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A stranger with blue hair and a scar between his eyes finds her.
He steps into the darkness where she dwells and goes straight to her side.
Which is to be expected; there’s not much else he can approach unless he wants to be like her and just wander this void forever.
There’s nothing else here.
The only thing to do is approach her or approach nothing.“I’ve come to take you from this place,” he says to her and holds out his arm, offering a silky length of silver cloth.
She doesn’t know what to do with it.
She doesn’t have any words for him.
He’s come to take her?
There’s nothing for her here, surely, but she also has no desire to leave.
She could probably tell him this; nothing compels her to speak.He looks down at her and says nothing in return to the nothing she offers.
His eyes – an odd and exquisite shade of teal – survey her from head to toe and she stands there and lets his gaze dissect her.
The cloth is unfurled and he sweeps it around her shoulders, fastening a clasp at her throat.
He pulls a hood over her head and then his arm – strong and steadfast – encircles her shoulders.
She’s tugged tight against his side.“We’re leaving,” she’s informed.And they leave.He takes her somewhere warmer: a palace of high, bright stone and tall doorways, full of light and windows.
His clutch never falters and she simply lists along where he leads.
Against the ivory-tiled floor, her bare feet make soft pat-pat-pat noises while his black boots leave echoes in the empty corridors.
They pass by a few people but don’t say anything to them and she doesn’t look up in time to see any of their faces as they hurry along.A question occurs to her, suddenly alive in her thoughts like a sprouting seed.
She lifts her chin, finding his features in stalwart profile, and asks.“Where are we going?”These are the first words she’s ever spoken.
And her first thought about her first words is that they sound quite wrong.
She doesn’t understand why.“You’re going to a room where you will wait until I come to fetch you,” he tells her and never slows down.She lowers her head again.
He answered her question but that only made more of them germinate within the freshly turned garden of her mind.
It seems that one question, once it’s answered, precipitates another four.Before she can speak any of them on her strange tongue, he opens a door, ushers her inside.
“You will stay here,” he commands, guiding her to the center of the room.
“You are not to leave until I come for you.
Do you understand?”“Yes,” she says.
She understands.
She won’t leave.
She has no desire to leave.
Where would she even go?The man turns and leaves without another word.
When the door closes behind him, she thinks that she should’ve spared just a second to ask his name.
Then she wonders what she’d even do with his name.When she turns her head to look around the room he left her in, a lock of her hair falls in front of her eyes.
It’s blonde.
She lifts her hand and tugs the strand out to get a better look, but only arrives at the conclusion that this is also wrong without the reason as to why.The door opens.
It’s him again, only this time, he’s accompanied by another man.
His hair is as silver as the cloak wrapped around her shoulders.
“She looks to be in pristine condition,” the silver-haired man says to the one with the scar, approaching her after the door has been closed.“The Darkness was insular,” her escort says.
“There was nothing to harm her.”“How fortunate,” the silver-haired man says.
Even his shadow dwarfs her as he comes to stand before her, so close that the toes of his boots are beneath the hem of her cloak.
He offers her no smile when she cranes her neck to look up at him, but there’s no derision in his eyes.
They’re golden, those eyes.
Sharp and glimmering.
She leans towards him fractionally.
His hands shift and she watches as he takes her hands from her sides.
Beneath the leather of his gloves, his grip is steady and warm.“Unfortunately, my dear,” he tells her gently, “this will hurt quite a lot.”She’s about to ask him what he means.
Pain erupts through her in a sudden flash, like lightning.
Skin aching raw like it was raked over with a million razor edges. Bone-broken aches surge from her arms to her ribs to her hips and when she hits the floor (he’s still holding her, his hands bind her throbbing wrists), she screams.
So loudly, she screams, that the pressure in her head magnifies until she’s sure that she’s burst somewhere.
Her insides heave and roil, hot with nausea that has cold sweat beading between her shoulder blades, beneath her breasts where she’s crumpled into herself in agony, and slicked against the man’s gloves as she tries to thrash away from him.He won’t release her.
She shrieks until drool is splattering onto her knees and then spasms forward and heaves, vomiting nothing because there’s nothing in her stomach to throw up.
She can’t breathe.
Her inhaled breaths lodge in her throat and never fill her lungs and then she can’t even scream.
Her limbs are losing feeling, which would be a relief, but now her organs feel like they’re being wrenched by cruel hands.
She never wanted anything in her existence.
Never had a need for want, wandering alone for however long in that void.
Not now.
Now, she just wants to die.Her chest lurches pitifully and her vision blackens.
Everything stops working.Dying a second time is probably the most pathetic afterlife she could’ve imagined.When she wakes, she’s laying on her back with a thin blanket draped over her entire body, including her head.
