Oh wow. Sorry, you guys for the late update again. I didn't have the chance to update Friday, yesterday was prom, and I've been kind of dead all day today. But I really think this chapter is worth it.

Sora is a creature of the light; he is its warrior, its protector, because it needs him as a hero just as much as he needs it to rescue him.

It calls to him, quietly at first, sweet whispers growing in volume until they shout relentlessly in his ear. The days pass and he finds himself needing to go out of the castle - though it appears clean and bright, it is no more than a picturesque prison. He needs the sun, the air, the sky that is his namesake as much as he needs food or water. The faint memories of an island stir in his mind, or maybe his heart, and he is wishing for waves and sunsets and grainy sand between his toes.

Leaving has never crossed his mind. Sure, the Organization members had come here-hadn't he even walked through the doors sometime long ago?-and Riku had left with DiZ a few weeks before, but it seems like some strange skill he has no hope of acquiring. This castle is so unpredictable and treacherous and he could very likely be lost somewhere deep within it and never escape.

But that ache propels him to begin searching for anything that could lead him outside - a forgotten door, even a window, never too far from the floor on which he and Naminé keep their good company. But it is all pristine pallid walls; no openings, no cracks. Only doors just leading to more stairs to nowhere. Each day passing makes him a bit more restless, his tan islander's skin fading into a fairer tone, his heart growing a bit darker.

He asks for her help finally. Maybe he should have sooner, but a strange burst of intuition he would not have had a year ago has told him she'd get the wrong idea. It is hard to put his thoughts into words - he wants to stay but he very physically needs to go. How can he properly explain his obsession with light and good and day and the outdoors and that he needs a substitute for such before it drives him mad for the lack of it without hurting her already fragile feelings?

She blinks slowly and he can tell-having gradually picked up on her habits and emotions and other flickers of opinions-that she knew something had been troubling him, but she hadn't been expecting this. And fear leaks into her blue eyes that had been so placid moments before, but she agrees to help him.

They go out the next morning, half-hearted smiles pasted on to cover their worries. She is upset but he does not know why and cannot ask or hurt her more. He jokingly makes a game out of it, failing to keep their minds off of their true intentions: they are explorers, bravely setting out for their own secret world. She takes her sketchbook and he takes her hand, and they navigate down stairs and across hallways and through doors.

The levels all run together until they reach the largest set of double doors, Sora instantly recognizing them as the last barrier to freedom and his heart picks up in anticipation. He drops her hands, ever the gentleman opening doors for his lady. They are heavy and for a frightening moment he worries he will be faced with a cruel irony if they refuse to open, but after they give the first inch he finds the strength to swing them completely outward.

He is stopped in his tracks at the scene before him - it had been night when he had first seen the castle, and approaching winter, but now it is one of summer's last days and a lazy afternoon so commonly associated with the time. The connecting road curves ahead to destinations unknown, surrounded by tall grasses and trees dotted helter-skelter to provide shade from the midday heat. A bird calls from a distance and a fluttering speck of color he assumes is a butterfly alights on one of the wild purple buds mixed in with the drying grass.

He laughs to himself then, and runs the first steps to freedom. The sun strikes his skin and a breeze blows his hair back and he closes his eyes. This is how it is supposed to be, something deep inside him whispers, and he lingers in the light and throws his arms up as if to touch the sky.

She hangs back, waiting in the cool familiarity of white and shadows. This is what she had feared, she tells herself. Now that is free what holds him to her now? He may very well decide to leave this very moment, tired of this dungeon and this girl shackling his spirit. She cannot hold him back from the light; after all, he is the light, and she can't keep him from what he needs, much less ever hope of holding him back with her false brightness. They told her she was good (and sweet and pure) but even she must look away as he stands there, free. How can she deny him the sun or the air when it brings such a look of peace upon his face? From where she is, Sora glows.

He slowly cracks open an eye and turns, fixing her with a crooked grin. She offers him one that's a bit broken, and he goes to her, stopping just at the edge of the ribbon of in and out separating them. Stretches out a hand, a soft smile bringing out the patient understanding and conflicting sadness counterbalanced in his eyes.

"Join me?" he asks, and she bites at her top lip. Slowly holds up her corresponding hand to consider it. Have her hands always been so translucent, so frail?

"I've never been outside," she states softly, eyes tracing lines in the ground.

"What?" Mild shock replaces hesitation. "Not even once?" She shakes her head, not meeting his eyes. She doesn't remember her birth, the rest of her recalled time locked in one castle before being portalled to be captive in another.

He raises his hand higher and steps just one footfall closer, tiptoeing between the two regions. His voice is still gentle as he reaches out to her, insistent. "Please?"

Trust and something like optimism and maybe he'll stay a little longer this way moves her hand. It crosses the distance to his, softly laying palm-to-palm, and he twines their fingers together firmly before pulling her closer to him. His azure eyes never leave hers as he goes slowly, foot behind foot backwards and she follows. She focuses only on him, the point on which her small world revolves, so transfixed in his gaze that she doesn't realize how far they've come until he relaxes and points and she turns to find they've traveled yards.

Panic seizes her chest, and she is riding a bike down a hill for the first time without training wheels, swimming into open water without a float and the shoreline looks so, so far away. And oh, what a coward she is; the prison may be that-a prison-but she is safe in there. Predictable - a reflection of her, the façade of purity. She is two steps closer to returning to her safe haven when she realizes his hand is still there and he is not letting go.

"Naminé," he says, hold tightening a fraction. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe with me."

And what he means is: I'm here, I'm here, I'm staying.

