavy sigh, the adrenaline that held him upright finally dissipating. His muscles violently shook as the pain in his limbs settled in until even his bone marrow ached and groaned with exhaustion. He flopped onto his back, splaying his arms out by his sides and feeling the chilly floorboards against his skin. Riku breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth until his heart rate returned to a normal pace. The Mysterious Tower suddenly seemed so quiet without the ruckus caused by the brawling boys. Only the gentle rising and falling of Sora's chest gave him any release against the existential weight perched atop his stomach and crushing his heart.

Well, that definitely wasn't Roxas.

Riku let out a dry, humourless laugh. He ran his fingers through his messy silver hair, shaking away droplets of fear-soaked sweat that clung to his scalp. Now that he was finally given a moment of peace to mull over what in the hell had just happened, he really didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to recall the look of madness that took over his best friend's features, an expression born of pure darkness that reminded Riku of the unadulterated hatred that once consumed his own heart. He wanted to pretend that it was all a nightmare, that Sora would wake him in the morning and drag him out of bed and up to Yen Sid's study as if he had imagined the whole thing. Riku knew that wasn't going to happen. He might have knocked Sora out cold, but the demon that possessed his heart was still lingering in his soul. It was just a matter of time before he found himself on the receiving end of the Kingdom Key once more, and Riku couldn't be sure that he would be so lucky next time.

His mind wandered back to Naminé's parting words, left for them in Jiminy's Journal and deciphered by their own data incarnations: 'their hurting will be mended when you return to end it'. Riku couldn't say that whatever had seized control of Sora's body and tried to murder them both really deserved to be 'saved', but there was one thing that he now knew without a doubt. Sora was right. The Mark of Mastery had to go ahead. Naminé's words were likely meant for someone less... murderous, but they rang with an undeniable truth. The hearts that were bound to Sora's were in pain, and their existence also hurt Sora in equal measures. He would never find relief until those ties were severed, and they would never find salvation until they were free to follow their own path.

Sora's heart would need to be vacated of all its unwanted stowaways, or Riku would need to become strong enough to overpower the demon that slept within his spirit. He would need to find the power within himself to attack his best friend without hesitation, or the universe would lose its brightest star for good.

Riku didn't like either option, but it was the only two he had. The pair would best the Mark of Mastery together, and they would return to Destiny Islands without fear. Riku would not allow himself to fail Sora again.

Vanitas wasn't mad. He was furious. He was enraged to the point that he could barely form a coherent thought. He wanted to pound his head against a wall until his brains turned into mush and his half-baked heart gave its final beat.

But it would be OK. Vanitas had waited decades for the chance to die. What was a couple more weeks?

Xehanort had taken him back. Said he had a Replica body all lined up for him. Said he wanted him to join the thirteen Seekers of Darkness. Said that he would give him Ventus. They thought that the storm had passed, but they were merely in the eye of the tornado. Vanitas may have been beaten, but he was not defeated. He would come back again and again, as many times as necessary, until Ventus lay in a bloody pile at his feet.

It was OK. It wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.