She blinks.
Every cell, every strand of hair, every inch that she is…. It all creaks and whimpers in agony.
And so does she.
The noise finds its way out of her mouth on her trembling lips.
There’s a sound beyond the blanket, a sudden scuff of someone’s shoe, she thinks.
Another sob leaves her, this one frightened, and she tries to move, push herself up and tear the blanket from her face so she can see, so she can run.“Shit!” a voice shouts and there’s another scuffle of feet on hard floor.
She manages to roll onto her side, halfway propped, and the blanket falls away from her.
This room is also bright, but with artificial fluorescence and reflective steel paneling and sterile ceramic tiles.
The ceiling is a lot lower.
On the other side of the room, back plastered against the only door she can see, is a man.
A tall, limber man with shockingly red hair and wide-staring green eyes.“Holy hell,” he says, his voice breaking a little.
He swallows and then pushes away from the door, taking a step closer to her.
Her head hurts so bad and feels like it’s full of stones.
“You’re really alive, right?” he asks her, like he can’t believe it.
“This isn’t some bizarre bullshit prank that Vexen’s pulling on me, is it?”She doesn’t understand and doesn’t know what to say.
Her whole body is alight with pain: a full-body bruising from the inside out.
“Can I leave?” she croaks out in the voice that isn’t hers.
“I think I want to leave.”The man frowns and steps closer.
When he offers his hand, she throws her shoulders away from him.“No,” she says and falls off (it’s not a bed, she was laying on a gurney, a medical table).
“No, no!”
The impact with the floor was punishing and trying to drag herself away from him has her gritting her teeth with how unbearable it is to even move.
But she manages to lodge herself into the nearest corner, knees to her chin, hiding her hands.“Shit,” the man mutters.
He picks up the sheet from the floor where it fell and carefully steps closer.
“Hey, it’s alright, I’m not gonna do what Xemnas did, I swear,” he says in a soft assurance.
“I won’t hurt you.”She doesn’t know if she can believe him.
She doesn’t think she can trust any of these people in their black gloves and eyes that looks too deep into her and know. What do they want with her?This man stops about four feet away, telegraphs his kneeling down onto the floor and then offers the sheet to her.“Here,” he coaxes, “take it, cover up.
There’s no need for you to go around naked.
We’ll get you some clothes.
How about a nap, huh?
You could probably use some water.”She takes the proffered blanket and haltingly wraps it around her body.“See, you don’t really need to drink anymore but you remember needing to,” the man goes on to say, giving her a slip of a smile.
“So the water will help.
Sleep will, too.
It feels better when you pretend things are like they were before.”She doesn’t know what that means.
But he’s not trying to touch her and hasn’t done anything but give her a blanket and suggested to give her more things.
Things that do sound nice.
She hasn’t had anything to drink.
Ever.
She’s never slept before.
Which is strange because she knows what sleeping is and that she has done it.Which is the truth?“My name’s Axel, by the way,” he tells her.
“Can you stand?
There’s a place you can sit right outside here and I’ll go get a room set up for you so you can rest.
Okay?
Can you get up?”She doesn’t know but she tries.
She slips a little on the trailing edge of the sheet against the slick tile and he lurches forward to catch her but she doesn’t fall.
Her dirty, shaking hand steadies her against the wall and she takes little steps forward on wobbly ankles.
Axel doesn’t even turn around to lead her out, instead walking half-backwards towards the door, like he’s going to dive in and rescue her if she takes a spill.
They make it out of the room, back into a hallway that then turns into another room that’s less sterile, more cozy.
She hobbles over to a cream-colored velour lounge and collapses on it.“Ow,” she whimpers gently, gathering her legs up onto the cushions and tucking her feet beneath the blanket.“Just wait here,” Axel says.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.
What’s your—” He shakes his head and waves dismissively.
“Never mind, no worries.
Hang tight.”Then he leaves.
A nap really does sound like a nice thing.
The room is silent and warm and the couch is soft beneath her aching body.
She settles down into the cushions and pulls the blanket up close under her chin.
Sleep bears her up from the world, away from consciousness, away from thought and wonder and worry.
She does not dream but she doesn’t need to.She stirs once when she’s lifted from the couch into strong, warm arms but her head falls onto a steady shoulder and she doesn’t bother rousing herself further.
She knows she’s safe in these arms.“Love you, Riku,” she mumbles and smiles before she falls back asleep.The loud, rapping knock against the door finally rouses her and she sits up against the cradle of pillows, rubbing her eyes, not wanting to leave the warmth of the bed.