She gives a short laugh that he echoes - in relief, at her childish reasoning, because of course this is a good thing.

They settle in the grass, itchy on her uncovered legs, dress settling like one of the clouds above them as they lay back under a tree and look up to find pictures in the sky. Pointing at faces and places and shapes as she feels her body warm and a rare smile appear. And they watch as the sun slowly makes its daily journey and their hands stay tangled together for a very, very long time.

The next day and the next and the very next pass as one long one, each with them rising with the sun and staying outside until it is below the horizon line. Sora runs or climbs trees before falling to nap or check Naminé's progress, the girl drawing new subjects with little-used colors or occasionally getting up to twirl among the flowers, giggling with new-found pleasure as her dress flares up and her hair flies free.

And so the last days of summer pass and Sora's skin becomes darker and his eyes become less prone to wander into the distance. The girl's fears of losing him prematurely are put away and just as she begins the miss the passing season, another one appears.

Fall.

Naminé's reds and oranges and yellows are soon exhausted as she tirelessly sketches the trees brimming with bright leaves, Sora collecting them as they fall to jump in their piles. He sighs in relief at getting to enjoy this time for once and not having to go back to school, sharing years of horror stories full of evil teachers and impossible homework and class bullies with her. He tries to explain to her some sport associated with this season that he has picked up on over the course of his travels - there is a strangely-shaped ball and tackling and punting and it's so confusing that she decides to just watch and cheer him on as he fights imaginary opponents (that he always defeats, of course).

The wind blows a little more often, a little colder too, and the days grow shorter and she says goodbye to the birds as they fly away in their perfect formations. Her cheeks color from the chill against her skin and something else as he pulls her close and they fall on the dead earth, laughing at everything and nothing or maybe at how far they've come.

And the days pass, the trees left bare and black and the leaves shamefully fallen until one day everything is white, white, white. He is as excited as she is-perhaps even more so-new to the phenomenon of snow, having been confined to an island for so long. They bundle up into layers of whatever clothes they can find-scarves and hats and gloves in mismatching colors-and fill up the too-short days with fierce snowball fights and lopsided snowmen. They race to be the first to mark up the ground after each fresh snowfall (and sometimes Sora lets her win) and come back in finally, laying exhausted before a cheery fireplace they have found. She tries her hand at a snow angel, arms and legs moving up and down as if in flight, and Sora pulls her back up and whispers you're my angel, Nami and presses a chaste kiss to her cheek and it's suddenly much warmer outside.

The nights are cold and Sora permanently sleeps in her bed-but he is still a gentleman and that is all he does-and they curl together for body heat and the slowly-growing realization that two full season are past and there are only two to go.

She wakes one morning and the snow has melted, leaving the first traces of flowers and shoots of grass peeking up from the ground. They shed their clothes, animals coming out of hibernation to live again. The birds have returned, as are other animals - small wonders she is entranced by; she watches the agile branch-climbing squirrels in amazement, collects ladybugs on her fingertips, and goes out one dawn and stands so still that she is lucky enough to watch a young deer pass through their field. Sora can reach branches easier now with a good four inches added to his frame, laughing in a deeper voice as he gently pushes her up so they can sit in a tree and watch the day pass together. They dance to the sound of crickets as the days lengthen again, her green pencils becoming small as she tries to copy the season's abundance of its color. He talks of other springs, but his voice holds no regret and his eyes hold only love as he slips a dandelion into Naminé's golden hair.

Summer returns bittersweetly and they fill as much time as they possibly can in its embrace - playing in the rain, even sometimes camping under the summer sky. He shares stories of past summer vacations full of staying up late and no rules, a boyish spark in his eyes once again, and she silently swears to herself that she will make sure this summer will be the one he remembers the best. He teaches her how to swim, they pretending from the obvious lack of water, and they make popsicles from frozen juice to enjoy on the especially scorching days. They pick flowers to tear off their petals-he loves me, he loves me, he loves me-and catch every sort of bug in their improvised nets. She even abandons her sketchpad, leaving it in the dirt so she can stretch her legs and her imagination at his side (she can always go back to it; it will always be there).

They talk of what has been and what will come; they laugh and cry and express every shade of feeling in between, even if one can supposedly not do that at all; they wish and hope and dream and make new promises under the falling stars. And Sora kisses Naminé under these stars, tasting of honeysuckle and lemon and summer-spring-winter-fall.

And summer ages and weakens and can't be saved, dying as he leaves, their one year up. She watches from the window as he waves goodbye and goes down the road to battle, leaves tumbling in farewell gestures to him and his comrades.

Time passes and the seasons revolve again, but she still always finds herself feeling the chill and barren winter, admittedly her least favorite of the seasons. She no longer looks-much less goes-outside, settling to look at her pictures drawn by pencils long lost or broken or whittled down to nothing.

But the light is calling to her, faintly now, but it will soon shout like once before and will not be ignored. Because the light can never be forgotten, appearing in the deepest darkness, the deepest depression and solitude.

And then she will go out into the sun and air and meet the sky to share the rest of her seasons with him.

I originally titled this chapter 'Out There,' so every time I see it I burst out into that song from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. I regret nothing.

Thanks to HopeReincarnated, Christopher Scott, AnnoCat, and Kiryn for the reviews and for all the extra adds and favorites. Please keep them coming!

Also, this story is not finished. I believe we are about half way through. Possibly. And I'll try to keep updating consistently, but as you can see with my track record on the last two chapters, stuff happens. But I'll keep trying, because I love this story too much to neglect it. :)