Which is fine because her guest admits himself without her invitation.It’s the man with the scar between his eyes.
“Get out of bed,” he orders.
“There’s clothing in the dresser.
Dress yourself, come, now.
Don’t stall.
Master Xemnas has requested your presence.”There is plenty she doesn’t know or understand but she recognizes the name.
Axel said it, mentioned it when she had run from him in fear of pain.
She freezes beneath the blankets, staring at the man in a half-awakened panic.“I don’t want to see him,” she says.“What you want is irrelevant,” the man tells her.
“You will go to him, accept your name and assignment, then adhere to your duties as instructed.”“He’ll hurt me again,” she whispers, goosebumps breaking out over her skin while her stomach constricts.
She meets his unkind eyes, and waits for his rebuke.
His lips are pressed together in a thin, unamused line, extending the silence.“What you endured yesterday is never to be done to you again,” he finally says.
“It was a trial and you suffered and survived, however latently.
You won’t have to withstand it a second time, I give you my word.”She stares at him.“I don’t believe you,” she ends up saying.“Believe what you like,” he says and turns away.
“Now get dressed.”He departs, the door slamming behind him, hard enough to waver on its latch.She gets space enough to release the sigh she’s held captive and then slides from beneath the blankets, tip-toeing along the plush rug towards the dresser where it stands near the tall window.Easily, she finds an all-white, floor-length shift with long sleeves that she decides to wear.
As she slips it over her head, she remembers that yesterday Axel also said that she wouldn’t be harmed again.
Between the two of them, trusting Axel makes a lot more sense since he’s only led her to comfort while her escort led her straight to torture.
But since the one with the scar promised the same as Axel, does that mean they’re both lying to her?She doesn’t know whether she can believe either of them or trust anyone she might meet here.Her escort is waiting in front of her door when she opens it into the hallway, practically glaring at her. She takes a deep breath, closing the door carefully behind her.“What’s your name?” she asks before he can bark at her for taking too long, or something.“My name is Saïx,” he says.
“Come.”
With a beckoning hand, he turns and stalks down the hall.
And she follows even though she can’t be sure that he isn’t leading her to be brutalized again.Her steps are so tiny compared to his strides; his long legs take him miles ahead of her while she has to raise the hem of her dress above her ankles if she doesn’t want to stumble trying to keep up with him.
She doesn’t ask him to wait but finds him pausing long enough to let her catch up more than a couple of times.The hallways are a maze of bright corridors, high ceilings, windows casting prismatic shards of light across the pure white walls, and light fixtures of geometric cut crystal.
None of the sconces are lit now since the halls are saturated with the sun.
They pass many doors as well but enter none of them.
One does open behind her after she walks by.“Oh,” she says, stopping when she glances over her shoulder out of curiosity.
Axel steps into the corridor.“Hey there,” he says with a smile that she welcomes even though it’s stiff on his face.
“Where are you heading?”“She’s to meet with the Master,” Saïx says irritably, looking like he’d much rather stride down the hallway as he was.“Right, right, got some catching up to do,” Axel agrees.
“Welp, let’s go, don’t want to keep him waiting.”
He gives her a more confident smirk and a wink.“You were not summoned, Axel,” Saïx practically growls at him.“I’m not going in,” Axel drawls back, rolling his eyes, “Just along for the walk.
The dining hall is the same way, remember?”
He starts walking their same path without another word.
She trails after him.
When she catches up, still holding her dress up in both fists, he looks to her and offers a smile.
“It’ll be easy,” he tells her gently.
“You already went through the hard part, so no worries, m’kay?”“How do you know?” she asks rather than just stating outright that she’s not sure if she believes him.
“Same thing happened to all of us,” Axel tells her.
Saïx walking behind them…his footsteps interrupt their words, like he has to remind them that he’s there, he’s still following.
“It’s a little more complicated than this, but basically, we all have the potential to become Arbiters of Light.
So what you went through was a test to see if you were strong enough to become one.
Congratulations, by the way, ‘cuz you passed.”Oh.
So, then….“You were hurt like that, too.”“Uh-huh.
And Saïx too.
Don’t think he ever got over it, which is why he has to stay near Xemnas all the time,” Axel says.
Then he leans closer to her and whispers.
“He’s looking for the right moment to exact his revenge.”“Don’t even suggest such a ridiculous thing,” Saïx sighs in exasperation, coming up on her other side.
“You’ll get us both extinguished for treason.”“Sorry about his pissy attitude,” Axel tells her.
“He’s really not that bad of a guy, I promise.
You’ll see.”Next to her, Saïx makes a derisive click of his tongue but doesn’t offer any rebuttal to anything Axel said.They part ways at a particular juncture of corridors and Axel gives her a half smirk and a wave before he pivots and strolls around the corner.
“Come along,” Saïx says when she lingers a moment, staring after Axel’s back as he retreats.
“We’re already late.”She goes without protest.
It’s a lot easier to believe them both now that Axel explained that they, too, experienced that awful pain that she had as well.
Looking to Saïx’s shoulders as they continue, she wonders if he’d bother telling her about it if she asked.She doesn’t ask and he leads her to what can only be described as a throne room.
The ceiling is so high that she strains her neck to the point of reigniting a headache trying to find the zenith of it.
On all sides, flanked by windows of stained glass, the room curves like a great circle, light spilling across every surface in every hue imaginable.
She watches the colors ebb and flow over her white dress, rippling with every step she takes.
At the head of the room is one single chair on a dais raised on a dozen or so steps.
The man named Xemnas sits there, robed in white.
The colors shine down, haloing the floor around him, but he sits in unmuddied clarity, a spotlight of white light illuminating him.“Forgive our delay, Master,” Saïx says, bowing once.
The cast of the windows doesn’t reach this far but she feels like she can see a glimmer of gold light in Saïx’s eyes when she glances sidelong at him.
“Come forward, child,” Xemnas says, extending his hand down to her, evidently untroubled by the fact that they’re late.
She doesn’t want to go to him.
She’d sooner scream than take his hand.
“I’m fine down here, thank you,” she says, even going so far as to take a step back.
In her periphery, Saïx makes a jolting movement, no doubt preparing to rebuke her disobedience.
She speaks before he can. “What do you want with me?”On his throne, Xemnas offers her a slow, slight smile.“You continue to thrill me in every moment,” he says.
His voice is low and melodious, rumbling like a song humming in her very bones.
“Peace, Saïx.
No need to be offended on my behalf.
It’s understandable that our guest has some misgivings about her role here.
I only intend to offer clarity.”When she turns her face briefly to where Saïx stands, she finds him staring back at her with such indignance about his face.
Even so, he says nothing, retreating towards the wall, never taking his condemning gaze off of her.Xemnas still does not stand but he shifts on his throne, moving to fold his hands in his lap as he scrutinizes her.
“The truth, my dear, is that I want you to help me,” he says.
“There’s so much that we have to do and I have so very little resources to accomplish it.
Your assistance and contribution will be invaluable to our cause, and so I have brought you here for a very selfish end.
I hope that you’ll give me the opportunity to make my case to you.”She blinks at him slowly.
“You may ask me about absolutely anything that you desire to know,” Xemnas goes on to offer.
“I’ll answer every curiosity or concern.
We will speak together for as long as it takes until you are comfortable in your understanding and not a moment before.”She supposes if she’s given everyone she’s met so far second chances, then Xemnas shouldn’t be the exception.
But also, no one said that she had to treat everyone the same.
He watches her.
She watches him right back.“Before all that, though,” he says, and holds his hand up.
Not to offer it to her, but with his palm facing towards her, “You need a name.”Shimmering before her, a series of letters appear, floating apparitions in silver script that spell a name.
‘Kairi’ they say.
She looks over the hovering letters and frowns.“You don’t recognize it anymore,” Xemnas tells her.
“But it came from you, from what you emerged from.
You have no need to feel connected to it anymore; you have metamorphosized beyond that name and its pitiful fate.
You are more marvelous than it will ever be.”Xemnas waves his hand in a flourish and the letters shift, intermingling, with one additional character floating down to join them.
“As you have evolved and surpassed that which you left behind, so too has your name,” he tells her.
She looks up at his eyes and finds him smiling.
A prideful smile, warm with superiority.“No…,” she says.
“No, this isn’t mine.”
She reaches her own hand out and swipes it through the letters; they vanish instantly. When she points the tip of her finger to the open space, it glows.
She writes in the air, her hand curving and looping without any input, guided by instinct, and she thinks, my name, my name….
She paints her name in midair with golden light.Naminé.This was with her all along.She looks back up to Xemnas, her feet firm on the cold marble floor.
She pushes the letters from her and they float all the way up the dais to him, swiveling to face him so he can read what she’s written.“This is my name,” she says.
Xemnas only smiles even wider, his golden eyes as sharp as the edge of a knife.“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he assures her.
He doesn’t look surprised when she begins to ascend the stairs.
Naminé doesn’t approach him directly but sits on the polished stairway and straightens the skirt of her dress as she settles a few steps beneath his throne, to his right.“Any question I ask?” she repeats.“Anything at all,” he affirms.She has many.
After all, one question germinates another four.